STRETCHMARKS

MY MOM SCARED THE HELL OUT OF ME!

 

I have been very blessed to have a godly mother but I know that is not true for everyone. I've also been nurtured by many women throughout my life who have invested heavily in me. I am forever grateful!  My Mom taught me many truths and set a good example for me in many areas.  She was strict but lots of fun too.  Here is a sampling of Mom's Musings.
   
 
The basics of everyday life:

• Don't talk with your mouth full of food.

• Clean up your plate (still paying for that one!)

• Change your underwear every day.

• Find someone who can give a good haircut.

• Stop crying or I'll give you something to cry about.

• Don't you ever sass me again. (I liked having the last word.) Amen!

• “Red” up the table. (What color red would you like it?)

• If it's worth doing, do it right the first time.

• Remember who you represent when you leave this house.

• Shut the door.  Don't slam the door!

Housekeeping tips:

• Make your bed hospital style.

• Keep entrance to your home clean.

• Windows should be spotless.

• Sew with quality fabric and thread. 

• If surprise guests come, put the dirty dishes in the oven. Put other stuff in closets or wherever you can hide them.

• Always buy quality things—it's cheaper in the end.

 

Relationships and Friendships:

• Choose your friends wisely because they can last a lifetime.

• Your date could become your mate: be wise.

• Have fun with your children and especially grandchildren.

• Be consistent when disciplining your children.

• Don't tattle or tell secrets.

She scared the “hell” out of me with this one: Don't go anywhere you wouldn't be glad to see Jesus in the Second Coming! That advice alone kept me from making myself vulnerable to peer pressure to go to unseemly places.

       
Photos (click on each one to enlarge) left to right:

Mom giving me a haircut and my sister Becky waiting her turn.

Mom makes adjustments to my wedding dress.  My parents were examples of faithfulness in marriage for fifty-four years.

Demonstrating fun--Grandma showing my son Tadd how to bat the baseball.
 

            
 
 
Photos (click on each one to enlarge): left to right

Best friends forever--Wanza and Olga Adams.
  
Mom set an example of sharing her knowledge with others: Wanza and Rhodell Manderson.
 
From generation to generation...Rachel, "Great", Tadd and Isabella.
  
 
One does not have to give birth to a child to be a nurturer--comforting news for the barren women of the earth. There are nurturing souls everywhere, so if you need a Mama, ask God to make one available to you. Both of you will be rewarded.  If you long to nurture another, God will make that possible as well.  Happy Mother's Day!

 

  

Singing Dem Bathroom Blues

 

In 1994 I traveled with my father, Paul Smith, to Lima, Peru for a seventeen day mission trip. This was his fifth visit and my first. My first shocker--no seats on the toilets in the international airport. 

 

We arrived at our destination around 1:30 AM to stay in the home of Pastor Maximo and Isabel who lived in a poverty-stricken neighborhood outside Lima. I asked our gracious hosts for directions to the bathroom so I could freshen up after a full day of traveling.

How bad can it be? I peered into the bathroom. Bathrooms are places of humility and indignity designed for the basic functions of the human body: cleansing and elimination. Right? O, dear Lord!  Daddy later confessed, "I've never seen it this bad before!" 

Next question: Why do bathrooms bring out the singer in us? An early childhood Sunday School song exploded in my head, with some adaptations:

Oh be careful little eyes what you see...

Oh be careful little hands what you touch...

Oh be careful little feet where you step...

Oh be careful little nose what you smell...

There were no towels or washcloths. No toilet paper. No toilet seat. I started to hum...Humble thyself in the sight of the Lord... I prayed that things would look better in the morning. They didn't. As the week progressed I became very ill with food poisoning.  My anthem became a made-up "Bathroom Blues" tune.  Everyday, for about half a day, there was no running water to flush the seat-less toilet so I had to carry a five-gallon bucket of water to flush. I was extremely fatigued and could barely do this. Groanings too deep for words. An old spiritual sprang up in my soul—Nobody knows the trouble I've seen, nobody knows but Jesus...

I had been advised to take along my own supply of toilet tissues but I wasn't prepared for the extent of third-world bathroom challenges.  Public restrooms were--well, pretty public.  In spite of all this, I did adapt to brushing my teeth and bathing with a gallon of cold water each day. How long O Lord, how long?

After one week we moved to our next location with Pastor Pepe and Vicky who lived in a middle-class neighborhood in Lima.  Wow, a well-furbished bathroom.  O feliz dia!  Vicky advised, “Get up at 6:00 AM and you will have hot water.”  The old saying is: Cleanliness is next to godliness. I wanted to be godly in the worst way.

I began some soul singing—James Brown's I feel good... Then... Shout! by the Isley Brothers...You know you make me wanna--Shout!  Kick my heels and--Shout!  Throw my hands up and --Shout!  Throw my head back and--Shout!...

 

Simple pleasures in life—hot running water—that's all I wanted at that point. The flow quickly turned to a trickle...my hair full of shampoo. Not another one-gallon cold water bath!  A scripture came to mind from the book of Acts: What doth hinder me to be immersed in water? Apparently the water department of Lima did hinder me.

I loved the passion of Peruvians and I would like to return...with some adjustments.  I am more thankful for hot running water, toilet seats, toilet paper, cleanliness and privacy.  No more "Bathroom Blues" singing.  I thank God everyday for my bathroom and sometimes still sing, “Humble thyself in the sight of the Lord...and He will lift you up, higher and higher and He will lift you up.” That is gospel-great-news for gravity stricken bodies!

Sweet, Sweet Redemption

 

 

Earlier this week I posted a quote on Facebook not knowing I would live it out so soon. Here's the quote (author unknown): “A truly happy person is one who can enjoy the scenery on a detour.”

Have you ever missed an important appointment? Mixed up the days...months? Me too! It's like the spirit of stupidity takes over and you just can't quite explain how it could possibly happen. I watched this scenario often at the VA hospital when the elderly veterans showed up at the correct time on the wrong day. Bummer.

Last year I read The Shack by Wm. Paul Young. I am among the fans of this novel and looked forward to hearing him speak at a local university. Bought the tickets for my sister and me. Marked it on the calendar. There was a slight problem. My brain registered the date as the 14^th which on the calendar is a Wednesday. Something misfired and I was certain it was on Thursday evening.

Thursday morning came and I was having an exceptionally good morning. I watched the sunrise while I walked behind my house and prayed for my neighborhood. This is like a “once-in-a-blue-moon-every-leap-year” occasion for me to be up so early because I'm a serious nightowl. Then I enjoyed a mug of coffee while checking emails and the latest Facebook posts. What's this? A post about the lecture with Paul Young. WHAT? It can't be...that's tonight.

Well, I'll be...if that isn't the dumbest thing I've done in a while. Yep, I missed it. No refunds on those pricey tickets. I had to give my sister the grim news. I blew it! She walked out of her bedroom with mouth agape...she saw the posting too! Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaargh.

I wonder...hm-m-m-m-m. I'll check to see if there are any tickets left for Friday's lecture in Sylvania. Please, God, you're my Redeemer. I was aware that officially there were zero tickets available. I called the number listed and got a friendly woman who started asking all kinds of questions. “Are you on a waiting list?” NO. “Could you pick the tickets up today?” NO, I live over a hundred miles away. “Okay, no problem,” she said. “Someone turned some tickets in and nobody is returning my calls. So give me your name and address and I'll hold these for you. It's general admission—first come, first served seating. You'll need to be here by noon to pick up your FREE tickets.” Sweet, sweet redemption far outweighs stupidity.

   There's a bonus in this “sorta” detour. Lord willing, I get to visit my “Toledo Treasures”, Isaiah and Elizabeth afterward. A day trip in springtime with the blooming countryside...I'm going to enjoy the scenery on this detour because I am a truly happy person.

Made You Look!

This past week I mourned the passing of two friends who "made me look".  This is dedicated to Bob and Bruce.

The “suddenlies” of springtime are everywhere in my area as flowers emerge from their hiding places and burst into bloom to brighten our days. What a refreshing change after a long, cold winter.

I am awestruck when I enter the humid greenhouses in spring and see the vast variety and splendor of the flora displayed. Some folks feel that it is a waste to give flowers as gifts or memorials. I disagree. Giving beautiful flowers is an expression of God's creativity and love for us, His creation.

When words fail to convey our thoughts, flowers talk for us. Remember when you picked dandelions as a child and proudly handed your bouquet to your mother—just because? It didn't matter that dandelions weren't fragrant—they were bright and beautiful. Mom's smile convinced us we had picked the perfect flowers for her.

  
 Some flowers are fragile with names like “Forget-me-nots” and “Johnny Jump-ups”. Others are robust and hardy with pungent smells and glorious color. The daffodils alert us to the changing season and bring hope of warmer days. Tiger lilies remind us summer has come while chrysanthemums forecast autumn and the crisp smells of the out-of-doors. The Creator seems to express His joy to us in the colorful landscapes of each season.

Wildflowers grow by the roadside, in the fields and wherever their seed has been scattered. They require little care—just some admiration. Some varieties of flowers bloom for the entire season. Others, like the cosmos, bloom for a day or two. They display their outrageous beauty, while in childlike play they seem to tease us and say, “Made you look!”

The lives of our loved ones are much like flowers. Some grow and flourish with minimal attention. Others require much tending in order to thrive. Some are with us for a long season while the lives of many seem all too brief. As we reflect on their lives and celebrate the beauty in each one, we can almost hear them say to us, “Made you look!”

That's Worth Hangin' On For

 

One year later... Today my home will be filled with children...and laughter...and music...and storytelling...and tears as we remember Papa Joe. We also celebrate Jesus' sacrifice for us which makes all this possible. Apart for Him we can do nothing. We have that blessed hope that we will again see Papa Joe and see Jesus face to face. That's worth hangin' on for♥ 

 
  Based on Isaiah 53 
 

Personal Time-Outs

Three Dog Night sang "One is the loneliest number that you'll ever do...", but "one" doesn't have to be lonely.   I'm talking about deliberate personal time-outs to remove oneself from the busyness of everyday life.  Puttering time...

 

I can't remember when I first discovered the joys of a “time-out” or being by myself, but I think it was during my pre-teen years when I lived in Grand Cayman. It's hard to have alone time in the midst of a family of eight; but if I hurried to get my chores done, I could steal away for a few minutes. After supper I loved to ride my bicycle just down the road by Dr. Roy's house to watch the sunset on the beautiful Caribbean Sea.

My granddaughter, Montana, made this discovery at an early age.  As we walked to the van to take her home one day, I told her how much I loved hanging out with her.

"Yea, me too. But sometimes I really like just hangin' out with myself!” she said. 

That's pretty profound for a six-year-old child. It's a wonderful discovery and sadly some folks never do find the joy of some time alone.

I was desperate for a "time-out" when my sons were small—for my sake and theirs. My only option at that point was to go into the bathroom and sit quietly on the floor. It only took a minute or so and I heard a voice outside the door, “Mom, did you know the light's not on in there?” “YES!” I knew. Ninety seconds does not count as sufficient solitude.

Time-outs had to be intentional when I home schooled my sons. Joe soon recognized when I needed to be alone and he offered to take the boys somewhere or allowed me to escape on my own. Jonathan said, “You really like it when we all leave, don't you?”

Somewhat embarrassed I admitted, “Yes, I do.” Maybe it was the gleam in my eye that gave me away.

I scheduled a quiet time in each school day—at least half an hour to quiet our bodies, minds and spirits—a time when we could daydream, listen to soft music, write or draw what we felt. My goal was that this would become a part of their adult life as well, and for the most part each one does this still.

Some cultures enjoy an afternoon “siesta”. What a great idea! Creative people find ways to carve some time away from the bustle and are energized in their work.

I enjoy the end of the day when everyone is asleep but me and I reflect on my life. I love the stillness...no phones ringing, no TV, no Facebook, no text messages, no fingers poking me for my attention. It's a great time to develop listening skills...to hear that still, small voice.

Balance is tricky in all of this; sometimes we have too much alone time and long for companionship. We were created for relationship...but in the midst of it all, a well-planned “time-out” can be rejuvenating. It may also reduce permanent emotional stretch marks if used appropriately.

 

How long has it been since you enjoyed a “time-out”?

A Simple Antidote for Heartbreak

 

Does true love exist in the teenage years? Oh, yes! I believe it does. It may not be mature love, but it is real. I was watching “The Middle” TV sitcom this week about Axl falling in love for the first time and then his heartbreak. I had a flashback to my high school days that I shared with my sister. She was doubled over laughing as I told her of a simple antidote for heartbreak our mother discovered.

My family moved from the Cayman Islands back to Ohio just before I began my sophomore year of high school. I was terrified not to know anyone at my new school...I was very shy...I spoke with a Caribbean accent...I had zero cool clothes. Thank God for my youth group at the church where my father ministered.

Life was sweet when I got to ride the school bus three miles to school and hold hands with my new boyfriend. Bob was my steady guy and he made moving to Ohio worthwhile. Most of the time we were together at church with a group of teens. When we were alone we talked about what it would be like to be married some day...how many kids we wanted...what kind of work we would do. We were very serious about all of this.

The top pop song during my senior year was “So Happy Together” by The Turtles. Imagine me and you and you and me, no matter how they toss the dice it had to be, the only one for me is you and you for me, so happy together... It was perfect for us--our theme song.  At least I thought so. I did not see this coming.

At the end of a cold February school day I was handed a letter. He didn't ride the bus on the way home. Coward!  I walked the five blocks back to my house from the junior high school where we caught the bus, and read the letter. I thought I was going to hurl before I made it home to the bathroom.  

It started out like a form letter: Dear Rachel, You're going away to college in the summer and I will still be here. I think it will be best if we break up.... I sobbed uncontrollably. My Mom asked me what was wrong and I blurted out I had been rejected. She was stunned too.  Now my heart was as fragile as the dried up corsage roses I had saved.

So far that year I had perfect attendance—it didn't matter any more. I couldn't eat supper; I stayed in bed and cried 'til I could cry no more. I decided I wouldn't go to school the next day...maybe never. Oh, the humiliation!  Mom didn't know what to do. I'm the third child of six but evidently this issue hadn't come up before. Daddy was out of the country so she didn't have him to consult. He would have been clueless too.

Our family was not a “let's talk this out, tell me how you feel” kinda family. No—what is the problem? We will find a solution and fix it. So my Mom made an appointment with the country doctor.

“What brings you here today?” the nurse asked. “Oh, I'm just not feeling well.” I could not admit to a broken heart. She jotted down a few things. I wondered if she noted my swollen eyes and puffy face. The doctor came in and mused over the notes. “Hm-m-m-m. Why don't we take a simple blood test to see how things are?” The nurse drew my blood and left the room. She returned in a while and gave the results to the doctor.

“Everything seems in order with your blood test. Why don't I just give you a B-12 shot to help your energy level?” Mom thought that might be helpful. Remedies were simple in those days. There wasn't much that couldn't be helped with a shot of penicillin or B-12.

I did return to school and finished my senior year—heartbroken and rejected but B-12 energetic!

There's no need for the country doctor's antidote now.  I have my own stash in liquid form...just in case.

 

It's been a record-breaking winter in Ohio and many other areas. Ohio gets the Gold Medal for breaking a one hundred year-old record for snowfall in February. The attitudes that come with such weather would probably break the I've-had-enough-meter reading.

Each season brings beauty and challenges; it's sometimes difficult to find the positive aspects as the season seems to go on forever. When my granddaughter, Montana, was four years old, we had a similar winter. Snow began on Christmas Eve and the ground was snow-covered until mid-March. She looked out the window at snow falling and wistfully asked, “Mommy, when is Christmas going to be over?”

He directs the snow to fall on the earth and tells the rain to pour down. Everyone stops working at such a time so they can recognize His power. Job 37:6,7  NLT  We do stop working at our regular pace, but do we recognize His power in all of this?

A few days ago I was determined not to complain about another snowfall—to find some redeeming factor in this ongoing weather pattern. I had an AHA moment!

Our Creator celebrates uniqueness—it's His signature. Snowflakes are unique with pattern variations caused by differing temperatures. These crystal wonders are displays of His creativity. Gazillions of them right in my own backyard. It changed my perspective and helped me cope with another blast of winter.

   
 

"How full of the creative genius is the air in which these are generated! I should hardly admire more if real stars fell and lodged on my coat. Nature is full of genius, full of the divinity, so that not a snowflake escapes its fashioning hand.” --Thoreau--

Seasons change and I'm so grateful. In my neck of the woods we're like daffodils and tulips ready to emerge to the freshness of Spring—to celebrate life in glorious color. There will be new reasons to recognize His power and celebrate creation in all its uniqueness.

For more information about snowlakes and their uniqueness, visit www.SnowCrystals.com  .

Undivided Hearts

God is an amazing mathematician; I am not. I do well to keep my checkbook balanced. I have noticed that He specializes in multiplication and addition rather than subtraction and division. His mandate to "be fruitful and multiply" gives us a glimpse of His heart.  That makes me happy since I do better in addition and multiplication.

 

Ezekiel 11:19 says, “I will give them an undivided heart and put a new spirit in them; I will remove from them their heart of stone and give them a heart of flesh.” (NLT)

In the New International Version it is stated this way: “I will give them singleness of heart and put a new spirit within them. I will take away their stony, stubborn heart and give them a tender, responsive heart.”

This refers to God's way of getting His people back on track and focused—their hearts not divided between idolatry and Himself. I've been mulling this idea for a long time and I have a different perspective now. It may not be theologically correct but it is what it is.

It came into focus when I talked to my granddaughters about the upcoming birth of a baby sister. This is a blended family and there are multiplied challenges with the “coming together”. Mycah became very quiet and withdrawn just before we were to leave to go to the hospital to see her new sister.

I took her on my lap and asked what she was thinking about...she burst into tears. “Are you worried about Isabella and how things are going to be now?” I asked. Between sobs she said, “Yes.” “Do you think Daddy won't have time for you now?” More sobs. “Well, guess what? I'm pretty sure Daddy will still have time for you. Everyone is wondering how this is going to change the family—including Isabella. She will wonder if the rest of you know what you're doing.” Mycah laughed and seemed a bit relieved.

She snuggled next to me as I related my experience with an “undivided” heart. When Montana was born I was certain I could never love another grandchild so much as I loved her. And then you were born and I discovered that I didn't have to divide my heart between the two of you, but God helped me to grow my heart bigger so I could love both of you. My heart has stretched so big sometimes I think it might explode. It grew bigger so I could love Isaiah and Elizabeth and Ehlana and Audri and now it's expanding some more so I can have enough love for Isabella....all my treasures! It's amazing how it works.

Mycah wiped her tears and I wiped mine. “Wow,” she said, “I didn't know all that.” I assured her that I sometimes wonder how things will turn out, like when Papa was so sick and I didn't know if he would live long. “But our Papa God gives us hearts of flesh so we can love the way we're supposed to—even when things happen different than what we prayed.”

We washed our faces and gathered the other girls to go to the hospital. She announced, “Sometimes Grammer gets worried too—like about Papa. It's okay 'cause God makes our hearts bigger!”

  Pictured above: Ehlana (standing), Mycah, Montana, Audri, Ghianna and Isabella.
  
We embraced Isabella and our bigger hearts. Now our hearts of flesh are tender and responsive to another baby sister—Ghianna. Thank you, Papa God, for multiplication and addition...and undivided hearts!

 

 

Old Photographs Don't Lie

 

Perusing old photo albums can be very therapeutic and sometimes bittersweet. How wonderful to have captured memories of days gone by to carry on the family heritage and verify legends of the mind.

With the technological advances in photography, one cannot be certain that present day photos have not been through the Photoshop alterations or similar adjustment. It is great fun to use digital cameras and all that is available to us now. One must ask, “Is this the real thing...or has it been altered?”

I looked through hundreds of photos recently and discovered one that made me laugh out loud. It's the stuff of legend in our family.

Many years ago in a hotel located in the north end of Toledo, Ohio, my sons respectfully followed the instructions of their mentor and friend Randy Cutlip. We were in town for Randy's wedding and he booked our hotel room for us.

Randy was one of those unforgettable and complex characters. We met him in the '90s when he came to our church to play a concert. In his early music days he played with the original Three Dog Night Band and had legendary tales of his own. He stayed with our family several times and we visited his home in Alabama. The boys couldn't wait for him to tell some tall tales during those precious visits.

Randy gave Ben and Jonathan an expensive bottle of bubble bath (without our knowledge) and told them to be sure to use at least half a bottle in the jacuzzi at the hotel. Joe prepared the jacuzzi for the boys and left the room, giving instructions that we would like to use it also. Everything seemed in order.

“HELP! SOMEBODY...HELP!” came the cries from the bathroom. We looked in on them and WHOA! What in the world? Joe yelled, “What happened?”

“Brother Randy told us to use half this bottle and so we did.” Joe was not amused. I laughed hysterically. I sometimes laugh at inappropriate times—it's a coping mechanism—but that's not what Joe called it.  We began to try to take the “fluff” off the top of the jacuzzi and get rid of it in the sink. This was high quality bubble bath and it didn't just disappear. Joe mumbled and ranted and raved. I laughed.

Joe grumbled, “Now we won't be able to use this tonight unless we can get rid of these bubbles.” “But Brother Randy...” Jonathan offered. “You don't have to do everything someone tells you to do,” Joe added.

We didn't use the jacuzzi that night—or the next morning, but we have a story to tell the next generation. This photo tells the full story—and that's the truth.  Thanks for the memory, Brother Randy.

Paper or Wireless?

 

One of the joys of teaching my children at home was daily reading aloud to them. I sat on the sofa and Ben and Jonathan would be in another chair or at least some distance from me. As I read something that interested them, they would soon be snug against me listening intently. Even now, when I go into the Young Readers section of a bookstore or library, I get teary-eyed as I remember those precious times. Good books plus snuggles equal great memories.

Our all-time favorite book was Tales of the Kingdom by David and Karen Mains. It is an allegorical tale about a boy (“Hero”), no longer a child and yet not a man, who lived in Enchanted City. One of the summaries at the end of a chapter reads...So the boy learned that quests can be a journey inward as well as a journey outward. There is a kingdom within that must first be conquered before one comes brave enough to challenge the world without. This is an idea that all caretakers of the soul know.

Another chapter summary reads: And the Baker discovered that one could love the work of one's hands too much, and that one should always love one's King more. Love for the King is measured by one's love for his people. So the Baker fed the hungry and fed them well—lest the One he loved the most should starve.

One final excerpt: And so the boy discovered that seek-the-King is a wonderful game. Like all games it must be played with a child's heart, which believes and is always prepared to be surprised, because a King can wear many disguises. There are two sequel books: Tales of the Resistance and Tales of the Restoration.

When my father was seventy-eight years old, we traveled to Lima, Peru on a mission trip. The first week we stayed with a very poor family with two young children.  Elizabeth, age five, rummaged through my purse to see what treasures she could find. She discovered my library card—but no one in the family knew about public libraries. I was shocked. No public libraries?

I asked a friend, “What is your most valuable possession?” She didn't hesitate...”My library card.” I prodded, “Why?” “It's really very simple, “ she answered, “I can go to the library and escape...I can pretend to be a character in a book...I can visualize myself in another country...it's a wonderful place to be.”

We are blessed in America with free access to thousands of books. What a wonderful concept—thank you, Benjamin Franklin, for vision into our futures. I have friends in the Middle East who are embarking on a new venture and opening a library room for people in their city to come and peruse hundreds of books. Just imagine a room full of bookworms—some laughing, some crying, some sighing at the wonders found on the printed page.

Wireless reading devices such as Kindle are invading the market with access to thousands of books...a hand-held library.  It's an amazing invention, to be sure, and what a space saver! Call me old-fashioned, but I like the feel and smell of paper and ink in my hand. I like to mark up my books—even dog-ear them sometimes...cuddle my paper treasures.  I wonder if my grandchildren will snuggle up to me the same way if I read from an electronic book? I hope so, because that is part of the pleasure of reading aloud to them. Electronics are here to stay, but I hope that “real” books are too. 

Sanctity of Life

 

The pundits are at it again...How could a loving God allow such horrendous events as we witnessed the devastation in Haiti recently. Rabbi Harold Kushner wrote a best-selling book years ago entitled: When Bad Things Happen to Good People and many ask, “Why do bad things happen to good people?”

That question was posed to me often in grief support groups and in bereavement follow-up. I asked a question in return: Why do good things happen to bad people? Hm-m-m-m. That was a lot less popular. Bad things happen to good people—good things happen to bad people. It's called life. How we honor and respect life matters.

I don't have the answers nor will I try to expound on such things. This coming Sunday is Sanctity of Life Sunday when millions celebrate life, particularly the life of unborn children. This list has extended to include more needy and afflicted ones, and rightly so. Our “Daddy” God cares deeply for each living person; He seems extra concerned for widows and orphans and expects the same of us.

I've been thinking about the word “invalid” and its usage. We call handicapped souls “invalids”. Does that make them invalid? Definitely not. I dislike the word “vegetable” describing someone who is still a living human being but with limited abilities. Just my prejudice.

Our American culture does not highly prize the wisdom and experience of the elderly. I am grateful for those precious souls who willingly mentor me and share their counsel. The elderly can be a powerful resource, giving them reason to live and the younger ones hope to achieve as well. Let's celebrate their lives.

I am not a fan of “over-the-hill” birthday parties and derogatory remarks about one's age. If one is truly pro-life, birthdays are included in the package. Celebrating another birthday is celebrating life. I learned recently of a woman who lived into her nineties and denied her age, even to the point of having her birth/death years altered on her tombstone to show she was ten years younger. Why?

I've been horrified to watch the catastrophic losses of Haitians and deeply touched by the miraculous recoveries of people. Each person is precious to the Father—He has plans for each one that are just as noble as plans He has for us. God knows the names of each one buried in mass graves or left to decay in the street. He knows the numbers of hair on each head. Each of us are intimately known by Him.

One is reminded of our frailties in such catastrophic events. It's easy to become arrogant and think we can predict the future, prevent tragedies and be self-sufficient. This is deceptive thinking at its best.

Job 37:5-7 states: God's voice thunders in marvelous ways; He does great things beyond our understanding. He says to the snow, “Fall on the earth,” and to the rain shower, “Be a mighty downpour.” So that all men He has made may know His work, He stops every man from his labor. (NIV)

Sometimes our work comes to a standstill and we are forced to rest...“to look at the rubble”. It's a humbling exercise.

King David wrote Psalm 139—a classic depiction of the love of God for His children. I recommend that you read the complete psalm to get the full impact. Here are some highlights: Psalm 139:7-16.

Is there anyplace I can go to avoid Your Spirit? To be out of your sight? If I climb to the sky, you're there! If I go underground, you're there! If I flew on morning's wings to the far western horizon, You'd find me in a minute—You're already there waiting!

Then I said to myself, “Oh, he even sees me in the dark! At night I'm immersed in the light!” It's a fact: darkness isn't dark to you; night and day, darkness and light, they're all the same to you.

Oh yes, you shaped me first inside, then out; you formed me in my mother's womb. I thank you, High God—You're breathtaking! Body and soul, I am marvelously made!

I worship in adoration— creation! You know me inside and out, You know every bone in my body; You know exactly how I was made, bit by bit, how I was sculpted from nothing into something.

Like an open book, You watched me grow from conception to birth; all the stages of my life were spread out before You, the days of my life all prepared before I'd even lived one day. (Message Bible)

Life is sacred, holy and most precious to our Father. Some among us suffer with disease, varying degrees of afflictions and challenges in every age group of life. We question...we ponder...

 Let every living, breathing creature praise God!  Hallelujah! Psalm 150:6 (Message Bible)

 

The Clean Slate Club

 

It's the beginning of a new year and a new decade. Expectations are abundant as we look forward to a clean slate.

As a kid I belonged to the “clean plate club” and have paid some consequences for that throughout my life. Anyone else know what I'm talking about? As a believer, I'm now a part of the “clean slate club”. Everyday (and every time I ask for forgiveness) my slate is wiped clean. New mercies have been extended. New grace is available. All that's needed is a willingness to follow instructions from the Master Planner and fill in the blanks for a profitable day.

So what goes wrong some days? Some things are out of our control and the day does not end well. Sometimes we are just plain foolish and make unwise choices. I make lists because I like the satisfaction of crossing out accomplished tasks. It frustrates me when I am unable to cross every item listed for the day. But tomorrow is another day...

Clean slates...transgression ledger is wiped clean...empty pages...fresh starts...a new dawn.  Don't you appreciate "newness"?  It brings HOPE...

It's a time for reflection as well. What did I really do with my time in the past year? What are my goals for this year? A couple months after Joe died I looked heavenward one morning and pleaded with the Father, “SO...what's THE plan?”

Immediately a verse came to mind: Proverbs 31:25 “Strength and dignity are her clothing and she smiles at the future.” Really, now. I feel overwhelmed reading Proverbs 31. But, I asked for the plan and now I had one. I didn't like it one bit. I found the nearest calendar, held it in my hand and smiled the biggest fake smile I could muster. Okay, I smiled at the future. What a phony!

I need someone to help me get dressed because strength and dignity seem elusive at times. Strength when one feels weak; dignity when one feels vulnerable and exposed. And I have to smile too? Wow.

I look at calendars and still smile a fake smile but it's getting better. Once it felt genuine so I'm making some progress. I visited with my seven grandchildren and looked at each one as my treasure. They, too, are my future. I smiled a real smile.

My sister and I celebrate birthdays this week—numbers 55 and 60. More reflections...there is more of us in the mirrored reflections! Our husbands died from cancer and we are adjusting to new realities. The American Cancer Society has a new slogan: “There's no such thing as too many candles. The less cancer there is, the more birthdays there will be.” Amen to that. We love and appreciate our birthdays.

So teach us to number our days that we may present to You a heart of wisdom. Psalm 90:12 My hope is to live wisely, to love fully and to wisely fill my “clean slate” every day so I can present a heart of wisdom to the Giver of my life.

 Abba helps me put on strength and dignity--clothing that's never outdated.  He further directs, "Smile at the future! You've got a clean slate.  Choose to live well; I'll take care of the bumps in the road...and the craters too!”

Note: Photo of my sister Deborah and me on our first and sixth birthdays.  Later that year our family smiled at the future and moved to Grand Cayman Island as missionaries. 

Double Dumb Distractions

Some folks are notorious for multi-tasking.  There are benefits, unless, of course, one has too much distraction. 

For example, one might not be fully aware of one's surroundings because of too much emotional or physical overload.  I had a day that was full of unexpected sad news, a granddaughter was newborn, my husband was terminally ill and I was depleted of all energy.  "I can't wait to get home and change into my jammies and put on some comfortable shoes..." I mused. 

Lots of sighing...groaning...muttering.  I changed into my comfy clothing and settled in to unwind. I puttered around the house a while until bedtime. As soon as I laid down I started sobbing; the cumulative demands on my life had come to a head. Joe asked, “What is going on?” Now that's a loaded question. “I don't know...lots of stuff...I'm just so tired...” I leaned over the edge of the bed to reach the box of tissues and began to laugh hysterically, leaving Joe more confused. “Now what...what's so funny?”

I looked at the pair of shoes I had just taken off—each one was black and that was all that was similar. Joe quizzed, “You didn't notice they weren't the same?” Apparently not. Dumb, really dumb.  Laughter was the medicine we needed to relieve some of the tension and pain.

Another day I went shopping for groceries in the Super Wal*Mart in our area. Once again my mind was filled with concerns that I was sorting out in my mind. I wore my bib overalls with a wool blazer. Yep, my best red-necked “git-up” for shopping. My brother-in-law John cracked up when he saw my “dressy” bibs outfit.

A trip to the restroom was first on my list. Sometimes the signs for restrooms are a bit puzzling— someone uses clever words like Pointers and Setters or Roosters and Hens instead of Men and Women with international symbols included. The slight hesitation it takes to be certain of the gender intended can present a problem for some (and you know who you are). In the days of outhouses there was no question about such things.   

It's not easy wearing bibs—you have to undo everything to use the bathroom. So, I took off the blazer etc...and decided to multi-task while I was there. I checked my shopping list and money and just took my time. Someone entered the adjacent bathroom stall...a very quiet someone wearing not-too-large generic black tennis shoes. Nary a peep...

While I washed my hands thoroughly, I noticed several urinals hung low on the opposite wall reflected in the mirror. (Remember, I'm a mother of three sons.) I thought to myself, “Now isn't that thoughtful? They've installed urinals for Moms with little boys. That would've been helpful when my boys were young.”

As I pushed the door open I had a “suddenly” moment. I was in the Men's room—and it was clearly marked MEN--with the symbol! Double dumb.  I burst into laughter at the thought. Who was that person next to me in there? Hm-m-m-m. He must have wondered about my size 6 shoes.  I giggled my way through the store that day...more dumb distractions...more of life's stretch marks.

Have you had any dumb distractions recently? Hopefully these resulted in laughter (no casualties of any sort) and brought much needed relief for your spirits.

Should Odd Acquaintance Be Forgot?

 

One day I heard the familiar tune sung on New Year's Eve—Auld Lang Syne. I never quite understood that song but looked up the author of such lyrics. Scottish poet Robert Burns is credited with writing this in 1788.

This particular day it just struck me funny and I heard the chorus this way: Should odd acquaintance be forgot and never brought to mind? And that got me thinking...hm-m-m-m. There are acronyms for everything: OCD, ADD, ADHD, FBI, IRS, CIA, USA, FYI, BTW etc.

The next day I was talking with a co-worker and she was describing someone with unusual behavior. I stated, “He's O.D.D.” Gail said, “What's O.D.D.?” I added, “Odd—you know, peculiar.” It became a standard summary among us for those with odd names, behaviors, talents or speech patterns.

I remembered childhood acquaintances with strange names like Jibba. She was not attractive and she knew it. Her familiar disclaimer went like this: “I ain't got the looks but I got personality!” That she did.

As kids we were fascinated by a woman who rode her English-style bicycle past our house. She seemed old at the time but she was probably in her thirties. She never completely pedaled the bike a full revolution. She went half-way to the top and then pedaled in reverse and began again. Her nickname was “half-round”.

Another tall and very slender woman was known as “six o'clock” because she was straight up and down. Not really a nice thing to call someone. I've tried to remember the name of a Caymanian who scared us as children with his odd rooster crowing.

I had two Scottish teachers who didn't bathe regularly; there was evidence to prove it. Each of them had at least one burgundy shirt he wore repeatedly—sweat rings for each day of the week. By week's end the rings looked like the inside markings of an old tree cut down for lumber. Eewww!

My math teacher would sometimes come to class with her hair in curlers! I guess she wanted to look good for her second job. We had strict dress codes—uniforms everyday. How did she get away with that? ODD.

I worked as a bank teller while Joe was in the military. It was a bit unsettling when the young undertaker came in to make a deposit. He had a deep, resonant voice and he always said, “And how are you feeling today?” In my calmest voice I assured him I was doing very well, thank you very much.

In Moberly, Missouri there lived an ODD man who did his laundry at the local laundromat. He took off his clothes to wash them and was naked under his clear vinyl raincoat. Pretty ODD...and some other adjectives!

There have been many ODD souls in churches I've attended. My sister Deborah and I chose the same one to top our list. “James” (not his real name) was brilliant, spoke nasally and abruptly and was devoid of tactfulness. He cautioned, “REPENT...or BURN!” He called out “Ichabod” (meaning: the glory has departed) in one service.  

And there was Cal who sometimes visited my brother-in-law's church in California. He was upset if you called him homeless; he did live in a van, after all, so he wanted to be called semi-homeless. He would bring a can of okra for the poor— an item he wouldn't dream of consuming himself.

So, back to the question: Should odd acquaintance be forgot? Nah! These are what make memorable storytelling at family gatherings and church reunions. Each of us may be on someone's ODD characters list. Perish the thought!

Should odd acquaintance be forgot and never brought to mind?  No way.

 

We'll take a cup of kindness yet,

for odd times sake.

 

 

 

To ODD acquaintances...for ODD times sake...Cheers!

 

Happy New Year!

Merry Christmas

 

 

 

 

 

 

The three wise men bring

Some tender validation

Befitting my King.

 

 

 

 

 

Jesus--in the flesh--God's tender validation of His love for us!

God's tender love for me has been validated in many ways during this difficult year.  I pray you have experienced His tender love as well. 

Merry Christmas!

On the Memory-Go-Round

 

What's a memory? Wilfrid Godron McDonald Partridge asked that question in a delightful book by Mem Fox, illustrated by Julie Vivas.  He overheard his parents talking about his favorite person, Miss Nancy Alison Delacourt Cooper. She was his favorite because she had four names like he did. His parents commented that she had lost her memory; so he asked his father, “What's a memory?” His father answered, “It's something you remember.”

Wilfrid Gordon McDonald Partridge wanted to know more. This little boy lived next door to an old people's home and he went about asking his favorite folks, “What's a memory?”

Mrs. Jordan who played the organ answered, “Something warm, my child, something warm.”

Mr. Hosking who told him scary stories replied, “Something from long ago, me lad, something from long ago.”

He called on Mr. Tippett who was crazy about cricket. "What's a memory?" he asked.  “Something that makes you cry, my boy, something that makes you cry.”

Miss Mitchell who walked with a wooden stick told him, “Something that makes you laugh, my darling, something that makes you laugh.”

He asked Mr. Drysdale, who had a voice like a giant, about his definition of a memory; he responded, “Something as precious as gold, young man, something as precious as gold.”

The little boy gathered things to represent all the ideas he had been given about memories so that he could help his favorite person find her memory once again. This story ends sweetly; I highly recommend this delightful multi-generational book with the whimsical illustrations.

The holiday season evokes many memories which encompass all of these things: something warm, something from long ago, something that makes you cry, something that makes you laugh and something as precious as gold.

Do you feel like you're on a Memory-Go-Round as you shop, decorate, sing Christmas tunes, bake and share family times? What catches us off guard is how much energy this requires. It's an “up-and-down going in circles kinda season”. And then something triggers the emotions in an unexpected way...

Many families have had major changes this past year: health issues, job losses, divorce, foreclosures, relocation, kids leaving home/kids returning home, new babies, deaths...challenges of every kind. Is it any wonder that we find ourselves being torn in many directions and then feeling the emotional highs and lows?  Any of these situations can put huge demands on our physical and emotional energy.

A couple of weeks ago I was home alone for a short while—that was a good thing. I opened a box of Christmas decorations and I began to wail. I'm sure the neighbors could hear me but I couldn't stop. It had been building for some time and the tsunami of tears came without warning. 

I didn't start singing, “'Tis the season to be jolly, fa-la-la-la-LA-la-la-la-la!” An Elvis tune, Blue Christmas, was more appropriate at that moment or any other sad, bluesy tune.

Among the contents of that box were all the things Wilfrid Gordon McDonald Partridge discovered about memory.

Something I remembered...     

Something warm...

Something from long ago...         

Something that made me cry...

Something that made me laugh...

Something as precious as gold...

Enjoy the Memory-Go-Round...and expect some emotional highs and lows in your circle of friends and family.

 

Tender Validation

 

I was standing in line at the grocery store and looked up to see this sign. I've seen it dozens of times but never did it impact me like this day.

Yes, I know it has to do with money. I asked the store owner if that phrase was only displayed for credit card purchases. He replied, “That shows up when payment is other than cash.”

What I saw was a phrase that describes God's love towards us—tender validation. His love is tender and He validates and values us. When anyone demonstrates tenderness to another, it is tender validation. I appreciate when I am tenderly validated; how about you?  One such expression came on our fortieth wedding anniversary.

Joe had to be taken to the ER (due to complications from medication) on the morning of our anniversary. After five hours we left the hospital; Joe went straight to bed for rest when we arrived home. I started to tidy the house and took out the trash. I began to pray a mumbling prayer: “Lord, it's okay. This is not how we planned to spend this special day but at least he is still alive and is with me. I'm so grateful for that. Joe has been too ill to go anywhere to buy a gift or a card and it's really okay.” As an afterthought I whispered, “But I would really like some beautiful flowers...”

Two hours later the Fed-Ex delivery truck backed into my country drive. The driver handed me a large, long cardboard box which had been shipped from California. Who could have sent this?

I eagerly opened the box to find an extravagant bouquet of Gerber daisies from my sister Deborah. Wow, that was a fast answer to my mumbling prayer. I ran upstairs to show Joe. I was sobbing as I told him, “I prayed for some beautiful flowers today.” He cried too.

I was content that my request had been met. A few hours later a floral delivery van pulled into the drive. I received another beautifully arranged bouquet of scented white flowers and greenery from my youngest sister, Lisa. Spectacular! I couldn't stop smiling. This was amazing.

I made room for these lovely bouquets so that we could fully enjoy them. The vibrant colored daisies reminded me of the joy we shared for forty years. The white flowers spoke of the purity of our marriage and faithfulness to one another. It was fitting for “keepers of the covenant” of marriage.

Evening came and we looked forward to a visit from my older sister, Judy. She brought a large, fragrant rose from her rosebush that was in a heart shaped vase. Okay, God, you've gone way beyond my imagination today. This is unbelievable. I asked for some beautiful flowers and considered gathering some wildflowers from the nearby field. But instead, I received an extraordinary expression of your care for a woman worried about reaching her fortieth wedding anniversary with her beloved husband. I made a simple request for beautiful flowers and God supplied extravagantly. Tender validation!

During this special time of giving gifts, consider how you might express Tender Validation to another. There are so many simple ways to do this:

a kind compliment

a note of encouragement

courtesy

listen and make eye contact

an extra tip

a “we don't have to say a word” hug

This is just a starting point...you get to choose the rest. 

Twelve Ways to Wreck a Relationship

 

During the Christmas season there are probably more home visits than the rest of the year. Some visits are awkward—some are pleasant. I once saw a cartoon that I wished I had copied. It showed an adult approaching his parent's home. There were three frames, and in each he was smaller and younger. By the time he reached the door he was about age five. The caption read something like this: How old are you when you reach home? I read a helpful book by William L. Coleman entitled How to Go Home Without Feeling Like a Child. Here are some tips (excerpted from the book) to help avert such a scenario.

Be generous with criticism. Begin by knocking the other person's general interests—his/her politics, favorite sports, career, car or church. To save time, move swiftly toward more personal areas, criticizing the spouse, second husband, children's behavior, clothing, cooking and housekeeping.

Call and visit everyday. If three calls a week are good, three calls a day will be perfect. If you live nearby, drop in as often as possible. There's no need to call, after all, this is family.

Whine as often as possible. Imagine that everyone would like to see your foot callouses, stomach scars and dental work—and hear how much you pay for health insurance. Should the conversation lag, remind everyone how tough it was when you were a kid.

Assume that you can ask anything. Interrogation is a good conversation starter. Ask when they are going to get new tires for the car. Quiz about their bank account. Wonder aloud why they don't spank their children more often.

Remind everyone how much you have done for them. This doesn't take a lengthy conversation; it's best done in short jabs. For prime effectiveness, try these key phrases: I nearly died when you were born...We stayed married for you kids... We kept the '52 Kaiser so you could have nice clothes... The child can reply with, “We gave up a promotion to live near you.” “Hey, I didn't ask to be born.”

Drink as much alcohol as possible. To achieve cloudy thinking, blurred judgment and slurred speech, a little extra alcohol is guaranteed to provide the needed impediments.

Argue over faith. If adult children select a different denomination, para-church, or society of airport worshipers, they can brag to their parents how much better their choice is.

Bring up bad memories. Mention the night your son wrecked the Chevy. Remind your daughter that she didn't go to college. Are you upset because your parents moved while you were in ninth grade? Whenever someone mentions the long ago move, shoot hostile glances toward the responsible family members.

Offer advice. Don't wait to be asked. Wade right in and give your opinion. Rearrange their furniture. Redress their children. Mention their weight. Tell them to ask for raises. Adult children can help parents by telling them: “You're paying too much rent! The thermostat is set too high.”

Make them the center of your life. Don't develop other interests. Without friends or hobbies to hinder us, we will be able to major in doting.

Share their confidence with others. Be sure to tell all the aunts and uncles that your son and daughter-in-law are having troubles. Ask the church congregation to pray for them.

Complain when they don't call or visit. When they do call, add smart remarks such as: “Well, finally!” “I wondered if you had lost my number.” “I realize you are busy enjoying life while I'm all alone.”

“Whatever...” works as well.

You may compile a list of your own with similar ideas. The truth is this: Parents will always be parents...but children grow into adults, at least that's the goal. How old are you when you go home?  How old do your children feel when they come home? 

The State Highway 23 Stretch

 

We were returning home from Toledo on State Highway 23 after a family Thanksgiving gathering. Four women in a van require frequent stops; the male tolerates us.  "Do you need to stop here or can you make it another twenty miles?"  "I guess just stop now," Deborah said.

Four widows—my sister, my mom, my aunt and myself—plus my son, Ben. We stopped at a Rest Area on Highway 23 to stretch our legs and use the restrooms. As I walked into the restroom, I noticed a female attendant dressed in a neon yellow worker's vest, cleaning the mirrors. I thought how sad that she had to work on the holiday so I tapped her shoulder and said, “You're doing a good job!” Her eyes brightened and she thanked me.

I was the last one out of the room and by now “Freda” was in the lobby talking to my relatives. Deborah yawned and Freda said, “Now don't be doing that.” Deborah responded, “It must have been the turkey.”

Aunt Lois asked Freda, “Did you have a good turkey dinner?” She replied, “NO. My husband is brain dead. Doctors told me yesterday...” They told me what she had just revealed. I looked at her sad face and told her my husband died eight months ago. “It's so hard,” she continued. “Yes, I know. It's very hard.” I hugged her and she sobbed.

“Is that why you're working today?” I asked. “Yes.” More sobs. “I have to sign papers to give them permission to pull the plug tomorrow...” “I am so sorry,” was all I could offer.  I pointed to my family and noted that all of us are widows and Ben is fatherless.  We know about the pain.

I gave the van keys to Ben and he and the others went on out. I asked her about family and church family. Were they able to help her? Who is available? I also asked for her address so I could write her a note and remember her name so I could pray for her.

She blurted out bits and pieces about their lives together as we stood in the lobby, oblivious to many folks coming and going. “We were married fifty years...” It's never enough—we want more. I offered to pray with her and she accepted.

Freda hugged and hugged and hugged...sobbed some more. “I believe the Lord sent us here to give you some hope today,” I said. She nodded. “I will write you a note soon. I promise.”

A twenty-something young man was exiting as I was leaving. He stopped and asked, “Is everything okay?” “No. Her husband is dying.” He offered, “Oh, that is so sad.” I told him that my husband had died earlier this year as well and I knew some of what she was experiencing. He then asked how old my husband was when he passed.

I was touched that he was so thoughtful and took time to engage in conversation. He told me he was on his way to his grandmother's for dinner. What a blessed grandmother to have such a thoughtful grandson.

We sat in the van a few minutes just amazed at our encounter with Freda when we saw her come to the window and look out to watch for us leaving the parking lot. I don't know who was more stunned by all of this—Freda or the five of us.

Before our stop I had been thinking about the blessings of the day with our family, especially my seven grandchildren. But I was also missing their Papa so much and dreading returning home without him. And then...

The Creator of the Universe—the Master Planner—synchronized the timing of our arrival to meet Freda's needs. One comment...a question...a hug...an address...a prayer...comfort...hope. Our needs were met as well—four widows and a fatherless son—able to offer something we have generously been given. I sent her a card as promised.

I encourage you to pay attention as you go about your daily lives. There are those waiting for some hope and perfect timing has been orchestrated by the Maestro. The Father's heart beats for you...will your heart find His rhythm?

Season Passes

  

I'm a bit edgy these days...so much ado about nothing. Superficiality. Rush, rush and rush some more. Many Amish families live in my area and I enjoy the clippity-clop-clop sounds of horses and buggies passing the house daily. It reminds me to slow down...and it's okay to go against the flow when necessary.

It's holiday season. Frenzy season might be more appropriate. Merchants bullying customers—stalking them and begging for attention. Peer pressure soars. Competition is king. It's hard to distinguish seasons now since Halloween, Thanksgiving and Christmas decorations are on display simultaneously in shops.

If we don't like the weather where we are, we can go some place where seasonal temperatures suit our tastes. We aren't limited to foods in season because so much is available all year from every corner of the world. These are privileges that change our perspective and make us feel powerful to alter our circumstances.

 Local foods eaten in season have the highest nutritional value and are at their peak in flavor. Joe loved the end of summer when sweet corn was available. With butter dripping from his chin he would declare, “There is nothing better than sweet corn in summer!” Sweet corn out-of-season isn't as sweet...and in-season lemons give us greater "pucker punch".  There are positives and negatives in each season that facilitate growth.

I dislike stormy weather and I am not a fan of winter, but these are part of the cycle of life on earth. My family has experienced some severe storms this year. Even in the past two weeks my mother has been to the ER, my nephew hit a deer and narrowly missed injury (his grandmother also died) and my older sister was hospitalized following a car accident yesterday.  She will miss the extended family gathering in Toledo, but we're grateful to God she's okay. These are things that change one's emotional climate in a heartbeat.

Holidays are more difficult to face this year without Papa at our table. Some circumstances cannot be changed, no matter where we go or how we try to avoid them. It still hurts. Our culture is saturated with self-help gurus and do-it-yourself books and projects. We almost convince ourselves that we can do anything on our own; but we weren't meant to. We were designed for fellowship with one another and with God.

We spend an inordinate amount of time wishing we were in another season—another age, working at a different job, anxious for kids to leave the nest, anticipating retirement, hoping for better health—anything but what we're faced with.  Our mantras: "I'll be glad when this is over."  "I can't wait until..." 

I recently read The Noticer by Andy Andrews, an interesting novel about perspective and attitudes about life's circumstances. Many of us are faced with difficult situations and we want a seasonal pass to escape. I am included. However, growth is stunted when the process is aborted.

I am thankful for fellowship with some who willingly share my burdens and poke and prod me to grow when I don't have it in me to do so. I savor the sweetness of family and friends who slow down long enough to engage in meaningful conversation and stretch my thinking.

Rejoicing is not easy (but possible) when weeping comes so easily. We quickly urge others to “be blessed...count your blessings...” and ignore the pain. Faith helps tremendously, but it does not eradicate pain.

I challenge you to slow down...

Be a "noticer"...

Acknowledge the beauty and the ashes...

Give thanks...

and offer the gift of presence to one another.

Enjoy some sweet communion!

Big Gamblers

 

Denim dressed farmers

Cultivators of the earth

Feed hungry nations.
  

Years ago, a farmer friend advised me to never complain about farming with a mouthful of food.   I took his advice.  I appreciate farmers and the gamble they take each season to grow food for our consumption.

My farming roots are deep in central Ohio and I'm proud of this heritage.  I am not an animal lover and I make no apologies for that.  As a ten-year-old girl, I was terrified to go into Grandma Burson's hen house to gather eggs; she made me do it anyway. My Grandpa Smith's sheep barn was another place of terror for me, but I do enjoy the produce that farmers bring to the marketplace.  

 

Their mission statement:

Plant in faith; plow in hope; pray...

Lord of harvest, come!

 

 

The farmers' gambling

Stacked high in granary bins

"Playing crops!" they say.
 
 

  

Saturday morning

The farmer's market displays

Seed, time...and harvest.  
 
 
It's harvest time--let's celebrate farmers--the big gamblers. God bless them and may they always acknowledge the Lord of the harvest!

 

Those Dam Anecdotes

Living near a dam makes for interesting conversation, especially for a pastor's family.

Imagine guests' surprised looks when our young sons asked, "Is it alright if we ride our bikes down the dam driveway?" 

Sometimes our friends asked, "Do you let your boys talk like that?" 

Giving driving directions to our place added some confusion as well.  "Drive 1.2 miles on County Road 6 and we're the blue house across from the dam driveway.  Watch for signs for the wildlife area too!" 

For a year we were officially "dam overseers" for the Army Corps of Engineers and filled out monthly reports as part of our home schooling.  We watched for vandals and any suspicious activity; we picked up trash around the dam area as well. 

My mischievous Mom giggled and asked to go for a dam walk on wonderful summer days.  My son's comment: "She's not your average Grandma." 

My father was a righteous man with shortcomings like the rest of us.  He said things like "dadblameit" "cottonpickit" "confoundit" when he was greatly frustrated (or is that "grieved in his spirit"?).  My siblings and I called it creative cussing.  He was helping my brother-in-law with a carpentry project and things weren't going well for his perfectionist personality.  He was hammering away when suddenly he exclaimed, "BOULDER!"

Bill asked, "What did you say?"  Daddy repeated, "BOULDER!"  "Why did you say that?"  His reply, "It was the biggest dam I could think of."

A Salute to Freedom

If it is possible, as far as it depends on you, live at peace with everyone.  (Romans 12:18 NIV)

 

Granddaughter, Montana Blevins, pledges allegiance to the flag of the United States of America in the Field of Honor.
  

 

My GI Joe

 

My family has been impacted by those who served in the United States Military. We give honor to all, but especially to these relatives who served in the U.S. Army, U.S. Marines, U.S. Navy and U.S. Air Force, we say, "Thanks...you make us proud!"

Charles D. Welch--Army

Paul Burson--Navy

Vaughn Burson--Navy  

Frank Burson--Navy

Wayne Burson--Air Force

Forrest Ruhl--Army

Bonita Ruhl--Navy

Ronald Smith--Navy

Edgar Blevins--Marines

Michael J. Blevins--Army

Kirk McBride--Air Force

Jim Bodkin--Navy    

Richard Hall--Army

Most of these veterans were born in Knox County, Ohio.

        

 

 

 

 An American soldier...a soldier of the Cross of Jesus Christ.

 

 

 

Crazy Quilt Kitty

It's good to laugh...so I'm sharing a ridiculous incident that happened to me years ago. Most of us have had similar quirky happenings but maybe you haven't thought of one for a while. Think about it and have a good laugh and relieve some of that tension you've been feeling.

 ------------------------------------------------------

In the autumn of 1990 our family schedule included many high school basketball games. We were a busy household of six—four males and two females; the other female was a cat named “Pepper” who had the rule of the roost most of the time. She was black with golden flecks and definitely resembled black pepper. “Pepper” was litter trained and one of the very few house pets ever allowed.

One Friday night as we were preparing to go to Mount Gilead to a basketball game, I decided to make a quick change of clothing and freshen up. I was much thinner then, but by the end of the day it was sometimes difficult to zip up a freshly washed pair of jeans. (Some of you know what I mean.) I pulled them on, and laid back on my crazy quilt covered bed to zip them up. I put on my red and gray sweatshirt and was ready to cheer on our son Tadd and his team.

While en route, I asked my husband if he smelled anything funny. Yes, he did, but couldn't quite identify the smell. We arrived early enough to get great seats for the junior varsity game. Joe sat behind me so that I could lean back against his legs for support when my back got tired. About three-fourths through the jayvee game, he leaned forward and whispered, “I think I know where the smell is coming from!” I asked, “What is it?” He said, “I think you have cat poop on the back of your shirt!” I gasped, “WHAT?” “Yes, it would be a good idea if you went to the restroom and tried to wash some of that off.”

Imagine trying to discreetly make your way to the PUBLIC restroom without being noticed or smelled. My face turned the color of my red shirt as I backed my way up to the sink and tried to wash off as much as possible. What's a mother to do? I had to stay and watch my son play in the varsity game, for goodness sake. Normally I dislike sitting beside someone wearing strong cologne, but that night I prayed that some guy would come in with pungent cologne and sit next to us. It's funny—I don't remember if we won or lost that ballgame!

“Pepper” had never before done her business anywhere but in the litter box. It seemed she liked that crazy quilt and her deposit was hidden among the varied colors and patterns. I've had many embarrassing moments, but this one was the most public.

But there was another time in the Men's room at the local Wal-Mart store...

Wanzanuff?

 

This is a short tribute to my short Mama in honor of her long life and legacy.

Wanza is her name—it's unusual, just like her. Her South American friends call her “Wanzita” or little Wanza. It fits since she is now 4'10” high. She turns eighty-eight years young on October 26^th; making this her 88^th autumn on planet earth.

She was born in Knox County, Ohio, the first daughter (following three sons) of Ed and Grace Burson. There were seven in the clan—four sons and three daughters. Her brothers are deceased and she is the oldest of her sisters, Lois and Marjorie.

Paul H. Smith, age six, accompanied his parents to see this celebrated newborn girl. These farm families attended church together and had been friends for years. Twenty years later Paul robbed the cradle and they were married fifty-four plus years. They begat six children—five girls and one boy.

These two farm kids became world travelers. Mom never thought she would go beyond Ohio in her lifetime, but God stretched her comfort zone and horizons. She started out as a farm wife but God called Daddy into ministry and she became a pastor's wife—not the typical one either. How many pastors “call down” their wives during the service because she's shaking the pew with laughter?

She was a missionary wife among the lovely islanders in Grand Cayman, British West Indies, and made short ministry trips to Jamaica as well. Over the years she and my father traveled to the Holy Land, took a Caribbean Cruise and ministered in Bolivia, Ecuador and Peru. She discovered a great big wonderful world and embraced many cultures. Pretty amazing for a common country girl with an unusual name.

The grandchildren know her as “Grandma Smith” and my grandchildren simply call her “Great”. Generations of folks have affectionately called her "Grandma" as well.  They talk excitedly about her antics and mischief, most notably her sled rides in winter. She would lie face-first on the sled and one of the grandchildren (sometimes two) would lie on top of her. Off they flew down the hillside, laughing hysterically. 

She has been a marvelous “from scratch” cook and taught many young women how to bake homemade dinner rolls and flaky pie crusts. We savored her delicious doughnuts most of all. She rarely made them, but oh, what a treat. When she lived in Cayman she made them for Olga Adam's Dazy Dairy ice cream shop and we were left with the doughnut holes.   

 

 

 

I made this apron for her which says "Wanzanuff" but one of these delights is never enough.  Melt-in-your-mouth good!  

 

 

 

 

 

She is a serious Scrabble player, Word Finder and pun lover. She's a top-notch interrogator—no one is a stranger more than a few minutes. Mom is able to get information in record time, finding ways to connect to someone.

Perhaps her greatest gift to us all is laughter. There are many styles of laughing—Mom's a “honker”.  So...Honk if you love Wanza!

Happy Birthday, Madre!

Defining Kids

 

I taught young children in Sunday School for many years and I enjoyed the innocence and blunt honesty of their responses. Several answers stand out in my memory that demonstrate their child-likeness.

We were studying the Ten Commandments, one by one. As we read each one, I asked if they knew what it meant. They were doing well until we came to Exodus 20:14 “You shall not commit adultery.” “Who knows what that means?” Matthew, age 9, said, “Isn't that like committing suicide?” I laughed and said, “Well...it could be.” Just then Kristin, age 10, waved her hand in the air. She added, “NO. It's like saying you're 21 and you're really not!” Don't you love their simplicity?

Another Sunday we discussed what it's like to go through trials. The word “longsuffering” was part of the text. “What do you think “longsuffering” is? Matthew, looking very serious stated, “Hell.” I snickered. I'm with you, Matthew; it seems like hell at the time. He probably was thinking of the duration of hell, but I still like his definition.

I had only girls in my class for a couple years and they were all very bright and inquisitive. The discussion involved “peace” and what does that mean? Amber gave a succinct answer: “settled”. I like that and refer to her definition often.

I had another teachable moment with my granddaughter Mycah when she was six years old. She was helping me prepare the flower garden for planting in the spring. Mycah asked about the large rock in the middle. “Why is that there?”

“Oh, that's for decoration and to support this young plant beside it.” I continued by asking her if she knew that one of God's names is “Rock”.

“No, I didn't know that.”

“Yes, He has lots of names like Bread of Life, The Way, The Truth, The Life...He has hundreds of names.”

“Does He have a nickname?” she wondered. “As a matter of fact, He does. He likes to be called Abba which means Daddy.”

“Wow, I can call Him that. That's easy.”

 

 

How do my granddaughters define fun?  How about a visit to the pumpkin patch and a hayride...

 

 

Isabella, age eight months, on her first fall outing in the pumpkin patch.

 

 
  

 

Five of my treasures: Lana, Audri, Montana, Mycah and Isabella.

  

 
  Their imaginations, questions and pranks stretch our hearts and help us grow.  I need a daily dose of children and the life they bring to me!
  
  
  

 

 

Generation to Generation

 

Here's the scene: five giggly sisters alone for twenty-four hours in a log cabin located in the hills and hollers of Southern Ohio. It was a laugh-a-thon—so much so that our sides ached, our throats hurt and our voices became scratchy.

My sister Becky's husband built this log house, split the wood and all. It's way too remote for me; I still like curtains on the windows no matter how remote the location.

We have never had such a gathering—just sisters together as grown-ups. Deborah just relocated back to Ohio from California and our youngest sister, Lisa, is moving to Florida in a few days. So we decided it was time to celebrate together. We have one brother, Ron, who resides in Grand Cayman.

We are often referred to as “the Smith girls” and we range in age from fifty-one to sixty-five. Between us we have fifteen children/step-children and eighteen grandchildren/step-grandchildren. We have supported one another through difficult marriages, divorces, childbirths, miscarriage, hysterectomies, prodigal children, illnesses, deaths of our father, uncles and aunts, and two spouses.

The painful subject of moving surfaced as we remembered the trauma in relocating, especially from one country to another. Every place is home—but no place is home. We are preacher's kids; we are also missionary kids. Four of us have been married to pastors so we know the ins and outs of church life. I'm embarrassed to admit that too often we had a negative view of the ministry.

One of the ways we learned to cope with the painful “stretchmarks” of our lives is humor. Our mother, Wanza, gave us the gift of laughter and it has helped us survive. It's what we do best—well, maybe we cry best.

We shared an evening meal with foods reminiscent of our childhood spent in the Cayman Islands. Our Caribbean fare included Hot Patties, Caribbean Seafood Stew, Cayman potato salad (it's pink because of beets in it), rice & beans, coconut jello, guava dose and avocados. Cola Champagne, Guayabana and limeade quenched our thirst for tropical drinks. Dessert was pineapple upside down cake, chocolate fudge and Sugar Babies. It was carb heaven!

This started all kinds of nostalgic stories of our growing up days in a simpler time. “Remember when we didn't have any money (did we ever?) and Mom made that awful creamed vegetable soup over rice?” “EEWWW! That was so disgusting! But she did the best she could do.” We began naming favorite foods: red snapper, barracuda, turtle steaks, curried goat etc. “Don't forget breadfruit. I like it done...” “No, my favorite way is fried. Definitely fried.” Sibling rivalry continues...

Judy brought Catch Phrase and the competitiveness surfaced. We laughed our way through several rounds, then I mentioned that I brought hymnbooks so we could have a “singspiration”.  Looks of unbelief.  “No, really it will be fun. Debbie and I do this in the van sometimes. We sing 'toiling on...toiling on...toiling on'...'Master the Tempest is Raging' (Daddy's rendition) and we laugh.”

So it began. We sang with Appalachian accents, songs like “I'll fly away”; “O 'Wictory' in Jesus” with Cayman accents and on and on it went, using hand motions, imitating (not mocking) some of our favorite saints. I secretly recorded some of these and Debbie video-taped a few so these can be passed on. Debbie and Lisa intentionally sang “Amazing Grace” off-key. To some it would seem irreverent; to us it was great fun and a stress reliever.

Our father, Paul, was a great storyteller and we learned how to weave life's stories from him.  We stayed up until 2:00 a.m. recounting life in a pastor's home--the good, the bad and the ugly.   Once I thought I could hear him say, "GIRLS!  It's time to quiet down and get to sleep!"

Okay, you may be bored about now. So why is this important to recall? Family stories are important, whether they are spoken, written, sung or acted out. Scriptures encourage us to pass on our stories of triumph and tragedy—of struggles and stretching so that future generations will know how God got us through each day.

“We will not hide these truths from our children but will tell the next generation about the glorious deeds of the Lord.

We will tell of His power and the mighty miracles He did...so the next generation might know them—even the children not yet born—that they in turn might teach their children.

So each generation can set its hope anew on God, remembering His glorious miracles and obeying His commands.” Psalm 78:1-4,6,7 NLT

Reminiscing is an important part of one's legacy, but looking forward to the future is as well. We're planning next year's gathering in Florida.

A miracle happened at the log cabin in the woods...not one teardrop; we were too busy laughing!

The Rhythm of Our Lives

 Oscar loved to converse and share his zest for life. When I called one morning to set up an appointment, he answered, “GOOD MORNING! HOW ARE YOU TODAY?” It was such a pleasant greeting that I couldn't wait to meet him. During one of our visits I met this delightful man in his eighties whose wife of fifty plus years had died. And I listened to their story.

It was a sweltering ninety-five degrees that July day and his home had no air-conditioning; the windows were closed and one little fan blew the hot air around us. This home was full of stories. There was just a path throughout that was piled high with papers and books and lots of memorabilia. It seemed that his wife cherished every handmade item given to her.

He talked lovingly of his wife and their relationship and boldly spoke of his faith in God. He asked if I could play any musical instruments and I told him I played the piano. So, he went to get a small electric keyboard so that I could play him a tune. In order to do this the fan had to be unplugged.

I began to sweat and he went in search of a tissue for me to wipe my forehead. It was such a sweet gesture—very typical of Oscar. He loved music and wanted to sing along but finally I told him I couldn't endure the heat any longer. We finished our visit and he asked that I return on a cooler day.

A few months passed and Oscar attended a holiday grief workshop I facilitated, the only male among eleven women. Not to worry, he handled himself with grace. He had been a mail carrier for almost thirty years and he knew generations of families. This presented some problems as I tried to conduct the workshop because he knew everyone present and all of their kids and grandchildren; he interrupted often to get updates on each family.

Writing a note to the deceased loved one was part of the activities for the day. It was always a reverent time as each person thoughtfully (sometimes tearfully) wrote their note. No one was asked to read the contents to the group because of the intimate nature of each. They silently laid their notes on beautiful wrapping paper and rolled it into a scroll, secured with ribbon.

To my surprise, Oscar asked if he could read his poetic note aloud and I gave permission. The women gasped as he read this sentence: “I miss your music—not so much your singing or your playing the piano...but I miss the music that was the rhythm of our lives.” They begged, “Please, repeat that phrase so we can drink it in!”

There is a rhythm to our lives. Sometimes we live in a frenzied rhythm and long for the “rests” and quieter times. Stop the staccato! Some feel stretched during the “rests”.

John Ruskin, English poet and artist wrote about the “rests” we sometimes experience, especially after a significant loss or change.

“There is no music in a rest, but there is the making of music in it. In our whole life melody, the music is broken off here and there by “rests” and we foolishly feel that we have come to the end of the tune. God sends a time of forced leisure—sickness; disappointed plans, frustrated efforts—and makes a sudden pause in the choral hymn of our lives, and we lament that our voices must be silent and our part missing in the music which ever goes up to the ear of the Creator.

How does the musician read the “rest”? See Him beat time with unvarying count and catch up the next note true and steady as if no breaking place had come in between.

Not without design does God write the music of our lives. Be it ours to learn the time and not be dismayed at the “rests”. They are not to be slurred over, nor to be omitted...nor to destroy the melody...nor to change the keynote.

If we look up, God Himself will beat the time for us. With the eye on Him we shall strike the next note full and clear.”

Listen for the rhythm as the beat goes on...

A Cheerful Heart

“A cheerful heart brings a smile to your face; a sad heart makes it hard to get through the day.” Proverbs 15:13 Message Bible

I thought a little humor might be helpful to begin your work week, so I'm sharing four incidents that made me laugh and lightened my load.

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My friend, Carol, has an inadvertent way of saying funny things. We had a mutual friend named Mary whose father had died in a tragic dynamite explosion. Mary showed Carol a photograph of her father before his death, and Carol expressed her condolences. “Oh, Mary, this is a great picture. You should have it blown up!” Maybe “enlarged” would have been a better choice of words.

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I've had my share of bloopers and blunders as well. I was assigned home visits with a blind patient, a surly, bitter man who became blind because of medical negligence. He rarely conversed and if he did it was more grumbling than pleasant talk. I went in to greet him one morning and said, “Jim, it's great to see you this morning!” (Oops!) He picked up on that and retorted, “Well, I can't see you. I don't even know what you look like.” “Well...I look like Marilyn Monroe.” He laughed and we finally made a connection. Then I told him the truth, but somehow he already knew!

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We have a family friend named Harvey who has been more like a big brother to my siblings and me. We met him while ministering in the Cayman Islands and he was a college intern. We looked forward to his visits because it meant fun was about to happen. It was summer and we had picked fresh peas from the garden to serve at supper. (We ate supper, not dinner.) We assembled around the table and my father was about to appoint someone to say the blessing. Just then Harvey picked up a single pea and popped it in his mouth. “Wow, I haven't had a good pea in a long time!” It's really hard to pray seriously when everyone is laughing so hard and about to......... themselves!

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Our family has been blessed to know lots of funny people, many of them pastors. M. M. Scott was one of the funniest men we knew. He put on his “deadpan” face and cracked everyone up. Just a day or two before he died he was still joking and making mischief. He asked for another chair to be put at his bedside. When the hospice nurse came, she asked why that chair was placed there. With his most serious face he stated, “Oh, that's for rigor mortis to set in.” The nurse shot a glance at his son John nearby to see if it was okay to laugh. John said, “Oh, go ahead and laugh. He set you up on purpose.”

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“For the poor, every day brings trouble; for the happy heart, life is a continual feast.” Proverbs 15:15 The Book