Now You See Them…

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Following last week’s rain several dark clouds scuttled across the sky and I caught these at sunset.  At first it looked as if smoke were dripping from the sky but then I saw the dogs!  Can you see the little Yorkie in the forefront bounding upward, facing right, and the fluffy Cockapoo titled downward just behind him?  Such rascals! They remind me of the mega-balloons in the Macy’s Thanksgiving Parade, floating just above street level.  Within moments they morphed into something shapeless that found no familiarity in my imagination.  I’m glad I captured these playful clouds, dark as they are, when I did!  

I got to thinking how life can be this way sometimes.  An event, tragedy, or change crosses our path and until we stare at it awhile, get used to what’s happening, we act in confusion, feel disconnected.  We look for something, anything, familiar to hold on to and grab it for all we’re worth, Somehow, with time, we adjust and then we change, morph, grow, and it becomes a part of us.  And that can make us stronger, or it can keep us broken.  It’s all in our perspective and who has our heart.  

Thank you, Lord Jesus, for having my heart, for rain, for puppies in the clouds, and for reminding me to ever keep my thoughts on You.     

Oozing Belgian Chocolate

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In about sixteen days, chocoholics in Arizona will swarm to the Glendale Chocolate Affaire 2013 to indulge in their weakness for all things chocolate.  And we’ll be there…our own 4′ tall chocolate fountain flowing with decadent Belgian chocolate!  We’ll sell skewers of goodies such as fresh (not frozen) bananas, custard filled cream puffs, rice crispy bars, and marshmallows dripping with this amazing chocolate along with our frozen chocolate dipped key lime pie that seems to sell out every year before the end of the three day event no matter how well we plan for it!  For the three days of the event, we’ll live, breathe, eat, drink and ooze Belgian chocolate – and love every minute of it!

We’ve been part of this event for about ten years and each year presents it’s own challenge and its own unique successes.

The first year we had skewers of strawberries that were to absolutely die for!  That year’s crop of berries were large, sweet and perfect with our Belgian chocolate!  The people who govern this event, however, said we couldn’t serve strawberries any more so…

Enter our Frozen chocolate-dipped key lime pie!  It is actual key lime pie made with Florida key limes and paired with our pure Belgian chocolate (and no, we do not add wax to our chocolate)…amazing taste!  One slice will usually indulge two people’s key lime and chocolate craving, and many of our repeat clients order enough to take home.  One client orders an entire pie and several others drive from all over Arizona just for this one item every year.  It makes us feel terrible if we’ve sold out, and we try very hard to please every customer.

We love watching the expressions on people’s faces change when they taste our chocolate…the richness seems to be an unexpected delight!

This year we’re buying lots more pies and we hope to be able to serve as many who want it.  It’s always a mystery…but a most delicious one.    

If you’re in the Phoenix area, come to Glendale on February 8, 9 and 10 and look for us!  We’ll be the folks with the huge fountain just waiting to serve our luxurious Belgian chocolate over your choice of sweets.  And if you want us to save you a slice of pie, better send me an email quick!    

 

Banana Bread Amaretto Trifle

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I love to cook, bake, and make beautiful yummy foods.  Probably more  so than anything, though, I like it to look amazing, tempting, delicious, and, well, as good as it tastes.  I also like easy, simple.  I rarely, as in almost never, make anything from scratch unless its my grandmother’s recipe for Southern Dressing or Oatmeal-Cocoa Drop cookies.  But I still love it to look like I’ve put oodles of effort and added my own special touches to serve up a wow.

I’m also not a huge sharer of my recipes.  They are my own special creations that have stood me well and helped support our family.  If I gave them to you, I’d have to do something from a Jason Bourne movie, and, really, that’s just not me.

So I’m sharing a not so secret creation that is beyond delicious and can be varied to fit with anything.  It’s one of my favorite things because it has 6 ingredients and I love things with only 6 ingredients especially if I’ve picked up everything that goes into it at the store and really have nothing to do but assemble it into something oh-la-la.  Here’s the list for Banana Bread Amaretto Trifle:  Banana Bread (or any loaf cake such as chocolate and vanilla pound cake or angel food cake), whipped cream, brown sugar, cinnamon, caramel sauce, and Amaretto.  This an adult dessert.  If you’re serving kids or don’t want to use liquor, use heated maple syrup…not the same but still good and kid-friendly.

To assemble, cut the banana bread in squares and put them in a mixing bowl then splash with Amaretto; let soak and then give them a toss or two.  In a trifle dish or other deep glass bowl, layer the spiked banana bread and top with caramel sauce and whipped cream, sprinkle on the sugar and cinnamon, and keep making these rich layers until the bowl is filled.  Top generously with whipped cream, caramel sauce, more brown sugar, and  cinnamon.  Not only does it look like you’ve made something special, but it tastes divine, and who knew store bought banana bread could be so dressy?  An alternate if dessert isn’t dessert without chocolate, skip the cinnamon and top layers with shaved dark chocolate, chocolate sauce, and dust with cocoa.  Stores great in the fridge and tastes even better the next day.

Send me a photo if someone makes this!

Fairy Tale Addiction

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Who knew fairy tales could be so, well, grown up?  During our trip to Alabama my nephew introduced us to Once Upon A Time by saying “Here, watch this but you can’t watch just one.  It’s addictive.”  (Thanks Alley Cat!)  And he was spot on.  We spent every spare moment we could watching this highly addictive show on Netflix and then HuluPlus to finish up so we’d be ready for tomorrow night’s episode!  When I say every spare moment, I mean during the time we were supposed to be sleeping, during the time we were supposed to be packing, and during the time we were waiting at airports.   Hannah and I were watching the first night we watched until 2 or 3 in the morning.  The next day she jumped ahead of me and I had to lose sleep to catch up!   The night before our trip I caught some shut-eye while she sped ahead so that when we were waiting at the airport I could catch up to her.  It has been ages since I’ve followed any TV show like this.  And that made me wonder why.

The writers have captured our childhood dreams of defeating evil and true love winning every time and by breathing modern life into familiar characters we go into this series with long time connections with the characters.  What little girl didn’t want to be Cinderella or Belle or Snow White and dream of finding her own Prince someday?  What little boy didn’t want to slay dragons, be the hero, and rescue fair maidens?   And what about as adults?  Don’t we gals still want to defeat evil (think equal rights, equal pay), see true love prevail, be a princess (think of all those clothes and accessories that say “princess” on them and I’m old enough to remember the “princess” phone!), and be cherished by a faithful guy who thinks we’re worth fighting?  Don’t grown up men still want to slay dragons (think sports, video games, business deals), be the hero (think winning, being successful in whatever area they consider success is found), including being the hero to the girl of his dreams?  Dog-gone right we do!  And Once Upon A Time  takes us there, from our earliest memories of beloved fairy tales with a visual twist we’ve never imagined to seeing them action in our world today.  What a punch that packs!

I’m confusing my cats by associating them with the characters that best match their personalities!  Bandersnatch is undoubtedly the Wolf (just look at his picture and you’ll see what I mean) and Mona is Granny, sweet and quiet but a, ahem, wolf when crossed. Gizmo is Rumpelstiltskin because he is constantly pushing the others around in the nicest way unless he decides to quite literally attack them.  I’ve tagged Blaise as Snow White and Morgen as Prince Charming.  Since I know Bett plots quietly to get rid of all other kitties we own I’m calling her the Evil Queen.  See how crazy this is?  I haven’t wanted to play make-believe in eons and certainly never with my cats!  Alex, this is all on you if I go loony (loonier)!

I’ll be staring at the TV tomorrow night and don’t anyone bother to call, text, come over or in any way distract me.  These visits with familiar characters that I know and love but am meeting for the first time face to TV screen are the best distraction ever.  And traveling to Storybrooke and the Enchanted Forest is, after our recent travel mishaps, as far from home as I want to go right now.

Come on, seven o’clock!

The People That You Meet Traveling

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We’ve all had nightmare travel experiences, right?  Ours started on December 25th when our American Airlines flight landed in Dallas to the sight of snowflakes dropping from a low, gray sky.  Great piloting!  Kevin, our jolly Flight Attendant who had the best of humor even when one lavatory became inoperable and everyone chose that moment to have to go and when one mom set a really bad example for her kids, serenaded us with White Christmas as we waited 45 minutes on the tarmac for a gate to be made available to us.  The flight crew were positive and upbeat through it all, giving us no indication that we had landed into a mess, but when we left the plane and joined the zillion people already running around like crazy we started to get the idea that something just wasn’t going well.

We landed in terminal A but our connection to Montgomery which was scheduled to leave in about 20 minutes was in terminal B.  We raced with the crowd to the Sky Link but an airport employee blocked us from getting on and said it was now closed, shut down.  Everyone started asking the same question – how do we find terminal B?  C?  D?  No one seemed to know and as airport employees walked by we would ask and be ignored.  We finally joined the group that wanted terminal B and began the race that led to Hannah falling going up on the escalator, gashing her knee and ripping her jeans. When we finally found our gate we discovered others looking harassed and waiting including what we assumed would be our flight crew who talked openly about their doubts of this flight going out.  The departure board was showing CANCELLED on many flights already and after three times of being told the flight was delayed, we were then told it was cancelled so we all lined up to re-book on other outgoing flights.  Confusion as to what to do was shadowed only by the frustration over the length of time it took each customer to re-book.   A pleasant young woman worked patiently with everyone until it was our turn and then a young man with a decidedly different attitude took her place.  I was told we were re-booked for the following day at 8:30 p.m., 28 hours later.  Are you serious?  After asking about flights to other destinations that would get me near where we were actually going, I settled on the flight to Birmingham leaving at 8:30 p.m. that night.  It was leaving from terminal A and Hannah’s leg was aching.   Hmm.

I requested a cart to drive us over and while waiting for a cart a young woman and her son had a bit of a meltdown when she begged someone to tell her how to get to terminal C.  There seemed to be few airport employees who would give directions and many people were wandering around looking for that information.  Eventually a nice cart driver who wasn’t going our way took pity on us and we enjoyed being driven to the yells of “Scuse!  Cart!”  “Scuse!  Cart!” to warn people to move out of the cart’s way.  We were deposited with Tanya, a wonderful employee who shared that she was spending Christmas at work because she had nothing else to do.  She was so warm and grandmotherly that we wanted to bring her home with us.  Our cart driver had taken us under his wing and called for another cart driver to get us to the right terminal and we then enjoyed his stories and yells of “Scuse! Cart!” as we finished what he said was a two mile trip.  Hannah said no wonder her legs hurt since we had just raced two miles earlier!

We joined the anxious group waiting for the Birmingham flight and the desk agent kept us informed about delays.  At about 9:30 we were told a plane was landing and we would have  exactly 20 minutes to board and take off so the crew wouldn’t go illegal and the flight cancelled.  Happy people quickly boarded, stowed baggage and buckled in, and true to their word we zipped straight up into the rain and sleet and possibly snow for a turbulent but wonderful ride to Birmingham. Another awesome job of piloting the plane!  Loved the straight up take off!  The tired flight crew who had been going at it all day remained cheerful and upbeat as they saw everyone off the plane.

It was in Birmingham that we discovered our luggage wasn’t with us and when Robin, the American Airline employee, scanned our luggage bar code it didn’t show up anywhere.  She assured us it would be found, gave us information to file a claim, and told us to check to see if it came in the next day.  We then went outside to be robbed by a taxi cab driver who charged us ten dollars to go 1/2 mile down the road to a hotel.  It was cold, wet and we were drooping with exhaustion by then so we paid and tipped him anyway…Merry Christmas.  We were thankful to not be with the thousand people who were stuck at the DFW airport.

The next morning it was decided that my mom, who had driven with my nephew to Montgomery the day before to get us and then gone back home, would come to Birmingham now to get us…a much longer drive.  To make it easier on her, we needed to get away from the airport and closer to the I-65, south side of Birmingham.  Before figuring that out, we caught a shuttle to the airport and went to check on our luggage, hoping it had come in.

We found the American Airlines ticket desk and were helped by several young men, Jeremy, Martin, and Chris, who all worked to see if our luggage was there.  It wasn’t.  They, too, assured us it would be found and said it would probably go on to Montgomery. Their cheerful attitudes and helpfulness, jokes and attempts to help us have a better day did just that even though we still felt defeated by no luggage.  We asked about transport to a Cracker Barrel Restaurant just south of Birmingham and was told it would cost about $80 by taxi, but then something truly nice happened…and we were given a ride at no charge to the Cracker Barrel!  What a huge blessing that was!  It was now about one p.m. on the 26th.

We were tired from travel, Hannah’s knee was aching, we were frustrated at having lost “vacation” time to travel delays, worried about the extra costs caused by the delays and lost luggage that couldn’t be tracked, and we hadn’t eaten since 4 p.m. the day before.  Breakfast sounded wonderful!

Our Cracker Barrel server was Ally, a charming young lady who deserves the Cracker Barrel Server of the Year Award for her courtesy, promptness, and ability to make her customers feel pretty dog-gone special.  It wasn’t just Hannah and I who were treated so well; we noticed all of Ally’s customers were treated with the same warmth and Southern hospitality.  Ally rocked!

We stopped by Montgomery airport to see if our luggage had arrived and it had!  The ladies who brought it out to us were beaming right along with us!

After arriving to our final destination, Dothan, we thought our travel worries were behind us.  Not so.  On December 31st, five minutes from the Montgomery airport where we would leave to head home, we were rear ended while waiting at a stop light by a Mercedes going full speed.  The gentleman who hit us apologized profusely and said he was watching the state trooper with blue flashing lights on the side of road beside a pulled over semi.  The ensuing accident paperwork involved a state trooper, Officer Scott, a patrolman, Officer Ross, who earned my undying gratitude by taking pity on me and giving me a ride to the McDonald’s ladies room across the street, and an accident investigator, Officer Lamb, and it all kept us from making our flight.  When we tried to re-book , Lisa in Montgomery helped us navigate the calls with Reservations but none could guarantee us a flight that would allow us to get to Phoenix on the 31st.  There was a flight to Dallas, but after that, it was going to be racing from desk to desk to see if we could get on an already overbooked flight to Phoenix.  Dreading the thought, I went to check in our luggage for the Montgomery to Dallas portion and a gentleman named Ron Davis pulled a rabbit out of his hat and booked us, guaranteed, on an 8:30 p.m. flight from Dallas to Phoenix!  We would have a 7 hour layover in Dallas, but we’d at least get home on the 31st!  How wonderful!  I told him we could just hug him and we did.

We arrived to our house with our kitties and dog waiting for us just before midnight.  Happy New Year!

The circumstances of this trip were bad…delays, gashed knee, torn jeans, lost luggage, cancellations, a dishonest taxi driver who will someday overcharge the wrong person, lost time with family, an accident, auto repairs for my mom and medical care for all of us.  The people of American Airlines however, with the exception of the one young man desk agent at Dallas who’s name was neatly hidden by a scarf, were great.  During the trying circumstances of it all, there were some memorable people who not only did their jobs well, but reached out to us.

Hannah said she wondered what God was up to with all this.  Circumstances may cause annoyance and frustration and put us in situations that are less than ideal and sometimes pretty bad, but it’s the people connection that makes the difference.  Maybe we need that reminder.  Whether its part of our normal day, an accidental meeting, or during the adventures of traveling, our encounters with people along the way make an impression.  Our smiling faces at the end of the journey are our thanks.  We endured some nuisances, but we’re safe and alive and grateful for this time God has given us and the people we met along the way.

Travel weary but thankful

Pieces

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Pieces

Pieces

This is the tile on my kitchen backsplash, each piece of stone that shaped by different elements and events, tools, into little tiles, sized approximately the same, to be grouted together to form my backsplash. 

I love that backsplash.  I love looking at all the different squares, touching them, seeing the many colors throughout each tile, feeling the ridges and smoothness and sharpness, seeing how the light plays over each one different, noticing that some edges are pretty squared while others seem chipped or broken or rounded.  There are cracks and pocks, veins of color and what appears to be different types of rock within, spots and freckles and discolorations that add character, create a story of sorts. 

The pieces that make up this backsplash make me think of how God is with us when we’re in pieces, holding us together, shaping us, using the broken parts,  making something new out of the pieces that are us because of life.  Sometimes its the life choices we make that shatter us, sometimes its the circumstances that are not of our choosing, and sometimes its people, relationships, paths, words, labels, the past. And when we’re in those pieces that have been shaped by life’s storms, we just feel pretty ugly, useless, worthless, purposeless, and hopeless.  But God has other plans.  He can take the pieces and make them into something of beauty, value, worth, meaning, and hope. 

I just love that. 

And I’m waiting for that. 

I know that someday the beauty will shine through.  I know that someday there will value in the lessons learned.  Someday there will be worth in the trials and meaning in the pain.  And always, there is hope.  Hope for better, no matter where I am. 

We can all see how certain pieces of our lives shape us and leave marks, ridges, indentations, cracks, and busted corners.  I can’t wait to see what God does with it all, how he will take it all and make something amazing.  And I trust that he will do that.  In his time.  In his way.  In his will. 

“And we know that all things work together for good to them that love God.” –Rom. 8:28

 

 

When the Lights are Low

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When the Lights are Low, Patti Wade Zint

When the Lights are Low

As I was messing with the dimmer switch to get the lights at just the right level I wanted – not too bright and yet not as if they are almost off – I noticed the intensity of light through the globes revealed more or less of the actual bulb.  Okay, I’m not an electrician or scientist so I’m probably not putting it properly, but the brighter the light thrown from the bulbs, the less I could actually see the bulbs.  And that made me think of something in the crazy way things like that make me think…when the lights are low, I can better see them. 

Hmm.  

Bright is a word we use when we’re happy, when things seem to be going our way, when we’re expecting something wonderful or when we’ve done something pretty clever.  I think most of us associate brightness with positive and uplifting moments in our life.  Its spotlight time and it highlights those things that make us laugh and grin and sing and do the happy dance.  We praise God for these bright times!

Low is a word we think of relating to when we are sad, blue, depressed, broke, lonely, etc.  We say we are feeling low and the message it carries tells the listener that something is bothering us, something is wrong, something hurts.  Many times we cry, or choke back the tears when we’re low, try to hide that feeling from others.  People want happy people around them…not frowny, sad faces.  But low denotes sadness, sorrow, hurt, pain. And when I’m lowest, my heart hungers for and actively seeks God. 

We all have raw feelings.  We all hurt and cry whether we admit it or not.  We all have prayers that aren’t answered in the way we want them to be answered, and we have dreams that have been shattered.  We’ve all felt the brokenness, the despondency, and the ache that takes up residence when something happens that takes everything we’ve known and loved and turned it ugly.  We know pain.  We know sorrow.   We know what its like to cry ourselves to sleep at night.  

You keep track of all my sorrows. You have collected all my tears in your bottle. You have recorded each one in your book. Psalm 56:8 

I’ve tried to imagine those bottles; I think mine is the size of Texas.  I wonder sometimes why God wants to keep those tears.  Is it because when I’m low he’s with me, because I’m broken and he works through me then?  Is it because he cares so much that every tear matters?  I can’t stand when someone cries; it hurts me seeing someone’s pain.  I want their tears to go away; I certainly don’t want to keep them.  But God does and because of that, they must be precious to him in a way I can’t yet understand.   

There’s another promise I hold onto, and that is that the dimness won’t last. I know I’m not the only person feeling low right now; I know so many who are hurting, and the holidays are especially hard.  I remind myself that I won’t stay here…that what I feel now will change later.  Today a friend shared her own story and how she couldn’t see “later” during her lowest time, but she did seek God and found something more amazing than she’d ever dreamed. It’s her “later” now and she glows with happiness. 

Though the lights are low, if I look for Him, God will provide the healing and in time I’ll shine.   

Then shall your light break forth like the dawn, and your healing shall spring up speedily; your righteousness shall go before you; the glory of the Lord shall be your rear guard.  Isaiah 58:8

Shelved

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Books on shelf

Books on Shelf

 

I’m a reader of fiction, contemporary, historical, science fiction, action adventure, and mystery.  I’m avid.  Have a book going constantly…can’t stand to be without one.  I have one entire set of books by the same author I’ve reread umpteen times over the past thirty plus years.  Have another set from an author I’ve reread dozens of time over twenty years.  I’m always looking for new authors and when I find those I like, I collect all of their books to read, and reread.  These books live on one of the many sets of bookshelves in my home.  They are shelved for a reason…I know I will go back and revisit them, not just once but again and again.  And each time I will find something I missed, see something from a different perspective, have an aha moment or two, and appreciate even more that after the first reading it was shelved for another time and a new revelation. 

I know some who can’t bear to read the same book again.   There are many I can’t even get through.  If I’m not there by page 1, I’m not going further.  For that reason, I read page 1 at the bookstore.  The back cover tells me what the story is about…page 1 tells me if I’m going to like how the writer tells the story.  I need to know the author’s voice from the beginning to see if I’m going to have buy-in.  Without that, the book won’t be shelved.  It’ll be bagged and out of my house.

Right the middle of my bookshelf is a book written by someone near and dear to me…my nephew.  He has the gift of capturing the reader from the first sentence, and one is compelled to read on.  His The Path to Destiny (Alex, I’m still waiting for the sequel!) was one of those books I could not put down…not because he wrote it but because it really was that good!  Every sentence pulled the reader deeper into the characters, into their problems, their world, their choices and decisions, joys and sorrows.  It was an incredible read and I am in awe that my sister’s son wrote it!  And, he wrote it while still in high school and finished it just afterward!  His gift is writing, and I hope he will finish that sequel and take us back to that time and place soon!

Flanking The Path To Destiny are some of my favorite authors. Francine Rivers’ Scarlet Thread helped me see that even in the worst of times when I don’t feel his presence, God is there.  I have all of her books and each one affirms my faith.  Cindy Martinusen’s Orchid House let me escape my own problems to be involved in someone else’s and have hope in God bringing things together for good.  Julie Carobini gives me a light, fun read with a deep sense of purpose.  My daughter has the Justice collection by Karen Ball on her bookshelves; she claimed them the moment she read them and because they are that good, that heart warming, and that real when it comes to life, I let her.  Lisa Wingate gives me honest reasons to cry, and mourn, and grieve, and then subtly puts it all into God’s perspective.  Kristin Hannah takes me on relationship adventures.  Dr. Camuti makes the cat-lover me giggle with his All My Patients Are Under the Bed.  Cliver Cussler is my favorite action-adventure author because he knows how to write cliff-hanging action combined with old-fashioned romance and not a dirty word used, and I’m totally in love with the honest chivalry of Dirk Pitt.  Dick Frances gives me chills with his race-horse mysteries and after one of them I’ve never been able to look at kidney beans the same.  Ann McCaffrey takes me far away to the world of Pern where I can live with dragons and wherries and other make-believe creatures.  Georgette Heyer takes me into the haute ton of Regency London, laughing and hopeful that the hero and heroine in a chaste love-hate relationship will become true love forever.  

These books are my well-worn friends that I turn to over and over.  Old or new, their messages speak to my heart, tickle my funny bone, allow me to run away for a time from the worries of my own world.  In their characters I seem to find some part of myself, a thought, a perspective, a solution, or a deeper faith to deal with my own issues. 

When I find that in a book, it’s immediately shelved after reading.  I pray my house never catches fire because after getting my daughter and cats out, I’d probably try to make a run for my books.  I feel I’d be a little lost without them.   

 

The Power of a Card

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At my workplace last year I headed a “card campaign” resulting in close to a thousand hand-made cards going to various recipients:  an orphanage, a crisis shelter for pregnant moms and new moms with newborns, a mentally disabled center, several senior centers, and the military.  Though we weren’t able to personally deliver the military cards, we did personally deliver the cards to the recipients within our community.  And, wow!  I think as adults we often forget the power of something as simple as a piece of paper, stickers, glue, glitter, and a hand-written message signed with a first name. 

One of the senior centers we visited included an area inhabited by residents with memory loss.  As we gave each person a card, however, it seemed to strike a memory chord.  Stories of their past came to life as we patiently sat, listening, waiting, loving the telling of these stories that evoked smiles and laughter from the teller, and created a warm feeling for us.  One gentleman called the young man with us “son” as he recounted his days in the military.  An elderly couple, newly met and married, shared adventures from their childhoods.  A lady whom workers say  hadn’t smiled in a very long time grew misty-eyed while holding the hand of a young lady and telling her how loved she was.  Many commented on the fact that the cards were made rather than purchased.  All read the sentiments as they were meant…especially for the recipient from the heart of the giver.  We later returned with baked goods and some signed on to volunteer periodically at the centers.

Several of the crisis shelter moms were overwhelmed that anyone would find them worthy or deserving of a card.  How heartbreaking that was to hear!  With hugs, tears, and thanks that someone would look past their circumstance and care just for them, these precious moms shared they wanted only something better, some hope, some acceptance, someone to acknowledge them and really see their hearts and how much they loved their babies.   In a world where so many feel they are worthless, these young women were committed to making their children feel valued, and for some, that meant walking away from their past lives, connections and even family.  One said the card was the first thing going in her new life scrapbook.  We later returned with items to meet physical needs like diapers and clothing and toiletry packs.

We visited the mental facilities for adults on a day when they were serving a holiday meal.  The patients were cautious, some fearful, some suspicious as we walked through and allowed each one to pick out a card.  Tentative hands looked at us to make certain it was okay to reach out.  Some expressed a desire for a specific color card.  A few questioned if they could keep the card and were delighted to hear it was theirs to keep.  One kissed his card after reading it and tucked it inside his shirt.  Most sat their cards in front of their plates and some shared their cards with others nearby.  One man asked why we did this and we told him we wanted to wish him a Merry Christmas.  His eyes became wet and he said no one had done that in a long time.  Another man told us he couldn’t say when was the last time he had a card because his family didn’t want him anymore.  An older woman with long gray hair said she knew who had made the card for her and that made her feel loved, and pointed to the first name signature on the card.  It meant much for them to know the name of the card maker.  One person later returned to volunteer at the center.   

We weren’t able to interact with the children at the orphanage but we did receive a letter telling us about the joy it brought the children to have hand-made cards just for them.  

Because we saw the power of the card last year, we’re doing it again this year and hope to reach out to more people than ever.  I’m not sure if there is more joy for the adults to be kids and make cards using glitter and glue and scissors and colored paper and stickers and their own imagination, or if the most joy comes when they are given to the recipients of their labor.  Or perhaps the most joy is felt by the recipient who has been singled out and honored by a stranger who took the time to make something from the heart and pass it on. 

Though the card is the vehicle, the motion, the power of the card comes from the intention of kindness and the act of sharing a little piece of yourself with someone else.  And that’s pretty powerful stuff that equals joy all around.  

Let me hear from you if you decide to do something like this at your workplace…the cost is minimal but the results are priceless!

 

 

Seeds or Stones?

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Sunflowers

Sunflowers

Jill’s new neighbor had the most glorious sunflowers growing so tall that she could see them over the fence.  When her neighbor caught her peeping, Jill blushed and said she wished she could grow sunflowers. 

“I’ll give you some seeds,” her neighbor said.  “Water and they’ll grow!”

The next day Jill found a tiny plastic bag that had been stapled shut lying on her walkway leading to the door.  She went right into her backyard garden area and planted each pebble-like seed about a foot apart and generously watered it.  She watered and weeded the area every day but after two weeks there was still no sign of anything growing except the occasional weed.  She added plant food and nutrients but a week more passed and still nothing. 

At the end of the next week she ran into her neighbor as they were both leaving home. 

“Oh, my, I’m so sorry!  Just a minute…,” said her neighbor and a moment later she came running from her house with a small cup and gave it to Jill.  “Here’s the seeds I promised.  I’m sorry I forgot to bring them sooner.”

When her neighbor left Jill ran back into her own house and grabbed the tiny bag with the seeds she had planted, the ones that looked like gravel.  She realized she had planted these tiny stones, the kind businesses use to weigh down the business card they staple to the bag.  She assumed they were the seeds.  No wonder nothing grew!

We’ve all been a bit silly at times, and we’ve all been impatient to see something happen, see something grow, or see something we’ve started come to fruition. 

My prayer in blogging is twofold:  plant seeds to grow faith in God by writing and writing to earn my living.  To avoid dropping stones that won’t sprout – I know I’m a wordy bird writer – I’m cutting back the blogs to twice a week for now.  Any feedback is greatly appreciated and I thank you all for your support! 

Now faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen. Hebrews 11:1 (ESV)

 

The Blessings of Other Women

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The Blessings of Other Women

Blessed by Other Women

Found a blog by a young woman named Emily, here’s the link (http://primitiveroads.wordpress.com/2012/10/26/titus/) and it’s about older women discipling the younger women.  Made me think about the blessings of Christian women, old and young, in my life during for all of life or just for seasons.   

I recall vividly one of my grandmothers doing her daily Bible reading every night before going to bed.  She was the one who would hold the hand of my sister and I when we stayed with them and pray with us before bed.  The most compelling imprint of her faith upon my life, however, is that while undergoing the horrors of rape she witnessed and gave her testimony to the man committing these atrocities while protecting my sister and I from his evil intentions.  From that I’ve realized that no matter what happens in our lives, God will give us the strength to endure it.  She believed that and because she did, I do, too.  And so did my sister.   She’s with my sister now in Heaven…and so many more of our loved ones are gathered with them.

My other grandmother taught me the joy of enjoying people!  Despite whatever was going on she seemed to find the bright side, to find the joy, to find something happy and share it.  She welcomed everyone, didn’t worry if her house was clean or dirty, didn’t worry if we tracked dirt or mud inside, just loved people for people.  Her house was always filled with those who felt comfortable enough to just drop by, knowing they would be welcome, knowing they receive a smile and kind word.  Her faith was lived in loving people, all people, no distinctions, and tolerating whatever was thrown at her with a gentle, pleasing spirit.  Her smile crinkled the corners of her eyes and I imagine that’s the look I’ll see on her face in Heaven, pure joy!

A pastor’s wife who smiled through a most difficult time in her family’s life helped me see that even if we didn’t know why something happened, we could trust that God did.  Such a hard concept when we want explanations and to understand the whys of the heartbreaks of life.  She taught me that we may not know the answer in this lifetime and it was okay to hurt, okay to question, okay to cry, and okay to feel all the feelings that go with heartbreak because Jesus knew them, too, and because  he created us with those feelings and emotions and it was certainly okay to have them.  The difference for those of us who love the Lord is not letting those feelings and emotions keep us from going forward and accepting that somehow beyond our comprehension, God was working.  I think of her standing before the Lord someday and hearing, “well done, good and faithful servant, well done!” and I see the shining smile that is always there grow even bigger! 

One lovely woman who led a Bible study always spoke our names aloud in prayer and thanked God for the day we were born!  I cried the first time she said my name aloud and thanked God for blessing others with my birth.  One woman was especially affected because her own mother had always cursed the day she was born, saying that her daughter’s birth ruined her life.  What a blessing for her to hear the truth!  The impact of hearing this strengthened my identity in Christ and did so for many others in that Bible study group.  Her heart for other women oozes from her every fiber and God certainly has special rewards for this most beautiful woman!

The gift of service was given to me by a younger woman who did not have children when I had my hands full with three!   Her beautiful sacrifice of free time to come and help me when there was no reason whatsoever she had to do so helped me understand what it meant to have a servant’s heart.  To give and expect nothing in return.   It’s almost twenty years later now and I see this woman still giving her time sacrificially despite her busyness with her own huge family.  I think God has a zillion crowns for her when I think of all those she has blessed with being physically being there.

My sister’s acceptance of her own body’s fragility and how she prepared to go be with the Lord even though she wanted desperately to live to see her son grown taught me about submission and grace.  Submission to God’s will, to his plan, to his purpose.   Grace in accepting that there are some things we cannot change, but we can walk through them in holiness with God’s grace.  Her fearlessness and courage through dying touched many, many lives.  Her faith soared in the last year of her life, reaching and teaching and living in humility and at God’s mercy moment by moment.   How I miss my “snisser”…and how I long to be with her, dancing with Jesus.  One of my delights is how like her my daughter is (how did that happen?)! 

A dear friend who seemed to have the perfect life struggled with how others viewed her.  The jealousies and gossip and criticism that came her way as a public figure could have crushed her spirit.  At times she was so low she could do nothing but weep, wondering why people had to be so mean, why other women had to be so hateful toward another woman.  One day she told me she realized that every person who hurt her needed something she could give and she began giving it, generously.  She found in each woman who sniped at her something to praise, something to encourage, something to point out as their own gift.  Once she said she had to think very hard to discover what she could praise in one woman who seemed bent on always being negative.  Ephesians 4:25 seemed to resonate:  Therefore each of you must put off falsehood and speak truthfully to your neighbor, for we are all members of one body.  My friend cringed but asked the woman why she felt she had to find the bad and speak it about everyone.  The woman burst into tears and told her she’d been told her whole life how horrible she was and told she was told these things “for her own good”.  That was her way of showing love!  My dear friend helped this woman learn who God said she was and the difference once she got it was amazing!  She will see this other woman in Heaven and I can just imagine how they will praise Him together.

Another woman taught me to wait, to be still and listen to God.  She did this from a distance because she is not a close friend but I watched her go through trials from afar, praying for her as one of my church family members.   She would share how she would have no words for prayer but would just lay face down and ask the Lord to fill her.  With what, I’d ask?  “With Him,” she’d answer.  What a concept!  I started digging into understanding the character of God and listening for him, asking him to fill me, too.   I know God will reward her gentle, quiet spirit that showed others how he works in those who trust him.

My own daughter blesses me as I watch her grow in the Lord, as I watch her character change and shape as a Christian young lady.  I am fascinated by her mind, her actions, her compassion, and her desire to make a difference in the lives of others.  She loves children, has worked in children’s ministry for the past couple of years, and to see how God lays his plans and purposes on her heart melts mine.  “Oh, how He loves me, oh…” she sang as we were in the car, listening to Christian radio.  What a privilege to see, know, hear, and feel this in her life!   A greater  privilege to know we will spend eternity together in Heaven someday!

There aren’t enough words for the blessings of a mother’s love, for the ups and downs that mothers and daughters experience, for the agreements and disagreements, for the range of emotions, and for the joys and disappointments that come with that relationship.  What’s most important is through them all, God is there, we are there, and we know that nothing changes the love, nothing can come close to breaking the bond that exists between us no matter how difficult things may be at times, no matter how heated, no matter how misunderstood, no matter what.  It’s a true blessing to have that unconditional, steadfast love of a mother.   We may not always be on the same page, and our paragraphs may get a little mucked up, but we’re bound together in the same book for all of life here and all of life in eternity with Jesus…and that is a most wonderful blessing that I wish every daughter could have with her mother as I have with mine.     

God gives us each other for a reason, for a season, for a lifetime, and forever after.  Our part is to open our hearts to the blessings found in other Christian women and receive their gift in our lives.

The Bandersnatch, Feline Version

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Bandersnatch

We’re blaming it on Johnny Depp because if he hadn’t been the Mad Hatter we wouldn’t have seen Alice in Wonderland at the theater.  And if we hadn’t fallen madly in love with the ferocious Bandersnatch who, beneath his ferociousness, really had a good, kind heart, Hannah wouldn’t have chosen that name for the liveliest of the four kittens we were “socializing”.  But we had and then she did so Bandersnatch is his name, like it or not.

Bandersnatch is one of four who came in a laundry basket complete with mama cat and three siblings.  He was actually adopted by a young lady at about 12 weeks old who came back the following day for a refund – her roommate, who wasn’t allergic to all cats, was allergic to this one.  Hannah danced in circles at the time and was happy to have her “special kitty” back.  We groaned. 

Bandersnatch is indeed a special kitty but that’s not quite what she meant at the time.  Sometimes we have these kinds of cats that are a bit odd, different, nuts, whatever, and we call them special.  Bander’s mama is also a special kitty.  Mona lives in my office, hisses crazily at the others, and wants only to be in her own little space all alone.  No other cat can resist the temptation of getting near enough to send her into a hissy fit.  Bander’s sister, Chiclet, is also a special kitty.  She’s as skitterish as anything, staying just out of reach of most humans; I think I’m the only one who can actually hold her.  And then there’s Bander who wants to be the one and only cat in the whole house and that’s just not a SMART goal in this household.   He chases the others, runs over the others, lies on top of the others, walks over the others, and generally acts as if he actually is the only cat in the house.  He’s only several times acknowledged the existence of Gizmo and Ninja and that’s when he was younger.  For the most part, he reigns in the world that he lives in his little kitty-cat mind.  And he’s somewhat spastic about that. 

Yesterday he leaped off the windowsill as I was passing by and almost took me out.  I spun into the cedar chest and landed partly on the bed, partly on the cedar chest, feet dangling on the floor.  When leaping up to his food area, a high area that Mac the dog can’t reach, he’s crashed headlong into another cat making its exit.  Racing down the hall he’s crashed into the wall and flipped upwards before sliding down sideways.  He missed the cat door opening to the garage and hit the door instead, shaking his head afterward and pawing the cat door open before easing slowly through.  I watched him take a flying leap onto the counter only to go flying off the other end 0.4 seconds later.  He’s a klutz.  

Every morning I give my cat menagerie a kitty tidbit treat and I can’t count the number of times I’ve put his right in front of him and he looks at me as if waiting for me to put one down.  I have to then point it out to him and he acts like “Oh, yeah, I saw that.”   I rolled the ball with the bell in it and all the other cats came running to chase it.  Bander looked up from his perch on the end of the couch as if saying “what did I miss?” and I threw another one and his eyes widened, ears pulled back, as if I’ve thrown a snarling little yippy dog on the floor.  One of the cats carried a live locust in from the garage and in the midst of the others rushing to get in on the fun, Bander jumped high up on the china cabinet and warily viewed the proceedings; this was truly his only action that made sense to me, a human, and I would have joined him if I could have figured out how to get on top of the china cabinet.        

Bandersnatch has a complete disregard for people parts.  He finds it just as convenient to walk across my face as my belly or legs.  And if I smack him away or holler, something that stops this action from any others who dare to walk on my face, he plops down and sits where he is, not in the least fazed by the hand that is pushing him away.  Not a pretty picture. 

On the other hand, he craves human attention.  Everyone who comes over meets him because he goes right into their lap and makes himself at home.  He purrs when he sees someone and he likes to talk now and then, but not always – he does let someone else get a word in edgewise.   

Because of his gorgeous gray-blue color he looks much like a Russian Blue and his coat is silky and very fine.  He’s a good groomer so he always looks sharp. 

I’d love for him to have his own home, his own I’m the only cat who lives here kind of home.  With a name like Bandersnatch you know he has to be a little out there, but his heart is good and kind in the end.  The eerie part is his eyes are the same green as the eyes of the Bandersnatch in the movie and I can never get the picture of the eyeball on the little mouse’s sword out of my mind or that when it was given back, the Bandersnatch just popped it back into place.  Insert creepy shiver here. 

He isn’t watching me type this but when I went into the living room I found him staring at the front door with that “is it a mouse or an ax murderer” wide-eyed but otherwise blank look.  He’d probably be afraid of the mouse and I’m hoping he’d walk across the face, claws out, of the ax murderer.   Good thing we have the dog.

Tides

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Tides

Tides

The thing about tides is they come in and they go out, rise and fall, flood and ebb.  According to Marine Bio, “the ocean’s surface rises and falls predictably due to changes in gravitational forces originating from the Moon and the Sun. These changes in ocean surface level are known as tides and are evidence of the influence celestial bodies have on our planet.” (http://marinebio.org/oceans/currents-tides.asp) Another thing about tides is that they bring change…in beach surface, in fishing, and in the treasures we find.  It’s fascinating to hit the beach after high tide and search for treasures.  I found sea glass on my last trip, first time ever.  And who can resist the sound of the tide rushing in, that  mesmerizing rumble-roar-crash-whoosh that speaks to us in so many ways?    Most of us talk about the tides but we rarely to never talk about the complete stoppage of the water movement that has to happen so that reversal of tide can take place.  It’s also referred to as slack since the time of stoppage can vary which is why the ebb and flow each day are slightly off in timing.  What would happen if the tide didn’t reverse, if it just stopped?  According to Marine Bio, it would become a geopotential surface, or a surface along which a parcel of air could move without undergoing any changes in its potential energy.  Void of movement, stuck in place, going nowhere.  I can’t imagine the ocean without tides, the beauty we would miss, the mysteries that wouldn’t be revealed, the goodness that wouldn’t come, all because it stopped, got stuck in one place, just slacked. People can do that sometimes, get into a place emotionally, mentally, spiritually, and just get stuck there.  All motion, backward or forward, stops.  There may be ways to get some help, to begin momentum, but until we choose to go toward it, we stay at stoppage. Sometimes we hold ourselves there out of fear.  The thought of what’s ahead, of the unknown, unfamiliar and even unwanted because we can’t imagine it could be good or better, holds us in place.  Sometimes we hold ourselves there out of denial.   We can’t acknowledge reality and any movement would force us to confirm or conforn to what we don’t want to know, don’t want to face, don’t want to accept. Sometimes we hold ourselves there out of guilt and shame.  It’s so much easier to hold onto hurt and anger and bitterness and divert the blame for feelings and circumstances rather than own our own choices and actions, our part in being where we are.  Sometimes we hold ourselves there out of unforgiveness.  How much easier it is to hold onto a grudge than let it go.  As long as we can hold onto it, we don’t have to deal with the what’s next in the relationship.     But when we stay in that stoppage, when we dig in our heels and refuse to budge, deliberately make the choice to stew there, we miss the opportunity for something good, for something we didn’t know or experience or imagine to be revealed, for change.  And not wanting things to change can be another reason we stay in stoppage.  But change is part of life whether we want it or not, and when we approach it right, change can be beautiful, and joyful, and fulfilling, and more wonderful than we ever imagined.  “And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose” (Romans 8:28, ASV) Our lives are so like that tide, rising, falling, ebbing, flooding, highs, lows.  It’s sometimes impossible for us to see the good in the bad, to see a reason for overwhelming, terrible feelings, to see hope in a hopeless situation, to see purpose in tragedy, to see light in the tunnel, or dream when we are oppressed.  Those hard things can put us in our own geopotential surface.  It’s when we decide to move, flutter, wave the white flag, reach out, grasp, grab, or in some way act to stir the current around our stagnation in that place that we can begin to turn the tide of where we are, our condition, our thoughts, our attitudes, our circumstances, our perspectives.   It has to start with our own choice, however.  We have to think and then do and then keep at it, even when it’s like going through the motions and the feelings don’t follow right away, but at least we are going through the motions because doing so is the start of turning the tide.  And if we keep up that motion, if we persevere, if we make a little ripple at first that little ripple will expand, become a wave that grows and brings up from the bottom all the old feelings, all the old yuckiness, all that is holding us in that bad place, and starts the roll of the tide.   Rumble-roar-crash-whoosh!  The sound of the tide changing…the start of something changing in us.   “For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.”  Romans 8:38-39 NIV

Cover

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As the new Marines celebrated their graduation day with family and friends, we noticed the subtle and overt changes in each of the young men and women.  An obvious change was that each wore a “cover”, a hat in civilian terms, and each was meticulous in being correct about when and where it was okay to wear their cover.  Wear the cover outdoors but don’t wear the cover when sitting to eat outdoors.  The cover was slipped on and off at, pun intended, the drop of a hat.  As I watched these shiny young faces beneath their shiny new covers doing their best to be mindful of protocol I was struck by the thought that these are our protectors, these are our military, these are the latest group of men and women committed to serve and cover us. 

And because my son was one of them, my mommy-heart did a flip and I prayed, silently, fervently, for each one on the grounds that day.  

I watched them with their families, proud, some uncertain in their new roles, some yearning for recognition, some humble, some confident, some cocky, some just so happy to be a part of something bigger.  But each one wore their cover as a badge of honor and I kept noticing these and thinking what it meant to me, to my life, my country.   

I put out a mass email asking for people to send me their Thanksgiving thoughts to send on to my son.  It’s a tradition of ours to share what we are thankful for by writing on slips of paper, folding them and placing in a basket, and then later passing the basket around, picking one and reading it aloud.  The idea is that since he can’t be here and we can’t be there, I can mail these for him to see.  I know it’s important to him as he sent his home last year when he couldn’t be here for Thanksgiving – he wanted to make sure we had his to share.  This year, I want him to have not just ours, but many others to share. 

I’ve heard from people I really don’t know except as business contacts.  I’ve heard from dear ones who have sent a quick blurb to share.  Each has shared a piece of their heart in telling what they are thankful for.  One hit the very essence of why and how our military covers us, why my son and others are there, and how they impact lives and futures of others.   

“My wife and her family owe their life’s to the USAF of WWII, who liberated her and her family from 5 years of German occupation in the Netherlands and I and my family from 3 ½ years of prisons and concentration camps under the Japanese in Indonesia.  It is people like us, who have experienced oppression, who realize, that we can’t sit back and (we) have to stop terrorism and fight for freedom.”

Wow.  I am so thankful for this note.  And I desperately needed to hear this.  I know my son will value this as even I cannot.

How proud I am to be a military service family, to have grown up as a military brat, and now to be a Marine mom.  I have always been aware of the military’s purpose in covering  us, protecting us; I haven’t always heard the personal stories like this one.  

Cover.  Shield. Protect. 

I pray for those who serve, those who have chosen to cover us, who have sworn to be the shield between us and oppression and terror, those who offer their own lives to protect us from an evil that most of us will never know thanks to them.  While they’re covering us, God is covering them. 

He will cover you with his feathers. He will shelter you with his wings. His faithful promises are your armor and protection.  Psalm 91:4

What I learned from Hannah’s story

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One of our pastors told us he had done a character study about Hannah recently and came away with a renewed admiration for this woman whose story is found in 1 Samuel chapters 1 and 2 in the Bible. My daughter was named Hannah which means “grace of God” in Hebrew because of the Biblical Hannah, a woman who struggled with infertility.  I identified with Hannah because I, too, struggled for years with infertility.  There was a time when doctors said we would never be able to have children.  A sympathetic friend said “no little girl grows up thinking she won’t be able to have children.”  How true for most of us who want desperately to be mothers.  We don’t just want to have children; we want to be moms with all that comes with that most important role.

Back then, before I was a mother, I had to read Hannah’s story several times before things starting jumping out at me.  One of the first things that hit me was her vulnerability to ridicule from Peninnah, her husband Elkanah’s other wife who had birthed sons and daughters.  I remember the feeling that something was wrong with me when someone would say they were pregnant and though I was happy for them, I felt as if I were deformed or lacking because I wasn’t pregnant and couldn’t seem to get pregnant.  It hurt terribly when people made comments that included words like, “you’re not a mother, …”, “when you have children of your own…”, or those who misused God’s own words by saying something about Him withholding this blessing because of sin in my life.  I cried buckets asking God to reveal to me what I was doing wrong.  One wonderful pastor’s wife, however, would tell me “when nothing makes sense, trust Him anyway.”  (Thank you, Jan!)   Because Hannah hurt in her infertility and God showed that hurt to me in her story, I felt better through my own pain.  Somebody did know what I felt, and that somebody was mentioned in the Bible. I was so thankful that her story, my story, was there and that God felt it was important enough, that the pain of being different from other women in that so very important way, was acknowledged.  I didn’t feel so alone in my hurt.    

I was then struck by Hannah’s absolute assurance that her prayer would be answered.  When Eli mistook her for a drunken woman because he saw her lips moving as she was silently praying in the temple and she then told him she was praying, he said, “Go in peace, and may the God of Israel grant you what you have asked of him.”  What’s amazing to me is that Hannah did!  She went in peace…stopped fasting, stopped looking sad…because she believed with her whole heart that God would answer her prayer.  She didn’t know how or when or even if his answer was going to be exactly as she imagined it would be in her prayer, but she believed it would be answered and that was enough for her, immediately.  I remember thinking how in the world did you let go of something like your desire to have a child in an instant.  And then I looked deeper and realized that she, like I, needed that reminder…the reminder that God is powerful.  Why else would she pray to God if she did not believe he wanted to hear her prayer? And if she believed he wanted to hear her prayer, she had to believe he was willing to answer it.  And if she believed he was willing to answer it, she had to believe he was able to answer it.  And the only way he would be able to do that is if he is powerful to do anything, including opening the womb of a barren woman so that she could bear a child.  I started thinking big then.  I started thinking that maybe, just maybe, God had a plan for me to be a mother.  As much as I wanted to be pregnant and go through the feelings and physical experience of growing a child inside me and giving birth, I accepted that may not be his plan; I would be grateful to be an adoptive mom.

The third thing about Hannah’s story was the scariest.  As she prayed for God to give her a son, she said, “I will give him to the Lord for all the days of his life” and then when he was weaned, probably about the age of four or five, she took him to Eli and left him to be raised for God by the priest.  Now wait a minute here, I thought.  How does a mother do that?  Not the give to the Lord or be raised for God part, but the physically separating yourself from your child and only seeing him one time a year the rest of his growing up years?  Would I be able to keep that promise?   Wouldn’t I say I didn’t really mean that part, God?  Wouldn’t I want to hold my baby every chance I could get until he was a man and I knew with all my heart I had given him everything I could for eighteen years to prepare him to be a man?  How could I kiss a four or five-year old goodbye and go home, knowing I wouldn’t see him for a year?  How could I let my little one go live with someone else?  How would I be able to explain that to him as he cried when I left, or how would I be able to live with myself as I lay in my own bed and cried thinking of him missing his mama?  Lord, I prayed, I don’t understand this. 

A couple at church lost their three-year old daughter in a drowning accident at about that time.  As the mother spoke during the funeral she said something that made it clearer than clear to me.  She said something like “God gave us our baby girl and she was always his.  I’m thankful for the time we had her with us.”

And also at about that time, we were looking into adopting and I was reading the stories of birth mothers who selflessly chose to place their children with others because they cared more about the life of their child being better than what they could offer than their own desires to keep that child in hardship circumstances. 

And I realized that Hannah not only kept her word to God, but she believed in his sovereignty.  She believed with every fiber of her being that the God who had given her this son was the Almighty.  How can you not trust the Almighty to take better care of your child than even you can?  She trusted him to do just that.  That more than amazed me…I coveted that trust.

As a Christian, I believe God breathes life into every child from the moment of conception because that’s the very start of that child’s life.  Human life doesn’t begin any other way and it doesn’t start before then and though the first breath is taken after birth, the growth and development, the changes, the miracle that makes that first breath possible starts at that point.  God says every child is a gift from him and the wonderful thing about a gift is that it is from a giver.  God is the giver of our children through birth or adoption, he is powerfully able to fulfill his purpose, and his sovereignty can be trusted because he is God.    

As each child came into my life, one by adoption, two by birth, I thanked God for the gift of their little lives.  I also acknowledged that they were his and have lived knowing that they are his, only mine for the season he determines.  In all stages in their lives, from infants to now as Hannah is driving herself around town, as Sam is in the midst of war overseas, and as Aaron is living with  risk and danger, I try to trust God with my children as Hannah did.  I pray for my babies, grown up as they are, and I thank God for the privilege of adopting, the privilege of experiencing pregnancy, the privilege of giving birth, the privilege of their very being.  And daily I give thanks for the marvelous privilege of God answering my prayers and making me their mother.

Defining parental success

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I overheard a couple of strangers in line and one woman who was buying champagne told that her daughter had just earned a doctorate.  The younger woman congratulated her on her daughter’s success as she hefted a package of Goodnites® Underpants onto the counter and said, “I’m kind of celebrating, too.  My four-year old stayed dry all night for the first time.” 

This exchange got me to thinking about how we, as parents, measure parenting success.  We all boast about our kids’ accomplishments, slap on the “My Kid Is An Honor Roll Student” bumper sticker, proudly display their trophies and awards, and proudly rave about their milestones in life.  Not to minimize these things that are vitally important for us as parents to take pride in and celebrate with our children, but do they really indicate my own success or failure in parenting?   

I started thinking about what really makes me feel successful as a parent and I was surprised to find the things that make me feel I’ve done well have nothing to do with excelling, winning, or reaching milestones, but everything to do with my child’s character. 

Like his grade school teacher saying Aaron went to and patted the back of another child who was upset and told him it was going to be okay. 

Sam telling his preschool teacher that she was wrong because he had seen what happened.  When I was called to the school and heard this I asked if he had a chance to say what he saw.  He had not, but then they did listen to him and confirmed what he said, and they discovered they were punishing the wrong child. 

When Hannah volunteered to sit with the hyperactive “someone just kill me now so I don’t have to deal with him” classmate because he would have felt bad to have to sit alone.  And not just once but the entire school year because she was determined to help him.   

When Sam collected socks and donated his birthday money to buy more so that all the men at the rescue mission would have a pair.   And then collected games so they would have something to do. 

Hearing my children pray for others.

Seeing my children open doors for others, pick up something dropped, or help an elderly woman get a cart unstuck.

Hearing from neighbors that my children have helped them by carrying in groceries or some other task that they volunteered to do.

Watching my children interact with family friends, make people welcome in our home, and act as host/hostess.

Hearing them say that they want to help, knowing that they will because they’ve offered to do so.

Knowing that I never have to talk with Hannah about her clothing choice and can trust her to make a good decision because she understands the value of modesty.

Knowing that my son has a tender heart beneath big muscles and that he isn’t ashamed or afraid to show that side of himself when he needs to do so.

Listening to my daughter talk about the people in her lives and how they have helped grow and shape her. 

Sam asking to make certain I sent the thank you cards he wrote because he appreciates that people think of him and give a gift when none is necessary.

Hannah donating her clothes rather than selling them in a garage sale.

My children showing by their responses that they appreciate and are thankful for whatever they are given.

Saying “I’m wrong” and then fixing it.

When they say thank you for the least things such as bringing home a package of gum, sewing name tags on uniforms, or moving their clothes from the washer to the drier for them. 

Sam coming to church to make sure I wasn’t sitting alone.

Hannah helping me change the cat litters every week…the stinkiest of tasks.

Sam calling as often as he can because he knows its important to me.

Understanding that money doesn’t grow on trees and it’s earned by hard work.

Never demanding or expecting but asking, politely.

Saying “I’m sorry” when it’s needed.

Saying “I forgive you” when it’s needed.

Saying “I’m here” when it’s needed.

Knowing that friends are always welcome and we’ll always accept them.

Knowing that as a family, our faith is important to us, and we trust in God in the big and small things.

For me, these things measure success as a parent because they define who that child/adult is, not only for now, but for a lifetime.   Their deliberate and natural actions and reactions, choices and decisions, tell me they are compassionate, caring, responsible, and trustworthy.  I couldn’t ask for more.  

 

 

 

The Other Role a Teacher Plays

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I think when we’re in high school we see our teachers as those who push, shove, and do whatever they can to get whatever subject they are teaching into our hormone-driven, impatient, angsty, even hostile at times, teenage brains.  We protest the homework, complain about the boring class, bemoan the tests, fuss about the teachers, and gripe in general because we are teenagers.  At that age, I’m not sure we see individuals who are dedicated to fostering our future success.  At that age we may not realize they have personal lives, families, interests, friends, and history separate from that they share with us.  Many of us miss actually getting to know the person behind the desk.  We see bits and pieces of who they are through the lens of how they affect us as our teacher, whether they are a tough grader or enforce the policies, whether we can sneak in late without repercussion or talk our way into leaving early.  The agenda is ours at that age and its rare that we look further. 

Later, however, when we look back, we might recognize the other role played by our teachers.

Our teachers model the adult world for us and how they interact with us as teens often impacts not only how we see ourselves later, but may impact our direction, behavior, and expectations.   Some teachers seem to be teens in adult clothing and beyond learning the material we see that its okay to goof around and be silly on the job.  Others are dictators within their sphere of influence and we resent their imposing what seem to be unreasonable demands on us.  Some are able to easily interact with us and yet still earn our respect.  And some burn impressions upon our minds, hearts, and lives that help us grow and reach and even soar.  

ThreeSixtyJournalism describes today’s good teacher in this way:  

• A sense of humor is great, but teachers still need to keep the class focused and learning.
• Be committed to your school and students. Come early and stay late.
• Be fair, and work with every student.
• Don’t let students waste time texting or listening to music in class.
• Don’t drone on in a monotone.
• Be enthusiastic, and get students up, moving and doing things.
• Take time to develop presentations and materials that really engage students in learning.
• Be friendly, but put learning ahead of popularity.
• Have many ways to teach a subject. If one approach isn’t working, try others.

I think something is missing though.  I think a good teacher has to reveal something of him or herself to the class that says, “I care.”  It’s not just an I care about this job, or I care about this subject, but I care about you, my student.

We’ve all had at least one teacher who stood out as that person that cared, and no matter the subject, that teacher is the one who in some way shaped our perspective.

It was recently revealed that a certain teacher at my high school was a veteran, something unknown to many including those he worked with.  This teacher has been described as both quiet and modest.  It’s also obvious from comments that this unassuming man impacted lives as he taught a class many whined about having to take.  The overall consensus seems to be that he acted with integrity.  He wasn’t out to win a popularity contest; he was there to do the right thing. 

I think many teachers want only to do the right thing, but because there is so much to-do made over receiving recognition through awards and metrics and satisfaction surveys that the quiet, unassuming, and subtle teacher is often not acknowledged as being the one who teaches skills that have a greater impact on lives that learning the subject.   These are the teachers who care enough about their students to do what is right, to model integrity, and to impart character traits to their students.  These are the teachers who truly care and the ones we remember for being upstanding individuals.  These are the teachers who have played the other roles in our lives – they have shown us how to be good citizens and make good choices even when they aren’t popular.  These teachers are more than teachers, they are our best adult role models.

Hats off to all the teachers who focus on doing what’s right, who quietly and with dignity show us how to be good people.  Thanks, Mr. Gustafson.  It was an honor to be your student.   It is a privilege to pay tribute to you.   

http://www.threesixtyjournalism.org/GradingTeachers

http://azmoaa.org/chapter-history/past-presidents/1971-1972-major-gerald-a-gustafson/

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

From the Mouths of Cats

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This is Morgen.  Don’t let his innocuous kittenish looks fool you for a second, though.  He’s a piranha.  All teeth.  All the time.  And tonight those adorably sharp little pearly whites bit right smack through my electrical cord for my blood pressure monitor! 

Unlike Mac who has eaten everything except a book – wait, he did, take that back – only a couple of our cats have ever used their teeth to make us a bit crazy.

It seems to have started with Popcorn, a solid black medium haired cat who became ours when she reached her paws through the cage at the pet shop.  One Thanksgiving when I wasn’t feeling well I had brought home a sweet potato to eat later.  Being a Southern girl, a sweet potato on Thanksgiving is not just desired but required.  It was wrapped in foil and left on the stove so I could take a nap.   When I awoke feeling both better and hungry, I wanted that sweet potato more than anything and headed straight to the kitchen where I found an entirely empty piece of foil on the stove.  Hmm.  I looked on the counter, on the floor, in the stove, in the refrigerator, in the cabinets…moved to the living room and searched under the couch, behind the couch, under the tables, and just about anywhere I could think a sweet potato may have somehow gone if it rolled out of the foil and onto the floor.  Hmm.  Retracing the steps to the car, out the door, into the car, meticulously looking all through the car, back into the house.  Where on earth would a sweet potato have gone?  And then I saw her.  Popcorn had just a little bit of the red-maroon skin of the sweet potato stuck to the bottom of her chin.  I was equally incredulous and devastated and I wanted a sweet potato.  Back then the only thing open on Thanksgiving was Circle K or Seven-Eleven and neither carried sweet potatoes – my Southern pride was indeed wounded as I was not able to have a Thanksgiving sweet potato.   I still can’t figure out how she got it off the stove, ate the whole thing, and left the foil intact.  From that moment on, no sweet potato went unguarded in my house.

Tiger, a medium to long-haired tabby with a white chest and enough white splotches around his mouth to look like he’d had a drink of milk and it stuck, couldn’t resist sinking his teeth into a piece of paper.  It was the canines he  used and every paper in the house had Tiger’s seal of approval – two perfect holes in the corner of every page.  One bite and he moved on to the next one.  No need in our house for a paper punch.  Just wave the paper around and Tiger would get up from whatever he was doing, most likely napping, and eagerly put two cat tooth-sized punches into whatever you held out to him.  This was fine for most things but occasionally a word or number was right where he had bitten, a picture was the marked object, or it was something official that shouldn’t have cat bites on it.   When we open old boxes we occasionally find something with tell-tale marks and fondly remember Tiger’s seal of approval. 

Pumpkin was a homely, short-haired tabbyish calico with a cantaloupe fetish.  It didn’t matter where she was in the house, the moment we would cut into a cantaloupe she would appear and  launch herself onto the counter and begin the process of convincing us she wanted some.   If we took precut portions from the fridge, the moment we’d unseal the bowl she’d be there, pulling on our hands to direct the bite into her own mouth.   If she wasn’t quickly given a piece she would howl-meow insistently until we gave in, and we always gave in.  

Gizmo actually chewed, like a dog, the straps off my favorite pair of dress sandals.  I had no idea that a cat would chew on shoes until I went to put them on and the strap wasn’t attached but laying separately beside the shoe.  A closer look revealed the strap wasn’t broken but actually gnawed in several places until the strap has just fallen off.  I know it was Gizmo because a few weeks later when I kicked off another pair of strappy heels he dashed over and started working on the straps right in front of me!  I learned to quickly get my shoes in the closet and away from feline fangs.  Gizmo is also known for reducing straws still in the cups that you are using to useless sieves.

We’ve had cats steal and carry our things with their teeth such as hair bands and receipts and occasionally small clothing items.  Butter stole garments straight from the laundry basket and was particularly fond of anything with lace.   Pumpkin, the same one who loved cantaloupe, consistently stole baby caps and socks, making a “mrrrrm, mrrrrm” sound as she slunk away from us with her prize. 

Midnight’s fetish for roaches is covered in “Midnight” and Sassy’s mouse hunt is covered in “Pup’s Mouse Caper”. 

Morgen is another story.  From before he could balance well he opened his mouth to bite at whatever came at him.  We’d hold him up and he’d nip at our noses and because he was cute and cuddly and an itty-bitty kitty we oohed and aahed over his trick.  Not so cute as he got older, however, and those teeth got sharper so we had to stop it.  That’s how our comforter game was started so he would have something to chase and bite.  We’ve given him toys to pounce and bite but he still prefers whatever he bites into to be something that screeches and squeals, like his sister or one of the other cats, or human, like us.  He doesn’t bite hard but just enough for us to feel some teeth.     

I’ve never, ever had a cat chew through a cord before and I guess he’s pretty lucky the current was low and I guess I’m pretty lucky I’m not driving to the emergency animal clinic with a cat with the side of his face electrically burned because I know from past experience that a trip there is about the same as a mortgage payment. 

I think my favorite thing from a kitty’s mouth, however, is what we call a kitten kiss – an oh-so-gentle nip on the nose followed by a sandpapery lick and accompanied by much purring and eye contact with slow blinking.  Popcorn was the only cat who did that and when Blaise joined us, she started it also.  In fact, after Morgen and I have our chase the hand under the comforter game, Blaise pops into bed and gives me a goodnight kiss before settling in on my pillow.  And throughout the night if she thinks of it, she reminds me how grateful she is to have a home here and that she really, truly loves me.  And when she does that too much and awakens him, Morgen plants his teeth in her tail. 

Can’t imagine a world without kitties…especially mine.

Weirdly Wired and Jumping

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When your sixteen year old daughter gets her driver’s license, a few jitters and nerves are somewhat expected.  After all, we are giving the green light to our beloved little girl operating a vehicle on the road WITHOUT US there to help her watch out for the complete lunatics who drive as if they own the road and make up their own rules doing so…and they don’t care a jot about the precious one that we’ve nurtured and protected for the past sixteen years.   So after she passed the driving test with flying colors, it was my duty to bring her down to earth.

“We’re taking this slow,” I told her using my firm mommy voice, “You’re limited to school and back this next week and then we’ll start slowly stretching out.”

She was disappointed that I wouldn’t let her drive herself and her two friends to the football game less than a mile from home but my mind spun when I considered how rowdy football game fans can be both before and especially after a game.  I wasn’t ready for her to solo at night with friends in that kind of crazy teenage traffic. 

Her friends were staying over after the game so after a pit stop at the grocery store for some all-night goodies, we headed home and I realized I was incredibly tired.  Odd for me because it wasn’t even ten and I’m a night owl.  I got ready for bed, too tired to even shower, and kissed them all goodnight because each of them are my special girls. 

Morgen, my 5 month old kitty, and I have a special game we play every night at bedtime and though he got into position to pounce on my hand as I moved it under the comforter, I was just too tired to play for long.  I settled in and almost felt asleep but suddenly felt something very wrong.  It was as if I were fading and the not the good kind where you fade into sleep but the kind that made me wonder if I were dying.  I felt my pulse and instead of a steady beat I felt a beat, a long pause, a couple of beats, a long pause, a beat, a very long pause, three fast beats, a long pause, and then a steady drumming followed by beats with long pauses.  Knowing that wasn’t right, I located my wonderful little Omron BP machine that measures BP and pulse, and alerts to irregular heartbeats.  I forced myself to sit still for a full five minutes before taking the first reading and it showed 158/87 for BP, 47 for pulse and the little heart thing was vibrating like mad to tell me I had an irregular heartbeat. 

Hmmm. 

Not wanting to panic, I made myself wait and took it again.  On the third reading with the little heart symbol wigging out the entire time I called for Hannah and told her to get me a couple of aspirin (I have no idea why), and I took them.  Several more readings and the stupid little heart thing was almost bouncing off the machine so I called for Hannah and told her I was calling 911. 

When you call the fire department/paramedics, you just never know what you’re going to get.  One of the three who came into the house asked what was wrong and after I calmly told them he said, “So you called us to make sure your machine was calibrated?”

Hmmm.  That wasn’t nice. 

“Run a 12 channel strip,” I said.  Amazingly, and maybe because the tone of my voice indicated I’m used to calling for those types of orders and having them followed, he did.

By the time the first part of the EKG strip was printing out he was backtracking and telling me I was definitely  having irregular heartbeats and needed to go to the hospital immediately.  And by that time I would have had to be unconscious to go with his crew in a bus to the hospital.  I looked at Hannah and asked if she could drive me.  She nodded confidently and said she could.

We dismissed the nice firemen and headed to the hospital with Hannah’s special girlfriends along for moral support.   

During the next twenty hours my heart continued its dance, hop, skip and jump on the wild side.  A Fib, PACs, PVCs, V-tach, V-tach with bigeminy, and repeat, again, and again, and again.  The alarms sounded steadily until they moved me to a room without the monitor but with a portable unit that sent signals to some private area where “someone” was always monitoring.  But I felt it anyway.  I didn’t need a monitor sounding its alarm to tell me my rhythm was seriously off.   And I knew enough about that to know it meant my heart’s electrical pathway, or wiring, was weird.

Sometime around 1:30 or 2:30  in the morning Hannah’s friend who had an event at 7 a.m. the next day needed to go home.  Hannah asked if she could drive her and I was in no condition to protest so off they went, three girls, and two returned.  Sometime around 4 or 5:30 in the morning Hannah took her other friend and they went home to let our dog out and then on to her friend’s house to sleep.  Sometime around 8 in the morning Hannah came back to our house to let the dog out again, feed the kitties, and sleep some more.  And on it went.  Hannah driving back and forth from home to the hospital, stopping at Circle K for a soda, going through McDonald’s for something to eat, stopping at Safeway to get me some gummy bears.  On Saturday she took care of the cats and dog and then came back to the hospital to spend the night with me.  On Sunday morning she drove home to get dressed, went to church to teach Sunday school, then came to the hospital to get me to go home, then back to church and later back home to sleep. 

Around 5:30 I realized I had to get the prescription filled to take the heart medication they had prescribed and because I was feeling as if I were moving through mud I asked Hannah to drive us.  As I watched her confidence in backing out of the driveway and then turning from our street left into traffic, I asked her how she felt about driving.

“It’s really weird, mom.  It’s like I got on a plane to go to Hawaii because that’s something you really look forward to doing someday like getting your license, and halfway over the ocean they opened the doors and said ‘okay, now jump!'”  

“My poor girl, we were going to take it slow, weren’t we?”

She grinned, “So much for that.”

“So, how do you feel about driving?” I persisted.

“I’m comfortable driving.  I’m cautious and I watch everything.  I’ve had a lot of responsibility these last few days, but I think I’ve done well.” 

And she had.  She had jumped suddenly from being excited about being allowed to drive to school and back to being the one who had to drive for reasons beyond her control or mine.  There was no time for second thoughts or hesitation – it had to be done and she did it. 

As we started errands tonight I asked her if she wanted to drive. 

“No, I’ve been driving so much I’m kind of over it.  You can drive, mom.”

How proud I am of her.  How thankful I am for her.  How I’ve prayed for her safety.  And God has answered those prayers with every text message.

“Leaving, love you.”

“Home, love you.”

One more milestone of growing up and she didn’t just pass, she jumped.  And God provided the parachute just in time for her safe landing.    

PDPHD…this one is for you.  You continue to be more than I ever imagined.

Waiting…Somewhat Patiently

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Thursday 10/11/2012

Be still in the presence of the Lord, and wait patiently for him to act.

~ Psalm 37:7, NLT

Are you ever restless?  Anxious?  Antsy?  There’s something occupying your thoughts and though you suppress it and go through your day doing the things that have to be done like going to work and functioning effectively, it sits there, heavily, in your heart and mind.  If you’re like me, you pray and give it to the Lord, but that doesn’t mean it goes out of your thoughts.  If you’re like me, your day is filled with prayers about whatever it is that’s in your heart and mind.  You’re trusting God, but you’re still thinking about it, still worrying a bit, and so you keep on praying because that’s what God says to do. 

It had been over a week and I hadn’t heard from him but he said he’d try to call every week, and I’m a bit OCD so I expect a call when someone says they will call.  Even though I know it might not be possible.  But that call, that voice, is so important to me and I need to hear it.  I mentioned to my daughter that it had me fidgety and she reminded me that sometimes no news is good news and I needed to trust God.  Boom – right smack in the middle of the head by my own child!  I am so blessed!  Of course, of course! 

Still, throughout the next few days I prayed.  I prayed for him to have God’s armor on, to be surrounded by the angels of the Lord to protect him and his unit.  I prayed for them to walk in the safety of God’s presence with them every step.  I prayed for the Lord to bind the enemy and deflect all harm.  And I prayed and prayed…just let me hear he’s okay.  And I also prayed…in your will, Lord, in your time, I know, I know.  Help me to feel it, Lord. 

Feelings are sometimes our worst enemy and Satan uses them to deflect our thoughts, our trust, and our faith in the One we call Lord.  We have so many of them from joy to grief to pain to worry to love to hate and a plethora in between. When our feelings override what we know, they can hijack our thoughts, our actions.   Sometimes it’s hard to separate feelings from truth, and when we are there, we have God’s word to help us do the sifting.  Of course, we read have to read our Bible to know what He says.  Sometimes people are sent our way to help us sort it out, sometimes it’s the words to a song, sometimes it’s a dream or thought that persists, and sometimes we seem to hear God’s voice loud and clear.  When feelings pull us further from Jesus, our response should be to consider the source of those feelings, and if those feelings are yanking us, we need to yank back, and run like crazy to God.   

My life verse, given to me years ago, is Psalm 37:7 and I learned it from the American King James version “Rest in the Lord, and wait patiently upon Him…”  The NIV version says “Be still before the Lord and wait patiently for Him…”  I have to remind myself of this over and over and over in my life.  And each time I do, I move closer to the Lord, and grow stronger in His strength.

I went to bed praying, literally speaking God’s word in my prayer, reciting Scripture, His promises, and while doing this I fell asleep.  I had charged my phone earlier and had it beside my pillow, just in case.  I didn’t want to miss that call if it came. 

I awakened to my phone chirping and saw that an email had come from K-LOVE’s Encouraging Word to which I subscribe for a daily Bible verse.  When I opened it and saw Psalm 37:7, I laughed out loud.  Okay, God, I get it!  You’ve got this…I’ll rest, I’ll wait, I’ll be patient, even it makes me crazy!   And because I was taking the day off, I slept well past my usual get up time, something rare for me.

So many times that verse, God’s promise, has been my stronghold.  It was especially so when I was trying to have babies and had given up and then it happened.  It was there through teenage boy issues that required more of us than we had, but God provided the other part.  It was there through job losses, when starting a new business that flourished in a recession.  It was there when we were looking for a house, the right house at the right price in the right area and we were led to this one.  It was there through buying, not renting, a privately owned U-haul truck one year and then selling it at the end for more than I’d bought it.  It was there when we had more needs than means, yet the provision came at just the right time.  It was there when my personal pain became beyond bearing yet I clearly heard “Be still”.  How can I not trust the God who has been with me, carried me, held me, and provided for me through so many different things in my life?   

When I woke up, it was the first thing on my mind and I checked my email to be certain I had read the daily verse correctly and hadn’t just thought it.  It was there.  I went about my day a little lighter.  I thanked God for the reminder. When I told my daughter about it, she hugged me and said, “Way to go, God!”

I got the call I’d been longing for shortly after and heard my son’s voice.  I love that voice with every fiber of my being and am so thankful for hearing it today.  Thank you, Lord! 

Lord, help me to rest, help me to be patient, help me to wait and trust that in your time and your way, you always answer.