These familiar tracks represent home to me. They are the last barrier I drive over every time I turn down my mom and dad's country road. They've been crossed countless times in my life.
When I was in high school the unthinkable happened. A man and his son were tragically killed here. When I heard the details I was heartbroken. They were the family that lived right there. The house that sat not even a quarter of a mile down the road from the tracks. The mom was home and heard it all. It broke my heart to think of her listening to the sound of that fatal crash...of her loved ones lives being taken. It haunted me for the longest time. I would drive by her house and wonder how she went on. How could she still live there? How could she stand hearing the trains rumble past? I prayed for her, even though I didn't know her. I felt her pain. I relived that scene like it was mine.
Another accident happened to our next door neighbor. A drunk driver crashed into our neighbor's car at a rural intersection. His elderly mom was with him. Sweet Dorothy. I knew her. He was like another dad to me. She died instantly, he was left altered...paralyzed forever. I'm not sure why these memories surfaced when I was home recently. I certainly didn't want to be reminded of those painful things, but every time I drove over the tracks...every time I crossed that intersection the heavy memories came.
When these accidents happened I was young...in high school. My whole life seemed sprawled ahead of me. I had no comprehension of true pain. No one close to me had ever been taken, so I didn't really fully understand what they were going through. Then honey's dad passed years later and that pain of loss became real. Life with it's unexpected hits.
I have no idea why I feel compelled to share this, or what I'm really trying to say. All I know is that personally the only way we were able to move forward in peace was with the Lord. We were numb...bruised to the core. We lay broken at his feet, and just gave it over to him, waiting for normalcy to return. Eventually the excruciating pain subsided, but the hole of missing him will always there. We never forget our loved ones. We never really are the same, but somehow miraculously, God fills in the hurt. He carries us even when we can't comprehend how we'll go on. He paves the way for a new day, and ultimately hope is restored. Life does go on.
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This week's recipe is another dessert. I know! What's wrong with me?? I have a very fond memory of making kick the can ice cream when I went camping once as a child. It was so much fun I knew I wanted to try it with my own girls one day. So when I saw this handy dandy ice cream maker ball at an antique store in IL I knew it was fitting in my suitcase one way or another;) ***To make it without the ball you will need a large coffee can and another that will fit inside of it.
Ingredients for Basic Vanilla Ice Cream:
1 quart of Cream or half and half.
**I made it with the half and half and it didn't set up real good. USE CREAM.
1 tablespoon vanilla
3/4 cup + 2 tablespoons sugar
Mix together all the ingredients and place in the smaller emptied coffee can. Tape it up really good with duct tape and then place in the larger can layering 1 cup rock salt and ice. Tape up really really good and then go to town. Kick that sucker all over the yard. Toss it back and forth. Have your honey do a little dance with it. Just keep it moving for about 20 minutes. It hurts to kick it so make sure you are wearing sturdy shoes. Have fun.
Link up friends. Let's feed our families:)
Have a blessed day.
651. freedom
652. restoration
653. a God that carries me
654. days off with honey home
655. memories that remind me of His faithfulness
