How to Make a Custom Farmhouse Sign for $30!

I had been wanting an old metal sign for my kitchen for some time, but I just couldn't find the right thing without paying a fortune to get it! So, that's when I started thinking about how I could make my own faux vintage metal sign for a lot less money!

You don't have to be particularly artistic to create this type of sign, but it does require patience and time. It's a step-by-step process, and it took me about 5 hours altogether from start to finish. You could speed up the process by using a Cricut for your lettering, but I wanted the authentic feel of an old painted sign. That, and I don't have a Cricut!😁

I went to Lowe's in search of materials. The first thing I looked for was the sheet metal, of course. I found this 24" x 30" sturdy sheet of galvanized metal for $23.48, and I thought it would be perfect! (There was another, much thinner, sheet for a little over $11.00, but it just seemed too flimsy for a sign.)

The edges of the sheet of metal were razor sharp, so I thought I should "cap" it with something for safety so I didn't end up spending my DIY savings on an urgent care visit 😉! I pilfered around Lowe's, looking through different trim options in several departments until I found this vinyl wall paneling moulding. It was $3.28 for an 8 foot piece. Since I would need 108" of trim to surround the edges, I had to buy two. Since I was planning on painting my sign white, the trim wouldn't have to be painted, but if your sign will be a different color, I would assume you could paint it any color you want. 

I used paint I already had on hand, so I didn't have any expense on paint. A can of spray paint runs around $5-6, and craft paint for lettering is usually less than $2 a bottle. One bottle did mine with some leftover. Your paint expense will vary, depending on how many different colors you need. Remember, though, if you're doing a more rustic look, cheaper is better! You want it to be more chippy and sketchy!

This trim is super easy to cut. I used a utility knife and a speed square to cut the 45° angle I needed. Once you get it scored, you can bend it and snap it. The easiest way to measure where to miter this trim is to slip it onto your sign and mark the inside corners with a pencil. The first cut I made was a true measurement of the bottom edge, which was 30", but I forgot that measurement would change once the trim slipped into the metal. That recession made about a 1/2 inch difference, so I had to cut more off.

Now that my trim pieces are cut and ready, it's time to start on the sign! Before I painted the background color on my sign, I wanted to create some rusty spots to give my sign some age. I used brown spray paint and randomly splotched paint here and there, and then immediately sprinkled cinnamon onto the wet paint splotches. I concentrated mostly around the edges, because I felt like an actual rusty sign should have more wear around the edges.

 You can't really tell from the pictures, but once the brown paint and cinnamon dried, I dabbed a little vaseline here and there over my rust spots. This will result in some authentic-looking chips after you spray paint.

I just used regular old spray paint and painted my sign white. If you want, you could primer before you do the rust or paint, but I wanted it to look chippy and worn, so I opted to paint right over the metal so it would not be so perfect. 

As you can see, the paint doesn't stick well where the heavier patches of cinnamon are, so it lets the rust effect show. While the paint was still tacky, I stood above the sign and sifted a little cinnamon through my fingers and let it dust over the tacky paint. After that, I stood the sign up and tapped it on the ground to shake off the loose cinnamon, and in the process it created some authentic-looking rust stains! 

Once the paint is dry (about 15-20 minutes), you can carefully wipe the places you applied vaseline with a dry towel and you'll see some wonderful old chips that expose the rust underneath the paint! 

While I was waiting on the paint to dry, I went to my laptop and created my design. I obviously already had a general idea, but I searched the internet and found several different things I liked. I used bits and pieces of random signs to create my own thing. Once I laid everything out on my computer, I printed it out in 8.5 x 10.5 sections and then taped it all together to make a template that was the size of my metal.

I then taped the template squarely onto my sheet metal and used a ball point pen to trace it out. You have to bear down fairly hard, but doing this will leave an indention in the soft paint underneath. Just be sure not to move your template! 

Once your design is traced out onto your metal, you are ready to paint! I used a paint pen to outline my lettering and to do the finer letters at the bottom, but then I filled it all in with a flat brush and acrylic craft paint. I would suggest that you not use your best artist brushes..I ruined one of my good ones because the roughness of the cinnamon feathered out the bristles on my brush 😞.

Once the lettering paint was dry, I put a little white paint on a chunk of wood and scratched it over the letters to transfer some white back over the letters so it looks like the black lettering is weathered. You could also just lightly sand it, but I was afraid I would sand off my rust stains so block aging worked best for this project 

Now that your lettering and design are done, it's time to attach those pieces of trim! I just used gorilla glue that I squirted into the channel of the side I was attaching and stuck it on. I filled in the corners where the trim comes together with some white caulk since they weren't perfectly cut with my utility knife. Then I created some more rust here and there onto the trim to make it match the sign. My husband soldered some picture hangers onto the back and it was ready to hang!

I'm pretty excited about how it turned out! It looks like it's 100 years old!

I was so inspired by my sign that I baked homemade cinnamon rolls today. I mean, I had to have something to put in that cake box to pull my theme together!

I hope you enjoy making your own custom sign! Leave any questions in the comments and I'll do my best to help you make it happen!

A Flash of Time

 

My siblings and I went through a huge box of family pictures last night. It is sad to look back at how everyone has changed, how some are no longer here with us and how fast time has gone by, but at the same time it is so sweet to look back to see the blessings you sometimes couldn't see at the time, and to see how far The Lord has brought us since some of those pictures were taken. It was especially fascinating to look at photos of great grandparents, great-great grandparents and even distant cousins, aunts and uncles and see physical features in them that carry on through us today! It is such a blessing to have those generations of family photos.

I woke up this morning thinking about how those pictures represent a moment in time. Some of our family photos were from the 1800s where having a picture taken at all was a big deal, and I thought about how they wouldn't have imagined me sitting here today, all these years in the future, looking at them in that photo and taking a picture of their photo with my phone! I loved studying their faces, bodies and hands, looking for a glimpse of me, my brothers and sister, and even my own children in them all these generations later. 

Of course, we also found many pictures of ourselves as babies and children. My mom had the typical 70s era hairstyles and clothing, and our home decor completed the look. My grandparents, who I thought were ancient at the time, were only in their late 30s! We were celebrating the Christmases, birthdays and family occasions that we didn't even know at the time would remain so special in our hearts. Some of the photos were just regular old days, sitting on Dad's lap or watching Mom cook breakfast as she turned toward the camera with a spatula in her hand, posed like she is going to get Dad for taking an early morning picture of her without her makeup!

Those old pictures tell our story as a family.  Looking back at our family photos takes our minds back to an entire era of time, to the core of who we are today. They take us back to a simpler life, a time before we knew what hurts and disappointments lie ahead, and a time before the ones we love were taken from us. They take us back before harsh words were spoken that we can't forget, and before decisions were made that can't be reversed. 

Literally, each snapshot is only a split-second of our lives captured on film. Those moments in time were so much more important than we could have ever known at the time. They were the moments we will long to return to the rest of our lives, the moments we took for granted that are so valuable now. They are the moments that will describe to our future generations who we were, where we came from and how we lived.

Photos don't freeze time, as some describe. They freeze what life looked like that exact moment, but time moves on as soon as the flash disappears. Choose your words carefully. Love while you can. Embrace those differences in each other..they come from a long line of plans for who each of us are supposed to be. Spend time together while you have those you love, because that next moment just after the picture is snapped could look entirely different, as it will inevitably be one day. And don't forget to take pictures. Lots and lots of pictures.

Proverbs 17:6 (NIV)

Children’s children are a crown to the aged, and parents are the pride of their children.

Psalm 127:3

Children are a heritage from the Lord, offspring a reward from him.

The Day that Changed Us

This is a picture of the day that changed my life. I remember that day well. In fact, just a few years ago, I went into my childhood home where, like watching a scene from an old video reel, I remembered seeing the look on my mom's face as she took the call from the wall phone in the kitchen doorway. Someone from the bakery called to say my dad had been in a wreck. I was 9 years old at the time, so I didn't really totally understand what was going on, but I knew whatever it was, it was bad.  I just remember asking Mom,  "Did Dad die?"

My dad left for work that morning and didn't come home for months. He left that morning able to mow the yard, play ball with us, push us on the swings, all the normal things dads do. By the time he came home several months later, it was just a day-to-day struggle to survive. 

The newspaper writer said in the article that Dad was expected to make a full recovery. What he didn't know was the life long implications of the injuries he sustained. He had a broken back, 7 broken ribs, a collapsed lung, broken nose, and his left leg was crushed into fragments from mid-thigh to below the knee. I remember when they talked about putting dad in a full body cast because his injuries were so vast. Thankfully, they were able to treat him without that being the case. 

I remember feeling so sad for him when I went in to see him and saw his leg hanging from the metal contraption they had hanging from the ceiling. He had rods going through the bones in his leg that were connected by rods on the outside that were holding his leg up in traction. My dad was naturally a slender man, but during that time he became gaunt and frail, much more than his normal 39 year old self had ever been. 

Those first few days were only the beginning of how the wreck would change the course of the rest of all of our lives. Over the following years, dad would have nearly 30 pulmonary embolisms and commonly dealt with blood clots throughout his body due to poor circulation from his injuries. In one of his numerous surgeries after the wreck, he had a stimulator implanted into his back to control chronic pain and that metal box was there for the rest of his life. They removed much of the bone fragments in his left leg and fused what remained together. That shortened his left leg by 2 and 1/2 inches, which resulted and a severe limp. Over the years, his spine curved to compensate. 

Eventually the circulation issues led to 5 heart attacks and a stroke. Even in the last couple of years of his life he fought cellulitis in his left leg that was difficult to heal because of the lack of circulation. His left foot stayed swollen and sore most of the time.

Although dad suffered the rest of his life due to the impact of that day, so did the rest of the family. I remember many calls where Mom got up in the middle of the night to run to the hospital because Dad had fallen into a critical state again. Some of those nights, we had to go along because Mom was afraid she might not be back for a while. 

We practically grew up in hospital waiting rooms, eating out of the vending machines and mining for lost coins underneath the machines and in the coin return slots was what we did for fun!  We slept many nights on the vinyl and metal chairs in the waiting room at Indian Path Hospital and then went to school the next morning. I was often tardy or even absent from school altogether, putting me behind on my schoolwork a lot of the time. I missed 19 days of school that year.

All of those things are part of who I am today. With regular hospital stays, visits to Duke for specialized treatment and Mom having to tend to Dad when he was home in between events, we all learned very quickly that it wasn't about us. We learned to do for ourselves and to depend on each other. We managed our own homework, and all of us actually got good grades despite the rollercoaster we were on most days. We learned to cook our own meals too. We learned humility as we punched our free lunch card in the school cafeteria line due to Dad no longer being able to work. We learned to do without a lot during those days. Expensive name brands and having the latest/greatest still doesn't impress me to this day!

We definitely had more stress than children should have to go through, but that fateful day changed a lot of things for the good for us as well. What a lot of people didn't know at the time was, when my dad wrecked, he and Mom were in the process of a divorce. Dad had moved out, and the paperwork to finalize things would have come up in only a few days. This is where I can't help but think of the phrase I have so often heard: "But God."

Even through all the hard times, God was giving us the blessing of a simple life. As we all became comfortable with our new normal, we had many blessings that most kids will never experience. My dad was home when we got off the school bus in the afternoons. When he was able to cook, he cooked a southern feast of soup beans, cornbread, fried potatoes and homemade pineapple upside-down cake for dessert! We sat outside, swinging in the porch swing in the evenings. A few times when Mom was at the beauty shop, he played Atari with us, scrambling to get up and move before Mom caught him when she pulled into the garage! He sang with us songs I will never, ever forget. Froggy Went A-Courtin' and Let Us Have a Little Talk with Jesus were a couple of his favorites. We watched Little House on the Prairie, The Waltons, The Jeffersons and Gunsmoke while Dad popped popcorn in the fireplace. We had homemade Easter baskets every year, and stockings filled with candy and fruit. We always had a watermelon, Dad's favorite, on the 4th of July. We were never short on laughter when Dad was around with his quick wit and sense of humor.

As tragic as my dad's wreck was, that day had a powerful impact on our futures from then on. I often find myself thinking back to that day, wondering how different life would have been had it not happened. My parents would have likely been divorced, as young as they were would have probably remarried, and I would have had an entirely different life. One thing I know for sure: Mom and Dad deeply loved each other. As I watched my parents' dying days unravel, one thing that carried us all through was the knowledge of how deeply they loved and needed each other. 

I have always been aware that I think differently than a lot of people. A big part of my mindset was shaped that day. Even as a small child, I became acutely aware of how short life is, and how fast it can change. It taught me to never take a second for granted and to always try to treat people as though it might be the last time you see them, because you never know when that person walks out the door if that will be the last time you'll see them. It made me extremely loyal to those I love, and it made me learn to put their needs before my own. 

Those tough years, with Mom and Dad's marital problems before the wreck and Dad's health problems after, made me savor the "good days"-the days with no fussing and fighting and no pain and suffering- and soak them in, a feeling I still crave today. Just normal, ordinary days that are more precious than anything money can ever buy. That's all I needed then and that's all I strive for today- a simple life full of true blessings, the ones you can see so clearly when they are nearly taken away. What a wonderful thing it would be if we could understand that without the pain of the lesson first.

Article printed in the Bristol Herald Courier

Article printed in the Kingsport Times News

   Some homemade cards I made for Dad

Just off the plane, returning from another procedure at Duke

Dad arriving at Tri-Cities Airport  from Duke. The box attached to his belt was the control to the stimulator they implanted into his back

End Times and My Revelation

I don't think I taught my kids about the last days.

I know I talked to them constantly about God's will for their lives, and how God has plans for them, sometimes in the most unusual ways. I know I talked to them about how to spend their money wisely, and how to be a good steward of their gifts and resources. I talked to them about being generous to someone in need. I taught them to work as though unto The Lord. I know I told them to follow their convictions and to recognize the still voice of The Lord.

I know I taught them to be honest, no matter the cost, and I talked to them about how God knows everything about them, even if I don't. I know I discussed with them how to honor God by how they present themselves, by their character. I know I taught them to love others more than they love themselves. I taught them about spiritual warfare, and how the devil works to destroy us, but God is our refuge.

I know I talked to them about how to be a good husband and father someday. I taught them they need to be servants and helpers. I know I taught them to pray and seek God in all things, even the little stuff. I know I talked to them continuously about all these things, so much so that they got tired of hearing it.

But I am sitting here tonight wondering...did I teach them about the last days?

I'm so afraid I didn't. I'm sure they learned some in Sunday School lessons. I know they must have picked up some of our conversations with friends or family over the years when we discussed world events and watching how things were lining up as the Bible said they would. They watched many times as our church performed Easter dramas depicting the death and return of Our Lord. Still, I'm afraid I failed them in teaching them to look for the signs and to really realize that Jesus is returning soon, likely in their lifetime, I believe.

I'm not sure why I never really thought to discuss Jesus's return fully with them. Maybe it was just too scary for kids to know about all that had to happen before He returns. Maybe I was so sure of each of their salvation experiences that I figured they won't be here for the really scary stuff during the tribulation. I'm just not really sure why it never came up, but I just don't remember that it did.

As I have watched the rioting and destruction on television this week, I can't help but wonder how much more defiance God is going to tolerate. How much more hurt can the world endure? I truly believe we are seeing the birthing pains the Bible refers to right before our eyes.

Matthew 24:4-14

Jesus answered: “Watch out that no one deceives you. For many will come in my name, claiming, ‘I am the Messiah,’ and will deceive many. You will hear of wars and rumors of wars, but see to it that you are not alarmed. Such things must happen, but the end is still to come. Nation will rise against nation, and kingdom against kingdom. There will be famines and earthquakes in various places. All these are the beginning of birth pains."

“Then you will be handed over to be persecuted and put to death, and you will be hated by all nations because of me. At that time many will turn away from the faith and will betray and hate each other, and many false prophets will appear and deceive many people. Because of the increase of wickedness, the love of most will grow cold, but the one who stands firm to the end will be saved. And this gospel of the kingdom will be preached in the whole world as a testimony to all nations, and then the end will come."

2 Timothy 3 (NIV)

But mark this: There will be terrible times in the last days. People will be lovers of themselves, lovers of money, boastful, proud, abusive, disobedient to their parents, ungrateful, unholy,  without love, unforgiving, slanderous, without self-control, brutal, not lovers of the good, treacherous, rash, conceited, lovers of pleasure rather than lovers of God— having a form of godliness but denying its power. Have nothing to do with such people.


I have never seen as much upheaval in the world as we are seeing now, not just the violence that's happening among people, but also the natural disasters that seem to come closer together with each event, along with the plague of Coronavirus we are currently experiencing.

I hope my grown kids read this, and I hope they will seek answers on their own. I pray that they are sure they are ready when Jesus comes. I hope they will forgive me for not fully preparing them for whatever is to come, even if it happens 50 years from now when they are old men. I hope they will know how important it will be to one day make sure their own kids know these truths I failed to teach them. I pray that when The Lord comes back to rapture us they are sure that their names are written in the Lambs Book of Life, that they are certain they are saved in that moment. I pray they are looking up and are ready, awaiting to meet our Savior on that glorious day.

Titanium Heart

My heart was broken recently. Actually, my heart has been broken many times over the years.

I don't really consider myself an overly sensitive person. I'm not easily hurt, nor am I easily offended. I tend to think with logic over emotions. I try to give people the benefit of the doubt before I react to them. I'm tough, and I have endured more than my share of heartaches and have come out stronger for each of them. I've grown and matured through the tough times way more than I ever have through the easiest of times. Yet still, I have feelings, and they are deep..I would venture to say, deeper than most people feel. I think because I am relatively resilient, when I do get hurt I get deeply hurt.

I got to thinking this week about my friend Danny. He was in a motorcycle accident a few years ago and was seriously injured. We really weren't sure if he would ever be the same, but by the grace of The Good Lord, he eventually came back home good as new!

One of the injuries Danny suffered was a broken femur. To repair it, the surgeon put in a titanium rod. Titanium is one of the strongest metals there is, and it has many other advantages when used to repair our broken parts. For example, it's not corrosive, and it is lightweight. Can you imagine a rusty peice of tin holding your leg together? Or your leg weighing a couple of pounds more than it did before? I'm pretty sure if you have to have surgery to repair a broken bone, you are going to want titanium before any other material!

It crossed my mind today that life would be much easier if we could have our hearts replaced with a titanium heart. How great it would be to have a heart that is so strong that we don't feel the fiery darts the devil constantly bombards us with! For our hearts to always feel lightweight, and not burdened with the hurts and disappointments of this world. To have a heart that is unbreakable... seems like a wonderful thing!

God's word, however, leads us to avoid having a titanium heart. He wants us to instead have a heart of gold! Gold, in opposition to titanium, is soft. It's also pliable, and can be reshaped fairly easily. Gold can be turned into liquid, but the amazing part of that is that even in it's weakest form, it is still gold! It can't ever be destroyed! Even though titanium, the stronger metal of the two, can be destroyed under the right chemicals and elements, gold is virtually indestructible. It may change into tiny bits under pressure, but it's still gold and will be forever!

So, in contemplating having a titanium heart transplant this morning, I was instead reminded of God's heart of gold for me, and I know He expects me to have a heart of gold for others. It doesn't mean my gold heart won't be tested. It will certainly be refined from time to time. It will be melted here and there, and reshaped as time goes, but it will never be destroyed. As gold lives on forever, I hope my heart will too.

Proverbs 17:3 (NIV)
The crucible for silver and the furnace for gold,  but the Lord tests the heart

Ezekiel 36:26 (NIV)
I will give you a new heart and put a new spirit in you; I will remove from you your heart of stone and give you a heart of flesh.

The Rest Stop

For as long as I can remember I have been taking care of someone. My older brother still likes to tell how I waited on him when we were kids, and all he had to do was mention he wanted something and I ran and got it for him. I don't remember ever questioning why I should wait on him 'hand and foot', I just did.

I fully believe God hard-wires us for the tasks He has planned for us here on Earth. I think He created me to care for others. That may be why being a mom has been my most valued role to me in my life. There has never been anything that compared to the fulfillment that being a mom has brought to my heart.

Last year, my role as a mom began to change dramatically as two of my three sons got married. I am thrilled for them to be doing what they are supposed to be doing (and what we trained them to do!), becoming leaders of their own households and establishing lives of their own. Dave and I are super proud of all our boys, and there is much satisfaction in seeing the flourishing fruits of all the labor that goes into raising kids. But still, it's hard on moms to give up the role of caregiver to their babies.

About three years before my boys' weddings my parents began needing help. Mom became deathly ill, and one  morning around 3:00 a.m., I got a call from their home security company saying a medical emergency alarm was sounding at their house. We jumped out of bed and flew out the door, flying toward their house as I frantically tried to call. No one answered any of their phones. I was sure I would find one or both of them dead. I played out every scenario possible in my head, and none of them were good. When we got there, I saw fire trucks and ambulances lining their street, and as Dave pulled the car over I got out and ran as fast as I could toward their house, almost collapsing as I reached the front door, dreading to see what I might find inside.

I whispered a prayer that God would prepare me before I walked in, and I heard my dad talking as I opened the door. "Thank God!! At least Dad's ok!", I thought, as I entered the bedroom where he was standing. Mom was lying on the floor, completely unaware of who she was or what was going on. It is miracle she lived through all she had going on that night.

We had to sit down with Dad later that day and convince him it was time to make some changes. They lived in a split foyer, and there was no way in or out except by stairs. Many of the possible scenarios I saw in my mind that night involved my crippled Dad falling down the stairs, bleeding to death, and Mom too sick to help him.

I still remember my dad sitting in mom's recliner, tears streaming down his cheeks as he tried to negotiate ways to stay in their home. I saw my dad as helpless for the first time in my life. That day marks the beginning of my caregiver role for Mom and Dad.

From that point, little by little, the need grew even greater, and the caregiver in me became more protective over Mom and Dad. I readily jumped in and took care of things before being asked, attempting to keep them from getting hurt. I had to constantly remind myself to not overstep my dad, who was fiercely independent and hard-working. I had to learn how to balance helping them with also allowing him to still do what he could. Sometimes that was hard to call.

During my three years or so that I took care of my parents, my boys were outgrowing their need for me. I hardly noticed. I was focused on keeping Mom and Dad going. I was on call 24 hours a day, seven days a week. When I did go somewhere for a few days, I worried the whole time and stayed close to my phone, always panicking just a little when I saw I had missed calls from them. I always felt like I was waiting on the other shoe to drop.

Before I realized it, I became immersed in tending to my parents, just as my boys were pulling away into the abyss. It was relatively seamless. I was still shopping for someone, still cooking for someone, still running someone to doctor and dentist appointments, still worrying when they got sick and still trying to keep them from getting sick to start with, reminding them to wash hands after visiting the doctor and still making sure they had a jacket before we went out into the cold. I was still comparing labels on groceries, trying to choose healthier options for them. I was whatever they needed that day: gardener, nurse, secretary, handyman, manicurist, hairstylist, chauffeur, housekeeper, cook, concierge, friend, and caregiver. Basically, a mom.

The difference in letting my parents go, however, is that there is a great reward in letting your kids go. Watching my parents lose their independence was heartbreaking. As time went, they needed more and more from me, and I was happy to help any way I could. But there would be no moment like my kids had- the moment you let go and know you did your best. The moment you swell with pride as you see them succeed.

Last fall, when my brother unexpectedly died, I got the call from Mom as I was pulling into their driveway. She had just gotten the horrible news that her firstborn son had died, and she as was screaming for me to get there as soon as I could. I could hear her cry from the garage as I ran inside. She was slumped over crying in her recliner, and Dad was lying across the bed sobbing.

In just two weeks from that day, Mom would go into ICU herself. She would soon find out that she was dying. I sat by my dad's side as he grieved his heart out. There was nothing I could do, not one thing could I offer that would help fix any of it. I watched Dad's little frail, cancer-ridden body shake as he stood over Mom and cried. I watched him lose his desire to eat. I watched him give up his desire to live himself as she slipped away. I heard him pray out loud each night, struggling to understand his words because the crying overshadowed his ability to speak. I watched him wither down to nothing but skin over bone, literally, as the cancer ate him away. I watched him lose his dignity as others had to take care of his most basic needs. I watched his face as he looked hurt and somewhat surprised when he asked me if he was dying and I gave him an honest answer. I listened as he told me what to do with his belongings when he died. I went alone to plan his funeral a couple of weeks before he passed. I picked out a casket and decided on services. I took him, so sick he had to be helped into a wheelchair, to get all his important papers out of his safe deposit box so I could take care of all his business. I listened as he told told the girls at the bank how much he appreciated them and that he probably wouldn't see them again. I laid down beside him each night and listened as he talked about Heaven and wondered what it would be like. I brought him tissues as he cried about leaving us. I promised him I would be right there until the end, holding his hand when he took his last breath, just like I had done for Mom two months earlier. The Saturday we had Dad's funeral, it rained too hard to have the burial. I watched alone from my car that Monday morning as they lowered him into his final resting place beside Mom.

The weekend after Dad died, we started going through the house to get it ready to sell. I dove into work mode as a means of survival. I was already exhausted, but I knew if I stopped long enough to give into the exhaustion I might not get the energy to do it later. I worked nearly every day for weeks, sorting and readying things for an estate sale. I remember feeling as if my parents' whole lives were sitting in boxes in their garage. The last thing I moved were Dad's shoes. They were still sitting beside where his bed had once been..right where I put them the last night I took them off his feet.

I've spent the months since all that attempting to adjust to my new life. I've retreated. I've avoided doing things. I've kept mostly to myself. I'm sad, but I'm not depressed. For me, being away from society is healing. I'm trying to spend any time I can with my youngest son before he gets his driver's license this December. I'm trying to focus more on Dave and our life together. I've caught up on several things I had started before all that unravelled and halted my progress. I've created. I've written. I've built things and I've torn down things. I've had time to think, and I've had time to pray. I've even spent a few days here and there relaxing by the pool. By the time Dad died I was severely anemic, had developed high blood pressure and had gained 15 pounds. I've gone back to the gym and started trying to take care of myself again. I needed that for both physical and emotional healing. I have served everyone else for most of my life, and I'm trying to find a healthy balance while taking care of me for the first time ever.

Soon, I'll be ready to serve again, but for now, I'm tired. I'm traumatized. I still have little snippets of all those images unexpectedly flash through my mind. I still randomly hear my mom's cries and see my dad's sadness. I know with time those pictures will fade, but for now, they are fresh. PTSD is real.

I am getting control over my life again. I'm finding restoration in my solitude as my mind and body recover from the stress I've endured. It's been hard to overcome suffering so much sadness in such a short time, but God is reminding me every day that He has Mom, Dad, and my brother, and that I will see them again when my time here is over. That is what gets me through each day.

I am still a servant, I'm just tucked away on a shelf for a bit. Soon, I'll be called to task again, and when I am, I'll be just as ready as I've always been to answer the call. But tonight, I am thankful for rest.

Matthew 11:28-30 (NIV)
“Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.”

Coming Back to Life: Continuing Dad’s Legacy

I miss my dad. Every day, multiple times per day, I have an overwhelming feeling of loss come over me. For just a minute it takes my breath. I still have visuals of watching how he suffered the last few weeks of his life. I still hear him crying over Mom and my brother Kevin’s deaths. I'm just recently starting to sleep again without listening for him to holler for me from his room. I wouldn’t bring him back to this crazy place in that little tattered body if I could, because I know without a doubt where he is-at the feet of Jesus Himself. Still, there’s a void that’s left in my heart for as long as I'm here.

When Dad was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer in October, 2017, I knew my time left with him was short. I had already spent 10 months taking him to doctor appointments, scans, blood work and tests, all in an attempt to explain his unusual symptoms. During those months, we made it a habit to go to Golden Corral, Cracker Barrel, Shoney’s breakfast bar or IHOP. By the time he was diagnosed, he was hardly eating anything at all. He lost over 70 pounds. Going to these places was about the only time he ate well.

For the most part, I have always been, like my dad, naturally thin. With the exception of having to lose pregnancy weight, I have never had to diet. Fortunately, most of the foods I like to eat are fairly healthy.  I typically eat like I’m dieting anyway! I don’t like dipped, battered, fried things, I don’t eat butter on anything (except homemade bread!). I only eat grilled chicken and turkey, as far as meats go. I love vegetables and salad, and I only like veggies on salad (no croutons or bacon bits for me), and I barely use a drop or two of dressing...the vinegar-based types. I don’t like the thick, creamy kinds. My big vice, however, is that I chase every bite of food with a swig (which sounds a little better than a gulp) of sweet tea. Anyone who knows me well knows I love sweet tea...to the tune of around a gallon every other day! My other big problem is bread and sweets. Cookies, cakes, pastries, donuts..basically anything that starts with sugar and ends with white flour.

I like to say my sugar and carbs addiction is Dad’s fault. He kept us well stocked with desserts when we were growing up. The last thing he cooked for me was one of his famous baked rice puddings just a few months ago. His mother, my Granny, got me hooked on sweet tea when I was too small to lift the huge glass pickle jar she kept it in. She was also a sweet eater. She would always say after dinner she liked a little sweetenin'! I always looked forward to peeking under her aluminum cake box in the kitchen to see what kind of cake she had made, hoping it was strawberry cake with strawberry icing. My sweet tooth is almost as old as I am!

I knew when I was eating gravy and biscuits at Cracker Barrel one morning and the lunch buffet at Golden Corral the next that it probably was going to catch up to me. I could feel that my clothes were getting tighter and I felt yuckier than I ever had felt before. Still, if I hadn’t gone with Dad to eat, he wouldn’t have eaten either, so I went. We went about twice a week, sometimes more. These breakfast and lunch dates took the place of my daily mile and a half walks and trips to the gym. I was acutely aware, though, that it was a trade I would never regret in the long run. We had many precious conversations, lots of funny observations and comments and really a sort of therapy as we talked about years gone by. I would not trade one single second of that time for all the skinniness in the world!

So, now Dad is gone and I’m the heaviest I’ve ever been. I gained about 15 pounds over the last couple of years, and I feel every pound of it! I developed high blood pressure during all the loss of Kevin, Mom and Dad in a 3 month span. I have struggled with my own version of depression: feeling like my best years are over, lacking motivation and energy, wanting to sleep all the time, feeling like I’m old, fearful of cancer, fearful of heart disease and diabetes. I’m not sitting around sad and crying, I just know all those feelings are a direct result of the hurricane I’ve been through in the last few months. I’m fully aware in my head that none of these “lies” are true, and I know without a doubt that God is in control of it all, yet my heart still feels them. There’s no fix for my loss. I have to feel it, no matter how painful it may be, and this is how I’m feeling it, and the extra weight is adding physical stress to my emotional anguish. 

About 2 months before Dad died, he said, 

"Don't give up on me! I'm coming back!" He gave it everything he had. He was so strong, even in such sickness and despair.

So last week I got to thinking about Dad and how terribly sick he became near the end. He was beyond pitiful. Yet still, he wanted so badly to live. He wanted to “come back”, as he put it. He tried so, so hard, too. He never gave up. Just two weeks before his death he said he was going to start walking with me in the springtime. He wanted to go back home to Appalachia again. He wanted to go to Golden Corral again! He just wanted to be able to eat again, and to feel like laughing again. He just wanted so desperately to live.

I kept hearing the echoes of Dad saying, “I can’t quit. I don’t know how to not fight. I have to keep going or I’ll lose my abilities.” I know he was right. I believe he lived longer because of his strong will and desire to overcome. So, my battle (fortunately) isn’t one with cancer, it’s one with pulling it back in the road and taking care of myself again. It’s about changing the monologue in my head. It’s about being productive again and pushing myself to get up and go walk, even if I would rather sleep in. It’s about choosing healthy things to eat instead of what’s convenient or what I like the best, and drinking a sweet tea here and there instead of half a gallon a day. It’s about trusting God to help me when I feel weak. It’s about choices, and making the right ones. It's about honoring God, and caring about how I treat my body and the health He has blessed me with. It’s also about honoring my dad, and living my best life, the one he would be living if he were only my age again and in as good of health as I am fortunate enough to be in. It’s about living while I’m alive.

I’m doing it, Dad. I can’t quit. I have to fight to be healthy and fit. I have to keep going so I don’t lose my ability to live well. I’m your girl, and I will never forget the example you set to keep on keeping on, no matter what life throws at you. I hope my kids will one day look at me and say, “She never, ever gave up.” And I hope one day they’ll want to take me to Golden Corral. 😋

 We built this little box for Dad to fill in an empty space after he fell between his toilet and bathtub several times. I wanted him to see this verse every time he lifted the lid. I hope he remembered it every time he felt discouraged.