My Tribute to Kathy - Gardener, Mentor and Fighter

Kathy Vaczi spent most of her life in a wheelchair after being injured in a car accident. She raised 2 girls on her own, taught 2nd grade for decades, had a house built to suit her unique needs, fought for the needs of disabled people and kept an amazing garden.

Kathy was a larger-than-life type of person and because of this she left an indelible impression on me in my formative years. I am fortunate to have a treasure trove of memories and character development because of my time spent with her. 

I recall the time we went to the Philadelphia Flower Show. We ended up driving around from one car garage to another circling each level looking for a Van Assessable Handicap parking spot. The few spots were full. We just kept looking. It seemed like we spent 2 hours driving in circles and its possible we did spend that much time driving around. It was frustrating for both of us. A lesser person might have just scraped the plan and decided to do something else. But not Kathy. She was undaunted. Her persistence paid off; we eventually found an empty spot. We rejoiced and savored each display. She poured over the vendors dreaming up what she needed to make her yard even better. 

She taught me persistence and determination.  Kathy called on me to do some gardening tasks I wasn't always sure I could handle. Everything I learned about busting my ass for the sake of your garden I gained from her working me hard, pointing and directing - a little more this way or that way.  I remember vividly dividing up Hostas. I threw every pound of my little 100-pound self into dividing up those rooty beasts. I tried my hardest to make it happen, because I didn't want to let her down. Even though, I secretly wished one of her nephews would just do this task. I got it done each time and was sore the next day, but it was satisfying work.

Many times, I have taken on yard tasks - dividing up Ornamental Grass, turning over a vegetable garden one shovel-full at a time or went at weeds with the viciousness of a Viking. I managed each of those hard tasks because I had once done hard work for Kathy. She inspired me to work hard. She exuded determination and I should be like her. Miles and hours apart, she was always with me in the garden. She always will be.

She was a fighter, who used the tragedy to her body to show the world what can be done if you set your mind to it. If you work hard enough and if you have a good pointer to direct people willing to help, you can change the world.  Kathy fought for herself. She fought for others. She taught more than just reading and math but how to live life with determination, how to overcome the challenges that life throws at you and how to point and give good directions.

I am comforted in the fact that this great woman, who I always thought of as more than a friend, but a mentor has gone on to glory. I have no doubt she has heard the line we should all long to hear, "Well done my good and faithful servant." Her body is perfect now, no more pain, no more disabilities, and she can divide her own hostas now if she wants to.

You were a beautiful soul, and it was an honor to know you. 

Grieving -

(This was written last January and sat in the drafts for the past year. Ironically, a year later I find myself grieving an old friend on practically the same day - just a year later.) 

A sad Saturday.  The tears rolled down and they would not stop. I thought of Dave, Tom, Jim, Mike, John and Tracy 4 taken in slow drawn out covid deaths and one so sudden it hit like ton of bricks. I thought of the widows and the fatherless. Memories from decades ago were all mixed in up in these thoughts. 

If someone had asked me what I was doing. The answer would have been - grieving. 

Just so many deaths in so short a time. Men - pillars of the church - who had hundreds and maybe 1000s of people praying for them. The answers were not what we wanted or expected.

There was anger too because early treatment is key. But that is a rage for another venue.

There was relief. My parents were recovering from covid as well, but it could have gone another way. 

Someone said about Tracy - His legacy is people. 

Once upon a time I thought this Blog might be my legacy. But I think people might be better.

I was feeling burned out. Teaching classes, coming up with ideas not always having someone to help out. I was getting disgruntled but listening to the people talk about Tracy and how he poured into them. Person after person. He poured into me. I became a more active worshipper because of him. He gave me opportunities to participate in worship that this recovering Catholic hadn't known or felt free to do yet.

I want to be like Tracy and be known as someone who pours into people. To have a legacy of people. Maybe not as many as he did... but at least a few. There was a shift in my attitude about teaching and co-ops. I had fresh eyes to see that it is important and what I do for these kids,

I was thankful for fresh eyes even though they were still swollen from all the tears. 

Return To Joy

 A little phrase I have taken on as my motto this past year has been:

Return to Joy

Finding joy seems to be somewhat of a challenge. So when I am down, the shift to returning to joy seems all the more important. Not just for me but to encourage my kids to do the same.

I have been playing this song by Steffany Gretzinger No One Ever Cared for Me Like Jesus just about everyday for the past year. I don't grow tired of it.

These words convict me. Everyday.

These words are my prayer.

Let it be known in you alone
My joy was found
Oh my joy, my joy

Let my children tell their children
Let this be their memory

I want them to know me as a person of joy. I don't feel that I am yet, which is why I sing along as if it is my prayer.

I still have time to show them the importance of returning to joy, so not only will that be their memory of me, but also their way of life too. 

Far as the curse is found

 "Far as the curse is found" is a line from Joy to the World.  It has been song over and over. 

Sometimes though, a line in a song jumps out at you. On this night, while sitting with my old friend at a Christmas concert, we sang Joy to the World.  And the words became active imagery, I could see why we sing Joy to the World, 

Far as the curse is found - where is the curse found?

The sadness as Adam and Eve leave paradise.

The hands of Cain after he took his brother's life.

The boy who chose a life of drugs.

The girl who secretly ate all her Halloween candy in a short time.

The couple who has given up on each other.

The woman who abuses with her tongue.

The curse has spread like a broken dam and seeped and spread everywhere.

The curse is found everywhere.

But God.

"He comes to make His blessings flow" - "far as the curse is found". Coving over every spot that sin has stretched and seeped into. He covers us. 

The Bittersweet Week

This is always the bittersweet week. The week when one little one would have been born but was gone months before. But it was also the week when one small red head sparked into being. 

I wonder who you were, what you might have been, to know the unknown - I must continue to wait.

You paved the way,  and made her that much more precious.

I can't imagine a life without the one I am gifted to know and raise.

But to my little one, who would be 11 this week - you are not forgotten.

Musical Monuments

Today it has been 27 years since my younger brother Louis went to be with Jesus. It seems a fitting day to restart my blog. He was always a catalyst for growth for me.

There is power in a song to send you back through a time ...  I heard a particular song this weekend. Suddenly, I am back in college barely 20 years old, still nursing the worst broken heart I had even known. And newly mourning my sweet disabled brother's death. 

This new song was played over and over at the retreat I was on.

I have made You too small in my eyes
O Lord, forgive me
I have believed in a lie
That You were unable to help me
But now, O Lord, I see my wrong
Heal my heart and show Yourself strong

What else could I do but keep my eyes on him? Because I was shipwrecked. 

The message was the same as it has always been. Seek me, I am here for you. I will see you through this. As impossible as it seemed at the time, a great transformation was taking place....

 

Be magnified, O Lord
You are highly exalted
And there is nothing You can't do
O Lord, my eyes are on You

The ache in my heart was eased and friendship was restored. Sadness began to lift and the knowledge that I wasn't alone carried me through those last semesters of college.  I grew. 

I transformed. This song is a sort of monument of that time. A musical monument of a work done in my heart. And because it is a monument of a transformation, when I heard it again -for the first time in maybe 15 years- I was taken back in time. It certainly didn't take long for the tears to stream down my face just as it had back in 1994.

He that did a great work in me back then, He will do a great work in me now in my current shipwreck. We are always in need of transforming. But sometimes we need to be jolted into remembering when He has already faithfully worked in us. When we confessed, repented and came out praising. And know it will happen again.

I needed to hear that monument again.

"Be Magnified" By Don Moen

I have made You too small in my eyes
O Lord, forgive me
I have believed in a lie
That You were unable to help me
But now, O Lord, I see my wrong
Heal my heart and show Yourself strong
And in my eyes and with my song
O Lord, be magnified
O Lord, be magnified

Be magnified, O Lord
You are highly exalted
And there is nothing You can't do
O Lord, my eyes are on You
Be magnified
O Lord, be magnified

Be magnified, O Lord
You are highly exalted
And there is nothing You can't do
O Lord, my eyes are on You
Be magnified
O Lord, be magnified

I have leaned on the wisdom of men
O Lord, forgive me
And I have responded to them
Instead of Your light and Your mercy
But now, O Lord, I see my wrong
Heal my heart and show Yourself strong
And in my eyes and with my song
O Lord, be magnified
O Lord, be magnified

 

Emmanual

Another Christmas passed. Another year I skipped Christmas cards.

Had I gotten myself together. Had I gotten my thoughts earlier I may have pulled it off.

It may have went something like this...

Walter and Rose are studying the solar system right now. We had the chance to go to a planetarium and see what lies beyond our night sky. I had deep thoughts about it, "why did God bother to make these stars and planets what is their purpose?" In preparation for Christmas, I pulled an old book off the shelf called 100 Portraits of Christ.  It is a pretty deep book with some pretty big words in it. Still these smart kids have listened and digested. In one of the portraits was this poem, Maker of the Universe by F.W. Pitt, which was also put to music by Phil Keaggy. 

His holy fingers made the bough
Which grew the thorns that crowned His brow
The nails that pierced His hands were mined
In secret places He designed

They got it. They understood. They understood the rich irony and beauty. That the baby was laid in a manger made of wood from trees he made. That he was surrounded by animals he created. They got it! 

We read about how Jesus is called the Great Shepherd. Then, realized that it was shepherds who heard the news first. Perhaps because it would be hard to fit legions of angels in someone's living room. So outside in a field was a better place. But maybe it was because Jesus would be a shepherd, who would lead his sheep. In the West sheep are driven but in Jesus' area sheep are led. Maybe too because Jesus would be the sacrificial lamb...  We watched the Shepherd again too...

Breath of Heaven

The Christmas music started on December 1. The kids have become experts in this musical genre and I'd say this daily dose of Christmas music has been refreshing... One song always stands out as a favorite...

It has been a tough year. The news rarely has anything good going on: fires, floods, and madmen. I know for some people this year has brought great sadness and challenge. One of many things for me was the passing of Grammom Rosie. I have felt her loss almost every day. On any given day, I would call her when I felt loneliness creep in or when I had a cooking question. She was always there.

As I lay pondering this season I have been in and wishing for something a little better… I thought of the baby Jesus and of the universal question when we come upon a newborn. "Can I hold him?"

Like any other new baby, whether it’s your own or someone else’s you know that when you are holding them – their sweet, dewy, peach fuzz faces. Their alert eyes looking up at you. You are holding someone’s precious and perfect baby. There is nothing sweeter.

I remember when Rose was tiny after she nursed and was sleeping on my shoulder I could smell her sweet breath. It was an intoxicating smell. A breath of heaven.

The thought occurred to me that this might be a way to start fresh. Focus on that sweet newborn baby Jesus. Imagine him in my own arms. Babies don’t know what wrong we have done or in what ways we have failed or what sadness we’re holding on to. That baby just knows he is safe in our arms. That you have his attention.

And so I ask, "Can I hold him?" Can I hold the newborn King? Can I hold my Savior and look into eyes? Can I get lost in the irony that though I hold Him. He is really holding me. He arrived to save me. His sweet breath of heaven will hold me together and make me holy. He is a helpless human yet saving humanity.

Sweet, precious peach fuzz baby Jesus...

Like this song goes :

Breath of heaven,

Hold me together,

Be forever near me,

Breath of heaven.

Breath of heaven,

Lighten my darkness,

Pour over me your holiness,

For you are holy.

Consuming Fire

Third Day is a band I knew well and I can remember the first time I played their debut album. I played it loud because that is just the way it ought to be played. I knew that almost immediately.

I always play it loud and sing it loud.
I always play the drums hard against the steering wheel.
I am sure other drivers think I am nuts. I don't care.

It takes me back. Back to when I was on fire.

This time Consuming Fire meant more than usual.

Because I was reminded that His Consuming Fire is in me and will always be in me.

"And yes our God, he is a consuming fire
And the flames burn down deep in my soul"

The ember will always be there, it can never fully go out.

So I sang it loud and could feel the fire in my belly warming up.

Flourish

From summer not so long ago...


The monarchs are here early this year. We saw the first one on the first day of summer.
We have continued to see them.

6 danced in the skies.

A lovely sight.

Their flitting makes me flourish.

It is nourishment for my soul.

BOOM

And, fathers, do not provoke your children to anger, but bring them up in the discipline and instruction of the Lord. Ephesian 6:4

BOOM

Pretty sure that includes moms too.
Pretty sure I did some provoking and definitely saw some anger -today.
Honestly, never included myself in this verse until - BOOM.
I'll take that spark.

Dinner

Dinner.

I just hate it.

No one is ever satisfied.

Syrian children - they would appreciate it.  Not mine.  There is wailing and gnashing of teeth like I am trying to feed them shoe leather or cats brains.

So here it is 5:50 pm I don't know what I will make.

I will drag my feet until I admit if I don't feed them soon I can't make them go to bed.
Of course I feel guilty about this. Because it is part of my job requirement.

Stay at home moms should cook for their family.
Everyone else is doing what their job requires of them. Right? But I am a slacker.
An uninspired slacking cook and I know it.
Maybe fresh zucchini will fix it but there is none yet and I am pretty sure it will only last for about 2 of them.

I think once upon a time I liked cooking. I don't know what happened. The Everyday Food magazine stopped publication. The fatigue of trying to get little people to eat mere morsels of anything new.

The work, the expense, the time, the clean-up, the dis-gratitude.

All the cooking shows in the world and I don't think I can be motivated to salt my chicken the night before. Or even figure out what we will eat the day before.

Perhaps this is just indicative to the pervasiveness of slow rot in every area of my life.

Maybe if I could root out the rot the inspiration would come back.

And I wouldn't hate...

Dinner.

Confession

(Drafted in June)

I use to read the Bible everyday.  Everyday, even if just a few verses. I didn't always feel moved by what I read but I felt that the habit was valuable to continue. I did it for decades not just years.

Then, I just didn't do it one night, then another, then another.

I read the kids Bible stories all the time. I tell myself that's enough. But it is not. I know because I am living with my soul.  My soul is thirsty. My soul is dry. My soul is longing. My soul is not feed.

It's been 3 years since I had a Bible study. No group of women I could dig deep with. No group of people to be insightful with.

No feasting. No spark. No refreshing.

I am the field of dry bones.

Breath new life into me.
Give me fresh eyes to see.

Flash of Scarlet

(Drafted in June)

The hummingbird has become an almost daily visitor. We catch a glimpse. He slips away.

He sips the coral bells and zips off into the maple tree.  Raising the question does he have a nest there?  What kind of nests to hummingbirds have?

This day he lingered and investigated the running sprinkler as well as the coral bells. 

He seemed to drink the drops in the air. A feat only a hummingbird could manage?

He flashed his scarlet throat; its vibrancy like a fire of color. An other worldly color, something more akin to a burning bush and Holy Ground.

A fire I have felt fading.

That blessed flashy throat, that longer than usual linger of a tiny bird was like a fresh needed air.

With your quick wings fan the fire.

Why I love Being Your Mother 2018

My yearly tradition thwarted because I was sick in bed on Mother's Day.

I could try to do it today on a day when you both have worked hard at my sanctification.

For some reason, I am having a hard time with this. Partly, because I feel woefully inadequate as your mother. I am desperately afraid of screwing you up. Of you not being successful and it all coming squarely back to my shoulders. Because you are with me all day and I am your teacher as well as your mom. I am afraid some day you will grow up and not call me for weeks at a time. I am afraid you won't remember the good. But will instead act out every bad habit you learned from me.

Moms are human. We struggle with self control and being kind too. Some days our tone is harsh and you don't understand what hormones are yet.

I won't stop trying though.

Because at the end of the day, I want you to be better than me.

I want you to inspire people to stronger faith.
I want you to be the one who is kind to the ones others are mean too.
I want you to go into the world and make it better.

You are 2 of the most creative kids I know and you could fill the world with your invention ideas, songs and stories. Your chatter makes my head swirl some times but you are full of spirit and sparkle.

I am believing that one day all good stuff that brews in your brains and is contained in your hearts will combine with the hopes I have for you... to God be the Glory.

When a Memory Smells

There are certain smells that can take me back in time.

If I go into a local hardware store, I am transported to Moffa's Hardware Store. Joe or Frank is at the counter, "What can I do for you?" The black and green check floor is worn. I am 10 year old getting nails with dad or 20 years old and watching with amazement as one of the Moffa brothers mixes paint.

My Grandparent's house has its own smell. A mixture of Wisk, Cedar and stubborn love. I noticed it every time I walked in.

Things are being cleared out of their house now.  Although the house will stay in the family, they will make it their own -as they should. That unique smell that has always been a welcoming sensation will probably fade away. The dismantling of a home has been hard on this heart of mine. I think it has been hard on most of us. It was a home away from home for so many of us. The photos on the walls, every grandchild's senior photo up in a matching frames, old photos of great great grandmothers... The empty Meletti Anisette bottle in the back room of the basement, precious moments and Precious Moments in the 100s. They are all so apart of the fibers of my soul. They are the things you could always count on seeing and never changing. Until now. Left only in our memories and the few things we took to remind us of the lifetime we lived with them.

Sometimes, I will drink in those few articles of clothes I took from her closet and smell Gram.

For a moment, I am in the back room with her. Jeopardy is on. She will be keeping track of the Phillies game later. I will clip the coupons she saved for me. Her soft crooked fingers are holding mine...

The Vacuum

Facebook Timeline reminded me that 7 years ago Grandpop went to the hospital. 
It was the beginning of the end.

Two days before it had been Father's Day and Pop had been down on the floor with little Walter crawling around. I was impressed that a man weeks from turning 90 could still get on the floor like that. He had been out in the yard working, his pants hiked up around his skinny waist.

Soon he would be gone. There would be a vacuum.
A vacuum that still exists 7 years without him.

I miss his stories.
I miss his smell.
I miss his squishy hands.

Honestly, it still baffles me that after 7 years the missing him hasn't really faded.

February 20

There are 46 years between February 20, 1972 and February 20, 2018.

On these dates, I lost both my grandmoms. One I never knew, who died 3 months before my parents got married. And the one I always knew and have had to figure out how to live without.

No more dinner prep phone calls to ask a question.
No more "I am out taking a walk" phone calls to catch up on the days.
No more sitting together to watch a Hallmark movie.
No more cards in the mail.

But also no more pain.
No more feeling useless or bored.

But why the same day?
Why did my mom lose both her mom and her mother-in-law on the same date?
Why did I lose both of my Grams on the same date?

Just irony?
A bittersweet comfort?
A keen way to remember them both?

It's a date I won't forget.


Today, it has been 6 months since February 20, 2018 and the urge to pick up a phone is still there.

Floodgates

It's been so long since I wrote anything I kind of feel like the floodgates may break open and wash out everything in it path.  I am not sure if that will be a good thing or a bad.

I guess it depends on who or what is in the way.

But I have to do something.

I have to write something.

Because I am loosing myself,

I feel myself fading away like a fire left unattended.

Christmas Letter 2017

Dear Family and Friends, 

I know many of you enjoy hearing our “Higgins Highlights”, so I will indulge you just a little and maybe it will fill your heart...

We are fast approaching 2 years living in the Old Stone House.  We still love it. We also discovered the house is much older than thought -1850. So it was standing while the Civil War raged and the Confederates marched nearby on their way to York and then Gettysburg.

Big Walter is chipping away at our new basement bathroom, we now have a shower that doesn’t leak! We singlehandedly liquidated Home Depot’s stash of clearance trees. We are hopeful the spring will unfold happy new crabapples and willow oaks. We made a trip to Little Rock this summer. I think we picked the hottest week of the summer to go but everyone had a good visit and no one got carsick!

Walter is in 2^nd grade. Over the past year he has become quite a proficient reader. He burns the midnight oil pouring over Star Wars books and whatever else he has brought home from the library. Rosie is in Kindergarten. She is breezing through her math book; I can hardly keep up with her. They both have been learning about American history and all the States and Capitals. We are proud of what they have retained. The two of them (I can hear them now) always play together. A princess drives a tank or Hess truck. Stuffed animals prepare for space travel or to visit Doc McStuffins. Somehow they mesh each other’s favorite toys to play together.

Little Walter, I think, has won over Rose’s heart for the singer Keith Green. Some of you will ask who is Keith Green? Keith Green was a Christian singer or par and friends with Bob Dylan. (A name you are more likely to know.) He was a prolific musician and songwriter in the 70s and early 80s. He wrote a treasure trove of worship songs. I read an autobiography about him many years ago and it literally transformed my life. So every once in awhile, usually around Easter, I pull out Keith Green. Walter just grew to love Keith Green’s music. He has many songs memorized. Rosie not so much, she would groan. But over the last couple weeks her tune has changed. I catch her singing along. She seems to love his music now. Keith Green died in a plane crash 35 years ago but what a legacy he left! His music is played in station wagons & minivans across America and churches throughout the world. YouTube is full of him. People are still listening and having their hearts changed, transformed and renewed. I am thankful my kids are among them.

Our real highlights are the little lights that shine in the hearts of our children as they play together. They shine when life looks a little dim and remind us as they sing along with Keith, “Oh Lord Your are Beautiful”, “There is a Redeemer” and “You Put this Love in My Heart” and these are all messages that are as timeless today as they were in 1979 and are the same truths that have been sung to a different tunes over the past 2000 years…

We wish you a Merry Christmas and a Happy 2018 and may your heart be full of His Beauty and Love because -There is a Redeemer.

Blessings,

Walter, Liz, Walter and Rose