Kongslie Words of Encouragement

 After while you learn the subtle difference between holding a hand and chaining a soul, and you learn that love doesn't mean leaning and company, that it doesn't mean security.

And you learn that kisses aren't contracts and presents aren't promises.

And you learn to accept your defeats with your head up and your eyes open, with the grace of an adult, not the grief of a child.

And you learn to build your roads today because tomorrow's ground is too uncertain for plans.

After a while you learn that even sunshine burns if you get too much, so plant your own garden and decorate your own soul, instead of waiting for someone to bring you flowers.

And you learn that you really can endure....that you really are strong...and you really do have worth

A letter my grandfather sent to my great aunt.

 

                                            Meadow, N D

                                             March 7, 1901

Johanna Kongslie

We must not hope to be mowers

And to gather the ripe golden ears

Unless we have first been the sowers

And watered the flowers with tears. 

It is not just as we take it

This wonderful world of ours

Life's field will yield as we make it

A harvest of thorns or of flowers.

                                     Yours truly

                                      Thorvald Kongslie

Heidi's babies are sick, her babies, Gabby and Anna are sick,  but there's a lot of love to spread around.  I need to make a correction there.  We don't spread around the love, loving itself is a multiplier.  

Anyway, seeing those napping babies brought back a fond memory.

Mom was in the hospital waiting for Diane to be born.  

Dad was home taking care of 5 sick kids.  Juanita, 9,  had rheumatic fever, the rest of us, 4-7 were sprawled out in the living romm with some common childhood disease.

At some point my father passes through the living room carrying the dishpan which is what my mother used to mix the bread dough.  He had flour in his hair and flour in his mustache.  He was completely dusted in flour. He had a desperate look on his face,  Yes.  The man who built mountains was in despair. 

He carried the mess to Juanita in the bedroom.  "Vat is dis?  Vat do I do now?"