CwC: The Blog

It happened the Tuesday before Thanksgiving 21 years ago.  I can never recall the specific date, but the timing was inexpugnable.  The sun wasn’t up. The day had barely begun.

I was awoken to the rap-it-tap-tap of my mom’s acrylic nails falling on my bedroom door.  To this day, I cannot stand the sound of someone drumming their long fingernails on a table.

I don’t remember her words, but I remembered the weight they carried.  I rushed from the bed to find my dad unconscious in the bed.  He passed away in his sleep.

It was somewhat unexpected though he had many health issues towards the latter part of his life. The whole week before I sensed something impending related to Dad, but I never spoke a word of it to anyone.  It was as if God was preparing me in some way for the shock of that day.

I remember calling my brother’s phone over and over again that morning until he woke up.

I remember calling my best friend in Auburn way before college kids should be awake.

I remember her mom coming as soon as she received the news and silently cleaning the house.  It is one of the most remarkable acts of love I’ve ever witnessed even to this day.

I remember my mom sitting at the breakfast table talking on the phone to family trying to figure out what to do next. Her strength has always astounded me but more so on that day.

I know there were preparations, and bags packed, and a drive going back to Decatur to bury him.

I remember eating Whit’s BBQ for 3 days straight at my grandmother’s house and being ever so grateful for something to eat that wasn’t in a casserole form.

I remember getting a phone call from another dear friend who broke away from coaching a college soccer game to call.

That Thanksgiving went by in a blur of faces and tears.  It was the night of his visitation.

I remember people talking all around me, but looking back, they seemed muffled and far away.

I remember being touched by the people who came.  Many I did not know.  I don’t remember their words, but their presence said more than words ever could.

I remember the sweet and comforting presence of friendly faces from Birmingham who made the drive to share their condolences.

We buried him the next day.  After that, the holidays were never the same.  And for many years, I hated them.  They represented a profound loss that changed me forever.

It took almost two decades to get through this day without deep sorrow.  And as the years drift by and wisdom comes, I remember the good things.

I remember that Auburn won that year.  And he was the biggest Auburn fan around.

I remember playing Trivial Pursuit after that game – something we NEVER did.

I remember the laughter, and I remember feeling like an idiot because that is why Trivial Pursuit was designed.  I even remember one of the questions from that day.  My dad was a teacher not by trade but at heart.  Everything…and I mean….everything was a chance to teach something no matter how small.  I knew the reasoning behind car tag numbers in Alabama, how mile markers could help you figure out how far you had to go (and when you would get there), and how the interstates were numbered by their direction (odd numbers run North & South; even numbers run East & West) at a fairly young age.  I also knew exactly when Easter fell every year.  And that was the Trivial Pursuit question my dad asked me that night:  When does Easter fall?  I was able to look this great man in the face and say exuberantly, “Easter falls on the first Sunday after the first full moon after the equinox.”  It was probably the only answer I got right.

It is a small memory but it represents so much of what I learned from my dad and the parts of him I carry with me each day.

I have his squinty eyes that vanish when I laugh, his steadfastness, and his calves.

I have his quick wit and his unwavering devotion for those I love.

I have his tender heart and his penchant for getting choked up.

I have his love for learning and his uncanny wisdom.

I have his ability to forgive quickly and completely.

He wasn’t perfect.  He had his demons and down falls, his disappointments and regrets.

His death made me strong and sympathetic.  It brought wisdom like only loss can bring.  It taught me the fleeting nature of life on this earth, and the importance of living a life marked by love.

I never realized until recently the impact my earthly father’s love impacted my view of God’s.  My dad loved and encouraged me.  Though at times I disappointed him, he was always for me.  He was always proud.  He disciplined me when I didn’t meet the mark, but it was part of loving me well, and he quickly forgave.  And this, to my benefit, allows me to see God’s love in a similar light.   It was a shadow of something greater that not everyone experiences. 

I had a good father, and though flawed in many ways, his love for me was undoubtable, unmistakeable, tender, kind, protective, and life-giving, and somehow, it made everything better.  And so today, as I pause to reflect on this man whose life and death forever left his mark on me, I smile, and my heart is full of thanksgiving.  I’m grateful for his life and love not only because I experienced it on this earth, but because it shaped my understanding of a Greater Father. I’m grateful for his example, and the legacy he left behind that continues far after his passing.

Wow!  It really has been a minute since the last blog post.  Goodness how time flies when you are running with your hair on fire, and truthfully – with only a minor amount of hyperbole – ON FIRE is how this summer felt, not only because it has been as hot as molten lava in Alabama and sometimes my hair really did  does feel like it was is on fire, but also because my life was waayyy out of control when it came to things that needed to get done.  All were good things, mind you, but there were deadlines and lots of work, frustration, tears, and stress.

There was no day that seemed to have enough hours in it and no day short enough to fast forward through the sometimes hard soil I was tilling. You know what I mean?  I’m sure you’ve been there too in some way or another.

These last few weeks have been fairly low key, and I finally feel like I have some breathing room to sit back and reflect. And yesterday, everything seemed to click into place like a long-lost puzzle piece I’d been searching for.  That is when the tears came.

Of course.

Because crying (and sometimes laughing at the same time) is how I express every emotion I feel.

So, what did I spend my summer vacation doing?  Moving and upgrading my new house.

In retrospect, I look back on that word “upgrading” and realize I was in denial because what actually took place – and, more importantly – the level of destruction it required to get to those upgrades – was clearly renovating.  We’ll chat about that process on a future post perhaps.

But y’all! It was so worth it!  I hesitated for a moment to include these photos because in this day and age, photos can come across as bragging and such.  It kind of makes me crazy.  BUT…If you know me at all, my heart overflows when I get to share things I love and things I learn with those I love, so I hope you’ll see it with those eyes.  There are so many, many lessons God taught me in the process, so don’t think I won’t share those down the road.  But for now…let’s just sit and enjoy the aftermath of good, hard work and lots of blood, sweat, and tears.

Kitchen before….

Can we chat about this room for a minute?  There is not one single thing wrong with it except those cabinets are not my love language, and that floor color is something I haven’t words to describe, and it had two-toned walls of moss green and baby poo all of which I’m sure you can pick up at Home Depot.  But seriously.  This is totally do-able, functional kitchen.  But I couldn’t leave it alone.  I had a hankering for something different.  And like all things Nikol, I just kinda mishmashed the things I liked together and it kinda worked out.  Or at least I think so.

..and after…

And that backsplash…I did it all by myself.  Not gonna lie…I might be bragging about that part.

Living Room before…

That color, y’all.  I called it pumpkin puke.  All of my walls downstairs looked like something that went in a baby or came out of it.

…and for now…

I’m not done with this space, but I still love the transformation.

Master Bath before…

Again, that floor design.  It kind of looks like a baby did a finger mashup of food and other things.  I don’t have words.

…and after…

The monsters love to lay on this rug.  They blend in perfectly.  Can you see them?!  Isn’t that crazy?!  Yea.  I made that up.  But they do love to lay on it.

Great Room before…

I blame this room for the start of all the renovations.  This color is called “baby-poo-you-never-want-to-see.”

This photo is really one of my favorites because you can see all three types of flooring and 3 different paint colors all in one shot.  It longed for unification. 

…and after…

Reunited and it feels so good…one color…one flooring.  Ahhh…feel the consistency.

And that’s it.  That is what I’ve been doing this Summer.  And it was a hard but rewarding endeavor.  It is has only been 2 1/2 years since I had a sanctuary from life’s battles, but it seems more like a decade with all that has passed, and since I felt like I could take a deep, cathartic breath and let go.

And things are far from perfect.  It wasn’t the way I pictured my next house purchase.  And it isn’t with the people I hoped or in the location I was looking. And perhaps those things will come again with time.  But when I would dream of better times, I dreamed of a home that was cozy and inviting in its own way.  I dreamed of a place that invites rest and peace.  I dreamed of a space that calms the mind and gives your soul room to stretch its feet out and just be.  Deacon is feelin’ it…

It is still a work in progress.  Goodness knows I need to hang some stuff on the walls.  But I reckon, just like us, a home is always a masterpiece in progress.  In the meantime, I think this place is a good space to breathe.  So, if you have some time and long for some breathing room, come on over to the country house and relax a bit.  My door is always open, and I’d love to sit and chat with you awhile.

-N