My beautiful 4-year-old appeared at my side today. She was quiet and a little “reserved,” not her usual “I’M HERE” self. As I looked into her gorgeous blue-green eyes, my heart dropped when she said quietly, “I miss Nanny.”

Nanny is my aunt and dearest friend, Jan. All the little ones in our family have called her Nanny from way back. It started with her nephew that could not say the “J” sound so he called her Nan. It stuck and we all started calling her that, me included. She’s been a part of my heart as far back as I can remember. She lived with my family off and on during my childhood and young adulthood. She became my best friend as I grew into womanhood, and we fell in love together, getting married one year apart. Since she was only 12 years older than me, we always considered ourselves sisters in our hearts.

My heart dropped because Nanny is no longer with us. She left this world almost one year ago on a bright and cold Resurrection Morning. Exactly five weeks earlier, she was diagnosed with the most aggressive form of brain tumor there is, GBM. We barely had time to express her importance to us before she was “different” and not completely aware of her circumstances. The pressure from the GBM made surgery an immediate option. However, the surgery took a little bit of Nanny away. It took her verbal skills and her large motor skills. She barely spoke again. My family brought her home after four weeks at MD Anderson in Houston.

>Nanny was surrounded by people that loved her beyond words. She was my mother’s sister, and along with my mother, we had promised Jan in one of her last lucid moments that we would take care of her, no matter what that meant and for however long she was with us. Surgery did not change the diagnosis she was given, we were just buying time with this woman we loved.

With much begging, pleading, bargaining and prayer, we convinced her husband that we would assume her care when she returned to our hometown. My mother offered her home as Jan’s sanctuary and our family rallied to share care-taking duties. It was no small feat to arrange a hospital bed, shower chair, nurse visits, etc. We did it because we wanted to do it. We did it because she deserved our love. We did it because it was Nanny. She was at the hospital when I gave birth. She was my labor coach with my fourth child. She watched her come into the world and told many people what a life-changing experience it was for her to have seen the circle of life. . She was at the bedside of her father when he went into Glory and was at my side when a new life took breath. My Mom lives just a short 5-minutes from me. We made every effort to be there as often as possible when Nanny came home. Upon her arrival, I realized just how different she was. Her ability to speak was severely impaired. She would sometimes try very hard to express herself verbally. More often than not, she wouldn’t even try. My heart broke in a million pieces when I realized our daily phone conversations would never happen again. I’d never hear her trademark, “Helllloooo.” on the other end of the line. My children would never be able to dial her number to share their most recent accomplishment and hear her excited cheers and whistles. That Nan was gone.

However, there were glimpses of Nan still there in her earthly body. My Nan is known far and wide for her endless smile. It is the kind of smile that literally makes you take a deep breath and sigh.

She was a beautiful person, inside and out, and that never changed. You knew she recognized you when you arrived to visit if she greeted you with her blinding smile. She couldn’t “talk” to you with words, but her smile said it all.

Her gestures and little idiosyncrasies were still there. It was so amazing to see some of her quirks still surface. Like the way she would purse her lips and tap her mouth with her forefinger when trying to process something. It was comical to see Nan give the “evil eye” to her younger sister, Becky, when Becky would try to convince her to do something she didn’t want to do, like take the medication she needed.

We would laugh and then cry when my Mom would bring her something to eat that we all knew was a favorite. Nan would take her fork in her left hand, snag a bite and then wave the fork in the air while declaring, “Mm, mm, mmm, mmm, mmmm.” Yes, Nan was still in there. Shortly after arriving at my Mom’s home, we began to suspect that Nan was having mini-seizures. The surgery left her without the ability or desire to get out of bed or “do” anything. She was content to just lie there and watch everything happening around her. How much of it she understood, we don’t know. However, just days into her return, she began to sleep more and more. She would curl into the fetal position and we would notice her hand curl up and begin to twitch. These were all signs of more pressure in her brain. The tumor was already growing back after just four weeks.

On Thursday night, my Mom called me with panic in her voice. Nan had been unresponsive for hours. They needed her to awaken enough to take the medicine that we hoped was controlling some of the seizures. I had convinced her to take the meds in the past, so I quickly drove to over to help. I was not prepared for what I encountered.

Nan was no longer “there.” She was completely curled up and twitching constantly. Her hand was gnarled and stiff. She was having multiple seizures. We knew we could not help her. We had no pain meds, nothing to ease her discomfort. She had only been home a week. The visiting nurse had only come one time.

We called for an ambulance to take her to the hospital and we awaited news from the doctors. It was not good news. The tumor was re-growing at an alarming rate. The pressure it put on her brain was indeed causing seizures. They were able to relieve some pressure with steroids and the doctor said they would keep her over the weekend. That served as another miracle in our lives.

The steroids relieved enough pressure that Nan was “back” on Saturday. She was smiling, eating, happy. She had a steady stream of visitors, family and friends. She seemed to enjoy the attention and the love. She basked in the warmth of it all. My cousin took a video on her cell phone of Nan being silly with a puppet. We hoped for many days like that day.

The next morning, Easter Sunday, the hospital called my uncle to tell him he needed to come immediately. He arrived moments after she broke free from her earthly body and met her Savior face to face. She slipped these mortal bonds in her sleep and was greeted by her father and her brother, along with a multitude of family that had already gone before her.

I lost my best friend that day. I lost my second sister. I lost my confidant and my heart. I thought I’d never live through it. And today, my little princess brought it all to the surface with her quiet declaration, “I miss Nanny.”

I listened as she asked her deepest questions. “Why did Nanny have to die? Why did God want her to go to Heaven? I don’t want to die. Will we die and go to Heaven too?”

I answered as best I could. I didn’t know why Nanny had to die. I didn’t want her to die either, but we will all go to Heaven one day. I didn’t know when, but I know that Heaven is a wonderful, beautiful place where we will live with Jesus.

Easter has always been special, but it is different now. It represents the resurrection of my Lord and Savior. It represents rebirth and renewal. And now it marks the day when my Nan met our Lord, flashed Him her unforgettable smile, and entered into the Glory He prepared for her.

This Easter, I will also say like my precious little one says, “I miss Nanny.”

What’s Mine is Yours, and Yours, and Yours, Yours, and Yours too!
February 23, 2008

When I got married, there was a bit of “culture” shock for me when it came to sharing. I was brought up in a very sharing household. Of course, back then we didn’t think of it as sharing. We just did it…sometimes out of necessity, sometimes just because. We shared food, cups, clothes, books, brushes (not tooth). My mom never kept things as “just hers.” We tasted things off of each other’s plates, took bites of each other’s desserts. Silly me, I thought all families were like this…until I got married.

My husband was NOT brought up sharing food. This was apparent on our honeymoon. He ate the last fry, without offering it or even THINKING about offering it. I couldn’t believe it. He couldn’t believe it mattered. We’ve grown considerably since that fateful fry.

In fact, I think he has grown more like my way of sharing. He doesn’t freak out if someone wants a bite of his stuff. He doesn’t mind if someone just wants a taste of something he has to see if they like it. He even offers the last fry every single time now.

Herein lies the rub…I’ve discovered that there are some things I DON’T like to share. Yet, it appears, in my house anyway, that whatever is mine is yours, times five.

Case in point: Mom’s Water Cup.

I have a big pink water cup. Nothing fancy, got it at Stuff-Mart a few years ago. It holds 32 ounces of water, so it helps me make sure to drink lots of water during the day. I put a straw in it and fill it up with crushed ice and cold water. I refill it a few times during the day as needed. I try to drink 2-3 of them each day. Like I said, it isn’t anything spectacular, but everyone knows it is Mom’s Water Cup. Well, I’d like to think it was mine.

As soon as I began using my pink water cup, all of those special people that live in the house with me decided they needed a water cup too. So I bought other big tall things for their water. I bought red ones and blue ones and green ones. I even tried the Bubba Mini-kegs with flexible straws. Those would be great, I thought. They’ll love them. Yeah, right.

Instead, they would fill up their great big water containers…and drink out of mine. From dh down to the littlest one, they all prefer Mom’s Water Cup.

When my husband comes in from mowing the grass, what does he reach for to quench his parched throat? Yep, you got it.

When my #1 finishes exercising and needs a quick sip of something cool, for what does she reach? Yep, her too.

My littlest one, not yet two years old, will stand at the counter and point and grunt. Sigh, I know what she wants. Nothing else will do. I take the cup from the counter and watch as she motions for me to place it on the floor so she can sit and sip, drinking in the special water. Nothing else will suffice.

I’ve asked them all what makes the water in my cup so different than, say, the water in all of their cups. I remind them that it all comes from the same source. The ice is from the same maker. The straws come from the same package. Really, it is the same.

They are not convinced. My husband says it’s colder. My daughter says it tastes better. My two middles have their own reasons. My youngest, well, she just points to the floor for me to put the cup down on her level so she can drink deeply and sigh.

I like to think that maybe Mom’s Water Cup is more special because, well, it’s Mom’s. And all the sweetness that is Mom rubs off on the cup, making it a tangible source of love and nourishment…but in truth, it’s just because I’ve made sharing a family affair, and now I get to reap the blessings…and the consequences of my own actions.

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Jell-O, Popsicles and Colonoscopies
February 10, 2008

I’ve officially reached the age of enduring those fun, routine tests that seemed so far off just a few years ago…those tests like mammograms and colonoscopies. However, in the last six months, I’ve had the joy of experiencing both of them. One because every woman should have it when they turn 40; the other because of a family history that requires early testing.

Now for most people, having a colonoscopy and the joy the prep brings, are a very personal thing. However, when you are a stay-at-home mom to four kids that are with you all day, there is nothing personal. Nothing at all.

The pre-prep trip to the store included a few purchases I don’t usually make. Purchases like Jell-O, popsicles and special flavored waters. You know, things that are supposed to make the whole liquid diet thing easier to endure. I never knew that it would not only make my day easier, but my children happy campers!

When I began the prep, I explained that the two pitchers in the refrigerator were for Mom. No one else could have them. I would make them their own pitcher of lemonade. No problem, they understood. They were a little perplexed as to why I had to drink a big glass of them every 15 minutes for two hours, but I explained the medicine in them was necessary for the test I was having done.

By late afternoon, I had had enough of drinking. I normally drink a great deal of water anyway, but not eight ounces every 15 minutes. I decided I’d try something else… popsicles. I don’t even really like popsicles, but after not having anything to chew since dinner the night before, I was game for anything.

When I walked out on the back porch with a popsicle for everyone, the dancing started. And no, it wasn’t me, yet. Instead, my 4-year-old looked at me with her beautiful wide eyes and asked, “Mom, did you buy popsicles?”

Yes, I responded, and now I am sharing them with you.

“Thank you,” she whispered…Gee, I thought, perhaps I’ve deprived her of this gift for too long. :)

After eating my popsicle and starting my own dance, I tried to find something else that might ease the gnawing and gurgling going on inside. I decided to make Jell-O. Now for my kids, the only time they see Jell-O is during our occasional trip to a local Chinese buffet with my parents. On the dessert bar, there is always a pan of some brightly colored gelatin blocks. Said 4-year-old always asks for some and is obliged. Little did she know that her mother had some of the mystery jiggling stuff setting in the refrigerator.

I drained a can of chicken noodle soup for my “dinner.” Again, happy dancers vied for the noodles left over. (I must state for the record that my 13-year-old never danced for any of these things. I would be remiss in allowing anyone to think that.) In fact, one of my 2-year-old’s favorite words is noodle…so she sang that song for every bite. I, on the other hand, gagged on the first spoonful of broth and retreated to the privacy of the other room while they ate.

Before bedtime at our house, we have a ritual of a midnight snack. It isn’t really served at midnight, but #1 gave any bedtime snack that title after reading a book about a bear and his dad having such a snack. The name stuck. That night, life gave my 4-year-old a true gift in the bowl of brightly colored yellow jiggly Jell-O that found its way onto the table in her pink bowl. She was overjoyed. She ate it quickly. Then she asked for the rest of everyone else’s. And ate that too. She sighed and announced, “I love Jell-O.” So we gathered.

The test was done. Everything was fine. I made homemade pizza the next night. Things went back to normal. But my first colonoscopy will forever be accompanied by the memories of Jell-O and popsicles that I didn’t eat.

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Sickness In the House
January 31, 2008

Our house is under another attack of illness. We are not “sickly” people. In fact, there are months and months that go by without any illness save the common cold. However, the problem lies in the number of people that are at jeopardy of getting sick if just one of us succumbs to some virus. There are six of us…and if we get something one by one, it takes a long time to work through even the slightest of bugs.

My son is a very thin and wiry little guy. I always get a little worried when he gets some kind of virus because he literally has NO extra to lose anywhere. It’s nothing for him to drop five pounds due to illness and look like a walking skeleton pretty quickly. My 4-year-old is the Fever Queen. Even if no one else runs a temperature, she will do it for everyone. Her fevers come on quickly, rise very high and unfortunately, linger a little too long.

Wouldn’t you know it, these are the two that are sick right now. A visit to the doctor confirmed it is a virus and not strep or the flu. And my son is already feeling better after just 48 hours, but there are still four other people at risk for catching this yucky bug.

My precious 4 y.o. has literally slept today away. She started running a temp last night, slept all night except for sips of water and medicine, and then did the same today. I did see her smile a few times, so I know she’ll be okay, but it still weighs heavy on my mommy’s heart.

Waking numerous times a night to check on my charges, I wonder how our Heavenly Father feels when we are sick. If I love my children this much, and I know how much He loves them, His concern must completely eclipse mine in quantity and depth. Here are the very ones He sent His Son to die for, lying on their sick bed, Mom and Dad praying constantly for relief and healing…and He stands above us all, loving them even more.

It is very hard when my children are sick for me to keep fear at bay. My nature is to worry, but illness brings out the worst in my nature. I fret. I pray. I check on them over and over again. I never want to let them out of my sight for very long. And I worry about the ones that aren’t sick yet…will they get sick? Will my husband or I get sick? The list goes on and on.

With such overwhelming emotions crashing over me, the only solace I find is in Him. The doctor assures me it will pass. My husband assures me it will pass. In my mind, I know it will pass. But it is the voice of the Lord in which I take refuge.

“For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you a hope and a future.” ~Jeremiah 29:11

“If you listen to the voice of the Lord your God and do what is right in His eyes, if you pay attention to His commands and keep all His decrees, I will not bring on you any of the diseases I brought on the Egyptians, for I am the Lord, who heals you.” ~Exodus 15:26

“But for you who revere my name, the sun of righteousness will rise with healing in its wings. And you will go out and leap like calves released from the stall.” ~Malachi 4:2

“Praise the Lord, O my soul; all my inmost being, praise His holy name. Praise the Lord, O my soul, and forget not all His benefits--who forgives all your sins and heals all your diseases…” ~Psalm 103:1-3

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The Things We do For Love
January 13, 2008

Keeping my four kids healthy and happy are high on the list of my Mommy Priorities. I do all I can to ensure that they are well-fed, clean, get plenty of sleep, wash their hands frequently…the list goes on and on. When No. 4 was born, I entered a new realm of things we do for love…or in her case…for her special friend we lovingly call Baby Doll.

None of my previous three had a particular attachment to anything but Mommy. I tried to offer them all a special friend or blanket from the time they were born. Nope. No doing. They all just preferred Mommy. Don’t get me wrong, No. 4 still prefers Mommy over her special friend, but sometimes the choice is hard for her to make.

Her special friend became very special to her by the time she was about 9 months old. We were in the habit of offering her a baby to nap with, hold and love. We tried many of the thousands we already owned (after all, she does have three older siblings) and the new ones we purchased after her birth. It was a fun and happy day for all when she finally settled on the Chosen One. Surprisingly, it wasn’t one of the newer friends. It was her next-in-line older sister’s former baby. The one we bought when No. 3 was born. The one that was purchased in 2003 at an unmentioned MAJOR toy chain. The one that originally cost $2.99. Here in lies the story of what I’ve done for love.

When I realized that No. 4 was really attached to this new friend, I began thinking ahead. Sorry, but it is a personality trait that is both a blessing a curse. I wondered what would happen if, horror of horrors, we lost Baby Doll. I had followed a saga online about another mom’s quest to find a replacement for her son’s only lovey.

I returned to said MAJOR toy store and asked for a doll JUST LIKE THIS ONE (as I held the much loved lovey up for the totally uninterested employee). She pointed to the place in the store where dolls were sold and told me I could look there, but she had never seen one. Of course not, what was I thinking? It only had the name of the store on the tush tag. Why would she have ever seen it before? Silly mom of 4. There were no such Baby Dolls with pink textured jammies and bunny slippers and perfectly braided brunette hair.

That is really where the quest began. I became obsessed with finding another Baby Doll, or at least an acceptable replacement. Everytime we traveled and there was such a store, I stopped and brought in the bedraggled pink baby. Please, help me find one just like this…alas, they are not to be found. From Louisiana to Tennessee, I stopped every time I saw the long-necked creature that they use to draw you to their stores.

When I realized this hunt might be in vain, I wondered if I could find something close enough for her to also love. I wondered if it was the baby she loved, or the texture, the size, the tush tag she played with…what was it? I zeroed in on the tag, since my No. 1 was also a tag lover. I researched and Googled and discovered the new Taggie craze. I loved the way they looked. Just what we needed, TAGS.

So, I ordered a handmade blanket off of eBay that contains tags all the way around. However, just in case she didn’t like the flannel one, I ordered a silky one too. Two blankets edged in tags. How lovely.

She hated them. Looked at them, touched them, and threw them down never to be touched again.

Maybe they weren’t interesting enough. I ordered a set of Taggie books with a variety of colors and textures…and tags.

Sigh. No go.

Okay, so maybe it is because her Baby Doll has braids. And it is pink. The search continues. I bought every little soft doll there is out there. The name brand ones that had a little hair peeking out…but no. The ones with little tags…no. The ones with the same sounding rattle inside…no.

In desperation, I began to do a daily search on the web for ESPECIALLY BABY DOLL BRAIDS BUNNY SLIPPERS.

Low and behold, there were other crazy lovey-searching Mommies out there like me. How do I know? Because there were eBay sellers hawking my No. 4’s Baby Doll as hard to find, and of course, no longer $2.99.

I cornered my dh one night and told him my Baby Doll searching saga. He looked a little perplexed. We have a million baby dolls. Why can’t she just have one of those? I told him to go ahead and give her one of the cheap unlovable imitations. He, too, was amused when she would shake it, look at it, then throw it down on the floor as she retrieved her one true lovey.

I told him I had to buy a replacement. I HAD to do it now before some other searcher snatched up the one I found on eBay. With his approval and not to subtle chuckle, I bid and bought Baby Doll #2. You would think this would end my tale of love, but not a chance. It has now become a two-year and four baby doll quest.

It is now the first thing I search for on eBay. However, I’ve learned to play their little game. I know now that the blonde baby dolls are much easier to find, thus they are priced lower.

I must find the brunettes. They MUST be in like new condition (since I already have two of them loved flat). They MUST have the tush tag in place. (Some barbarian baby doll owners actually remove this very important part of the treasure. How dare they?)

And finally, she must have her braids intact, unlike these free-loving frizzy heads that, I am sure, did not ask for the new hair style. It must be that their former owners read Curly Girls and felt they must free the inner curly girl in this little pink stuffed lovey.

And finally, I will not pay more than $15 total for our new friends. That includes shipping and handling. You may be surprised, like I was, to find many people asking upwards of $23.99 for these loveys. Shocking, I know. Don’t they realize a good night’s sleep hangs in the balance?

To date, we have four Baby Dolls. My No. 4 is so attached to Baby Doll that all we have to do is shake her (the doll, not No. 4) and her thumb goes in the mouth and she reaches out blindly for her special friend. We have to hide the other three or she would carry all of them around all the time. It’s great to be able to rotate them when the presently-being-loved one is in need of a good wash. However, I have to hide them while they are drying or she will grab it from the utility room and make off with her like a bandit. I know I will continue to hunt for and buy more.

For my children’s pictures, I bring my own props so that they best represent what my children are all about at that age. For her 18-month picture, I brought our Baby Doll cache. Only three at that time, she smiled and hugged them closely, full of love for her special friends, never realizing just how far Mommy will go for the love of a lovey.

Wanna see more of these loveys?

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Of MP3s, Legos and Baby Dolls

January 1, 2008

A New Year has found me once again, despite my best attempts at hiding from it. I don’t know what it is about a New Year that I find so daunting. Unlike so many people that revel in the idea of a fresh start, a clean slate, a new beginning…I just don’t enjoy the start of another cycle.

It is so interesting to me that changing to a new calendar brings with it such a sense of mourning. Even now as I type this, my eyes are filling with tears and my heart is heavy. I don’t enjoy the passage of time. I never have. I don’t like facing my inevitable mortality in the months of that new calendar. The loss I feel for the previous year’s memories and events is akin to a true death.

I long for time to stand still. I wish for today to last forever. In my mind, I plead for my children to stay children forever; for my parents to remain alive and well; for my dear knight, my partner, and my love…that he would remain young and full of energy just as I see him now.

For myself, I wish for this season to remain. I dream of an eternity filled with MP3s, Legos and baby dolls. I cherish the stages that each of my children are at right now, in this moment, and I wish that time would freeze. For in these stages, I find myself fulfilled, needed and growing. They remind me of the path I’ve followed to this place in time that will quickly be the past.

In my teen maiden, I see less and less of the little girl I bore so many short years ago. She slowly been replaced with this beauty that I sometimes don’t recognize. The relationship we share is beautiful beyond words and I can only pray it remains this way for the rest of our lives. Her focus on and the desire to be a Godly woman so far exceeds the goals I had at such a tender age. She is a jewel and I am so humbled to have her call me Mom…and friend.

Moms of young maidens, I want to encourage you to protect, nurture and nourish the relationship you have with your daughter. Take the time to strengthen the ties that bind your hearts together. Cook together, shop together, pray together, laugh and cry together. Earn her trust and become her confidant. Give her no reason to doubt your unwavering faithfulness to her heart. Help her find her gifts and talents, and then be active in helping her develop them for God’s glory. Be willing to learn about new things…even if, at first glance, they do not interest you. There is no gift more precious than that of the friendship of your daughter.

With my only son, I am still enjoying the season of being a mom of a little guy. I get to watch him grow taller overnight, or outgrow shoes he has never had a chance to wear! I am blessed to still have him hold my hand in public, unfazed by the world’s often abysmal expectations for little men (for that is what he is, a little man). It is my delight to see him discover a new gift, a new-to-him ability he didn’t know he possessed. The music of his voice still beckons me to come and talk awhile in the quiet of his room. He desires my approval and he needs my affirmation.

He cannot remember a time when I did not pray for him to grow into a fine young man of God. He knows no other desire from my heart but to see him love the Lord with his whole heart all the days of his life. My only son, he holds a very dear place in my heart, much like this quote from Quaker Summer by Lisa Samson, “Knowing I wanted a dozen, God only blessed me with one. In a kingdom of children He might have given me, He was merciful enough to give me the prince.”

God allows me to hear him sing, chatter and play the piano. I am privileged to watch him become more of the little man he was created to be. I know more about knights and light sabers and Lego creations than ever thought possible. Yet, I feel my heart melt when he runs before me to make sure I never open my own door in his presence. He is a prince in the making. This little Page will be a Squire, then a full-fledged Knight one day. How much the Father must love me to entrust this little guy to me.

In the company of my contemporaries with children the ages of my eldest two, I am often a misfit. I have my feet firmly planted in two very different realms of motherhood. As I watch my older children become young adults, I straddle the minefield of MP3s and diaper changes. I am simultaneously tackling high school lit and 100 EZ Lessons. I help one maiden learn how to apply makeup with a light touch while teaching another one how to button and zip and eventually tie. I drive to numerous orthodontist appointments for two, all the while brushing still newly erupting baby teeth, packing Ziploc bags of Cheerios, and making sure the stroller is in the back of the SUV.

I spend hours helping one young lady find modest clothing while I help two other younger ladies dress their baby dolls. I flat iron hair and skirts while coaxing still-fine baby hair into a fountain on top of a freshly washed head. How did I get to be so blessed?

As I walk this tightrope between mothering the “older” and the “younger” at the same time, I often remind myself that as each year passes and each season leads from one into another, so do these seasons of my life. Soon I will not have two little ones. One day, I’ll have three…then four…older ones. I will be walking into an entirely new game, one that requires me to learn new rules, new game plans, new challenges. When I get there, I will miss this time. I will yearn for the simplicity that was MP3s, Legos and baby dolls.


Ecclesiates 3

¹ There is a time for everything,
and a season for every activity under heaven:
² a time to be born and a time to die,
a time to plant and a time to uproot,
³ a time to kill and a time to heal,
a time to tear down and a time to build,
⁴ a time to weep and a time to laugh,
a time to mourn and a time to dance,
⁵ a time to scatter stones and a time to gather them,
a time to embrace and a time to refrain,
⁶ a time to search and a time to give up,
a time to keep and a time to throw away,
⁷ a time to tear and a time to mend,
a time to be silent and a time to speak,
⁸ a time to love and a time to hate,
a time for war and a time for peace.