Deanna spent most of the weekend on the loveseat in the Den with her foot elevated. I wanted her to stay off it so it would get a good start healing before school this morning. I tried to spend as much time as possible with her so she wouldn't feel too alone or isolated. I brought her meals to her on a TV tray and would sit in the same room with her, leaving Don to keep the boys in line at the table.
Sometime over the weekend, we had turned on the television, looking for something good in a house with no cable. One of the major networks was running a program about Evangelical Christians reported by Tom Brokaw. Deanna and I watched about half of it before I got pulled away to do other things.
The question being raised on the program was whether or not the Evangelical Movement had too much influence on politics and the political process, including access to the President and his Aides. They interviewed an Evangelical Pastor of a mega-church. He said in his interview that he was due at the White House in 3 hours for his weekly meeting. When asked by Mr. Brokaw what was on the agenda for this meeting, he said, "Whatever they want to talk about. They don't tell me before hand. I just show up and do my best to answer their questions."
A number of congregation members were interviewed, as well. One young woman and her husband were asked about their opinions regarding the Evangelical Movement and its impact on politics. The woman responded that our country was in a season of Revival and Americans were searching for something that made sense. They found that "sense" in churches. She also said that she believed it was time for "the people" to take back politics - for Christians everywhere to become involved, not just sit at the sidelines letting non-Christians determine the direction of the tide.
I was floored by this special. Of course, Tom Brokaw also interviewed a Jewish family that felt very uncomfortable with the "pushyness" of the Evangelicals and complained about brochures being put on cafeteria tables about the movie, "The Passion of the Christ". They had very strong opinions all based on the idea of separation of Church and State.
I realize I didn't see the program in its entirety, and Christians may have been slammed later in the show, but what I saw made a strong case for Christians everywhere to actively involve themselves in the politics of our country. Our laws have been shaped and our morality dictated by the media and liberals for FAR TOO LONG!!! Thank God the President meets with Evangelicals. Thank God the White House looks for Godly men that can advise them. Thank God college campuses are full of flyers for thought-provoking, gut-wrenchingly truthful movies. Thank God not all Christians want the laws of their country decided by and their state governments run by wimps who are more concerned about the likes of Hollywood than the likes of Heaven. Thank God for this Revival in our country.
On Saturday, while out running some errands, I passed an attractive, older man dressed in loafers, a nice sweater, and Dockers standing on a corner where the Bypass exits onto a major road. He was holding up a large sign that said, simply: "If my people who are called by my name will humble themselves and repent..., then will I heal their land." There were no "support people" standing beside this man. There was no white van covered with signs and blaring from a loudspeaker, "Repent or die." There was just a simple, well-dressed believer who felt he had a responsibility to his country and his Lord, and was doing his part.
We should all pick up signs and stand on the street corners - if not physically, then figuratively.
Monday, October 31, 2005
Sunday, October 30, 2005
The Cost of Relationships
Yesterday, I wrote about Deanna's friend, Faith, and her relationship to both me and Deanna. My friend, Jan, commented that she wished she had relationships like that. The truth is, I didn't have any of those growing up. My father was in the Army and we never spent longer than 4 years (usually only 3) in one place. My parents always requested overseas tours so they could see the world and show it to us kids. While our childhood was amazing and we grew up speaking foreign languages, having an understanding of how large the world is, recognizing the place of Americans in this world, and really understanding different cultures, the trade-off was life-long relationships.
Most of the military families that also traveled overseas understood the same concepts. They realized the importance of deep relationships but that we were all fighting against time. Everyone rotated on a different schedule and had been wherever we arrived for different periods of time, so we may build a deep relationship only to discover that our close friend's family was transferred in 2 months. It was very unusual to find anyone who was just arriving, allowing you to build a friendship for 3 whole years. Typically, relationships had a duration of one or two years.
With this in mind, us military families learned to build very quickly. We hid little and were pretty open about who we were. We didn't have time to break down walls or dance around issues. If we wanted friendships, we had to lay it all on the line, and quickly. There was a high level of trust and a deep sense of commitment amongst these people.
The result of this on our lives, of course, was a transparency. We tend to trust people and be willing to be open about ourselves. But we also have no friendships that ever lasted over a couple of years. Our families never abandoned us, though, which caused us to form deep, close relationships with our siblings. One of my sister's and I talk daily, as do my parents and I. Another of my sisters, Toni (who's "fast, fun, and friendly"), works and we find it difficult to visit over the phone, but we manage whenever we can. My other sister, Tenny, lives in California but has free long distance on weekends, so she used to call every weekend and visit with all her sisters. Used to, I said, because she has two granddaughters now, and the weekend calls suddenly ceased. Hmh, I wonder why?
My children's lives are very different from mine. They have the chance in this life to built friendships that WILL last. I want them to have the same depth of love for their siblings that I have for mine, so we work on these relationships, probably more than most people. But there's another huge difference between me and my children.
When I was growing up, we had no time to waste with fighting. Although we had the typical relationship tussles between siblings, we seldom fought with our friends. Every moment was too precious to spend not talking to each other or avoiding one another over spats. My children, however, constantly seem to be dealing with in's and out's of friendships. In one week, I have dealt with three "She's not my friend anymore" problems between Deanna and these "life-long friends". Their relationships are a hotbed. At times, I want to walk away from it all and stop trying to constantly resolve these issues, restoring these relationships. Then I remember how much I want my children to learn the concepts of giving and receiving forgiveness and resolving issues. And how special it is that they are building relationships that will last a lifetime, unlike their mother and aunts.
So, Jan, while my children have wonderful, lasting relationships, they're not free. There is a price to pay for these, as well. I just have to remember that their value will WAY outlast the price.
Most of the military families that also traveled overseas understood the same concepts. They realized the importance of deep relationships but that we were all fighting against time. Everyone rotated on a different schedule and had been wherever we arrived for different periods of time, so we may build a deep relationship only to discover that our close friend's family was transferred in 2 months. It was very unusual to find anyone who was just arriving, allowing you to build a friendship for 3 whole years. Typically, relationships had a duration of one or two years.
With this in mind, us military families learned to build very quickly. We hid little and were pretty open about who we were. We didn't have time to break down walls or dance around issues. If we wanted friendships, we had to lay it all on the line, and quickly. There was a high level of trust and a deep sense of commitment amongst these people.
The result of this on our lives, of course, was a transparency. We tend to trust people and be willing to be open about ourselves. But we also have no friendships that ever lasted over a couple of years. Our families never abandoned us, though, which caused us to form deep, close relationships with our siblings. One of my sister's and I talk daily, as do my parents and I. Another of my sisters, Toni (who's "fast, fun, and friendly"), works and we find it difficult to visit over the phone, but we manage whenever we can. My other sister, Tenny, lives in California but has free long distance on weekends, so she used to call every weekend and visit with all her sisters. Used to, I said, because she has two granddaughters now, and the weekend calls suddenly ceased. Hmh, I wonder why?
My children's lives are very different from mine. They have the chance in this life to built friendships that WILL last. I want them to have the same depth of love for their siblings that I have for mine, so we work on these relationships, probably more than most people. But there's another huge difference between me and my children.
When I was growing up, we had no time to waste with fighting. Although we had the typical relationship tussles between siblings, we seldom fought with our friends. Every moment was too precious to spend not talking to each other or avoiding one another over spats. My children, however, constantly seem to be dealing with in's and out's of friendships. In one week, I have dealt with three "She's not my friend anymore" problems between Deanna and these "life-long friends". Their relationships are a hotbed. At times, I want to walk away from it all and stop trying to constantly resolve these issues, restoring these relationships. Then I remember how much I want my children to learn the concepts of giving and receiving forgiveness and resolving issues. And how special it is that they are building relationships that will last a lifetime, unlike their mother and aunts.
So, Jan, while my children have wonderful, lasting relationships, they're not free. There is a price to pay for these, as well. I just have to remember that their value will WAY outlast the price.
Saturday, October 29, 2005
Friends for Life
When I walked Deanna to school on Monday, several of her friends needed to talk about Theresa's sudden death. I was thankful they feel comfortable enough with me to have these conversations. On the walk back home, I was pondering this. Deanna's known some of these girls since birth. Two years prior to Kindergarten, she started getting together with several of them once a week to play. If you include these years, she's had continuous contact with a few of these girls for 6 years now. Pretty amazing, considering she just turned 9.
One of her friends, Faith, was born while I was pregnant with Deanna and suffering from pancreatitis. I was in the hospital for 6 months during my pregnancy, on and off, but mostly on. During my second trimester, as I've mentioned before, they removed my gall bladder and I began post-surgical recovery while pregnant.
Anyway, Faith's parents are close friends of mine. Her father and I grew up together and were really best friends. Her mother and I became very close as singles and spent lots of time together. I even went with her once to her grandfather's 90th birthday party (I think it was 90!) We spent the weekend with her family and I thoroughly enjoyed both her company and her family's. I had a very serious conversation with Bob once encouraging him to pursue Lisa, which ultimately ended in a first date, was a bridesmaid in their wedding, and rented my apartment to them as newlyweds.
So, when Lisa went into labor with Faith, they stopped by my hospital room on their way to Labor and Delivery to tell me they were there. We visited for a few minutes, then they left to launch into the process. Later, they visited me again while Lisa was attempting to push labor forward and thought walking may help. A few hours later, I called down to L&D for information and was told that Lisa was pushing and we should have a baby soon.
Bobby came and gave me the good news of a daughter some time later. And, even later, as I was preparing for bed, Bobby appeared at my door, pushing the basinette of his newborn. I had turned off the lights, lowered the head of my bed, and was beginning to doze when I heard the knock on the door.
"Patti, I need help," Bobby said. "Lisa had a rough delivery and is absolutely exhausted. The baby is screaming and Lisa has got to get some sleep. I wondered if you would hold Faith and try and get her to sleep. I needed to get out of Lisa's room with her."
Would I hold that newborn? Big joke. I practically snatched her out of the basinette, held her against my own bulging tummy, and began humming to her. Bobby announced that he had not yet called all the family members, so I passed the phone to him from the other side of my bed. He plopped on the couch, phone in his lap, and began trying to reach family members to give them the good news. I tried my best to rock Faith, being careful to not move TOO much since I had an incision that went clear across my body and was still in a fair amount of pain from my surgery. I finally realized that she needed a pacifier. I tried to reach the one in the basinette, but couldn't quite get there without stretching, which was a no-no for me. I asked Bobby if he would come around to the other side of the bed and get it for me. He responded affirmatively, got up, and started around my bed.
Just then, the movie I still had playing on the TV hanging on the wall across from me took an interesting turn. Bobby stopped underneath it and we both were still for a couple of minutes watching the movie. Just then, my bedroom door flew open and in walked a nurse to take my vital signs. She was a fill-in that didn't know me and she stopped dead in her tracks. She looked at Bobby, the baby, me, and the TV, then back at Bobby and me. She stood there for several seconds, obviously attempting to process this information. Finally, as if Bobby were standing across the room instead of right next to her, she whispered my direction, "Do you know this man?"
I was so shocked by the question, I didn't respond. Bobby took full advantage of the quiet moment and jumped in. "Heck, no, I don't know her. My wife just gave birth and needed to rest and the baby was fussy. I figured I needed a woman and any woman would do, so I just pushed the basinette down the hall until I saw an open door."
The nurse almost bruised her chin on the floor, her mouth dropped open so far. I snickered and said, "Bobby, behave!" Then I continued with, "Of course, I know him. He's one of my best friends. He brought the baby for a visit so his wife could get some rest."
The nurse turned without responding and quickly pushed the vital signs cart back out the door, closing it behind her. She never returned to take my vitals that night.
Bobby retrieved the pacifier and continued his calls. I successfully got Faith to sleep and held her tight against me, thankful to have a baby in my arms after all I'd gone through, even if it wasn't mine. My claim to fame in this little girl's life is that I put her to sleep the night she was born.
I've always believed that she and Deanna have a special bond. Deanna had to have heard Faith's wailing from inside the womb. And Faith has always seemed to have a special love for Deanna. We always remind them that they met and became friends before Deanna was even born.
How's that for a life-long friendship?
One of her friends, Faith, was born while I was pregnant with Deanna and suffering from pancreatitis. I was in the hospital for 6 months during my pregnancy, on and off, but mostly on. During my second trimester, as I've mentioned before, they removed my gall bladder and I began post-surgical recovery while pregnant.
Anyway, Faith's parents are close friends of mine. Her father and I grew up together and were really best friends. Her mother and I became very close as singles and spent lots of time together. I even went with her once to her grandfather's 90th birthday party (I think it was 90!) We spent the weekend with her family and I thoroughly enjoyed both her company and her family's. I had a very serious conversation with Bob once encouraging him to pursue Lisa, which ultimately ended in a first date, was a bridesmaid in their wedding, and rented my apartment to them as newlyweds.
So, when Lisa went into labor with Faith, they stopped by my hospital room on their way to Labor and Delivery to tell me they were there. We visited for a few minutes, then they left to launch into the process. Later, they visited me again while Lisa was attempting to push labor forward and thought walking may help. A few hours later, I called down to L&D for information and was told that Lisa was pushing and we should have a baby soon.
Bobby came and gave me the good news of a daughter some time later. And, even later, as I was preparing for bed, Bobby appeared at my door, pushing the basinette of his newborn. I had turned off the lights, lowered the head of my bed, and was beginning to doze when I heard the knock on the door.
"Patti, I need help," Bobby said. "Lisa had a rough delivery and is absolutely exhausted. The baby is screaming and Lisa has got to get some sleep. I wondered if you would hold Faith and try and get her to sleep. I needed to get out of Lisa's room with her."
Would I hold that newborn? Big joke. I practically snatched her out of the basinette, held her against my own bulging tummy, and began humming to her. Bobby announced that he had not yet called all the family members, so I passed the phone to him from the other side of my bed. He plopped on the couch, phone in his lap, and began trying to reach family members to give them the good news. I tried my best to rock Faith, being careful to not move TOO much since I had an incision that went clear across my body and was still in a fair amount of pain from my surgery. I finally realized that she needed a pacifier. I tried to reach the one in the basinette, but couldn't quite get there without stretching, which was a no-no for me. I asked Bobby if he would come around to the other side of the bed and get it for me. He responded affirmatively, got up, and started around my bed.
Just then, the movie I still had playing on the TV hanging on the wall across from me took an interesting turn. Bobby stopped underneath it and we both were still for a couple of minutes watching the movie. Just then, my bedroom door flew open and in walked a nurse to take my vital signs. She was a fill-in that didn't know me and she stopped dead in her tracks. She looked at Bobby, the baby, me, and the TV, then back at Bobby and me. She stood there for several seconds, obviously attempting to process this information. Finally, as if Bobby were standing across the room instead of right next to her, she whispered my direction, "Do you know this man?"
I was so shocked by the question, I didn't respond. Bobby took full advantage of the quiet moment and jumped in. "Heck, no, I don't know her. My wife just gave birth and needed to rest and the baby was fussy. I figured I needed a woman and any woman would do, so I just pushed the basinette down the hall until I saw an open door."
The nurse almost bruised her chin on the floor, her mouth dropped open so far. I snickered and said, "Bobby, behave!" Then I continued with, "Of course, I know him. He's one of my best friends. He brought the baby for a visit so his wife could get some rest."
The nurse turned without responding and quickly pushed the vital signs cart back out the door, closing it behind her. She never returned to take my vitals that night.
Bobby retrieved the pacifier and continued his calls. I successfully got Faith to sleep and held her tight against me, thankful to have a baby in my arms after all I'd gone through, even if it wasn't mine. My claim to fame in this little girl's life is that I put her to sleep the night she was born.
I've always believed that she and Deanna have a special bond. Deanna had to have heard Faith's wailing from inside the womb. And Faith has always seemed to have a special love for Deanna. We always remind them that they met and became friends before Deanna was even born.
How's that for a life-long friendship?
Friday, October 28, 2005
The Meltdown
Deanna's home today, safely planted on the loveseat in front of the TV with her foot propped up, watching Public TV cartoons. But life is never simple. Don has a doctor's appointment this morning and had to leave by 8:10. We decided last week that he would take Daelyn with him so I could go on a fieldtrip with Dane's class to the swamp (Uck! When Deanna went on this fieldtrip two years ago, they watched a black racer - snake, for those of you who aren't familiar with this species - chase a frog through the swamp). So who's going to take care of Deanna? I have to leave for the fieldtrip by 9:20 and Don is afraid he's not going to be home until much later. God bless sweet Grandma. I called her last night, and she's going to come over and stay with Deanna until Don gets home.
I considered cancelling on the fieldtrip, but the reason I'm going is because Dane needs me. He had another meltdown 10 days ago. He was involved in an incident at school. Fortunately, Dane is sensitive enough to realize that things were taking a bad turn and uninvolved himself before the worst of it. But the other boy was disciplined and Dane was told he couldn't play with the other boy anymore. He burst into tears and lost it. He kept saying, "I need my mommy. I need her to be here with me. This is TOO long for me to be away from her. I CAN'T do it."
His teacher and I had a long conversation and Dane and I have had several long talks since then. He says he loves school and really enjoys it, but when he's under stress, he just needs him mommy. His teacher has suggested that I take him out of school one day a quarter just to have fun-time with him. She said his grades are good enough that it wouldn't be a problem and she feels it might really help him to have a whole day alone with mom. So, we're going to schedule that time but, in the meantime, this fieldtrip was a great opportunity for me to be with him.
Dane gets Mommy this morning and Deanna gets Grandma. Daelyn's staying home, as well. He was all set to go with Daddy until he heard Grandma was coming over - suddenly the doctors office lost some of its allure.
We're praying for Deanna for a quick healing, praying for Dane that he'll feel more comfortable being away from me, praying for my friend, Kelly, and her family at the loss of her baby, and continuing to pray for the Kent family as they attempt to put order and reason back into their lives.
Our life sure is an adventure. Truthfully, I wouldn't have it any other way.
I considered cancelling on the fieldtrip, but the reason I'm going is because Dane needs me. He had another meltdown 10 days ago. He was involved in an incident at school. Fortunately, Dane is sensitive enough to realize that things were taking a bad turn and uninvolved himself before the worst of it. But the other boy was disciplined and Dane was told he couldn't play with the other boy anymore. He burst into tears and lost it. He kept saying, "I need my mommy. I need her to be here with me. This is TOO long for me to be away from her. I CAN'T do it."
His teacher and I had a long conversation and Dane and I have had several long talks since then. He says he loves school and really enjoys it, but when he's under stress, he just needs him mommy. His teacher has suggested that I take him out of school one day a quarter just to have fun-time with him. She said his grades are good enough that it wouldn't be a problem and she feels it might really help him to have a whole day alone with mom. So, we're going to schedule that time but, in the meantime, this fieldtrip was a great opportunity for me to be with him.
Dane gets Mommy this morning and Deanna gets Grandma. Daelyn's staying home, as well. He was all set to go with Daddy until he heard Grandma was coming over - suddenly the doctors office lost some of its allure.
We're praying for Deanna for a quick healing, praying for Dane that he'll feel more comfortable being away from me, praying for my friend, Kelly, and her family at the loss of her baby, and continuing to pray for the Kent family as they attempt to put order and reason back into their lives.
Our life sure is an adventure. Truthfully, I wouldn't have it any other way.
Thursday, October 27, 2005
Lost
We buried my friend, Theresa, today.
The cemetery is on a plot of land my father owns. Years ago, when he bought the property, he bought two lots that form an "L" shape. My sister has a house on one of the legs and the cemetery is on the other. My parents purchased the lot where my sister now lives first, then found this other lot for sale that would give us a paved road-access to the property - the first lot was on a dirt road.
We drove straight to my sister's house from the church and dropped 0ff the boys. They were both hungry and Daelyn needed a nap, so we left them. We were concerned that we would find it difficult to park at the cemetery, so we decided to walk through the woods to the cemetery. We headed out with Deanna in a suede skirt and sweater, tights and dress shoes, me in a suede skirt and sweater, nylons and dress shoes, and Don in a wool suit with dress shoes.
We had some difficulty finding the cemetery. We were headed the right direction but couldn't find the right path and had to stop and listen for singing to finally make it. By the time we arrived, my hose were torn by briars and my legs were bleeding and Deanna's tights were covered with stickers.
Don was certain that there was a path from my sister's house directly (or indirectly) to the cemetery, so we decided to try a leisurely stroll back to Trina's after the burial. I wanted to look for grapevines to make wreaths and I thought it would be nice to not have to rush and enjoy the woods and the weather. To make a long story a little shorter, we got miserably lost. We stumbled around in the "jungle" (as Deanna called it) for 2 hours. I was sure I knew which direction we needed to go, but the foliage was so dense, we couldn't go the way we needed. We tried to go around the rough spots, but never could quite seem to clear it. Along the way, I laid down all the grapevines I had collected, we saw a skull (I think it was a possum - it had a long snout), we climbed 4 barbwire fences, and I picked up a small nest that was intact on the ground to use in a spring in a table decoration. Deanna cried a little and got pretty upset, saying we were lost. Don and I laughed and told her that it was impossible to get LOST. You just keep walking in the same direction and, eventually, you'll run into a road. We ended up in a large field that eventually led to a Nursery. We used the phone in the office to call my sister and have her pick us up. We were about 12 miles from her house and probably walked at least 10, much of it in gradually larger concentric circles looking for the "direct path".
I got a little anxious when 3:00 rolled around and we were still in the woods. Deanna had an appointment with a dermatologist at 4:45 to have a plantar's wart removed from her foot.
Well, we finally got out, made it home, changed clothes and washed our feet, and headed for the doctor. He gave me several options for removal of the wart, but the best option, by far, was surgery. So, Deanna had her foot numbed through a shot (amid much wailing and nashing of teeth) and the wart surgically removed. She'll miss school tomorrow and has to keep her foot elevated for 3 days, limiting walking to bathroom visits, only.
But, she had quite an adventure this afternoon and, I'm sure, has walked enough to hold her through the weekend.
The cemetery is on a plot of land my father owns. Years ago, when he bought the property, he bought two lots that form an "L" shape. My sister has a house on one of the legs and the cemetery is on the other. My parents purchased the lot where my sister now lives first, then found this other lot for sale that would give us a paved road-access to the property - the first lot was on a dirt road.
We drove straight to my sister's house from the church and dropped 0ff the boys. They were both hungry and Daelyn needed a nap, so we left them. We were concerned that we would find it difficult to park at the cemetery, so we decided to walk through the woods to the cemetery. We headed out with Deanna in a suede skirt and sweater, tights and dress shoes, me in a suede skirt and sweater, nylons and dress shoes, and Don in a wool suit with dress shoes.
We had some difficulty finding the cemetery. We were headed the right direction but couldn't find the right path and had to stop and listen for singing to finally make it. By the time we arrived, my hose were torn by briars and my legs were bleeding and Deanna's tights were covered with stickers.
Don was certain that there was a path from my sister's house directly (or indirectly) to the cemetery, so we decided to try a leisurely stroll back to Trina's after the burial. I wanted to look for grapevines to make wreaths and I thought it would be nice to not have to rush and enjoy the woods and the weather. To make a long story a little shorter, we got miserably lost. We stumbled around in the "jungle" (as Deanna called it) for 2 hours. I was sure I knew which direction we needed to go, but the foliage was so dense, we couldn't go the way we needed. We tried to go around the rough spots, but never could quite seem to clear it. Along the way, I laid down all the grapevines I had collected, we saw a skull (I think it was a possum - it had a long snout), we climbed 4 barbwire fences, and I picked up a small nest that was intact on the ground to use in a spring in a table decoration. Deanna cried a little and got pretty upset, saying we were lost. Don and I laughed and told her that it was impossible to get LOST. You just keep walking in the same direction and, eventually, you'll run into a road. We ended up in a large field that eventually led to a Nursery. We used the phone in the office to call my sister and have her pick us up. We were about 12 miles from her house and probably walked at least 10, much of it in gradually larger concentric circles looking for the "direct path".
I got a little anxious when 3:00 rolled around and we were still in the woods. Deanna had an appointment with a dermatologist at 4:45 to have a plantar's wart removed from her foot.
Well, we finally got out, made it home, changed clothes and washed our feet, and headed for the doctor. He gave me several options for removal of the wart, but the best option, by far, was surgery. So, Deanna had her foot numbed through a shot (amid much wailing and nashing of teeth) and the wart surgically removed. She'll miss school tomorrow and has to keep her foot elevated for 3 days, limiting walking to bathroom visits, only.
But, she had quite an adventure this afternoon and, I'm sure, has walked enough to hold her through the weekend.
Wednesday, October 26, 2005
As a Butterfly
Tonight was the Rosary and Wake for my friend, Theresa, who died Sunday morning. We were not able to attend because we had a function at the Church that would have been very difficult to cancel on. We will be attending the funeral and burial tomorrow, though. Don's coming home from work in time to meet us for the 10:00 a.m. service.
This whole situation was very much on my mind this evening. On the way home from the Church (we live a 20-min. drive from where we worship), the children and I were talking. Deanna wanted to know what the plan was for tomorrow. As we discussed it, I explained to her how much I was struggling with this whole situation.
"But it's not just me or just the family, honey. Everybody's struggling," I commented to her.
"Mama, just remember the butterfly," Deanna said.
"I'm not quite sure I get your drift. What do you mean 'remember the butterfly'?"
"Well, the butterfly struggles every day to break out of its coccoon. But, until it does, it's just a caterpillar. It has to struggle and struggle to get out and turn into a beautiful butterfly," she explained.
"Hmh," I said, pondering deeply the meaning of what she was saying. I didn't quite get the connection, but I felt like it was lying there just past my reasoning capabilities at that moment. If I could but think REAL hard, I'd figure out what she meant and what the connection was to Theresa dying and all of us mourning. There, in the quiet of the van, I tried desperately to push my brain forward, focusing on Deanna's words and trying to hear what God was speaking to me through them. Just then, a voice broke into my thoughts. I "came to" and realized it was Daelyn asking me a question.
"What did you say, son? I didn't hear you."
"What butterfly is sissy talking about, Mommy?"
This whole situation was very much on my mind this evening. On the way home from the Church (we live a 20-min. drive from where we worship), the children and I were talking. Deanna wanted to know what the plan was for tomorrow. As we discussed it, I explained to her how much I was struggling with this whole situation.
"But it's not just me or just the family, honey. Everybody's struggling," I commented to her.
"Mama, just remember the butterfly," Deanna said.
"I'm not quite sure I get your drift. What do you mean 'remember the butterfly'?"
"Well, the butterfly struggles every day to break out of its coccoon. But, until it does, it's just a caterpillar. It has to struggle and struggle to get out and turn into a beautiful butterfly," she explained.
"Hmh," I said, pondering deeply the meaning of what she was saying. I didn't quite get the connection, but I felt like it was lying there just past my reasoning capabilities at that moment. If I could but think REAL hard, I'd figure out what she meant and what the connection was to Theresa dying and all of us mourning. There, in the quiet of the van, I tried desperately to push my brain forward, focusing on Deanna's words and trying to hear what God was speaking to me through them. Just then, a voice broke into my thoughts. I "came to" and realized it was Daelyn asking me a question.
"What did you say, son? I didn't hear you."
"What butterfly is sissy talking about, Mommy?"
Tuesday, October 25, 2005
Early Waking
Daelyn’s been waking up early, around 5:30, each morning. I hear his little, squeeky voice talking, talking, talking. Don gets up between 4:30 and 5:00 on weekdays. He likes to be at work (a 45 min. drive) by 6:30 and still fit in his prayer time, shower, breakfast, etc. Lately, he’s been having trouble getting up and often doesn’t leave until 6:00 or 6:30. But, regardless of what time he leaves, Daelyn’s up to tell him goodbye.
Don’s gotten used to this and gets out the cereal box every morning for his little guest. They eat together and Daelyn chats about whatever’s on his mind - HIS time with Daddy. No one’s up yet but him and his father.
I find this all somewhat amazing. Daelyn, a three year old, decided on his own that he needed more time with his father so he sets his little internal clock to rise before Daddy leaves. It took us a couple of weeks to figure this out. At first, I just thought he was outgrowing his afternoon naps. But we finally figured out that it has nothing to do with how tired he is - he drags himself out of bed, yawning, and then returns to bed when Daddy’s gone. Or, rather, climbs in my bed, pouncing on me and talking until I finally force myself awake. Several times, Don’s put him back to bed in his own bed and he’s slept until much later. It’s a shame I can’t convince him to do this every day.
This has all been going on for about 3 weeks now. Last Thursday, when I was tucking Daelyn in at bedtime, I said, “You know, son, Daddy’s off tomorrow. He’ll be home all day. You can get up whatever time you want and he’ll still be here so you can have breakfast together.”
“Okay, mom,” he said, “I’ll just sleep in then.”
And doggone it, if that isn’t exactly what he did. He didn’t roll out of the bottom bunk until 7:30 - just in time to eat with his siblings (and Daddy, of course) and dress so he could walk with us to school. I was shocked. Don thought it was right funny.
“Don’t you remember?” Don asked. “One of the other children used to get up with me when they were little.”
I thought back, tapping into a vague memory. Sure enough, when Deanna was about 9 months old, she unexpectedly started waking at around 5:00 a.m. Don always left before she was up in the morning and didn’t get home from work until she was already fast asleep. The only time they had together was on weekends. I was just starting to get concerned about their relationship when she began waking early every morning.
At first, as with Daelyn, I thought this was the beginning of a new season with her. But, when the weekend rolled around and she slept until 8:00 every morning Don was home, we began to get the picture. She must have either sensed him moving around or heard his particular noises and had conditioned herself to wake to that movement or those sounds so she could see her daddy. She would sleep soundly through me waking and moving around. It was only Don’s movements that awokened her in the mornings. She would squeek and wiggle (Deanna never cried) until he got her up and then she’d sit in his lap while he had his prayer time and ate breakfast, poking him in the eyes, giving him lots of kisses, and pulling on his mustache. She was spending time with him the only way a 9-month old knows how.
These children just recognize their need for their daddy and having time with him just to themselves. I wish I had some time with him just to myself. But I’m thankful Deanna had Daelyn have made that connection with their Daddy.
This morning, Daelyn must have been exhausted, because he slept right through Daddy’s morning routine. When I went in the boys’ room to wake Dane, Daelyn was snoring. He came out a few minutes later with his clothes in hand looking very trouble.
“Mama,” he started, in a whiny voice, “I didn’t get to have breakfast with Don Doughty this morning. He already left for work.”
I thought this time together was bringing them closer but it seems this man living in our house has moved from “Daddy” to “Don Doughty”. Not sure what that means, but at least Daelyn’s being gentlemanly about it.
Don’s gotten used to this and gets out the cereal box every morning for his little guest. They eat together and Daelyn chats about whatever’s on his mind - HIS time with Daddy. No one’s up yet but him and his father.
I find this all somewhat amazing. Daelyn, a three year old, decided on his own that he needed more time with his father so he sets his little internal clock to rise before Daddy leaves. It took us a couple of weeks to figure this out. At first, I just thought he was outgrowing his afternoon naps. But we finally figured out that it has nothing to do with how tired he is - he drags himself out of bed, yawning, and then returns to bed when Daddy’s gone. Or, rather, climbs in my bed, pouncing on me and talking until I finally force myself awake. Several times, Don’s put him back to bed in his own bed and he’s slept until much later. It’s a shame I can’t convince him to do this every day.
This has all been going on for about 3 weeks now. Last Thursday, when I was tucking Daelyn in at bedtime, I said, “You know, son, Daddy’s off tomorrow. He’ll be home all day. You can get up whatever time you want and he’ll still be here so you can have breakfast together.”
“Okay, mom,” he said, “I’ll just sleep in then.”
And doggone it, if that isn’t exactly what he did. He didn’t roll out of the bottom bunk until 7:30 - just in time to eat with his siblings (and Daddy, of course) and dress so he could walk with us to school. I was shocked. Don thought it was right funny.
“Don’t you remember?” Don asked. “One of the other children used to get up with me when they were little.”
I thought back, tapping into a vague memory. Sure enough, when Deanna was about 9 months old, she unexpectedly started waking at around 5:00 a.m. Don always left before she was up in the morning and didn’t get home from work until she was already fast asleep. The only time they had together was on weekends. I was just starting to get concerned about their relationship when she began waking early every morning.
At first, as with Daelyn, I thought this was the beginning of a new season with her. But, when the weekend rolled around and she slept until 8:00 every morning Don was home, we began to get the picture. She must have either sensed him moving around or heard his particular noises and had conditioned herself to wake to that movement or those sounds so she could see her daddy. She would sleep soundly through me waking and moving around. It was only Don’s movements that awokened her in the mornings. She would squeek and wiggle (Deanna never cried) until he got her up and then she’d sit in his lap while he had his prayer time and ate breakfast, poking him in the eyes, giving him lots of kisses, and pulling on his mustache. She was spending time with him the only way a 9-month old knows how.
These children just recognize their need for their daddy and having time with him just to themselves. I wish I had some time with him just to myself. But I’m thankful Deanna had Daelyn have made that connection with their Daddy.
This morning, Daelyn must have been exhausted, because he slept right through Daddy’s morning routine. When I went in the boys’ room to wake Dane, Daelyn was snoring. He came out a few minutes later with his clothes in hand looking very trouble.
“Mama,” he started, in a whiny voice, “I didn’t get to have breakfast with Don Doughty this morning. He already left for work.”
I thought this time together was bringing them closer but it seems this man living in our house has moved from “Daddy” to “Don Doughty”. Not sure what that means, but at least Daelyn’s being gentlemanly about it.
Monday, October 24, 2005
Do we have a Choice?
We're still dealing with shock over the death of a good friend. There was a candlelight vigil in the front yard of their home last night at 7:30. We weren't able to attend because both Deanna and Dane had dark circles under their eyes and needed to be IN bed by 7:30.
Everyone who knew Theresa is grieving with her family, but you can't help but think - this could have been me. It could have been my children left motherless. She had no symptoms, no illness. She appeared to be healthy and was certainly vibrant and active.
At the root of my nagging thoughts is a subconscious belief I held. It WAS subconscious until yesterday, when I began to recognize it and deal with it. The belief was that, somehow, I would be given a choice at the time of death - to go to Heaven or return to earth.
Years ago, I read the book "Life after Life". It was hugely popular when it first was published and I was one of the millions who read it from cover to cover. The book chronicled 200 people who had clinically died and been revived by artificial means. All of them described moving towards a light and most of them heard a voice asking why they deserved to go to Heaven.
They all recalled a feeling a immense peace and a disconnection with the concerns of the world. Many said they were asked if they wanted to go to Heaven or return to earth. In all but 3 of the cases (an unbelievable small number considering how many were interviewed), the people who were clinically dead chose Heaven. They said the peace was overwhelming and they didn't want to be thrown back into the chaos of human life.
I don't remember why one of the people chose life, but one of the three was a mother of young children who said she wanted to get her children raised before returning to Heaven, and God allowed her to be revived. A second was a medical student, I believe, who wanted to finish medical school and use his skill to save lives. God allowed him to be revived, as well.
Somehow, reading this book, all those years ago, left me with the unconscious belief that I would be given a choice. I don't know if this is true or not. But at least now I realize I've been carrying this belief around.
Of course, the issue still remains - if given the choice at the moment of death, what would I choose? Would I choose eternal rest and the peace and undescribable joy of Heaven or would I choose to continue this painful walk called life in order to raise my children to be godly.
I don't know. Once again, I have no answers - just lots of questions.
All I know is that we all need mercy - lots of mercy falling like raindrops.
Everyone who knew Theresa is grieving with her family, but you can't help but think - this could have been me. It could have been my children left motherless. She had no symptoms, no illness. She appeared to be healthy and was certainly vibrant and active.
At the root of my nagging thoughts is a subconscious belief I held. It WAS subconscious until yesterday, when I began to recognize it and deal with it. The belief was that, somehow, I would be given a choice at the time of death - to go to Heaven or return to earth.
Years ago, I read the book "Life after Life". It was hugely popular when it first was published and I was one of the millions who read it from cover to cover. The book chronicled 200 people who had clinically died and been revived by artificial means. All of them described moving towards a light and most of them heard a voice asking why they deserved to go to Heaven.
They all recalled a feeling a immense peace and a disconnection with the concerns of the world. Many said they were asked if they wanted to go to Heaven or return to earth. In all but 3 of the cases (an unbelievable small number considering how many were interviewed), the people who were clinically dead chose Heaven. They said the peace was overwhelming and they didn't want to be thrown back into the chaos of human life.
I don't remember why one of the people chose life, but one of the three was a mother of young children who said she wanted to get her children raised before returning to Heaven, and God allowed her to be revived. A second was a medical student, I believe, who wanted to finish medical school and use his skill to save lives. God allowed him to be revived, as well.
Somehow, reading this book, all those years ago, left me with the unconscious belief that I would be given a choice. I don't know if this is true or not. But at least now I realize I've been carrying this belief around.
Of course, the issue still remains - if given the choice at the moment of death, what would I choose? Would I choose eternal rest and the peace and undescribable joy of Heaven or would I choose to continue this painful walk called life in order to raise my children to be godly.
I don't know. Once again, I have no answers - just lots of questions.
All I know is that we all need mercy - lots of mercy falling like raindrops.
Sunday, October 23, 2005
A Day of Mourning
The Handbell Choir played the Anthem at church this morning. Dane, Don and I dressed in our black bottoms, white shirts and red ties - the Handbell Uniform. We stayed for Sunday School after the 9:00 service and pulled in the driveway around 11:30. My neighbor and friend, Jane, was sitting on her screened-in porch with another single woman who's a friend of mine. Jane got up when she saw us pull in and motioned for me to join her and Mary.
She had news she needed to give me in private, away from the ears of my children. Apparently, a friend of ours, a mother of 10 children, including a 5-mo. old baby, passed away during the night. Her husband, who went to high school with me and is a good friend, just started a new job working with hurricane relief in the devastated states. He told me recently how excited he was about this new job but that it would be hard on the family to have him gone for weeks at a time.
Theresa died in her sleep, probably from a heart attack or pulmonary embolism. The children discovered their mother and quickly got help. Theresa's sister lives just several houses down the street and the father's sister (my best friend in high school) and mother live a couple of blocks away, so there's lots of family nearby to help out. The father, Joey, was contacted and is catching a flight home.
I can't even begin to imagine how this family is going to get along without a mother. I can't fathom what Joey must be dealing with as he sits on a plane, waiting to arrive and console his children. And what about the 5-month old baby? Even if Joey were to be able to find a job locally, he won't be in a position to take care of this baby.
This family has at least 3 pre-schoolers and a son who will graduate from high school this year. Who will be there to set out his clothes for him for his last Spring Dance. Who will help these daughters, beautiful young women, to continue their walk of Christian femininity? And the little ones - will they even remember their mother?
I have a million questions and not a single answer. I'm feeling a depth of grief I don't often experience. I keep thinking about the last time I saw Theresa, the last conversation we had, the last time we smiled at each other. I'll hold those memories tight and, someday, when the emotions are not as painful, I'll share them with Joey. I'll try to do my part to help these children remember their lovely, gracious, giving mother. And I'll mourn. I'm sure my mourning is but a drop in the bucket compared to the mourning this family must endure. But, all the same, I'll mourn for a dear friend, I'll mourn for her sweet husband, I'll mourn for the children left behind, and I'll mourn for myself and the fact that I will no longer feel the love that Theresa shared with everyone she knew.
She had news she needed to give me in private, away from the ears of my children. Apparently, a friend of ours, a mother of 10 children, including a 5-mo. old baby, passed away during the night. Her husband, who went to high school with me and is a good friend, just started a new job working with hurricane relief in the devastated states. He told me recently how excited he was about this new job but that it would be hard on the family to have him gone for weeks at a time.
Theresa died in her sleep, probably from a heart attack or pulmonary embolism. The children discovered their mother and quickly got help. Theresa's sister lives just several houses down the street and the father's sister (my best friend in high school) and mother live a couple of blocks away, so there's lots of family nearby to help out. The father, Joey, was contacted and is catching a flight home.
I can't even begin to imagine how this family is going to get along without a mother. I can't fathom what Joey must be dealing with as he sits on a plane, waiting to arrive and console his children. And what about the 5-month old baby? Even if Joey were to be able to find a job locally, he won't be in a position to take care of this baby.
This family has at least 3 pre-schoolers and a son who will graduate from high school this year. Who will be there to set out his clothes for him for his last Spring Dance. Who will help these daughters, beautiful young women, to continue their walk of Christian femininity? And the little ones - will they even remember their mother?
I have a million questions and not a single answer. I'm feeling a depth of grief I don't often experience. I keep thinking about the last time I saw Theresa, the last conversation we had, the last time we smiled at each other. I'll hold those memories tight and, someday, when the emotions are not as painful, I'll share them with Joey. I'll try to do my part to help these children remember their lovely, gracious, giving mother. And I'll mourn. I'm sure my mourning is but a drop in the bucket compared to the mourning this family must endure. But, all the same, I'll mourn for a dear friend, I'll mourn for her sweet husband, I'll mourn for the children left behind, and I'll mourn for myself and the fact that I will no longer feel the love that Theresa shared with everyone she knew.
Saturday, October 22, 2005
Tag, I'm It
Rachel Balducci at “Testosterhome” tagged me yesterday. To complete my tag, there are five steps, outlined below.
1. Go into your Archives.
2. Find your 23rd Post.
3. Find the fifth sentence (or closest to it).
4. Post the text of the sentence in your blog along with these instructions.
5. Tag five other people to do the same thing.
It took some looking, because I started with Post #28 and had to count backwards. But, I believe I found it. It’s from Tuesday, August 16. The title of the Post is “The Connection between Food and Affection”. It’s really much more interesting than it appears from this one sentence (the most boring in the entire Post).
My line is “No use crying over spilt milk, right?”
In return, I tag Colette at The Here and After, Jan at The Joy of the Lord is My Strength, Tallahassee Lassie, Eric at Bomba Days, and Daniel at Mirror of Justice.
1. Go into your Archives.
2. Find your 23rd Post.
3. Find the fifth sentence (or closest to it).
4. Post the text of the sentence in your blog along with these instructions.
5. Tag five other people to do the same thing.
It took some looking, because I started with Post #28 and had to count backwards. But, I believe I found it. It’s from Tuesday, August 16. The title of the Post is “The Connection between Food and Affection”. It’s really much more interesting than it appears from this one sentence (the most boring in the entire Post).
My line is “No use crying over spilt milk, right?”
In return, I tag Colette at The Here and After, Jan at The Joy of the Lord is My Strength, Tallahassee Lassie, Eric at Bomba Days, and Daniel at Mirror of Justice.
Friday, October 21, 2005
Three-day Weekend
Ah! A three-day weekend. Endless possibilities spread out before me. Don's off work today and the children got the day off school. We can do anything we want - family-time galore. All of us together for THREE WHOLE DAYS! It's like a mini-summer.
And - we have nothing to do this weekend. We can choose to spend our time anyway we want. Except, of course, that Dane has soccer practice today from 4-5, I have a commitment at 5, we're having a dinner guest at 6, and, around the same time, Deanna's Aunt and Cousin are picking her up to take her to dinner and shopping - a late birthday surprise. Tomorrow morning, Don and I have a meeting to discuss the Festival we've been asked to help with at 10, I have a prayer vigil that I do each week at 11, we're meeting a group of our Team Members at my children's school at 4 to go over details for our Colonial America booth. On Sunday morning we have church and today I've made plans for the kids and I to go the Chuck E. Cheese with some friends after I get my allergy shot at 9:00. But, other than that, our weekend's free and clear.
Hmmh. Maybe not quite as empty as I thought. At least I have the normal school hours to spend with my children. And, since we have three nights this weekend instead of just one, we ought to be able to fit in a family movie night. I checked a movie out of the library for us to watch with the kids along with 12 books for Dane, one for Daelyn, and 5 for Deanna. We ought to have time this afternoon to read together and get a good start, if not also a finish, on Dane's Book-It for the month. He has to read 10 books to get a coupon for a free personal pan pizza from Pizza Hut.
Wrought with possibilities. Time with the children. Time for them to watch cartoons. Time to sit on the couch, read books, and snuggle. Time to play with friends at Chuck E. Cheese.
I can't wait to get started on the weekend. The children already have - in front of the TV in their pajamas watching PBS cartoons while eating Bojangles Cinnamon Biscuits. See what I mean? Absolutely WROUGHT with possibilities.
And - we have nothing to do this weekend. We can choose to spend our time anyway we want. Except, of course, that Dane has soccer practice today from 4-5, I have a commitment at 5, we're having a dinner guest at 6, and, around the same time, Deanna's Aunt and Cousin are picking her up to take her to dinner and shopping - a late birthday surprise. Tomorrow morning, Don and I have a meeting to discuss the Festival we've been asked to help with at 10, I have a prayer vigil that I do each week at 11, we're meeting a group of our Team Members at my children's school at 4 to go over details for our Colonial America booth. On Sunday morning we have church and today I've made plans for the kids and I to go the Chuck E. Cheese with some friends after I get my allergy shot at 9:00. But, other than that, our weekend's free and clear.
Hmmh. Maybe not quite as empty as I thought. At least I have the normal school hours to spend with my children. And, since we have three nights this weekend instead of just one, we ought to be able to fit in a family movie night. I checked a movie out of the library for us to watch with the kids along with 12 books for Dane, one for Daelyn, and 5 for Deanna. We ought to have time this afternoon to read together and get a good start, if not also a finish, on Dane's Book-It for the month. He has to read 10 books to get a coupon for a free personal pan pizza from Pizza Hut.
Wrought with possibilities. Time with the children. Time for them to watch cartoons. Time to sit on the couch, read books, and snuggle. Time to play with friends at Chuck E. Cheese.
I can't wait to get started on the weekend. The children already have - in front of the TV in their pajamas watching PBS cartoons while eating Bojangles Cinnamon Biscuits. See what I mean? Absolutely WROUGHT with possibilities.
Thursday, October 20, 2005
A Night to Remember
Daelyn came and sat in my lap this evening after his bath. It was time for him to go to bed - he and Dane had played with toys in the tub for quite some time and, by the time they were dried off and dressed for bed, it was time.
Before I arrived in the bathroom, Daelyn had managed to dump half the bottle of liquid soap into the running water. The result was a bubble bath to end all bubble baths. Of course, Dane was quick to inform me that his brother was the culprit, not him.
So here was Daelyn now, snuggling in my lap in his jammies, all clean and fresh. I leaned down to his head and kissed him, inhaling at the same time. His hair smelled like "Ocean Breeze". It was soft and smelled good, and I held him close. He turned his head sideways and smiled up at me, reaching around to tug on my ear. I smiled back.
"Mommy," he said, "you're my best mommy." Somehow, those three little words "my best mommy" meant everything to me. Daelyn is quite a character but he also has a huge capacity for love.
I hope I will always feel this way about him. I know that his teen years will hold challenges and struggles, but I pray that these emotions that I feel tonight will always be a memory barely below the surface and easy to recall.
My sweet, precious children - they're little for such a short time. His biggest concern in life these days is whether or not I'm taking him and one of his friends to the park to play. Someday, issues like what college to attend or what to do with the rest of his life will be his concerns.
If I'm a good mother, perhaps even during the teen and college years, there will be days where his biggest concern will be going to the park with a friend. I sure hope I'm invited.
Time is short. Love is precious. Enjoy them both.
Before I arrived in the bathroom, Daelyn had managed to dump half the bottle of liquid soap into the running water. The result was a bubble bath to end all bubble baths. Of course, Dane was quick to inform me that his brother was the culprit, not him.
So here was Daelyn now, snuggling in my lap in his jammies, all clean and fresh. I leaned down to his head and kissed him, inhaling at the same time. His hair smelled like "Ocean Breeze". It was soft and smelled good, and I held him close. He turned his head sideways and smiled up at me, reaching around to tug on my ear. I smiled back.
"Mommy," he said, "you're my best mommy." Somehow, those three little words "my best mommy" meant everything to me. Daelyn is quite a character but he also has a huge capacity for love.
I hope I will always feel this way about him. I know that his teen years will hold challenges and struggles, but I pray that these emotions that I feel tonight will always be a memory barely below the surface and easy to recall.
My sweet, precious children - they're little for such a short time. His biggest concern in life these days is whether or not I'm taking him and one of his friends to the park to play. Someday, issues like what college to attend or what to do with the rest of his life will be his concerns.
If I'm a good mother, perhaps even during the teen and college years, there will be days where his biggest concern will be going to the park with a friend. I sure hope I'm invited.
Time is short. Love is precious. Enjoy them both.
Wednesday, October 19, 2005
Deep Sadness
Not much to say today. We found out Monday that my brother-in-law, who lives in California and is married to my oldest sister, has cancer. They met with the doctor yesterday to discuss options. It seems my brother-in-law, regardless of the treatment option they pursue, has only a 37 (or it might have been 38 - a small number, regardless) percent chance of survival. The cancer is very aggressive and they will be checking my brother-in-law's lymph nodes soon to see if it's already spread.
Pray for a miracle. Pray that God will bring healing. Pray that Jon is in that 37 or 38 %. Pray for peace for my sister and her children. Pray for Jon to know how to address the emotional side of this (men aren't particularly good at dealing with emotions). And pray any other way you're led.
I know that God is a God of miracles. I know that he loves Jonathan, a Baptist Missionary Preacher. I know this cancer can just disappear. I know, and I trust.
Please agree with me in prayer to lay Jonathan at the feet of our Father.
Pray for a miracle. Pray that God will bring healing. Pray that Jon is in that 37 or 38 %. Pray for peace for my sister and her children. Pray for Jon to know how to address the emotional side of this (men aren't particularly good at dealing with emotions). And pray any other way you're led.
I know that God is a God of miracles. I know that he loves Jonathan, a Baptist Missionary Preacher. I know this cancer can just disappear. I know, and I trust.
Please agree with me in prayer to lay Jonathan at the feet of our Father.
Tuesday, October 18, 2005
Trading Favors
Don lost Dane's Cub Scout book last night. Dane's den was supposed to visit a Fire Station and we couldn't remember what time he had to be there. Don told me several days ago that it was at 6:00, right during the dinner hour. I got Dane dressed in his Scout shirt, belt and neckerchief and fed him dinner at 5:30, prodding him to hurry and finish. I had him ready to go by 6:00, but no Don. Finally, at about 6:38, Don strolled through the door. I was a little frantic and was very quick to question the lateness of the hour.
"I don't think they have to be there until 7:00," he said. That is NOT what he told me after the meeting last Monday night. "Where's his Scout book? I wrote the time down in it."
The last time I saw the Book, Don was taking it to bed with him. As some of you may remember, Don reads every evening in bed while he flosses. I suggested he look there.
"I'm certain I left it on the computer desk," he responded, "but now I can't find it."
He wandered around the house aimlessly, supposedly looking but not really seeing. I finally convinced him to call the wife of the Den Leader and get the necessary information. He called, talked for a few minutes, and hung up.
"So, what time do you have to be there," I asked.
"I don't know. I didn't ask. I think it's 7:00."
He and Dane made it on time and Dane had a blast. When they returned home, very late last night, Dane had a handful of "stuff" they had given him - a hat, a coloring book and pencil, a sucker, a badge... While they were gone, I looked for a Kitchen Catalog I needed to compare prices for dumpling makers between the on-line store and the catalog price. The last time I saw it, Don had it in his hand while talking on the telephone.
I walked into the bedroom where Don was already in bed, reading and flossing. I asked him if he knew where my catalog was and explained that I had found a similar item on-line.
"The catalogs with Dane's Scout book." He grinned at me. Sometimes it's hard to tell is he's joking or just pleased with himself that now he's found a way to get ME on the job. I turned towards him, raised one eyebrow (I taught myself to do this when I was a teenager, practicing in the bathroom mirror for hours), and shrugged. He laughed.
This morning, when I walked into the kitchen, I could see something sitting on the stove in the semi-light from the Holy Candle I keep lit. I flicked on the overhead light and there was the Kitchen Store catalog. I guess I'm going to have to return the favor and look for Dane's Scout Book.
"I don't think they have to be there until 7:00," he said. That is NOT what he told me after the meeting last Monday night. "Where's his Scout book? I wrote the time down in it."
The last time I saw the Book, Don was taking it to bed with him. As some of you may remember, Don reads every evening in bed while he flosses. I suggested he look there.
"I'm certain I left it on the computer desk," he responded, "but now I can't find it."
He wandered around the house aimlessly, supposedly looking but not really seeing. I finally convinced him to call the wife of the Den Leader and get the necessary information. He called, talked for a few minutes, and hung up.
"So, what time do you have to be there," I asked.
"I don't know. I didn't ask. I think it's 7:00."
He and Dane made it on time and Dane had a blast. When they returned home, very late last night, Dane had a handful of "stuff" they had given him - a hat, a coloring book and pencil, a sucker, a badge... While they were gone, I looked for a Kitchen Catalog I needed to compare prices for dumpling makers between the on-line store and the catalog price. The last time I saw it, Don had it in his hand while talking on the telephone.
I walked into the bedroom where Don was already in bed, reading and flossing. I asked him if he knew where my catalog was and explained that I had found a similar item on-line.
"The catalogs with Dane's Scout book." He grinned at me. Sometimes it's hard to tell is he's joking or just pleased with himself that now he's found a way to get ME on the job. I turned towards him, raised one eyebrow (I taught myself to do this when I was a teenager, practicing in the bathroom mirror for hours), and shrugged. He laughed.
This morning, when I walked into the kitchen, I could see something sitting on the stove in the semi-light from the Holy Candle I keep lit. I flicked on the overhead light and there was the Kitchen Store catalog. I guess I'm going to have to return the favor and look for Dane's Scout Book.
Monday, October 17, 2005
Growth brings pain and joy
Grief is an interesting thing. It's such a part of life, we begin experiencing it as young children and will continue for the rest of our lives.
I was talking with my friend, Rachel, today. (Click on the title of this Post to link to her Blog.) Her precious little puppy, Hilde, was hit by a car a week ago and they lost her. She was talking about how much simpler Monday mornings are now without Hilde. Although she's grieving terribly for the loss of this sweet little pet, getting her sons dressed, fed, lunches made, and everyone out the door to school is simpler without having to take Hilde out for her morning constitutional and watching to be sure there are no doggy accidents on the jute rug. (I've been reading your blog, Rach.)
While we were talking, I began thinking about my beloved Frolic. Frolic was my cat. He was from a litter that my sister's cat bore, and I got him right after he was weened. He was so small, he could stand in the palm of my hand. His favorite place was on my shoulder where he could talk directly in my ear. There he felt the most secure. He knew I would protect him and my love for him was unconditional.
Once, while he was still small, we were visiting the vet. I put Frolic on the stainless steel table. I was behind Frolic and the vet stood across from me on the other side of the table. He examined Frolic, who whimpered pitifully. After the exam, the vet was talking with me about my little pet when Frolic began backing up on the table. He knew I was behind him, so he backed right into me. Then, with his rear pressing against me, knowing I was there to protect him, he began snarling at the vet. We both cracked up. Oh, yeah, he was real brave - as long as Mommy was pressed up against him.
Frolic grew into a 20-lb. tiger of a cat. He was a silver tabby but had a lot of siamese blood in him and was very fiesty. We called him my watch-cat. I had no need for a dog. Frolic took care of the house and his mommy just fine.
When Don and I started courting, Frolic would jump up on the back of the couch, crawl along it until he was between us, and then try and force Don away from me. It was obvious he was very jealous. This jealousy concerned me when I brought me new baby, Deanna, home from the hospital. I was afraid Frolic would try and harm her out of jealousy. We used a basinette that we put in our bedroom next to our bed that had a netting across the top. Once the baby was safely in the basinette, you could zip up the netting and the cat couldn't get to her. After the first week at home with Deanna, we discovered Frolic slept under her basinette every night. If she squeeked or cried, he'd stand up on his back feet and check to make sure she was alright. He loved all three of our babies.
Once, when Dane was little, we were all sitting around in the living room watching a movie together. Frolic was asleep in the middle of the floor, stretched straight out. Dane laid down in the same position in front Frolic with his nose to Frolic's. Frolic opened one eye and looked at Dane. The two laid there for a few minutes looking at each other. Then Dane reached over, grabbed one of Frolic eyebrow hairs, and jerked it out!! Frolic shrieked, jumped straight into the air, landed again in the same place, shook himself (as if in disbelief), and then settled down again. The two watched each other for a few minutes more and then Dane reached over and jerked out a whisker. Same reaction from Frolic. The third time, it was another eyebrow hair. At this point, Frolic had had enough and walked away from the fray. But not once through this whole ordeal had he bitten or scratched that baby.
About three years ago, we had to have Frolic put to sleep. We buried him in the backyard and we all mourned his passing. But no one mourned like me. I still tear up when I think about him. He was my companion for many years before I married. He was fun to be around and made me want to come home at night. He was a pet, but he was faithful, and I loved him dearly.
In the month after Frolic died, I couldn't look at a toy without crying. Everything reminded me of him and the pain was very sharp. But there was another side, as well. I didn't have to watch where I walked in fear I'd step on him. There was no litter box to clean out daily and the house began to lose that "cat smell". The litter that had stuck to his feet and gotten scattered all over the house began to disappear. Although I missed him, there was a good side to the loss, as well.
As Rachel and I talked this morning, I was struck that everything in life is sort of this way. I couldn't wait to get the children out of diapers, but I miss that time I had with them several times a day - tickling them on the changing table, kissing little toes, smiling and singing to my beautiful babies. It was a relief when they all began bathing themselves. However, now I don't get to play, "Stand up, stand up for Jesus" in the tub so I can wash them. When the last one began skipping his morning nap, I was thrilled that we could do more without having to stop every two hours for naps, but I now miss that quiet time in the mornings to work on projects or chores while the baby slept.
As our children grow and life changes, we grieve the things we miss. But we have to let go to move forward. Deanna sometimes tells me she doesn't want to grow up. I respond that the best years of her life are yet to come. While childhood is a great time, free of responsibility and emotional upheaval, adulthood brings marriage (for some) and children. There's no greater gift in life than to give birth, but you have to give up childhood to get there.
So, as we grieve the losses of this life, whether it be Frolic or Hilde, bathtime or naptime, I have to remember that there are joys disguised in every tragedy, hope in every difficulty. God gives us the grace to deal with the difficult times but, even more than that, he shows us the good in ever hard thing we endure. We may not see it immediately, or we may choose not to focus on the clean jute rug or the lack of litter in the house, but it's there. We must just open our eyes to see.
I was talking with my friend, Rachel, today. (Click on the title of this Post to link to her Blog.) Her precious little puppy, Hilde, was hit by a car a week ago and they lost her. She was talking about how much simpler Monday mornings are now without Hilde. Although she's grieving terribly for the loss of this sweet little pet, getting her sons dressed, fed, lunches made, and everyone out the door to school is simpler without having to take Hilde out for her morning constitutional and watching to be sure there are no doggy accidents on the jute rug. (I've been reading your blog, Rach.)
While we were talking, I began thinking about my beloved Frolic. Frolic was my cat. He was from a litter that my sister's cat bore, and I got him right after he was weened. He was so small, he could stand in the palm of my hand. His favorite place was on my shoulder where he could talk directly in my ear. There he felt the most secure. He knew I would protect him and my love for him was unconditional.
Once, while he was still small, we were visiting the vet. I put Frolic on the stainless steel table. I was behind Frolic and the vet stood across from me on the other side of the table. He examined Frolic, who whimpered pitifully. After the exam, the vet was talking with me about my little pet when Frolic began backing up on the table. He knew I was behind him, so he backed right into me. Then, with his rear pressing against me, knowing I was there to protect him, he began snarling at the vet. We both cracked up. Oh, yeah, he was real brave - as long as Mommy was pressed up against him.
Frolic grew into a 20-lb. tiger of a cat. He was a silver tabby but had a lot of siamese blood in him and was very fiesty. We called him my watch-cat. I had no need for a dog. Frolic took care of the house and his mommy just fine.
When Don and I started courting, Frolic would jump up on the back of the couch, crawl along it until he was between us, and then try and force Don away from me. It was obvious he was very jealous. This jealousy concerned me when I brought me new baby, Deanna, home from the hospital. I was afraid Frolic would try and harm her out of jealousy. We used a basinette that we put in our bedroom next to our bed that had a netting across the top. Once the baby was safely in the basinette, you could zip up the netting and the cat couldn't get to her. After the first week at home with Deanna, we discovered Frolic slept under her basinette every night. If she squeeked or cried, he'd stand up on his back feet and check to make sure she was alright. He loved all three of our babies.
Once, when Dane was little, we were all sitting around in the living room watching a movie together. Frolic was asleep in the middle of the floor, stretched straight out. Dane laid down in the same position in front Frolic with his nose to Frolic's. Frolic opened one eye and looked at Dane. The two laid there for a few minutes looking at each other. Then Dane reached over, grabbed one of Frolic eyebrow hairs, and jerked it out!! Frolic shrieked, jumped straight into the air, landed again in the same place, shook himself (as if in disbelief), and then settled down again. The two watched each other for a few minutes more and then Dane reached over and jerked out a whisker. Same reaction from Frolic. The third time, it was another eyebrow hair. At this point, Frolic had had enough and walked away from the fray. But not once through this whole ordeal had he bitten or scratched that baby.
About three years ago, we had to have Frolic put to sleep. We buried him in the backyard and we all mourned his passing. But no one mourned like me. I still tear up when I think about him. He was my companion for many years before I married. He was fun to be around and made me want to come home at night. He was a pet, but he was faithful, and I loved him dearly.
In the month after Frolic died, I couldn't look at a toy without crying. Everything reminded me of him and the pain was very sharp. But there was another side, as well. I didn't have to watch where I walked in fear I'd step on him. There was no litter box to clean out daily and the house began to lose that "cat smell". The litter that had stuck to his feet and gotten scattered all over the house began to disappear. Although I missed him, there was a good side to the loss, as well.
As Rachel and I talked this morning, I was struck that everything in life is sort of this way. I couldn't wait to get the children out of diapers, but I miss that time I had with them several times a day - tickling them on the changing table, kissing little toes, smiling and singing to my beautiful babies. It was a relief when they all began bathing themselves. However, now I don't get to play, "Stand up, stand up for Jesus" in the tub so I can wash them. When the last one began skipping his morning nap, I was thrilled that we could do more without having to stop every two hours for naps, but I now miss that quiet time in the mornings to work on projects or chores while the baby slept.
As our children grow and life changes, we grieve the things we miss. But we have to let go to move forward. Deanna sometimes tells me she doesn't want to grow up. I respond that the best years of her life are yet to come. While childhood is a great time, free of responsibility and emotional upheaval, adulthood brings marriage (for some) and children. There's no greater gift in life than to give birth, but you have to give up childhood to get there.
So, as we grieve the losses of this life, whether it be Frolic or Hilde, bathtime or naptime, I have to remember that there are joys disguised in every tragedy, hope in every difficulty. God gives us the grace to deal with the difficult times but, even more than that, he shows us the good in ever hard thing we endure. We may not see it immediately, or we may choose not to focus on the clean jute rug or the lack of litter in the house, but it's there. We must just open our eyes to see.
Friday, October 14, 2005
Boys are not girls
Daelyn: "What did the lawn mower say to the potty chair?"
Me: "I don't know, son. What?"
Daelyn: "Crock-a-doo-doo-doo."
I have no idea what this means. But, apparently, Daelyn thinks it's hilarious.
I've never understood the boys. When Dane was born and Don treated him differently from Deanna, I asked him if it was because he was a boy (which I found doubtful, knowing Don) or if it was because this was his second child and he was just much more comfortable since he had already done this once before. To my amazement, Don said, "No, honey. It's because he's a boy. I don't understand Deanna. She's just like you and I don't understand anything about you. But this boy - him, I understand."
Not only was I surprised by this response, but I found it difficult to believe. Dane said things that no person could ever possibly understand. One day, we were driving home from church. Dane was in the back of the van and, as we drove by a brick plant where smoke was pouring out the smokestacks, Dane commented, "I sure wish I had my rainboots." I looked at Don with a raised eyebrow and he cracked up.
"Oh, come on," I said. "I don't really believe that you understood that connection."
"Sure I do," he responded.
"Give me a break, Don. There's no connection between smoke from a brick plant and rainboots. Admit it. Even you're stumped. It's a total non-sequetor."
"His reasoning was that smoke is pouring out of the stack and darkening the sky around it. The smoke gathers and looks like a dark cloud. Rain comes out of dark clouds, that's why he needs his rainboots," Don explained.
"Good grief, honey, what a stretch. There's NO WAY that was his thinking." I laughed at the thought that Dane could possibly have strung all these non-connected items together. To prove my point, I raised my voice over the roar of the van, the chatter from the kids, and the radio and hollered, "Dane, why did you say you needed your rainboots when we drove past the brick plant?"
"Well," he began, "that smoke sure looked a lot like rainclouds. And if it rains, it would be nice to have my rainboots."
Don smirked. I choked. Okay. Boys think different from girls. Men think different from women. Lawn mowers say, "Crock-a-doo-doo-doo."
Me: "I don't know, son. What?"
Daelyn: "Crock-a-doo-doo-doo."
I have no idea what this means. But, apparently, Daelyn thinks it's hilarious.
I've never understood the boys. When Dane was born and Don treated him differently from Deanna, I asked him if it was because he was a boy (which I found doubtful, knowing Don) or if it was because this was his second child and he was just much more comfortable since he had already done this once before. To my amazement, Don said, "No, honey. It's because he's a boy. I don't understand Deanna. She's just like you and I don't understand anything about you. But this boy - him, I understand."
Not only was I surprised by this response, but I found it difficult to believe. Dane said things that no person could ever possibly understand. One day, we were driving home from church. Dane was in the back of the van and, as we drove by a brick plant where smoke was pouring out the smokestacks, Dane commented, "I sure wish I had my rainboots." I looked at Don with a raised eyebrow and he cracked up.
"Oh, come on," I said. "I don't really believe that you understood that connection."
"Sure I do," he responded.
"Give me a break, Don. There's no connection between smoke from a brick plant and rainboots. Admit it. Even you're stumped. It's a total non-sequetor."
"His reasoning was that smoke is pouring out of the stack and darkening the sky around it. The smoke gathers and looks like a dark cloud. Rain comes out of dark clouds, that's why he needs his rainboots," Don explained.
"Good grief, honey, what a stretch. There's NO WAY that was his thinking." I laughed at the thought that Dane could possibly have strung all these non-connected items together. To prove my point, I raised my voice over the roar of the van, the chatter from the kids, and the radio and hollered, "Dane, why did you say you needed your rainboots when we drove past the brick plant?"
"Well," he began, "that smoke sure looked a lot like rainclouds. And if it rains, it would be nice to have my rainboots."
Don smirked. I choked. Okay. Boys think different from girls. Men think different from women. Lawn mowers say, "Crock-a-doo-doo-doo."
Thursday, October 13, 2005
Candy to Share
My children go to a private school. In every grade they've attended, their teacher has provided incentives of some type out of her own pocket. In Kindergarten, towards the end of the school year when the weather started getting really hot and the kids were antsy, Mrs. Phillips gave a piece of candy each day to any child who didn't get his/her name on the board. At the end of the week, if a child hadn't had their name on the board all week, they got a candy bar.
In First Grade, Mrs. Jackson gives every child a treat every Friday, like a Little Debbie cake or a pack of M&M's for good behavior. In Second Grade, Mrs. Cosper sets up a store in the classroom every Friday to teach the children about commerce. She gives each of them play money and they get to take turns going to the store and making purchases. They can buy candy, gum, or small toys. The items in the store and their prices vary so the children get to experience figuring out how much money they have, whether or not their money will pay for their items, and actually making a purchase. All the items she "sells" in the store are things she's purchased for the children from her own money.
The Third Grade teacher, Mrs. Routhier, has a candy dish on her desk that she uses to inspire good behavior. She also gives out small items, like erasers or pencils, as part of her incentive program.
It took me two years to figure this out but, finally, when Deanna was in Second Grade and told me about the store, I asked her teacher where the items came from. She explained that any extras other than books or specific curriculum items had to be purchased out of her pocket. I did my best to send items in with Deanna for the store to help defer her costs. It's much easier for one parent to spend $1 or $2 than for a teacher, who's pay is minimal, to provide these items for all the students all the time.
I've continued this practice this year. A couple of times, I've sent candy for the candy jar and erasers or pencil grips from the Dollar Store.
Dane was invited to a birthday party last Saturday. Of course, the party began at 6:45 - right during our birthday dinner for Deanna. I could have just opted out, but Dane has a small class and, generally, all the boys are invited to birthday parties. If he had not attended, he most likely would have been the only boy in his class not there. On Monday, while the other boys were talking about the movie or the game they played, Dane would have been left out. So we made a valiant effort.
I called the parents of the boy whose birthday was being celebrated and explained that Dane would be late because of his own sister's party. Then, on the way home from Veracruz, I dropped Dane at the party house. When his daddy picked him up later, he had a huge treat bag FULL of candy.
On Sunday, I was standing at the stove in the kitchen and heard Deanna and Dane talking. I glanced over at the kitchen table and they were sorting the candy from his bag. Deanna must have made the suggestion, but I heard Dane saying that he thought he should send some of his candy into Deanna's classroom for Mrs. Routhier's candy jar.
"It's only right," Dane commented. "I have so much candy, it's just the right thing to share with your class."
Wonderful sentiment. I'm just not sure why he never considered taking the candy into his own classroom.
In First Grade, Mrs. Jackson gives every child a treat every Friday, like a Little Debbie cake or a pack of M&M's for good behavior. In Second Grade, Mrs. Cosper sets up a store in the classroom every Friday to teach the children about commerce. She gives each of them play money and they get to take turns going to the store and making purchases. They can buy candy, gum, or small toys. The items in the store and their prices vary so the children get to experience figuring out how much money they have, whether or not their money will pay for their items, and actually making a purchase. All the items she "sells" in the store are things she's purchased for the children from her own money.
The Third Grade teacher, Mrs. Routhier, has a candy dish on her desk that she uses to inspire good behavior. She also gives out small items, like erasers or pencils, as part of her incentive program.
It took me two years to figure this out but, finally, when Deanna was in Second Grade and told me about the store, I asked her teacher where the items came from. She explained that any extras other than books or specific curriculum items had to be purchased out of her pocket. I did my best to send items in with Deanna for the store to help defer her costs. It's much easier for one parent to spend $1 or $2 than for a teacher, who's pay is minimal, to provide these items for all the students all the time.
I've continued this practice this year. A couple of times, I've sent candy for the candy jar and erasers or pencil grips from the Dollar Store.
Dane was invited to a birthday party last Saturday. Of course, the party began at 6:45 - right during our birthday dinner for Deanna. I could have just opted out, but Dane has a small class and, generally, all the boys are invited to birthday parties. If he had not attended, he most likely would have been the only boy in his class not there. On Monday, while the other boys were talking about the movie or the game they played, Dane would have been left out. So we made a valiant effort.
I called the parents of the boy whose birthday was being celebrated and explained that Dane would be late because of his own sister's party. Then, on the way home from Veracruz, I dropped Dane at the party house. When his daddy picked him up later, he had a huge treat bag FULL of candy.
On Sunday, I was standing at the stove in the kitchen and heard Deanna and Dane talking. I glanced over at the kitchen table and they were sorting the candy from his bag. Deanna must have made the suggestion, but I heard Dane saying that he thought he should send some of his candy into Deanna's classroom for Mrs. Routhier's candy jar.
"It's only right," Dane commented. "I have so much candy, it's just the right thing to share with your class."
Wonderful sentiment. I'm just not sure why he never considered taking the candy into his own classroom.
Wednesday, October 12, 2005
Holiness, justice & mercy
Last night, I heard a clear word from the Lord. He said, "I am a holiness you have never known. You ask for justice in the world and in your life. Instead, you should beg me for my mercy."
God isn't just holy. That isn't one of his characteristics. He IS holy. Entirely. Fully. C0mpletely. We cannot even begin to understand the depth of the holiness of our Father. It is this holiness that requires that the seraphim, who were created to serve God, have an extra set of wings with which to cover their eyes while in His presence. These beings whose entire purpose is to stand at the feet of the Father, who were not given free-choice, cannot look on His holiness. How, then, can we, who are sinful creatures, dare to enter into His presence?
Yet He beckons to us. He pleads with us. He encourages us to come into His presence. Our sin stands between us and Him as a dirty curtain flaps in front of a ghetto shack. But He still calls us to Him, to enter into His presence. Moses was required to remove his shoes because He was on holy ground. There, on the top of the mountain, He came face-to-face with God. He was told to NOT look directly into God's holiness, but to avert his eyes. Still, his countenance was forever changed by the nearest of His Father.
The Lord wants to change OUR countenance. He wants to be so present to us that the changes in our nature and character will be physically obvious. He wants us to bask in His presence and begin to take on His appearance.
In the word He gave me, He also talked about our desire for justice. How many times have I, personally, asked the Lord for justice in a situation. Maybe my daughter was hurt by a friend or someone refused to move over to the far lane to allow me to merge onto the Interstate. For me, it's usually the little things in life. But, boy, do I want justice. I want that person on the highway to get picked up by the police for stubbornness and inconsiderate driving. I want the person who hurt my child to experience a similar hurt so they'll understand the depth of pain they've caused. I want JUSTICE.
The truth is, I don't really want justice. To ask for God's justice would be to expect His justice across the board, in all areas of my life. Do I really want to be treated justly for eating that extra brownie or for speeding because I was running late getting Deanna to Choir Practice? By no means!!! I want God's mercy in those situations. I want justice for everyone else and mercy for me. I'm selfish beyond belief, at least when seen through the eyes of Holy God.
If I could just see through His eyes, if I could for one moment sit in His presence, I would begin to understand the importance of praying for His mercy - not only for me but for everyone. Scripture says that "All have sinned and falled short of the Glory of God." Not just that guy on the highway or my daughter's friend, but ME, as well. I fall short. Weekly, daily, moment upon moment, I fall short.
The Lord is calling me to have a heart of mercy - to desire His mercy, because justice IS coming. Justice is not my responsibility. There are people to tend to justice and, if that fails, it will be sorted out at the final judgement. My responsibility is to seek His mercy and begin to reflect that mercy to others.
Perhaps the reflection of mercy will begin to move me into His presence and begin the change in my countenance.
God isn't just holy. That isn't one of his characteristics. He IS holy. Entirely. Fully. C0mpletely. We cannot even begin to understand the depth of the holiness of our Father. It is this holiness that requires that the seraphim, who were created to serve God, have an extra set of wings with which to cover their eyes while in His presence. These beings whose entire purpose is to stand at the feet of the Father, who were not given free-choice, cannot look on His holiness. How, then, can we, who are sinful creatures, dare to enter into His presence?
Yet He beckons to us. He pleads with us. He encourages us to come into His presence. Our sin stands between us and Him as a dirty curtain flaps in front of a ghetto shack. But He still calls us to Him, to enter into His presence. Moses was required to remove his shoes because He was on holy ground. There, on the top of the mountain, He came face-to-face with God. He was told to NOT look directly into God's holiness, but to avert his eyes. Still, his countenance was forever changed by the nearest of His Father.
The Lord wants to change OUR countenance. He wants to be so present to us that the changes in our nature and character will be physically obvious. He wants us to bask in His presence and begin to take on His appearance.
In the word He gave me, He also talked about our desire for justice. How many times have I, personally, asked the Lord for justice in a situation. Maybe my daughter was hurt by a friend or someone refused to move over to the far lane to allow me to merge onto the Interstate. For me, it's usually the little things in life. But, boy, do I want justice. I want that person on the highway to get picked up by the police for stubbornness and inconsiderate driving. I want the person who hurt my child to experience a similar hurt so they'll understand the depth of pain they've caused. I want JUSTICE.
The truth is, I don't really want justice. To ask for God's justice would be to expect His justice across the board, in all areas of my life. Do I really want to be treated justly for eating that extra brownie or for speeding because I was running late getting Deanna to Choir Practice? By no means!!! I want God's mercy in those situations. I want justice for everyone else and mercy for me. I'm selfish beyond belief, at least when seen through the eyes of Holy God.
If I could just see through His eyes, if I could for one moment sit in His presence, I would begin to understand the importance of praying for His mercy - not only for me but for everyone. Scripture says that "All have sinned and falled short of the Glory of God." Not just that guy on the highway or my daughter's friend, but ME, as well. I fall short. Weekly, daily, moment upon moment, I fall short.
The Lord is calling me to have a heart of mercy - to desire His mercy, because justice IS coming. Justice is not my responsibility. There are people to tend to justice and, if that fails, it will be sorted out at the final judgement. My responsibility is to seek His mercy and begin to reflect that mercy to others.
Perhaps the reflection of mercy will begin to move me into His presence and begin the change in my countenance.
Tuesday, October 11, 2005
At Least, Tonight
When Daelyn was an infant and I was exhausted from tending to two toddlers while trying to care for my new baby, I wrote this little sketch. I wanted something to put in his baby book so he would know how special he was. I also needed to remind myself how special he was. So, here it is. Hope you enjoy it. It's called, "At Least, Tonight".
His grunting and rustling of his covers rouses my tired mind from sleep. I lie silent and still in the green glow of the night light, listening, hoping he'll drop back off to sleep and I can return to my dreams. But the rustling grows louder and the grunts, more insistent. I carefully move the covers away from my body so I don't wake the snoring giant next to me in bed. I lean over the side of the bed to be met by two wide eyes - the only things visible in the darkness of the shadows. I smile back at what I believe to be a grin. Gently, I reach for him, caressing his tiny body. I take a moment to snuggle him and kiss his little face, but an anxious moist mouth greets me, searching for food. "Okay, okay," I whisper, bringing an end to any hopes for snuggling. I lay him next to me as I prepare. He thrashes around, waving his arms. Clearly, Mommy's taking far too long to produce the meal.
Ah! Stillness. As I feel the gentle tugging, his little body relaxes. I touch the inside of his hand with my finger and four tiny digits instinctively wrap around mine. He's going to be a pro baseball player, I think. He sure can grip that bat. I lean my face down to his hair and breath deeply, smelling all the baby smells - the soft scent of baby lotion and shampoo, the sweet, rancid smell of old milk, and the faded pungence of urine. I kiss his head, lingering briefly to rub my lips against the softness where one day hair will be.
It takes only minutes but, by now, I'm fully awake. He pulls away from me and rolls from his side to his back, sighing contentedly. Within seconds, his breathing is slow and deep. Well, at least HE'S asleep again. I lie there in the darkness watching his chest move up and down. I put my arm around him, tucking him against my body and protecting him from the giant who might roll over onto him. One day, he'll break my heart, I think. He'll leave me. He'll want to go away to college and experience life for himself. He'll marry and have a family of his own and have no need for his old mother. If I raise him right, I think hopefully, perhaps he'll call me once a week just to check in. Something to hope for, anyway. I listen to his breathing with my arm protectively around him. I lean down gently and kiss his head again. "Goodnight, my love. Never forget your mommy," I whisper in his ear. He tosses his head sleepily. At least I have tonight, I think. And tomorrow night, and the next night. While the house is asleep, he belongs only to me. There's no competing for his attention with his brother and sister, daddy, the kitty ... it's only him and me in the quiet of the night. He's all mine. At least I have tonight, I think again. Tonight. I smile and close my eyes.
His grunting and rustling of his covers rouses my tired mind from sleep. I lie silent and still in the green glow of the night light, listening, hoping he'll drop back off to sleep and I can return to my dreams. But the rustling grows louder and the grunts, more insistent. I carefully move the covers away from my body so I don't wake the snoring giant next to me in bed. I lean over the side of the bed to be met by two wide eyes - the only things visible in the darkness of the shadows. I smile back at what I believe to be a grin. Gently, I reach for him, caressing his tiny body. I take a moment to snuggle him and kiss his little face, but an anxious moist mouth greets me, searching for food. "Okay, okay," I whisper, bringing an end to any hopes for snuggling. I lay him next to me as I prepare. He thrashes around, waving his arms. Clearly, Mommy's taking far too long to produce the meal.
Ah! Stillness. As I feel the gentle tugging, his little body relaxes. I touch the inside of his hand with my finger and four tiny digits instinctively wrap around mine. He's going to be a pro baseball player, I think. He sure can grip that bat. I lean my face down to his hair and breath deeply, smelling all the baby smells - the soft scent of baby lotion and shampoo, the sweet, rancid smell of old milk, and the faded pungence of urine. I kiss his head, lingering briefly to rub my lips against the softness where one day hair will be.
It takes only minutes but, by now, I'm fully awake. He pulls away from me and rolls from his side to his back, sighing contentedly. Within seconds, his breathing is slow and deep. Well, at least HE'S asleep again. I lie there in the darkness watching his chest move up and down. I put my arm around him, tucking him against my body and protecting him from the giant who might roll over onto him. One day, he'll break my heart, I think. He'll leave me. He'll want to go away to college and experience life for himself. He'll marry and have a family of his own and have no need for his old mother. If I raise him right, I think hopefully, perhaps he'll call me once a week just to check in. Something to hope for, anyway. I listen to his breathing with my arm protectively around him. I lean down gently and kiss his head again. "Goodnight, my love. Never forget your mommy," I whisper in his ear. He tosses his head sleepily. At least I have tonight, I think. And tomorrow night, and the next night. While the house is asleep, he belongs only to me. There's no competing for his attention with his brother and sister, daddy, the kitty ... it's only him and me in the quiet of the night. He's all mine. At least I have tonight, I think again. Tonight. I smile and close my eyes.
Monday, October 10, 2005
Chippies on the Table
Saturday night we went out to dinner to celebrate Deanna's birthday. We went to the Mexican Restaurant Deanna had chosen. My parents, our single friend, Ken, my sister, her husband, and both her children, and her son's girlfriend joined us. There were 13 of us, and we had a wonderful time.
At this restaurant, they put big baskets of hot corn chips on the table with jars of salsa for dipping. This is primarily the draw for Deanna - that and the sombrero they put on your head while they sing to you on your birthday. Deanna loves the chips and always orders hot cheese dip for her dinner. Most of us eat more than our weight in chips and then have to take our meal home in a box because we're too full to eat it. Deanna's learned, at the ripe old age of 9. She gets cheese dip and eats chips to her heart's content.
My sister, Trina, gave me quite a hard time. You see, my family doesn't call them "chips". At the Doughty house, they're chippies. Trina remembers my Post about the children calling stray cats "alley cats" and she thinks I'm being somewhat duplicitous. I won't let my children call cats "alley cats", but I gush words like "chippies".
The truth is, we use lots of silly words. Almost nothing is just a plain word around our house. Hiccups are hiccumups, ears are earsies, teeth are teefies. But, at least for most of these mutations, we just add a "ies" on the end of any normal word and it becomes a Doughty word. Alley cat has no "ies" on it - no wonder I don't like it.
While we use goofy words like chippies and hiccumups, I haven't gone so far yet as to call Kleenex "tiss-oos", like my friend, Fr. John. Nor do I call a garage a "garaj" like my Uncle Paul. Most of our silly words are at least similar to the commonly-accepted word and, thus, easy to discern.
We'll continue to use our cutesy words, if you don't mind. Even if you do mind, like my sister, Trina, we'll use them anyway. It's part of being a Doughty.
At this restaurant, they put big baskets of hot corn chips on the table with jars of salsa for dipping. This is primarily the draw for Deanna - that and the sombrero they put on your head while they sing to you on your birthday. Deanna loves the chips and always orders hot cheese dip for her dinner. Most of us eat more than our weight in chips and then have to take our meal home in a box because we're too full to eat it. Deanna's learned, at the ripe old age of 9. She gets cheese dip and eats chips to her heart's content.
My sister, Trina, gave me quite a hard time. You see, my family doesn't call them "chips". At the Doughty house, they're chippies. Trina remembers my Post about the children calling stray cats "alley cats" and she thinks I'm being somewhat duplicitous. I won't let my children call cats "alley cats", but I gush words like "chippies".
The truth is, we use lots of silly words. Almost nothing is just a plain word around our house. Hiccups are hiccumups, ears are earsies, teeth are teefies. But, at least for most of these mutations, we just add a "ies" on the end of any normal word and it becomes a Doughty word. Alley cat has no "ies" on it - no wonder I don't like it.
While we use goofy words like chippies and hiccumups, I haven't gone so far yet as to call Kleenex "tiss-oos", like my friend, Fr. John. Nor do I call a garage a "garaj" like my Uncle Paul. Most of our silly words are at least similar to the commonly-accepted word and, thus, easy to discern.
We'll continue to use our cutesy words, if you don't mind. Even if you do mind, like my sister, Trina, we'll use them anyway. It's part of being a Doughty.
Sunday, October 09, 2005
Seasons change - except in the South
Don announced yesterday afternoon that his sister, who lives near Boulder, Colorado, may have as much as 6 inches of snow today. Snow!! Oh, how I long for cooler weather. We so seldom get snow that my children don't even know how to play in it. I spent a few of my formative years in Belgium, where we had snow every winter (mixed with lots of rain, so it usually turned to slush within 24 hours or so). Both of my parents were raised in Canada and know just about all there is to know about snow. We were taught to make snowmen, snow angels, build forts, have snowball fights, eat snow when we got thirsty while out playing (and to avoid yellow snow like the plaque), and how to sled, sled, sled. My maternal grandfather, whom we visited after leaving the island of Taiwan to move to Belgium, took us kids out in his front yard and made the first snowman I had ever seen. He's gone now, and his house sold. But the memory of that snowman and the old man who made it with such love for his grandbabies is still fresh in my mind...fresh as the driven snow - aaaaah!
It's still so hot here, we all have to dress in shorts. I was thrilled last week when we had a rainstorm due to Hurricane Tammy passing nearby, and the temperature dropped as low as 69 during the day. Every year, we're still in shorts for Deanna's birthday and usually celebrate outside. It doesn't cool enough for long pants until November and often, in December, it's still too warm for pants. February is by far our coolest month and the only month, usually, there's any hope of snow. My birthday is St. Patrick's Day and by then, we're back in shorts again. So, at the most, we have 3 months of cool weather, but it's usually more like Fall than Winter.
My mother has spent the last 30-some years, since we've been in the South, longing to experience the change in seasons. The older I get, the more I long for it, also. It would be a dream to be able to feel the crispness of Fall and watch the leaves turn and begin to blanket the ground. Gradually, Fall would turn to Winter and snow would replace the blanket of leaves, softly protecting the earth from the cold temperatures. Spring would come and the snow would begin to melt, adding precious water to the watertable deep below the ground and preparing the soil for the flowers that are beginning to peek out. Summer would be hot and fun, bringing joys not felt in any other month, but would be limited for a few months before the process would begin over again. Instead, we have summer, hot summer, summer, cool summer, and winter.
At times when I'm discouraged about the heat and am beginning to wish I lived up north where I could experience all the seasons, I'll be in the checkout line at a clothing store or Kroger and the clerk or someone else in the checkout line will begin to share with me about their faith or their church. Down here in the Bible Belt, that's a very common occurrence. Nearly everyone has a love for the Lord and there are churches on practically every corner. Catholics live in harmony with the various Protestant denominations and churches of varying denominations bind together to have Vacation Bible Schools and to bring special concerts and programs of interest that one church alone might not be able to handle.
We might not have all the seasons here in Georgia, but we have a depth of love and devotion to our Lord that is rivaled by no other area of the country. When it gets right down to it, I'll choose the Bible Belt over weather any day of the week - and any season of the year.
It's still so hot here, we all have to dress in shorts. I was thrilled last week when we had a rainstorm due to Hurricane Tammy passing nearby, and the temperature dropped as low as 69 during the day. Every year, we're still in shorts for Deanna's birthday and usually celebrate outside. It doesn't cool enough for long pants until November and often, in December, it's still too warm for pants. February is by far our coolest month and the only month, usually, there's any hope of snow. My birthday is St. Patrick's Day and by then, we're back in shorts again. So, at the most, we have 3 months of cool weather, but it's usually more like Fall than Winter.
My mother has spent the last 30-some years, since we've been in the South, longing to experience the change in seasons. The older I get, the more I long for it, also. It would be a dream to be able to feel the crispness of Fall and watch the leaves turn and begin to blanket the ground. Gradually, Fall would turn to Winter and snow would replace the blanket of leaves, softly protecting the earth from the cold temperatures. Spring would come and the snow would begin to melt, adding precious water to the watertable deep below the ground and preparing the soil for the flowers that are beginning to peek out. Summer would be hot and fun, bringing joys not felt in any other month, but would be limited for a few months before the process would begin over again. Instead, we have summer, hot summer, summer, cool summer, and winter.
At times when I'm discouraged about the heat and am beginning to wish I lived up north where I could experience all the seasons, I'll be in the checkout line at a clothing store or Kroger and the clerk or someone else in the checkout line will begin to share with me about their faith or their church. Down here in the Bible Belt, that's a very common occurrence. Nearly everyone has a love for the Lord and there are churches on practically every corner. Catholics live in harmony with the various Protestant denominations and churches of varying denominations bind together to have Vacation Bible Schools and to bring special concerts and programs of interest that one church alone might not be able to handle.
We might not have all the seasons here in Georgia, but we have a depth of love and devotion to our Lord that is rivaled by no other area of the country. When it gets right down to it, I'll choose the Bible Belt over weather any day of the week - and any season of the year.
Saturday, October 08, 2005
Star Wars ROCKS!!
Today is Deanna's birthday. She's 9. Happy Birthday, my precious baby girl. I love you.
She decided she wanted to have a Star Wars birthday. She asked if she could have friends over and watch all the Star Wars movies back-to-back. The problem was that not too many of her girlfriends are Star Wars fanatics, like her. Don and I agreed and we began the plans.
We settled on Friday night for her party. Several of her friends came home from school with her. While in school, the son of some friends, whose entire room is decorated in a Star Wars motif, brought over Star Wars Trivia cards and lots of posters. I put a large cardboard poster with a picture of Darth Vader up on the archway from the dining room leading down the hall to the den. I put a variety of posters up in the den. Don downloaded a CD of music from the Internet and we had the soundtrack playing as the girls arrived. On the dining room table I had Star Wars cups, plates, and napkins. Deanna was thrilled.
After her friends arrived, we cued up the video of Episode I. I was amazed at how long the movie took. When it was FINALLY over, we put on the CD of Episode II. While the movie was playing, I popped, popped, and popped popcorn. Don ran to Wal-Mart and picked up the cake with the Darth Vader mask on it. The doorbell rang and, when I opened the door, there stood Darth Vader (my friends' son in the costume that he wore to the Premiere). He quietly walked into the den and stood in the doorway waiting for the girls to notice him - much shouting and squealing. While the second movie was running, I ordered pizza for this crowd. We stopped long enough to have cake and ice cream and open presents. After the second movie, we played some Trivia and, then, BACK to the movies. The girls were watching Episode IV from their sleeping bags on the floor of the den and 3 of them were asleep when I called it a night and stumbled off to bed.
At 1:30, I finally came back out, turned the TV off, and grumbled something about it being bedtime. At 6:00 a.m., they were up again, giggling and running down the hall to the bathroom. I think everyone had fun except, of course, Don and me.
Although I'm sure I knew this, I was once again reminded that young girls are LOUD. They talk incessantly and fuss at each other to stop talking so they can hear the movie. They giggle, laugh, and comment about everything, all at the same time, and as loudly as possible. They can't have a single thought without announcing it to the whole group. And, should any of them need a drink or to go to the bathroom, it becomes a group activity.
Girls - they're wonderful and challenging when they're young and they learn as they age to be even more wonderful and challenging. Just ask their dads.
She decided she wanted to have a Star Wars birthday. She asked if she could have friends over and watch all the Star Wars movies back-to-back. The problem was that not too many of her girlfriends are Star Wars fanatics, like her. Don and I agreed and we began the plans.
We settled on Friday night for her party. Several of her friends came home from school with her. While in school, the son of some friends, whose entire room is decorated in a Star Wars motif, brought over Star Wars Trivia cards and lots of posters. I put a large cardboard poster with a picture of Darth Vader up on the archway from the dining room leading down the hall to the den. I put a variety of posters up in the den. Don downloaded a CD of music from the Internet and we had the soundtrack playing as the girls arrived. On the dining room table I had Star Wars cups, plates, and napkins. Deanna was thrilled.
After her friends arrived, we cued up the video of Episode I. I was amazed at how long the movie took. When it was FINALLY over, we put on the CD of Episode II. While the movie was playing, I popped, popped, and popped popcorn. Don ran to Wal-Mart and picked up the cake with the Darth Vader mask on it. The doorbell rang and, when I opened the door, there stood Darth Vader (my friends' son in the costume that he wore to the Premiere). He quietly walked into the den and stood in the doorway waiting for the girls to notice him - much shouting and squealing. While the second movie was running, I ordered pizza for this crowd. We stopped long enough to have cake and ice cream and open presents. After the second movie, we played some Trivia and, then, BACK to the movies. The girls were watching Episode IV from their sleeping bags on the floor of the den and 3 of them were asleep when I called it a night and stumbled off to bed.
At 1:30, I finally came back out, turned the TV off, and grumbled something about it being bedtime. At 6:00 a.m., they were up again, giggling and running down the hall to the bathroom. I think everyone had fun except, of course, Don and me.
Although I'm sure I knew this, I was once again reminded that young girls are LOUD. They talk incessantly and fuss at each other to stop talking so they can hear the movie. They giggle, laugh, and comment about everything, all at the same time, and as loudly as possible. They can't have a single thought without announcing it to the whole group. And, should any of them need a drink or to go to the bathroom, it becomes a group activity.
Girls - they're wonderful and challenging when they're young and they learn as they age to be even more wonderful and challenging. Just ask their dads.
Friday, October 07, 2005
Avon Calling
The children had their school pictures this past Tuesday. I'm always happy to get them out of the way at the early part of the school year while their beginning-of-school haircuts still look nice and the new clothes I bought them for the Fall actually fit.
The only problem was, Dane had a black eye. On Saturday, our friend that kept them for us over the weekend, took them to a Potluck Supper. The home of the people hosting the Potluck had a huge trampoline that stayed pretty packed with kids throughout the supper, according to Deanna. Dane and one of his closest friends, Conor, collided and Conor's head connected with Dane's cheekbone and eye-socket, leaving a great shiner behind. We were all quite proud of his war wound until Monday night, when I realized he was going to have to have his school picture taken looking like the mutt from the Target ads.
"Oh, my goodness," I commented. "Dane, I'm going to have to put makeup on your eye tomorrow morning."
"Didn't you have to do that last year, too?" asked Deanna.
I was quite sure Dane had never had a black eye before, but something about putting makeup on Dane rang a bell (it's not like I slather my children in makeup often).
I finally remembered. Sure enough, last year he had a huge blue and purple knot on his forehead for picture day. I had pulled out the makeup then, too.
I'm expecting L'Oreal to call at any moment asking for the advertising rights to his school pictures.
P.S. I'm doing much better today. Lots of prayer and some rest can do amazing things for a downcast spirit.
The only problem was, Dane had a black eye. On Saturday, our friend that kept them for us over the weekend, took them to a Potluck Supper. The home of the people hosting the Potluck had a huge trampoline that stayed pretty packed with kids throughout the supper, according to Deanna. Dane and one of his closest friends, Conor, collided and Conor's head connected with Dane's cheekbone and eye-socket, leaving a great shiner behind. We were all quite proud of his war wound until Monday night, when I realized he was going to have to have his school picture taken looking like the mutt from the Target ads.
"Oh, my goodness," I commented. "Dane, I'm going to have to put makeup on your eye tomorrow morning."
"Didn't you have to do that last year, too?" asked Deanna.
I was quite sure Dane had never had a black eye before, but something about putting makeup on Dane rang a bell (it's not like I slather my children in makeup often).
I finally remembered. Sure enough, last year he had a huge blue and purple knot on his forehead for picture day. I had pulled out the makeup then, too.
I'm expecting L'Oreal to call at any moment asking for the advertising rights to his school pictures.
P.S. I'm doing much better today. Lots of prayer and some rest can do amazing things for a downcast spirit.
Thursday, October 06, 2005
Not as Bad as Job
For years, when I came under a spiritual attack, it was through my health. I'd get seriously sick at the most inopportune times. Once, the night before leaving for a retreat in the mountains, my back went out. I couldn't sleep, couldn't walk, and was in terrible pain.
After I got married and had children, attacks were through the children's health. It's pretty hard to make it to church or some other important function when your baby has a temperature of 104.7 or your young daughter is violently throwing up everytime she opens her mouth.
Lately, my attacks have been through relationships. Just when life seems to be going along swimmingly, the bottom will drop out in some relationship of mine. Sometimes it's my family, other times it's friends. The last month, it's been all of the above. It wouldn't be much of an attack if there was only one relationship out of sorts. It has to be enough pressure to build up my stress levels to the bursting point. This week, I've had several bursting points.
I've had some difficulties with a dear friend, Deanna's been VERY out of sorts, and a miriad of other problems have arisen, all at the same time. Don has been so supportive. He tries to defend me and, I'm certain, is praying for me.
Some of these issues are a result of the retreat Don and I attended this past weekend. I really believe we both grew in holiness and the evil one is not happy with that. So, he's trying every trick in the book to pull me under.
He WILL NOT SUCCEED. Jesus Christ is Lord and he is the ruler of all. My Lord will win the victory in each of these situations. I must just endure and pray, pray, pray.
Things haven't gotten as bad for me, yet, as they did for Job. For that, I can be extremely grateful.
After I got married and had children, attacks were through the children's health. It's pretty hard to make it to church or some other important function when your baby has a temperature of 104.7 or your young daughter is violently throwing up everytime she opens her mouth.
Lately, my attacks have been through relationships. Just when life seems to be going along swimmingly, the bottom will drop out in some relationship of mine. Sometimes it's my family, other times it's friends. The last month, it's been all of the above. It wouldn't be much of an attack if there was only one relationship out of sorts. It has to be enough pressure to build up my stress levels to the bursting point. This week, I've had several bursting points.
I've had some difficulties with a dear friend, Deanna's been VERY out of sorts, and a miriad of other problems have arisen, all at the same time. Don has been so supportive. He tries to defend me and, I'm certain, is praying for me.
Some of these issues are a result of the retreat Don and I attended this past weekend. I really believe we both grew in holiness and the evil one is not happy with that. So, he's trying every trick in the book to pull me under.
He WILL NOT SUCCEED. Jesus Christ is Lord and he is the ruler of all. My Lord will win the victory in each of these situations. I must just endure and pray, pray, pray.
Things haven't gotten as bad for me, yet, as they did for Job. For that, I can be extremely grateful.
Wednesday, October 05, 2005
For or Four?
This weekend, Don and I were on Retreat. This is a Retreat that we attend annually, usually in the mountains but, this year, the Retreat was held in our town. On Wednesday before the Friday beginning of the Retreat, I found out that the friend that I thought was going to keep our children was unable. Apparently, she had called and left a message with Deanna, who had forgotten to tell me.
So, Thursday morning, I was scurrying around, trying to find someone I trusted to devote their entire weekend to our children. Don suggested a particular friend on his way out the door Thursday morning. I called her and asked if there was ANY block of time during the weekend that she might be able to watch our children so Don and I could attend at least one session together. She quickly remarked that she would keep them for the whole weekend. I was floored. It was amazingly gracious of this woman to agree, at the last minute, to give up her weekend to keep my children.
But Don and I were very uncertain what to do about church on Sunday. We would be attending church at the Retreat, but I wasn't sure Daelyn would be able to handle sitting through a service with someone else at their church. Our pediatrician has recommended we not put our children in any nurseries because Dane always seems to get sick after any of them have paid a visit to a nursery. He has asthma and is very susceptible to everything.
Don and I were still trying to come up with a solution on Saturday night when an announcement was maid that we could bring our children with us to church and the closing talk on Sunday.
We had to be at church, with the kids in tow, all the way across town (a 20-min. drive for us) by 8:30 Sunday morning. The final session ended at 1:00 p.m. The children were exhausted, as were Don and I. It had been a very busy, long weekend. We took off for home to eat lunch and get everyone bedded down for a good nap to try and recondition them before school Monday morning.
Our city was planning a Life Chain to visibly stand against abortion and show our support for Life. In the past, we've always attended these. But, under the circumstances, Don and I could just NOT see our way clear to add another thing onto the children's calendar.
I was talking with a girlfriend of mine last night at a funeral home during the visitation for the family of an old friend. My friend has several older children, as well as a daughter Deanna's age and a 4 1/2 year old son. She told me that her family had been able to attend the Life Chain.
Her 4 1/2 year old was holding a sign that said, "Abortion kills babies." A Catholic priest was walking by and saw this very young man holding this big sign and stopped.
"Do you know what that sign says," he asked little Jimmy.
"It says that abortion kills people," Jimmy responded, according to his mother. "And it's wrong!"
"So, Jimmy, are you for or against abortion?" the Priest asked, trying to help Jimmy better understand his purpose for being at the Life Chain.
"I'm four and a half."
Thanks, Judy, for the great story.
And may the soul of Helen Scholly rest in peace.
So, Thursday morning, I was scurrying around, trying to find someone I trusted to devote their entire weekend to our children. Don suggested a particular friend on his way out the door Thursday morning. I called her and asked if there was ANY block of time during the weekend that she might be able to watch our children so Don and I could attend at least one session together. She quickly remarked that she would keep them for the whole weekend. I was floored. It was amazingly gracious of this woman to agree, at the last minute, to give up her weekend to keep my children.
But Don and I were very uncertain what to do about church on Sunday. We would be attending church at the Retreat, but I wasn't sure Daelyn would be able to handle sitting through a service with someone else at their church. Our pediatrician has recommended we not put our children in any nurseries because Dane always seems to get sick after any of them have paid a visit to a nursery. He has asthma and is very susceptible to everything.
Don and I were still trying to come up with a solution on Saturday night when an announcement was maid that we could bring our children with us to church and the closing talk on Sunday.
We had to be at church, with the kids in tow, all the way across town (a 20-min. drive for us) by 8:30 Sunday morning. The final session ended at 1:00 p.m. The children were exhausted, as were Don and I. It had been a very busy, long weekend. We took off for home to eat lunch and get everyone bedded down for a good nap to try and recondition them before school Monday morning.
Our city was planning a Life Chain to visibly stand against abortion and show our support for Life. In the past, we've always attended these. But, under the circumstances, Don and I could just NOT see our way clear to add another thing onto the children's calendar.
I was talking with a girlfriend of mine last night at a funeral home during the visitation for the family of an old friend. My friend has several older children, as well as a daughter Deanna's age and a 4 1/2 year old son. She told me that her family had been able to attend the Life Chain.
Her 4 1/2 year old was holding a sign that said, "Abortion kills babies." A Catholic priest was walking by and saw this very young man holding this big sign and stopped.
"Do you know what that sign says," he asked little Jimmy.
"It says that abortion kills people," Jimmy responded, according to his mother. "And it's wrong!"
"So, Jimmy, are you for or against abortion?" the Priest asked, trying to help Jimmy better understand his purpose for being at the Life Chain.
"I'm four and a half."
Thanks, Judy, for the great story.
And may the soul of Helen Scholly rest in peace.
Tuesday, October 04, 2005
An Apology to All my Readers
It seems my family has begun to use my Blog as our own private family Chatroom, only not so private.
Deanna's birthday is Saturday, and we're trying to plan a Family Function to celebrate. It all started when I asked her what she wanted for dinner Saturday night. After some thought and concern that "we can't possibly afford to eat out - you just threw a party for Daddy", I finally convinced her that it was not her decision whether or not we could afford to eat out. She's a sensitive child and has a fair understanding of what things cost. And we almost never eat out, so she has this idea that it's horribly expensive. We don't eat out because my husband's a home-body and hates the hustle and bustle of restaurants. He wants to be able to sit when he wants, eat what he wants, leave when he wants, and not have to pay for the pleasure. So my children all labor under the thought that we almost never can afford to eat out.
Don, of course, fuels this fire. He loves that the children think this way - it's his easy way out. He can smile and say, "Yes, it's expensive. We better stay home."
Once I convinced Deanna that it wasn't her concern, she QUICKLY responded that she wanted to go to Veracruz for dinner. Veracruz is our local hole-in-the-wall Mexican restuarant where nobody speaks English and ordering requires much pointing, grunting, and smiling. But the food's great, the restaurant is clean, the fare is cheap, and the help attempts to be very accomodating. Not to mention the sombrero you get to wear and the song they sing to you on your birthday.
I asked if she wanted to invite her aunts, cousins, and grandparents, and she said, "Of course." So I started the calls. The first family member contacted asked what time we would be eating. Knowing that my father prefers to eat early, by about 5:30 because of stomach problems, and keeping in mind that my children have church the next morning and need to be in bed early, I decided we'd shoot for 5:30.
Herein lies the problem. GA is playing a "very important game" Saturday and it doesn't start until 3:30. One of my nephews is a UGA Grad, another is still in school there, and my niece is a huge follower of the Bulldogs. My father, also, watches every GA game and won't be pulled away from the TV for such an important game. Thus all the comments back and forth.
To complicate things a little more, my nephew from Alabama is supposed to be coming for a visit. Up till now, we've only seen him when he came with his parents for Christmas, but is now on his own and is planning a trip to see his cousins and grandparents. We don't know for sure when he'll arrive, but everyone wants to be sure we plan our day so as to include him. In addition, my sister, Toni (the fast, fun and friendly one), is working on Saturday, which is opening day for Target. Her schedule says she works from 4 - 11, so dinner for her would be out of the question, but Target is notorious for changing her schedule at the last minute, and I would hate to plan dinner at lunchtime so she can be there only to have them switch her hours to 8 - 3 and have her miss after all.
We also have the little issue of the fact that we were planning Deanna's birthday dinner for our family and, somehow, this has snowballed into everyone throwing in their bid for what time suits them best. I'm afraid, before long, the family will have changed the location, also, and we'll all be going to lunch at Sconyers, the local barbecue restaurant, for Deanna's Mexican birthday dinner. Maybe that would be better. Then we could take her to Veracruz for dinner and the entire problem would be solved.
Or, better yet, maybe we should plan two separate meals - lunch and dinner at different restaurants, and family members can choose which one suits them the best.
Ah, the joys of a large, close-knit family.
Deanna's birthday is Saturday, and we're trying to plan a Family Function to celebrate. It all started when I asked her what she wanted for dinner Saturday night. After some thought and concern that "we can't possibly afford to eat out - you just threw a party for Daddy", I finally convinced her that it was not her decision whether or not we could afford to eat out. She's a sensitive child and has a fair understanding of what things cost. And we almost never eat out, so she has this idea that it's horribly expensive. We don't eat out because my husband's a home-body and hates the hustle and bustle of restaurants. He wants to be able to sit when he wants, eat what he wants, leave when he wants, and not have to pay for the pleasure. So my children all labor under the thought that we almost never can afford to eat out.
Don, of course, fuels this fire. He loves that the children think this way - it's his easy way out. He can smile and say, "Yes, it's expensive. We better stay home."
Once I convinced Deanna that it wasn't her concern, she QUICKLY responded that she wanted to go to Veracruz for dinner. Veracruz is our local hole-in-the-wall Mexican restuarant where nobody speaks English and ordering requires much pointing, grunting, and smiling. But the food's great, the restaurant is clean, the fare is cheap, and the help attempts to be very accomodating. Not to mention the sombrero you get to wear and the song they sing to you on your birthday.
I asked if she wanted to invite her aunts, cousins, and grandparents, and she said, "Of course." So I started the calls. The first family member contacted asked what time we would be eating. Knowing that my father prefers to eat early, by about 5:30 because of stomach problems, and keeping in mind that my children have church the next morning and need to be in bed early, I decided we'd shoot for 5:30.
Herein lies the problem. GA is playing a "very important game" Saturday and it doesn't start until 3:30. One of my nephews is a UGA Grad, another is still in school there, and my niece is a huge follower of the Bulldogs. My father, also, watches every GA game and won't be pulled away from the TV for such an important game. Thus all the comments back and forth.
To complicate things a little more, my nephew from Alabama is supposed to be coming for a visit. Up till now, we've only seen him when he came with his parents for Christmas, but is now on his own and is planning a trip to see his cousins and grandparents. We don't know for sure when he'll arrive, but everyone wants to be sure we plan our day so as to include him. In addition, my sister, Toni (the fast, fun and friendly one), is working on Saturday, which is opening day for Target. Her schedule says she works from 4 - 11, so dinner for her would be out of the question, but Target is notorious for changing her schedule at the last minute, and I would hate to plan dinner at lunchtime so she can be there only to have them switch her hours to 8 - 3 and have her miss after all.
We also have the little issue of the fact that we were planning Deanna's birthday dinner for our family and, somehow, this has snowballed into everyone throwing in their bid for what time suits them best. I'm afraid, before long, the family will have changed the location, also, and we'll all be going to lunch at Sconyers, the local barbecue restaurant, for Deanna's Mexican birthday dinner. Maybe that would be better. Then we could take her to Veracruz for dinner and the entire problem would be solved.
Or, better yet, maybe we should plan two separate meals - lunch and dinner at different restaurants, and family members can choose which one suits them the best.
Ah, the joys of a large, close-knit family.
Monday, October 03, 2005
Revisiting an old topic
Saturday night, Don and I were coming home fairly late from a Retreat we were attending across town. We were on the Interstate loop when a stray dog ran across the highway. Don had to brake pretty fast to keep from hitting it. It was black and blended into the darkness, making it impossible to see until we were practically on top of it.
Don instinctively yelled, "Out of the way, you black alley dog. I almost hit you!"
At least I think it was instinctively.
Don instinctively yelled, "Out of the way, you black alley dog. I almost hit you!"
At least I think it was instinctively.
Sunday, October 02, 2005
A Cow isn't Really Such a Bad Thing
Yesterday, I wrote about Don giving me a pig and a cow pancake shape. I'm seriously hoping the pig was because ham is my favorite meat, BLT's my favorite sandwich, and I really like almost every other form of pork.
But, truthfully, there IS a story behind the cow. You see, I've been nursing for almost 9 years now - not all the same child, but I've worked through the ranks, weening one in time for the next to be born. In the case of Deanna and Dane, I actually nursed both of them at the same time. I didn't want Deanna to be jealous of Dane because her new baby took her place in Mommy's lap, so I decided to nurse them both for a time. I'd stack them in my lap - Deanna on the bottom and the new baby in HER lap. I really believe this is part of the reason they have such a close bond. From the moment we brought Dane home from the hospital, he and Deanna have shared everything, even nursing. You also have to figure in that Deanna was standing right outside of the Operating Room door when I had my emergency C-section with Dane, and she heard his first cry and got to see him moments after birth. She watched as they bathed him for the first time and cooed about how sweet her baby was.
Back to business. When Deanna was about 6 months old, I remarked to Don that I felt like the cow tethered in the backyard. It felt like my sole purpose in life was to provide milk for my growing family. If I had beans, broccoli or onions, Deanna got gas. If I had caffeine, she couldn't sleep. If I had wine, she could get drunk or damage brain cells. If I had spicy foods, she's get stomach cramps, rich foods would give her a tummy ache. Suddenly, everything I did - including eating and drinking - was about providing nutritious meals via my body for this little being who felt more like a part of my body than a separate entity.
I had to think constantly about what I was doing, including taking medicines, be certain I stayed hydrated, so I barely had time to think because I spent my whole life either nursing, getting ready to nurse, or cleaning up after nursing. I smelled like spoiled milk ALL the time and all my shirts had milk stains on the front that just doesn't come out in the wash. I would complain to Don about my frustrations and he would say, "Being the family cow isn't such a bad thing. You're providing for our children from your own body." At one point, he even took a picture of me nursing (that the photo shop refused to develop) because he thought I was the most beautiful ever when I was nursing our children. His feelings were really genuine, even if mine were a little more negative. He tried to encourage and, sometimes, succeeded. But, mainly, he learned to turn my frustration into humor by mooing at me whenever I was struggling.
One Sunday morning, while in church, Daelyn was sitting in my lap. He was over-tired, needed a nap, and just wanted to snuggle. He reached up and pinched me and in a rather loud voice, during an amazingly quiet moment during the service, said, "Mommy, NURSE ME. I need NURSIES." Embarrassed beyond belief, I sat there in shock while everyone within 3 pews of me turned around and smiled at me. Don, attempting to alleviate my humiliation with laughter, leaned over and moo-ed at me. He was trying to be quiet and only reach my ears, but missing by a longshot, and the same three rows in every direction HEARD!! Laughter indeed broke out. My face resembled a tomato more than a cow. But I knew, although Don had been a little louder than he intended, it was done in love. He really sees my ability to nurse our children as a tremendous gift so, for him, thinking of me as a cow is a bit of a compliment.
I try really hard to remember each time he moos at me or I spot my cow pancake form in the bottom drawer in my kitchen that it's a symbol of his love and respect for me. So I guess a cow shape isn't such a bad thing, after all.
But, truthfully, there IS a story behind the cow. You see, I've been nursing for almost 9 years now - not all the same child, but I've worked through the ranks, weening one in time for the next to be born. In the case of Deanna and Dane, I actually nursed both of them at the same time. I didn't want Deanna to be jealous of Dane because her new baby took her place in Mommy's lap, so I decided to nurse them both for a time. I'd stack them in my lap - Deanna on the bottom and the new baby in HER lap. I really believe this is part of the reason they have such a close bond. From the moment we brought Dane home from the hospital, he and Deanna have shared everything, even nursing. You also have to figure in that Deanna was standing right outside of the Operating Room door when I had my emergency C-section with Dane, and she heard his first cry and got to see him moments after birth. She watched as they bathed him for the first time and cooed about how sweet her baby was.
Back to business. When Deanna was about 6 months old, I remarked to Don that I felt like the cow tethered in the backyard. It felt like my sole purpose in life was to provide milk for my growing family. If I had beans, broccoli or onions, Deanna got gas. If I had caffeine, she couldn't sleep. If I had wine, she could get drunk or damage brain cells. If I had spicy foods, she's get stomach cramps, rich foods would give her a tummy ache. Suddenly, everything I did - including eating and drinking - was about providing nutritious meals via my body for this little being who felt more like a part of my body than a separate entity.
I had to think constantly about what I was doing, including taking medicines, be certain I stayed hydrated, so I barely had time to think because I spent my whole life either nursing, getting ready to nurse, or cleaning up after nursing. I smelled like spoiled milk ALL the time and all my shirts had milk stains on the front that just doesn't come out in the wash. I would complain to Don about my frustrations and he would say, "Being the family cow isn't such a bad thing. You're providing for our children from your own body." At one point, he even took a picture of me nursing (that the photo shop refused to develop) because he thought I was the most beautiful ever when I was nursing our children. His feelings were really genuine, even if mine were a little more negative. He tried to encourage and, sometimes, succeeded. But, mainly, he learned to turn my frustration into humor by mooing at me whenever I was struggling.
One Sunday morning, while in church, Daelyn was sitting in my lap. He was over-tired, needed a nap, and just wanted to snuggle. He reached up and pinched me and in a rather loud voice, during an amazingly quiet moment during the service, said, "Mommy, NURSE ME. I need NURSIES." Embarrassed beyond belief, I sat there in shock while everyone within 3 pews of me turned around and smiled at me. Don, attempting to alleviate my humiliation with laughter, leaned over and moo-ed at me. He was trying to be quiet and only reach my ears, but missing by a longshot, and the same three rows in every direction HEARD!! Laughter indeed broke out. My face resembled a tomato more than a cow. But I knew, although Don had been a little louder than he intended, it was done in love. He really sees my ability to nurse our children as a tremendous gift so, for him, thinking of me as a cow is a bit of a compliment.
I try really hard to remember each time he moos at me or I spot my cow pancake form in the bottom drawer in my kitchen that it's a symbol of his love and respect for me. So I guess a cow shape isn't such a bad thing, after all.
Saturday, October 01, 2005
More fun Breakfasts
A few years ago, I decided to attempt an old trick my mother used to do. She would make animal-shaped pancakes. She had this wonderful old electric griddle that you could put 6 pancakes on at a time. The shape of the pancakes were indelibly etched into the griddle.
Every now and then, not so often as to spoil us, on a Saturday, Mom would make animal shapes out of pancake batter. She’s always been great at drawing bunnies and cows, foxes and goats, and she’d use that same talent to form pancakes into these creative shapes. Us kids LOVED it. We would beg her to make animal shapes every time we had pancakes.
I decided that if she could do it, I ought to be able to. So, one day, I tried it. Just like I remembered, my children loved it. Although the shapes were a little rough (I’m not the artist my mother is), you generally could tell what the animals were and the kids thought it was great fun, putting in their bid for this kind of animal or that kind.
Over a couple of years time, this became a fairly frequent activity. One year, around Christmas, I split the batter into two batches and added food coloring to them - one red, the other green. I made Christmas trees and ornaments to hang on the tree, and I even let the children have M&M’s and red hot’s to decorate their trees. I tried chocolate chips in some and sprinkled nuts in others. I made stockings, stars, a Santa hat, and attempted a train. We had a wonderful time.
We had such a fun time, in fact, that Don got involved. He wouldn’t make any, but he stood over me giving suggestions and critiquing my artistry.
That year, for Christmas, each of us had a similar shaped package under the tree from Don. He buys his own presents every year for the children. We discuss and decide what to get them, I buy it and wrap it from us, and then he goes out and buys his own gifts - just from Dad. He refuses to tell me what the gifts are or give me any hints at all, so it’s always a surprise for me, too, when the children open their presents from Daddy. The children have grown to love this tradition and really appreciate that Daddy chooses gifts for them JUST from him.
So, we all had these odd-shaped packages. I believe Deanna was the first to open hers. She had these wonderful metal pancake shapes with a little wooden handle to lift the shape once the pancake’s ready. Don had given her a little girl shape and a heart. She hugged and kissed her Daddy, then held the heart close to her and smiled over at me. I knew the heart meant something very special to her. She understood it meant that Daddy was telling her she was HIS heart.
Next came Daelyn. He got a dinosaur shape (he LOVES dinosaurs) and a teddy bear - he’s Daddy’s snuggly bear. I just couldn’t believe what a good job Don had done picking out the perfect shapes for each of the children.
After seeing sissy and brother’s shapes, Dane decided he wanted to open his. He got a little boy shape and, his special one from Daddy, a star. You don’t have to think very hard to figure out what this meant. Neither did Dane. He instantly knew that Daddy was telling him he was a star. He hugged Don’s neck excitedly and started babbling about making pancakes for breakfast.
“But Mommy hasn’t opened hers yet,” Don said. “Go ahead, Mommy, open yours.” The kids began chanting “Open yours, Mom, open yours,” so I decided I better get right to that present. I tore off the paper, unraveled the tissue, and what did I find?
A pig and a cow.
Don swears mine had absolutely no meaning - that he bought an 8-pack and carefully chose the ones he wanted to give to the children and gave me the leftovers.
Needless to say, we seldom eat pig- and cow-shaped pancakes. The stars, teddy bears and hearts are sufficient and don’t require that Daddy sleep on the couch.
Every now and then, not so often as to spoil us, on a Saturday, Mom would make animal shapes out of pancake batter. She’s always been great at drawing bunnies and cows, foxes and goats, and she’d use that same talent to form pancakes into these creative shapes. Us kids LOVED it. We would beg her to make animal shapes every time we had pancakes.
I decided that if she could do it, I ought to be able to. So, one day, I tried it. Just like I remembered, my children loved it. Although the shapes were a little rough (I’m not the artist my mother is), you generally could tell what the animals were and the kids thought it was great fun, putting in their bid for this kind of animal or that kind.
Over a couple of years time, this became a fairly frequent activity. One year, around Christmas, I split the batter into two batches and added food coloring to them - one red, the other green. I made Christmas trees and ornaments to hang on the tree, and I even let the children have M&M’s and red hot’s to decorate their trees. I tried chocolate chips in some and sprinkled nuts in others. I made stockings, stars, a Santa hat, and attempted a train. We had a wonderful time.
We had such a fun time, in fact, that Don got involved. He wouldn’t make any, but he stood over me giving suggestions and critiquing my artistry.
That year, for Christmas, each of us had a similar shaped package under the tree from Don. He buys his own presents every year for the children. We discuss and decide what to get them, I buy it and wrap it from us, and then he goes out and buys his own gifts - just from Dad. He refuses to tell me what the gifts are or give me any hints at all, so it’s always a surprise for me, too, when the children open their presents from Daddy. The children have grown to love this tradition and really appreciate that Daddy chooses gifts for them JUST from him.
So, we all had these odd-shaped packages. I believe Deanna was the first to open hers. She had these wonderful metal pancake shapes with a little wooden handle to lift the shape once the pancake’s ready. Don had given her a little girl shape and a heart. She hugged and kissed her Daddy, then held the heart close to her and smiled over at me. I knew the heart meant something very special to her. She understood it meant that Daddy was telling her she was HIS heart.
Next came Daelyn. He got a dinosaur shape (he LOVES dinosaurs) and a teddy bear - he’s Daddy’s snuggly bear. I just couldn’t believe what a good job Don had done picking out the perfect shapes for each of the children.
After seeing sissy and brother’s shapes, Dane decided he wanted to open his. He got a little boy shape and, his special one from Daddy, a star. You don’t have to think very hard to figure out what this meant. Neither did Dane. He instantly knew that Daddy was telling him he was a star. He hugged Don’s neck excitedly and started babbling about making pancakes for breakfast.
“But Mommy hasn’t opened hers yet,” Don said. “Go ahead, Mommy, open yours.” The kids began chanting “Open yours, Mom, open yours,” so I decided I better get right to that present. I tore off the paper, unraveled the tissue, and what did I find?
A pig and a cow.
Don swears mine had absolutely no meaning - that he bought an 8-pack and carefully chose the ones he wanted to give to the children and gave me the leftovers.
Needless to say, we seldom eat pig- and cow-shaped pancakes. The stars, teddy bears and hearts are sufficient and don’t require that Daddy sleep on the couch.
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