RECOLLECTIONS & A GLIMPSE INSIDE A MARSH FAMILY CHRISTMAS

He always joined us for Christmas Morning for as long as I could remember. My grandfather, Dappie, would arrive shortly after we had opened stockings and we would eat breakfast together. This year, he didn't join us for Christmas Morning. There was a silence. A calmness over that morning this year, when Jane arrived alone, eager to carry on and not sink too deep into sorrow on such a happy day. He had passed only days earlier. I was able to take the last photo of him on earth. At least, I think it was the last one. On Thanksgiving.

When I think of all that Dappie was, I think he could be summed up in many many words. But somehow, the Fruits of the Spirit seems most apt. Dappie loved, he was joyful, he held the Great peace inside him—knowing that his Lord would guide him and hold him and bring him Home one day, he was incredibly patient, kind and respectful, he spread his generosity and goodness with others, he was faithful—not only to others, but to his God, he was gentle—silent when he needed to be, and he exhibited self-control that is to be admired.  

Dear one, God's timing is perfect. Sometimes it doesn't feel like it, but it is. God doesn't run on our timing and what we think might work best for us. He knows what's best for us.  Sometimes, the Lord takes things away from us sooner than we would like. And other times, He plans things, in the best possible way, so that when we look back, we go: "Huh . . . I see what you did there, God."

Richard Marsh was a person that will be absent in my years to come and the years to come of others that knew him and loved him. But that spot where Dappie would be, isn't a dark sad empty spot. It's a joyful empty spot (if that makes any sense at all?) of thankfulness for a God-given life well spent and lived faithfully through. And now, he receives his reward . . .

Paradise.

Jane arrived Christmas morning, we ate breakfast like we usually do, Dad dusted off his German beer mugs that he pulled out annually to have a pint with his father, and we opened gifts together as a family—joyful and thankful for the life of one that we loved, and the birth of Christ, the one that brought that loved one Home.

--Hudson

ENGLAND PHOTOS - PART ONE

The Team

• Leader - Sean (Seen or Seany-bon) 

  

• Leader - Malissa (Mum or Mama Files)

       

• Joey

      

• Ben

       

• Kate 

       

• Julia

       

• Olivia 

        

• Emma

       

• Hudson 

    

• Evan

       

• Caitlyn

• Blair

The Trip

It took Blair for friggin ever to eat the pretzel on the way to the airport. Also, Joey.

Waiting for our plane in the Philly Airport, getting our last taste of american food before the British Invasion.

Keep it class Emma

Hanging in Heathrow

The hotel rooms that we stayed in included: 

-Beds that were a plank of wood.

-Televisions that didn't work.

-See through showers.

-Strange pictures of grass.

-Only one bed.

-Windows that are chained shut.

-And no room to put anything—at all.

-Also, this picture is the actual size of the room.

    ...But I'm not complaining. 

The hotel rooms that we stayed in included:

-beds that were a plank of wood

-televisions that didn't work

-see-through showers

-strange pictures of grass

-only one bed (for two people)

-windows that were chained shut

-and no room to put anything . . . at all

-also this picture is the actual size of the room

. . . but I'm not complaining.

View from the room included views of British rooftops and chimneys.

Swamp Forest in Papua

Arnold Böcklin - Das Irrlicht, 1882

The Pond

This week my family and I, and a friend, fixed-up a pond on our property. My great-grandfather built the tudor-style home we live in, and designed the grounds as well -- he even designed the mailbox. All over our land are patches of bamboo (that he planted), walls, statues, rocks he had placed, and ponds. One of which was over-grown and had fallen down a bit. So we turned on some tunes, and all of us jumped in, starting to pull ivy and thorns out, rake leaves, and discover pieces of rock from the wall. 

I don't like to wear gloves when I work outside. I like to feel the grit in between the cracks in my hands. The dirt under my finger-nails. The vines sliding along my palms as I pull them from the Earth. 

My great-grandfather may have built the pond, and he may be gone, but his blood is in me, and my siblings, and my mom. And his great-grandchildren were down in his pond on that Thursday, pulling it back from the vines that entangled it. 

Soon, maybe we'll be able to re-fill it. Swim in it maybe? Play music in it? Eat food in it? Who knows? So many possibilities from an empty hole in the ground.

--Hudson