Today is my birthday. Some might be bothered by the giant number that I have now reached, not me though. I like getting older. I feel wise, experienced, well traveled, and loved. Very loved. And so for this--I feel grateful.
I am thankful for so many things in this sweet life of mine--parents and siblings, children and grandchildren, extended family and friends who are just like family. I am thankful for the many ways in which God has blessed me too. Material blessings abound in my life. I am very aware of my abundance in this area, and I never take it for granted.
Yes, having a birthday is a great time to sit and reflect. I woke up before the sun this morning with a prayer in my heart. I laid in bed for awhile just thanking God over and over for the way He has always been my real father. I prayed for a long time with a very grateful heart and then finally got up and moved into the family room where I could sit in my old brown leather rocking chair, coffee and laptop in hand--I needed to write.
I was just thinking back to all the many wonderful gifts that I've received over the years, and in all honesty, my best gift came to me when I was just 17 years old. It wasn't wrapped, didn't have a bow, but when I looked at it, I knew. Yes, it was going to be the one gift that I'd never return. The one gift that I would always hope to have and to keep for all of my days. My husband. He has made me feel so special and confident, so beautiful inside and out, so smart and worth something, he has been my one constant. What a gift God brought me that year! And, every year after that my life just got better and better, sweeter and sweeter.
Grateful? Thankful? Yes, because every day feels like a birthday to me.
Sunday, September 16, 2012
Friday, September 14, 2012
Blog-Jacked Birthday
No this is not a posting from Veda - but a blog jacking by her most ardent admirer...
Happy Birthday to my awesome wife. As the saying goes "behind every good man is a better woman" and that holds true for me. I do not know how my life would have turned out without her- the joy, strength, and beauty she brings to our relationship is such a gift.
Babe, I hope you know how blessed I am to be your husband and partner in life, Love Jerry
PS... probably a good time to change your password :-)
Happy Birthday to my awesome wife. As the saying goes "behind every good man is a better woman" and that holds true for me. I do not know how my life would have turned out without her- the joy, strength, and beauty she brings to our relationship is such a gift.
Babe, I hope you know how blessed I am to be your husband and partner in life, Love Jerry
PS... probably a good time to change your password :-)
Wednesday, September 12, 2012
Yesterday's Musings
I had an interesting day yesterday. I started 2 new things, one being a ladies Bible study and the other being our couples small group, which is also a Bible study. Both are affiliated with our new church. I have been either leading or attending these types of get-togethers for approximately 40 years now. One might think I'd be burned out or tired, or maybe even have and I've heard it all before type of attitude, but I don't. I thoroughly enjoy getting together with other believers and discussing Biblical truths. I like being challenged, I like debates and I like sharing my heart and listening to the heartbeat of others. It's always been a huge part my life--this getting together with like minded people.
This will be my first time attending the ladies Bible study at my new church. I'm excited to get to know these new people. We've just been at this church a few months now, so I believe that this will be a great venue for making some new friends. We start with coffee (thank you God) some visiting, and then a video. We then break up into small groups to discuss the workbook and video. This is where things usually get interesting. Me, being trained in Psychology, am always fascinated by other's behavior patterns. Sometimes I have to remind myself that I am not there for a special group session, I am there to listen and learn. I also struggle with another issue, I am a pray-er, you know, a person who prays for others almost non-stop. As I listen to people share, I make mental notes on what I believe their needs are and then I begin to pray for them. It's just what I do and who I am. I can't help myself. Believe me, I've tried. But, that's another story, a later blog, and before I write about it, I'd have to pray. Do you see what I'm dealing with here? A never ending circle of listen, pray, pray, listen...
Back to this new Bible study--our book is about being Brave. I think that is a very interesting concept. Bravery. Honestly, I had never thought of myself as being particularly brave, however after looking at the chapter titles in our new book--well, maybe I am braver than I thought. Why? Because I did not feel that the titles really applied to me. I've made that mistake before though, and have been completely taken aback by what God taught me. So I've learned to be open minded, teachable and patient. I know that through the course of the next few months God will change me. He'll work on some issues in my heart that I am not even aware of. I am excited about what He is going to be doing in me (and for me) over the next few months. And where I thought I was brave or not so brave--He will show me things about myself, that will undoubtedly end up in this blog.
As far as our couples Bible study that meets in the evenings once a week--well, that's going to interesting too. We've decided to go through a book, chapter by chapter, and discuss a very interesting and somewhat controversial subject--why aren't our young adults attending church? I am praying through this study that our eyes are opened to the challenges of the church body today. There has definitely been a decline in attendance--but why? I have my viewpoint and thoughts on the matter, however, I might be all wrong. So, that's what we'll be talking and praying about.
On that subject, though I think I do want to share a couple of my own thoughts here. I want to see if I am even remotely close to the real reasons why our 20 and 30 somethings aren't interested in going to church.
For one thing--I wonder if the church (in general) is keeping up culturally with the times. Are our worship songs outdated and lifeless? Is there joy, a sense of celebration, a feeling of I'm so excited to be in church exuberant type of singing? Or instead, are we standing on tradition--singing funeral songs? That's what I call them. Old, tired, boring, sleepy hymns. I'm sorry, I'm just being as honest as I can be. And I'm trying to figure things out. I'm trying to see church through the eyes of the visitor, the unchurched, the unbeliever--and I'm not really liking what I'm seeing. Let's make the church feel like a place we want to go! Full of life, full of God, full of Jesus! Let's worship as if we are already in heaven!
For another thing, I think that God has taken a backseat in their lives. No longer are they living for Him, they want what He has to offer but only on their terms. They are too busy and too worn out to make time for God. It's a gimme, gimme society---that's for sure.
Also, (and I am aware that I might again be stepping on some toes here) I believe that there are some people (OK a lot) who feel that churches today are filled with hypocrites. That the so-called Christians of today are full of hate and discrimination, and so they want to distance themselves from that type of church going Christian. And I wonder--are they right? Is this what the world sees? Is this what we are portraying? Aren't they seeing Jesus in us? Or, are they seeing mean-spirited, judgmental, unforgiving, unaccepting, intolerant people--who just claim to know Christ?
We will see if I am even close to the real reasons as to why we are losing young families. In the meantime, I will be praying.
So, these are my musings from yesterday--much to think about and much more to pray about. Am I brave? I don't know. And why aren't more young adults attending church? I don't know. Maybe throughout these next few weeks, I'll receive some insight and answers to these questions of mine. I sure hope so. I have a lot of questions, I have a lot to pray about, I have a lot to learn. So, let the fun and the hard work begin!
This will be my first time attending the ladies Bible study at my new church. I'm excited to get to know these new people. We've just been at this church a few months now, so I believe that this will be a great venue for making some new friends. We start with coffee (thank you God) some visiting, and then a video. We then break up into small groups to discuss the workbook and video. This is where things usually get interesting. Me, being trained in Psychology, am always fascinated by other's behavior patterns. Sometimes I have to remind myself that I am not there for a special group session, I am there to listen and learn. I also struggle with another issue, I am a pray-er, you know, a person who prays for others almost non-stop. As I listen to people share, I make mental notes on what I believe their needs are and then I begin to pray for them. It's just what I do and who I am. I can't help myself. Believe me, I've tried. But, that's another story, a later blog, and before I write about it, I'd have to pray. Do you see what I'm dealing with here? A never ending circle of listen, pray, pray, listen...
Back to this new Bible study--our book is about being Brave. I think that is a very interesting concept. Bravery. Honestly, I had never thought of myself as being particularly brave, however after looking at the chapter titles in our new book--well, maybe I am braver than I thought. Why? Because I did not feel that the titles really applied to me. I've made that mistake before though, and have been completely taken aback by what God taught me. So I've learned to be open minded, teachable and patient. I know that through the course of the next few months God will change me. He'll work on some issues in my heart that I am not even aware of. I am excited about what He is going to be doing in me (and for me) over the next few months. And where I thought I was brave or not so brave--He will show me things about myself, that will undoubtedly end up in this blog.
As far as our couples Bible study that meets in the evenings once a week--well, that's going to interesting too. We've decided to go through a book, chapter by chapter, and discuss a very interesting and somewhat controversial subject--why aren't our young adults attending church? I am praying through this study that our eyes are opened to the challenges of the church body today. There has definitely been a decline in attendance--but why? I have my viewpoint and thoughts on the matter, however, I might be all wrong. So, that's what we'll be talking and praying about.
On that subject, though I think I do want to share a couple of my own thoughts here. I want to see if I am even remotely close to the real reasons why our 20 and 30 somethings aren't interested in going to church.
For one thing--I wonder if the church (in general) is keeping up culturally with the times. Are our worship songs outdated and lifeless? Is there joy, a sense of celebration, a feeling of I'm so excited to be in church exuberant type of singing? Or instead, are we standing on tradition--singing funeral songs? That's what I call them. Old, tired, boring, sleepy hymns. I'm sorry, I'm just being as honest as I can be. And I'm trying to figure things out. I'm trying to see church through the eyes of the visitor, the unchurched, the unbeliever--and I'm not really liking what I'm seeing. Let's make the church feel like a place we want to go! Full of life, full of God, full of Jesus! Let's worship as if we are already in heaven!
For another thing, I think that God has taken a backseat in their lives. No longer are they living for Him, they want what He has to offer but only on their terms. They are too busy and too worn out to make time for God. It's a gimme, gimme society---that's for sure.
Also, (and I am aware that I might again be stepping on some toes here) I believe that there are some people (OK a lot) who feel that churches today are filled with hypocrites. That the so-called Christians of today are full of hate and discrimination, and so they want to distance themselves from that type of church going Christian. And I wonder--are they right? Is this what the world sees? Is this what we are portraying? Aren't they seeing Jesus in us? Or, are they seeing mean-spirited, judgmental, unforgiving, unaccepting, intolerant people--who just claim to know Christ?
We will see if I am even close to the real reasons as to why we are losing young families. In the meantime, I will be praying.
So, these are my musings from yesterday--much to think about and much more to pray about. Am I brave? I don't know. And why aren't more young adults attending church? I don't know. Maybe throughout these next few weeks, I'll receive some insight and answers to these questions of mine. I sure hope so. I have a lot of questions, I have a lot to pray about, I have a lot to learn. So, let the fun and the hard work begin!
Monday, September 10, 2012
Genetics
I needed to wait awhile before writing this blog. I needed a few days. Sometimes, that's what I needed--time. Why? Because last week was the anniversary of the death of one of my nephews and it was also the birthday of another nephew (his older brother) who passed away a mere 10 months later. I guarantee you that these last few days have been extremely hard on my family and have been stirring up some deep emotions. So, I waited a bit before sharing this.
It was better for me also--to wait, to ponder, to decide--should I tell them? Should I really write about what I saw? I've decided to do it. To tell them. If it were me, I'd want to know.
It happened innocently enough this way. We were at my oldest son's house for a cook-out (that's what they call it in the mid-west). My little grandchildren were busy playing with trains, trucks, and dolls. I looked over and noticed the way one of my grandsons was sitting. Not cross-legged, not legs straight out in front of him--no, he had them folded behind him with his little feet pointed out, not in nor sitting with his little bum on top of his feet, no, they were pointed out, like little wings--just like my nephew used to sit. It caught my eye, and while I was processing the memory, I noticed something else--he had my nephews feet. A huge lump formed in my throat. I kept staring at his little body, watching him play with his cars and trucks, and I began to see other similarities. His side profile for example and even his cute little smile. I sat very still, studying him. And in him, I saw remnants of my nephew. Genetics.
I wish that my sister could have been there right at that very moment. I wish she could have seen the way God had used genetics to keep her son alive. Alive not just in our memories or using pictures but, in using those genes that are passed along from generation to generation. In my grandson--I saw my nephew. I've seen genetic effluences before in other family members. For example, my cousin's son looks like my sister. And, speaking of my sister--she has my grandmother's walk and body type. I've been told numerous times that my youngest granddaughter looks just like me and that I look just like my grandmother. Genetics.
It's alway been easy for me to see similarities between my own children and my husband and I. Our daughter has my face, but her father's hands and feet. Our oldest son has my looks with his father's height, and our youngest son is a carbon copy of his father, right down to his body gestures. I not only notice their looks but also their likes and dislikes--they are fashioned much after us. It's interesting to me. More importantly, though, I notice their hearts--they are like ours too. And that makes me happy.
When I was studying Psychology in college, we talked a lot about nature vs nurture. I've always hung in the middle, I personally believed that it was pretty much a 50/50 type of thing. However, now I'm not so sure. Maybe it's much more nature than I had ever realized. Don't misunderstand, I still believe strongly in the nurture part, very strongly. However, that nature thing, that genetic factor, that generational gene pool, well, that's got me wondering--just how much of me is purely genetics?
In the meantime, as I ponder genetics, and nature vs nurture, and generational heritage, I will be watching. I am curious--how far will the similarities stretch? Will I still be able to look at my little grandson as he grows up and continue to see my nephew? I hope so. I miss him. Just to be able to look into the faces of my children and grandchild and see my family members, my ancestors of old, and my heritage being carried on through history--well, that would just be awesome.
It was better for me also--to wait, to ponder, to decide--should I tell them? Should I really write about what I saw? I've decided to do it. To tell them. If it were me, I'd want to know.
It happened innocently enough this way. We were at my oldest son's house for a cook-out (that's what they call it in the mid-west). My little grandchildren were busy playing with trains, trucks, and dolls. I looked over and noticed the way one of my grandsons was sitting. Not cross-legged, not legs straight out in front of him--no, he had them folded behind him with his little feet pointed out, not in nor sitting with his little bum on top of his feet, no, they were pointed out, like little wings--just like my nephew used to sit. It caught my eye, and while I was processing the memory, I noticed something else--he had my nephews feet. A huge lump formed in my throat. I kept staring at his little body, watching him play with his cars and trucks, and I began to see other similarities. His side profile for example and even his cute little smile. I sat very still, studying him. And in him, I saw remnants of my nephew. Genetics.
I wish that my sister could have been there right at that very moment. I wish she could have seen the way God had used genetics to keep her son alive. Alive not just in our memories or using pictures but, in using those genes that are passed along from generation to generation. In my grandson--I saw my nephew. I've seen genetic effluences before in other family members. For example, my cousin's son looks like my sister. And, speaking of my sister--she has my grandmother's walk and body type. I've been told numerous times that my youngest granddaughter looks just like me and that I look just like my grandmother. Genetics.
It's alway been easy for me to see similarities between my own children and my husband and I. Our daughter has my face, but her father's hands and feet. Our oldest son has my looks with his father's height, and our youngest son is a carbon copy of his father, right down to his body gestures. I not only notice their looks but also their likes and dislikes--they are fashioned much after us. It's interesting to me. More importantly, though, I notice their hearts--they are like ours too. And that makes me happy.
When I was studying Psychology in college, we talked a lot about nature vs nurture. I've always hung in the middle, I personally believed that it was pretty much a 50/50 type of thing. However, now I'm not so sure. Maybe it's much more nature than I had ever realized. Don't misunderstand, I still believe strongly in the nurture part, very strongly. However, that nature thing, that genetic factor, that generational gene pool, well, that's got me wondering--just how much of me is purely genetics?
In the meantime, as I ponder genetics, and nature vs nurture, and generational heritage, I will be watching. I am curious--how far will the similarities stretch? Will I still be able to look at my little grandson as he grows up and continue to see my nephew? I hope so. I miss him. Just to be able to look into the faces of my children and grandchild and see my family members, my ancestors of old, and my heritage being carried on through history--well, that would just be awesome.
Thursday, September 6, 2012
Family Lifestyles
We've just returned home from a weeks vacation visiting our children. We crossed 5 states to see everyone. We saw 6 adults, 5 children, 4 dogs and 2 cats. We stayed in 2 homes over 7 nights. In a word? Exhausted. And yet...fulfilled.
Being the analytical sort that I am I noticed some things on our travels. One thing that struck me was--first, the differing stages that my children were living in and secondly, the actual way they live. Their styles are completely different from ours and from each other. Yes, different from each other and different from me. They have become their own--in lifestyle, inhabit, in just plain living. Interesting, since I (or we) raised all 3 of them. However, once they married and moved into their own homes, they made their own lives with their mates. Their homes, their lives, their way of doing, living and being.
Oh wow, what a great time this observer had--analyzing, watching, wondering, pondering--my mind, eyes, and ears were aswirl.
As we started our vacation and went to visit the first house--we have the 1 child, 1 dog home. I would describe this home as small, quiet, and a thinkers home. One where television is an afterthought and books are in the forefront. I can see that creativity abounds and crafts along with cooking are the norm. It's easy with one child, especially a docile one. One who still takes naps, who plays quietly by himself and who is content with his little life as he knows it. This is the life my youngest son lives thus far. I'm sure it will change over the years, as they add to their family. The more the merrier as far as I am concerned--I am looking forward to seeing the development of life changes.
And then there is the home with 2 children under 4 years of age and 1 dog. This home is organized, it's the way it functions best. Since there are 2 children, there must be control. A large TV is a must so that one can get things done. There is the little girl who needs to be challenged with crafty ideas and there is the little one who climbs--everything. There is constant movement in this home, from the minute they wake until bedtime. Questions, talking, cartoons, and playtime are the norm in this home. And this is the life of my oldest son. They do not plan on any additions, so I will be content to watch these 2 grandchildren of mine grow and change and I will enjoy it to the fullest.
And then there is the home of 2 school age children, along with 2 large dogs and 2 cats. This home is large, with lots of noise. It is never really still or quiet until the lights go out at night. It's all about school here--with bulletin boards and schedules. Big backyards, swing-sets, friends over, and snack time are important here. I think of it as organized chaos. Lots of commotion and motion--it makes this home feel alive. Dogs barking, beds to make, chores to be done, dinners to plan. Structure and order are paramount here so it can be run in a timely fashion. This is the home of my oldest--my daughter. Watching these 2 grandchildren remind me of how fast time goes by. I do not want them to grow up.
And then there is the home of the 2 grandparents who have 1 dog, and who live a very quiet life. Oh who am I kidding, we don't live a quiet life! Even our dog is loud. No, we are (as described by the neighbors) the instigators. We have 3 TV's to which I am completely addicted to, we are constantly on the go, we love to walk, eat out, have friends over, go for coffee, go to church (and all related activities), yes, we are always on the go! Our home? It is always picked up, no toys or loads of laundry. There is always time to read, or clean or relax. Our dog is well trained, our (or mine) schedules are flexible and our lives are our own. Still, though, it is a quiet home. That's why sometimes, I have to make it not quiet. I miss the chaos of my children living with me. I miss the mess. I really do.
Yes, we live in a different time of life than our children do. We've been where they've been, lived where they've lived, experienced what they have. Stress, children, money issues, pets--we get it. Really we do. And when we smile and nod, we aren't really laughing at them--we're laughing with them. We understand the stress, however, we also understand that it all passes so quickly. Children move on to the next stage of life the minute you just figure out the one they're in.
Time jumps, it doesn't crawl. This is what I learned this past vacation. In order for me to capture it all--I have to jump right along with it. I have to keep up! I have to take all the mental pictures that I can. And so, I analyze, I watch, I observe, I appreciate, I value, I learn, I grow, I marvel at my children. They are all different. All special. All precious. All mine. And I love them. Thank you for letting me continue to be your mom. For bringing joy to my heart through your lives and the lives of your families.
Our family lifestyles--all the same, yet all different.
Being the analytical sort that I am I noticed some things on our travels. One thing that struck me was--first, the differing stages that my children were living in and secondly, the actual way they live. Their styles are completely different from ours and from each other. Yes, different from each other and different from me. They have become their own--in lifestyle, inhabit, in just plain living. Interesting, since I (or we) raised all 3 of them. However, once they married and moved into their own homes, they made their own lives with their mates. Their homes, their lives, their way of doing, living and being.
Oh wow, what a great time this observer had--analyzing, watching, wondering, pondering--my mind, eyes, and ears were aswirl.
As we started our vacation and went to visit the first house--we have the 1 child, 1 dog home. I would describe this home as small, quiet, and a thinkers home. One where television is an afterthought and books are in the forefront. I can see that creativity abounds and crafts along with cooking are the norm. It's easy with one child, especially a docile one. One who still takes naps, who plays quietly by himself and who is content with his little life as he knows it. This is the life my youngest son lives thus far. I'm sure it will change over the years, as they add to their family. The more the merrier as far as I am concerned--I am looking forward to seeing the development of life changes.
And then there is the home with 2 children under 4 years of age and 1 dog. This home is organized, it's the way it functions best. Since there are 2 children, there must be control. A large TV is a must so that one can get things done. There is the little girl who needs to be challenged with crafty ideas and there is the little one who climbs--everything. There is constant movement in this home, from the minute they wake until bedtime. Questions, talking, cartoons, and playtime are the norm in this home. And this is the life of my oldest son. They do not plan on any additions, so I will be content to watch these 2 grandchildren of mine grow and change and I will enjoy it to the fullest.
And then there is the home of 2 school age children, along with 2 large dogs and 2 cats. This home is large, with lots of noise. It is never really still or quiet until the lights go out at night. It's all about school here--with bulletin boards and schedules. Big backyards, swing-sets, friends over, and snack time are important here. I think of it as organized chaos. Lots of commotion and motion--it makes this home feel alive. Dogs barking, beds to make, chores to be done, dinners to plan. Structure and order are paramount here so it can be run in a timely fashion. This is the home of my oldest--my daughter. Watching these 2 grandchildren remind me of how fast time goes by. I do not want them to grow up.
And then there is the home of the 2 grandparents who have 1 dog, and who live a very quiet life. Oh who am I kidding, we don't live a quiet life! Even our dog is loud. No, we are (as described by the neighbors) the instigators. We have 3 TV's to which I am completely addicted to, we are constantly on the go, we love to walk, eat out, have friends over, go for coffee, go to church (and all related activities), yes, we are always on the go! Our home? It is always picked up, no toys or loads of laundry. There is always time to read, or clean or relax. Our dog is well trained, our (or mine) schedules are flexible and our lives are our own. Still, though, it is a quiet home. That's why sometimes, I have to make it not quiet. I miss the chaos of my children living with me. I miss the mess. I really do.
Yes, we live in a different time of life than our children do. We've been where they've been, lived where they've lived, experienced what they have. Stress, children, money issues, pets--we get it. Really we do. And when we smile and nod, we aren't really laughing at them--we're laughing with them. We understand the stress, however, we also understand that it all passes so quickly. Children move on to the next stage of life the minute you just figure out the one they're in.
Time jumps, it doesn't crawl. This is what I learned this past vacation. In order for me to capture it all--I have to jump right along with it. I have to keep up! I have to take all the mental pictures that I can. And so, I analyze, I watch, I observe, I appreciate, I value, I learn, I grow, I marvel at my children. They are all different. All special. All precious. All mine. And I love them. Thank you for letting me continue to be your mom. For bringing joy to my heart through your lives and the lives of your families.
Our family lifestyles--all the same, yet all different.
Thursday, August 16, 2012
My Forever House
I still miss her. And every now and then I will get hit with waves of sadness and nostalgia. I can feel those emotions wash over me at a moments notice. I'll get that prickly feeling in the back of my eyes. My throat will constrict and it's all I can do to keep it together. Sometimes though, if I am home alone, I will let the tears flow. I think I need that release. I know that some might think I'm being a bit melodramatic when I talk about or think about her. I know that. They just don't know me very well then. They don't know how much I loved her and how I thought that maybe, just maybe I'd get to keep her. That maybe, just maybe, she'd be my forever house.
It's really hard to explain the love I felt for that old house of mine. She was a 1928 Tudor. Nothing fancy. However, to me, she was glorious. She was 3 stories tall, with leaded glass windows that followed up the staircase. A huge picture window in the living room and a screened in sunroom that flowed off the dining room through double french doors. Both rooms--the living room and the sunroom, were my favorite spots in the house. In the winter I loved to cozy up on the sofa in front the big marble fireplace and read. And the other 3 seasons, I pretty much did the same thing on my little sunporch. Quiet, cozy, tranquil, peaceful--these are the words I use to describe how I felt while living there.
Let me back up though. Why, oh why was that house in particular so important to me? What drew me to her in the first place? I ask these questions of myself because something (or someone) did draw me to that house. I am convinced of that.
When I first began to look for our future home in Ohio I was amazed by the charming neighborhoods. I found that Ohio is a very beautiful state. And the little town that we decided to buy in was (in my opinion) one of prettiest. It was full of turn of the century homes. We flew in from California with 1 weekend to find a house. Our poor realtor had her work cut out for her--that's for sure. I am the type to hit the ground running--morning to night, I was willing to search until I found just the right place to bring my family home. After looking at Dutch Colonials, Tudors, Normandys and various other styles of homes, we pulled into her driveway. I knew the minute I saw her that I had found my new home. I didn't even have to go inside to look around to know that she was the one. She was perfect before I even walked through the front door. I had found my new home.
I think what I was looking for without even realizing it, was a forever home. A home where my children could come back to and bring their families after they married. They could bring their children--my grandchildren to visit. It was to become--grandma's house. Yes, somewhere back in the recesses of my mind I'm sure that that is what I was planning all along. I wanted a big old comfy warm inviting house, where kids and grandkids could come and visit. Where grandma could sit and rock her grandbabies. Where she could sit on her sun porch and read stories to her grandchildren. Where grandpa could teach the little ones how to ride a bike, or how to identify different birds or little critters. Yes, it was in my mind to be my forever house. My grandma house. With its old kitchen, creaky floors and steam heat--it grabbed my heart like no other house had ever done before.
Living there gave me a sense of restfulness. It was a home that hugged you when you walked in the front door. There was no negotiating when we bought that house. We offered them full price--it was that important to me. She was to become a part of my dream life in Ohio. And for 11 years and 9 months, I lived that dream. While living there, all of my children married, 3 grandchildren were born, and yes, grandma lived the grandma dream. For awhile anyway.
It was a beautiful time of life for me in that big old house, with our children visiting, grandkids playing, holiday memories and absolute fun. And then the day came that we had to move. My husband received a job offer in another state and we had to put our dream home up for sale. I'm going to be extremely honest here--I wasn't a happy camper. No, not at all. I couldn't understand why God (yes, I blamed Him) would shatter the dream. My dream. Why would He make me move away from my forever house and my family? Why would He want me to be so sad and depressed? Why? And why did it feel as though I was losing a huge part of myself by leaving that house? I wondered--was I being punished?
I wish I could sit here and tell you that I have all the answers, but I don't. Not a one. Am I happy in my new home? Yes. I am. Is it anything like what I gave up? No, it is not. Would I go back? Yes, I would. Yes, it's true, my heart is full of contradictions. Yes, no, maybe so. Do I sound a little confused? You should try living in my head! Seriously though--it's now been 2 years. I am happy, I love my new neighborhood, church, friends, town, and yes, I even really like my new house. It is not a stately old Tudor but it is nice. There is also plenty of room for family and friends to visit. There is so much to do here and we do have lots of fun. I am content.
So, what have I learned in all this? I've learned not to become so attached to material things--like houses. I've learned that I most likely became overly attached to that old Tudor because it was the house that I had lived in for the longest period of time in my life. 11 years, 9 months--without having to pull up roots and move like I did every 6 months or so as a child. I've learned that people and memories are what should be important, not places (homes) or things. Yes, I've learned a lot, and I have to believe that living in that old Tudor had something to do with several of my life lessons. I am thankful for that. I love learning and growing and maturing. I'm still in that mode and most likely will be until the day I leave this earth. I'm hoping that I learn more quickly though. I'm hoping that I am developing in a positive way through these trials (no matter how small) of life.
It is so important that I share these frailties of mine. This side of me that says--I don't have it all together, I don't have all the answers and I'm not always happy with what is thrown in my direction. However, through it all--isn't my goal, isn't my heart, isn't my life--a life that belongs to Christ? A sweet life serving a sweet Lord. I kinda wish it could have been in that old Tudor, but hey, who's complaining?
It's really hard to explain the love I felt for that old house of mine. She was a 1928 Tudor. Nothing fancy. However, to me, she was glorious. She was 3 stories tall, with leaded glass windows that followed up the staircase. A huge picture window in the living room and a screened in sunroom that flowed off the dining room through double french doors. Both rooms--the living room and the sunroom, were my favorite spots in the house. In the winter I loved to cozy up on the sofa in front the big marble fireplace and read. And the other 3 seasons, I pretty much did the same thing on my little sunporch. Quiet, cozy, tranquil, peaceful--these are the words I use to describe how I felt while living there.
Let me back up though. Why, oh why was that house in particular so important to me? What drew me to her in the first place? I ask these questions of myself because something (or someone) did draw me to that house. I am convinced of that.
When I first began to look for our future home in Ohio I was amazed by the charming neighborhoods. I found that Ohio is a very beautiful state. And the little town that we decided to buy in was (in my opinion) one of prettiest. It was full of turn of the century homes. We flew in from California with 1 weekend to find a house. Our poor realtor had her work cut out for her--that's for sure. I am the type to hit the ground running--morning to night, I was willing to search until I found just the right place to bring my family home. After looking at Dutch Colonials, Tudors, Normandys and various other styles of homes, we pulled into her driveway. I knew the minute I saw her that I had found my new home. I didn't even have to go inside to look around to know that she was the one. She was perfect before I even walked through the front door. I had found my new home.
I think what I was looking for without even realizing it, was a forever home. A home where my children could come back to and bring their families after they married. They could bring their children--my grandchildren to visit. It was to become--grandma's house. Yes, somewhere back in the recesses of my mind I'm sure that that is what I was planning all along. I wanted a big old comfy warm inviting house, where kids and grandkids could come and visit. Where grandma could sit and rock her grandbabies. Where she could sit on her sun porch and read stories to her grandchildren. Where grandpa could teach the little ones how to ride a bike, or how to identify different birds or little critters. Yes, it was in my mind to be my forever house. My grandma house. With its old kitchen, creaky floors and steam heat--it grabbed my heart like no other house had ever done before.
Living there gave me a sense of restfulness. It was a home that hugged you when you walked in the front door. There was no negotiating when we bought that house. We offered them full price--it was that important to me. She was to become a part of my dream life in Ohio. And for 11 years and 9 months, I lived that dream. While living there, all of my children married, 3 grandchildren were born, and yes, grandma lived the grandma dream. For awhile anyway.
It was a beautiful time of life for me in that big old house, with our children visiting, grandkids playing, holiday memories and absolute fun. And then the day came that we had to move. My husband received a job offer in another state and we had to put our dream home up for sale. I'm going to be extremely honest here--I wasn't a happy camper. No, not at all. I couldn't understand why God (yes, I blamed Him) would shatter the dream. My dream. Why would He make me move away from my forever house and my family? Why would He want me to be so sad and depressed? Why? And why did it feel as though I was losing a huge part of myself by leaving that house? I wondered--was I being punished?
I wish I could sit here and tell you that I have all the answers, but I don't. Not a one. Am I happy in my new home? Yes. I am. Is it anything like what I gave up? No, it is not. Would I go back? Yes, I would. Yes, it's true, my heart is full of contradictions. Yes, no, maybe so. Do I sound a little confused? You should try living in my head! Seriously though--it's now been 2 years. I am happy, I love my new neighborhood, church, friends, town, and yes, I even really like my new house. It is not a stately old Tudor but it is nice. There is also plenty of room for family and friends to visit. There is so much to do here and we do have lots of fun. I am content.
So, what have I learned in all this? I've learned not to become so attached to material things--like houses. I've learned that I most likely became overly attached to that old Tudor because it was the house that I had lived in for the longest period of time in my life. 11 years, 9 months--without having to pull up roots and move like I did every 6 months or so as a child. I've learned that people and memories are what should be important, not places (homes) or things. Yes, I've learned a lot, and I have to believe that living in that old Tudor had something to do with several of my life lessons. I am thankful for that. I love learning and growing and maturing. I'm still in that mode and most likely will be until the day I leave this earth. I'm hoping that I learn more quickly though. I'm hoping that I am developing in a positive way through these trials (no matter how small) of life.
It is so important that I share these frailties of mine. This side of me that says--I don't have it all together, I don't have all the answers and I'm not always happy with what is thrown in my direction. However, through it all--isn't my goal, isn't my heart, isn't my life--a life that belongs to Christ? A sweet life serving a sweet Lord. I kinda wish it could have been in that old Tudor, but hey, who's complaining?
 |
| My Forever House |
 |
| Warm and cozy living room |
Thursday, August 9, 2012
Words of Affirmation
The usage of words is interesting to me. There are all types of ways to use them. They can be used to abuse, to manipulate, to denigrate, or they can be to used to uplift and affirm. It's the later that has my attention today. I want to share something rather exciting (at least to me) that has happened. Another affirmation, another feel good moment, another woohoo. Me? Really? My insecurities have surfaced once again. However, I am still going to write about what has happened. I need to, I really do.
I received an email the other day from a person would put on art shows throughout the country showcasing new artists, photographers, and musicians. She asked me if I would like to display my photos at her show in Chicago. I would be one of 20 photographers. Stunned--that is the word that popped into my head. Me? Why me? I am not a professional at all. Not at all. I just like to take pictures--just landscape photos of places that touch my heart. Memory pictures. So, why ask me to participate?
Actually, I had just set up an Etsy shop the week before. It's called (of course) LaDolceVeda. I am selling some of my best photos and also some vintage keepsakes that I have found along my travels.
And, that's how she found me. She liked my pictures! Little ol' me was being asked to an art show--to show and sell my photos--to real live people! Still shocked!
After much prayer, Google searching, and talking things through with my husband, I decided that I wasn't going to participate in her show at this time. You see, I'm too much of a newbie and I need more time to get my act together. Maybe I will have a few of my photos put on canvas, and maybe I will mat a few in different sizes. And maybe, just maybe I will sell a few through my Etsy shop first. Then when another offer comes along, I just might take it. In the meantime, I will bask in the joy of just being asked.
Just thinking about that offer has brought so much to me in the way of affirmative feedback that it has bolstered my confidence, and I think I needed that. Much in the way the local newspaper article helped me when they did a feature article on my blog. I was surprised then too! And, I also placed #16 in a CBS Chicago blogger contest--that I didn't even enter!
So, good things are happening to me. Small things, but they affirm me. I can't help but think that God has a plan for me in this new area of my life. It's a creative aspect of myself that I had never before explored until a couple of years ago. Starting with writing this blog. Who would have thought?
It's interesting to me how much these words of affirmation keep me going. The praise from a friend, the compliment on a photo, the written article, the invitation to showcase my pictures, the winning of a contest--they are all words of affirmation. I never thought of myself as really needing them before--I always thought I was a pretty tough cookie, however, as I get older I find that I need those kind words a little bit more.
I'm guessing others do too. So, in the future, I'm going to be looking for things--things that I can say or do to affirm my family, friends, and neighbors. No, not fake words, but real words. Healing, soothing words of kindness. Words of affirmation.
I received an email the other day from a person would put on art shows throughout the country showcasing new artists, photographers, and musicians. She asked me if I would like to display my photos at her show in Chicago. I would be one of 20 photographers. Stunned--that is the word that popped into my head. Me? Why me? I am not a professional at all. Not at all. I just like to take pictures--just landscape photos of places that touch my heart. Memory pictures. So, why ask me to participate?
Actually, I had just set up an Etsy shop the week before. It's called (of course) LaDolceVeda. I am selling some of my best photos and also some vintage keepsakes that I have found along my travels.
And, that's how she found me. She liked my pictures! Little ol' me was being asked to an art show--to show and sell my photos--to real live people! Still shocked!
After much prayer, Google searching, and talking things through with my husband, I decided that I wasn't going to participate in her show at this time. You see, I'm too much of a newbie and I need more time to get my act together. Maybe I will have a few of my photos put on canvas, and maybe I will mat a few in different sizes. And maybe, just maybe I will sell a few through my Etsy shop first. Then when another offer comes along, I just might take it. In the meantime, I will bask in the joy of just being asked.
Just thinking about that offer has brought so much to me in the way of affirmative feedback that it has bolstered my confidence, and I think I needed that. Much in the way the local newspaper article helped me when they did a feature article on my blog. I was surprised then too! And, I also placed #16 in a CBS Chicago blogger contest--that I didn't even enter!
So, good things are happening to me. Small things, but they affirm me. I can't help but think that God has a plan for me in this new area of my life. It's a creative aspect of myself that I had never before explored until a couple of years ago. Starting with writing this blog. Who would have thought?
It's interesting to me how much these words of affirmation keep me going. The praise from a friend, the compliment on a photo, the written article, the invitation to showcase my pictures, the winning of a contest--they are all words of affirmation. I never thought of myself as really needing them before--I always thought I was a pretty tough cookie, however, as I get older I find that I need those kind words a little bit more.
I'm guessing others do too. So, in the future, I'm going to be looking for things--things that I can say or do to affirm my family, friends, and neighbors. No, not fake words, but real words. Healing, soothing words of kindness. Words of affirmation.
Sunday, August 5, 2012
Katie Girl
I fell in love with her when I was right around 5 or 6 years old. I remember watching my TV and there she was. The most beautiful magnificent dog I had ever seen. I used to dream about her. About one day having a dog just like her. Lassie. She was all I had ever wanted as a kid. She, in a word, was spectacular.
Ever since I can remember, I've always lived with a dog. On and off my parents usually had a family dog. However, the day finally came when I wanted to get my very own dog--I was in junior high school, barely a teenager when my folks finally caved and said I could have him. Him, being a massive collie that needed a good home. Well, what home could be better than mine? I really had to do a hard sell on my dad though. The last dog that my mom had talked him into had a pretty bad attitude and would bite us kids, so he wasn't too keen on owning another. It would be my dog though--I begged. I promised wholeheartedly to take care of him--all of him, the walking, the feeding, the brushing--everything. And I did too. He was mine, all mine. I loved that big ol' collie and cried like a baby when his arthritis got the best of him and we had to have him put down. I was a newlywed by that time and I think I really scared my new husband. I was that much of a mess over the loss of my dog. Little did he know what the future held for him.
Over the years I've had many more dogs--collies, golden retrievers, a few short-term rescue dogs and then...one Mother's Day my little family took me someplace top secret, very hush hush--they were super excited, which added to the fun. It was a surprise. A secret. A special gift just for me. You see, I've always been enamored by a certain breed. I'd never owned one though and after losing our beautiful golden retriever to cancer, my husband thought it just might be the time to surprise me with the breed of my dreams. A little shetland sheepdog--a sheltie--the breed that some call miniature collies--although they are their very own breed. Just the thought of something so Lassie like in an itty bitty form, well, that sounded so intriguing to me.
Excitedly we pulled up to the breeder's place, and oh my goodness. There were 5 little bundles of fur rolling all around in the grass, and I was supposed to pick one--just one! I played with them, and snuggled with them, but all the while I had my eye on the one who was off by herself in a little corner. Detached, aloof, she was uninterested in me, and her litter mates--that's for sure. So, I walked over and picked her up. She gave me the funniest look, and then took her little nose and nuzzled it up onto my neck--as if to say--finally! That was it for me--I had found my dog. I named her Katie. She was absolutely by far the smartest dog I have ever owned. She even earned her CGC. Yes, for years she was my baby. I'm sure there were many times that my children were jealous of her. She went everywhere with me, she slept in our room, and she was mine, all mine. I loved her to pieces.
When Katie was about 10 years we moved across the country to Ohio. This was new territory for all of us. I had 2 shelties by then. Here we all were, new state, new city, new culture, new house--everything was different. We were trying hard to adjust. Our daughter was busy planning her wedding, our oldest son was just starting college, our youngest was acclimating to his new high school and my husband was extremely busy with his new job. Everyone had something to do, and somewhere to go--my biggest challenge was to make our new house a home and to get our entire family settled. It worked for about 3 weeks. And then, the horrible of horribles happened. Now remember--this is my account of what happened, my family might have another rendition. However, I do think mine is pretty accurate.
I had let the dogs out into our little backyard one morning, and when I went to let them back inside, only one dog came back in--the other Katie, was missing. The word panic doesn't even begin to describe the emotion that rolled through my brain. I began calling her name over and over. No Katie. I roused the kids (my husband was hundreds of miles away on a business trip) and we began an all out search for this little dog of ours. Up and down blocks and blocks, street by street, calling her name, looking through back yards and knocking on doors. Have you seen our dog? I could envision her being hit by a car, looking for her new home, not knowing where she was. The term gut wrenching comes to mind. We looked for 3 days. We called every animal shelter, we ran an ad on the local radio station, we put fliers on every tree, we gave our local country club fliers to put in their customer's lockers (their idea) we looked until our legs gave out. I cried and mourned and wept as though I had lost a child. My husband even cut his trip short and came home early to help in the search. I was completely undone. I wanted my dog back. I prayed, I cried, I pleaded. My Katie was no where to be found.
When my husband got home he resumed the animal shelter speed dial process all over again. And then one day--a hit. They thought they might have her. The shelter was 10 miles from our home. We drove there as quickly as possible. I stayed in the car--too anxious to go inside only to be disappointed if it wasn't her. I sat in my car praying--for her safe return, for her little emotions--her wondering where we were. I could just imagine her wondering why we hadn't come to get her. So many thoughts and emotions passed though me as I sat there waiting impatiently for him to come back to the car. Would he find her?
And there, carried in her daddy's arms was our little Katie. Dirty, but OK. He dropped her into my lap, I hugged her so tightly and I cried so hard that even my husband began crying. There we sat, in the parking lot of an animal shelter crying our eyes out, arms wrapped around our dog. She was safe, she was OK, and she was going home.
The man working at the shelter told the story of how she had been found on a freeway overpass by a motorist. The man stopped his car, called her over and put her in his car. He said he could tell by looking at her that she was a very loved, well groomed and obedience trained dog. He hated leaving her at a shelter but felt he had no choice. She did not eat for 3 days, she did not go to the bathroom, she just curled up on her little bed and waited for us to find her. The people at the shelter felt so sorry for her, so they took her on special one on one walks, they even bought her canned dog food to see if they could coax her to eat. But no, she would have none of it, she just wanted to go home.
After getting her home, bathing her, feeding her, and tucking her in, we went out and bought a huge box of chocolates and a thank you card for the workers at the animal shelter. They, along with the man on the highway had saved my dog's life.
Now, an explanation is needed here. Why was I so overly emotional about losing Katie? Why did I cry like I was losing a child? Why was I so distraught? Well, my self diagnosis would be this--with moving, not being familiar with my surroundings, not having friends, or extended family members, everything being topsy turvy--it set off an emotional avalanche for me. I reacted in an unusual way. I am usually, the non-panic type. The voice of reason. The thinker, the planner. Not this time though. I was the fall-aparter. I needed my husband and my kids to hold me together. I'm pretty sure that I even learned something about myself through all that happened during that time. One thing I learned (I had probably known it all along) was that no matter what--my family will come to my rescue. Even if they think I am overreacting--they love me. They hated seeing me in so much emotional stress. They canvassed our neighborhood just as much, if not more than I did looking for my dog. That meant the world to me.
That little episode, that horrible of horribles brought our little family closer together. At that particular time in our lives we were all we had. We worked together as a team to bring Katie home. We prayed, we cried, and we rejoiced at her return.
It's funny how things turn out. How animals can and do affect our lives. I've often wondered why God put such a love for dogs and horses in my heart. I'm glad He did though. And I'm glad that my kids all have dogs--I was a little concerned after my Katie melt down that I had emotionally (unintentionally) scarred them for life. But no, they are all just doing fine. And as for Katie--well, a few years later, she passed away. We now have another sheltie, just as smart, but oh so crazy. She has Katie's looks, but her very own nutty personality. And, we just love her! Thank God for dogs! And also, for our sweet memories of all dogs past.
Ever since I can remember, I've always lived with a dog. On and off my parents usually had a family dog. However, the day finally came when I wanted to get my very own dog--I was in junior high school, barely a teenager when my folks finally caved and said I could have him. Him, being a massive collie that needed a good home. Well, what home could be better than mine? I really had to do a hard sell on my dad though. The last dog that my mom had talked him into had a pretty bad attitude and would bite us kids, so he wasn't too keen on owning another. It would be my dog though--I begged. I promised wholeheartedly to take care of him--all of him, the walking, the feeding, the brushing--everything. And I did too. He was mine, all mine. I loved that big ol' collie and cried like a baby when his arthritis got the best of him and we had to have him put down. I was a newlywed by that time and I think I really scared my new husband. I was that much of a mess over the loss of my dog. Little did he know what the future held for him.
Over the years I've had many more dogs--collies, golden retrievers, a few short-term rescue dogs and then...one Mother's Day my little family took me someplace top secret, very hush hush--they were super excited, which added to the fun. It was a surprise. A secret. A special gift just for me. You see, I've always been enamored by a certain breed. I'd never owned one though and after losing our beautiful golden retriever to cancer, my husband thought it just might be the time to surprise me with the breed of my dreams. A little shetland sheepdog--a sheltie--the breed that some call miniature collies--although they are their very own breed. Just the thought of something so Lassie like in an itty bitty form, well, that sounded so intriguing to me.
Excitedly we pulled up to the breeder's place, and oh my goodness. There were 5 little bundles of fur rolling all around in the grass, and I was supposed to pick one--just one! I played with them, and snuggled with them, but all the while I had my eye on the one who was off by herself in a little corner. Detached, aloof, she was uninterested in me, and her litter mates--that's for sure. So, I walked over and picked her up. She gave me the funniest look, and then took her little nose and nuzzled it up onto my neck--as if to say--finally! That was it for me--I had found my dog. I named her Katie. She was absolutely by far the smartest dog I have ever owned. She even earned her CGC. Yes, for years she was my baby. I'm sure there were many times that my children were jealous of her. She went everywhere with me, she slept in our room, and she was mine, all mine. I loved her to pieces.
When Katie was about 10 years we moved across the country to Ohio. This was new territory for all of us. I had 2 shelties by then. Here we all were, new state, new city, new culture, new house--everything was different. We were trying hard to adjust. Our daughter was busy planning her wedding, our oldest son was just starting college, our youngest was acclimating to his new high school and my husband was extremely busy with his new job. Everyone had something to do, and somewhere to go--my biggest challenge was to make our new house a home and to get our entire family settled. It worked for about 3 weeks. And then, the horrible of horribles happened. Now remember--this is my account of what happened, my family might have another rendition. However, I do think mine is pretty accurate.
I had let the dogs out into our little backyard one morning, and when I went to let them back inside, only one dog came back in--the other Katie, was missing. The word panic doesn't even begin to describe the emotion that rolled through my brain. I began calling her name over and over. No Katie. I roused the kids (my husband was hundreds of miles away on a business trip) and we began an all out search for this little dog of ours. Up and down blocks and blocks, street by street, calling her name, looking through back yards and knocking on doors. Have you seen our dog? I could envision her being hit by a car, looking for her new home, not knowing where she was. The term gut wrenching comes to mind. We looked for 3 days. We called every animal shelter, we ran an ad on the local radio station, we put fliers on every tree, we gave our local country club fliers to put in their customer's lockers (their idea) we looked until our legs gave out. I cried and mourned and wept as though I had lost a child. My husband even cut his trip short and came home early to help in the search. I was completely undone. I wanted my dog back. I prayed, I cried, I pleaded. My Katie was no where to be found.
When my husband got home he resumed the animal shelter speed dial process all over again. And then one day--a hit. They thought they might have her. The shelter was 10 miles from our home. We drove there as quickly as possible. I stayed in the car--too anxious to go inside only to be disappointed if it wasn't her. I sat in my car praying--for her safe return, for her little emotions--her wondering where we were. I could just imagine her wondering why we hadn't come to get her. So many thoughts and emotions passed though me as I sat there waiting impatiently for him to come back to the car. Would he find her?
And there, carried in her daddy's arms was our little Katie. Dirty, but OK. He dropped her into my lap, I hugged her so tightly and I cried so hard that even my husband began crying. There we sat, in the parking lot of an animal shelter crying our eyes out, arms wrapped around our dog. She was safe, she was OK, and she was going home.
The man working at the shelter told the story of how she had been found on a freeway overpass by a motorist. The man stopped his car, called her over and put her in his car. He said he could tell by looking at her that she was a very loved, well groomed and obedience trained dog. He hated leaving her at a shelter but felt he had no choice. She did not eat for 3 days, she did not go to the bathroom, she just curled up on her little bed and waited for us to find her. The people at the shelter felt so sorry for her, so they took her on special one on one walks, they even bought her canned dog food to see if they could coax her to eat. But no, she would have none of it, she just wanted to go home.
After getting her home, bathing her, feeding her, and tucking her in, we went out and bought a huge box of chocolates and a thank you card for the workers at the animal shelter. They, along with the man on the highway had saved my dog's life.
Now, an explanation is needed here. Why was I so overly emotional about losing Katie? Why did I cry like I was losing a child? Why was I so distraught? Well, my self diagnosis would be this--with moving, not being familiar with my surroundings, not having friends, or extended family members, everything being topsy turvy--it set off an emotional avalanche for me. I reacted in an unusual way. I am usually, the non-panic type. The voice of reason. The thinker, the planner. Not this time though. I was the fall-aparter. I needed my husband and my kids to hold me together. I'm pretty sure that I even learned something about myself through all that happened during that time. One thing I learned (I had probably known it all along) was that no matter what--my family will come to my rescue. Even if they think I am overreacting--they love me. They hated seeing me in so much emotional stress. They canvassed our neighborhood just as much, if not more than I did looking for my dog. That meant the world to me.
That little episode, that horrible of horribles brought our little family closer together. At that particular time in our lives we were all we had. We worked together as a team to bring Katie home. We prayed, we cried, and we rejoiced at her return.
It's funny how things turn out. How animals can and do affect our lives. I've often wondered why God put such a love for dogs and horses in my heart. I'm glad He did though. And I'm glad that my kids all have dogs--I was a little concerned after my Katie melt down that I had emotionally (unintentionally) scarred them for life. But no, they are all just doing fine. And as for Katie--well, a few years later, she passed away. We now have another sheltie, just as smart, but oh so crazy. She has Katie's looks, but her very own nutty personality. And, we just love her! Thank God for dogs! And also, for our sweet memories of all dogs past.
 |
| Katie, in California |
Thursday, August 2, 2012
Exceedingly Abundantly
This is the verse that came to me the other day as I was praying.
Ephesians 3:20
New King James Version (NKJV)
20 Now to Him who is able to do exceedingly abundantly above all that we ask or think, according to the power that works in us,
However, I like this more expanded version a little better--
However, I like this more expanded version a little better--
Ephesians 3:20
The Message (MSG)
20God can do anything, you know—far more than you could ever imagine or guess or request in your wildest dreams! He does it not by pushing us around but by working within us, his Spirit deeply and gently within us.
I was on my treadmill, listening to my contemporary Christian music on Pandora radio. Praying my heart out, singing to God, and this is what He dropped into my heart. Did I cry? Oh yes, yes, I did. I wondered what He was trying to say to me--you know? Right at that very moment, that very instant in time. As I finished up with my workout and prayer time, I went back downstairs and got out my laptop. I began to do some research. I prayed and asked God--through this portion of scripture today, what are you saying to me? I knew in my heart of hearts that He was trying to get through to me. I was just hoping to be able to figure it out--soon! It seemed so very puzzling at first.
I decided to break it down, bit by bit--He can do anything. OK, got that. I believe that. Now what?
And then I heard it, deep down in my heart, I heard Him ask me--do you really believe that I can do anything? You see, for years now I have been praying for something very specific. And it still has not come to pass. It bothers me. Hey, I'm just being honest. As I sat there in my big old brown rocking chair, praying, crying, asking God why He hasn't done that one thing for me--well, something in that verse came to life, right before my eyes. He's working in me, while I wait. Deeply, gently, within me.
I wondered how I had missed that part before. I always had just read-- He can do anything. I love that part, I believe that part. At least I thought I did.
Didn't I believe that the creator of the universe could do anything? Didn't I believe that with all my heart? The answer to my question was--yes, yes, I think I do believe that God can do anything! But, what I was hung up on was the other part. The part that had to do with me. The waiting, the working, the deep, gentle part. That's what the hold up was, and I didn't even realize it.
As I sit here now, as I pray, as I read my Bible, as I cry out to my God--I am now waiting. I have asked Him to do a work in me. And, just as He has been so patient with me, I will be patient with His awesome timing. I will trust Him to gently do the work in my heart and life that needs to be done. It will be a deep work, it will take time. It might even be hard. But, isn't work done well--hard to do? I will need to be receptive, pliable, willing, trusting.
And most of all I will need to be patient. And I will need to accept the fact that while He is busy with me--healing, working--He'll be also working on the other thing. The thing I asked for, the thing I prayed for. The one thing that I want more than anything else in this sweet life of mine. One little thing, that will mean everything to me.
He will answer my prayer, He will answer it exceedingly abundantly, more than I could ever imagine, beyond my wildest dreams! I guess what I'm trying to say is that I was given hope, with those 2 little words--exceedingly abundantly! I am waiting for that day. And, as I wait--I will pray, I will be grateful, thankful, and patient. Maybe you could pray too.
And most of all I will need to be patient. And I will need to accept the fact that while He is busy with me--healing, working--He'll be also working on the other thing. The thing I asked for, the thing I prayed for. The one thing that I want more than anything else in this sweet life of mine. One little thing, that will mean everything to me.
He will answer my prayer, He will answer it exceedingly abundantly, more than I could ever imagine, beyond my wildest dreams! I guess what I'm trying to say is that I was given hope, with those 2 little words--exceedingly abundantly! I am waiting for that day. And, as I wait--I will pray, I will be grateful, thankful, and patient. Maybe you could pray too.
Monday, July 23, 2012
Keepsakes
I read an interesting quote the other day, it went something like this--sometimes it's not the people we miss, but the memories. That really struck home with me. It made me stop and think. I've had to move a lot and after living in 4 different states--I have discovered that I do miss the memories but I miss the people too. I get so attached and then have to move away, left only with sweet memories. Sometimes when my heart aches so much and I think I won't make it through the day I find myself looking through my many photo albums. I pour through my books and also sit staring at the nearly 25,000 pictures on my laptop. Yes, I said 25,000. Many times those photos are all I have left--just pictures and memories.
I don't have a lot of keepsakes though, not really. I've moved so much through the years that over time things have been either given away or donated to charity, but I do tend to be very sentimental. I am not however, a packrat. No, I am a certified thrower-awayer. That's what my husband calls me. I hate clutter, so I am constantly de-cluttering. I throw away, and then, I throw away some more. I like things neat and tidy--things might get a little dusty or need a quick vacuuming but most likely you won't find too many messy areas in my house. It's just the way I am. Therefore, I do not keep too many things--just a few very sentimental ones. I usually manage to keep my little mementos for a few years and then it's either off to one of the kid's houses or to Good Will. I always think someone else will benefit from my little treasures. What can I say--I'm a giver. This is said with a smile!
There are a couple of items though, yes, one or two that I can tell you about--one is a little tiny black Indian arrowhead. It is one of my more valuable treasures. I will never give it away. I was 17 years old when I received it from a little boy who lived on an Indian reservation. I went to help out and work with children the summer before my senior year of high school. That year my life was changed forever, it's where I met and fell in love with my husband. That particular Indian reservation will always hold a special place in my heart. Anyway, we were both attending a camp where we were working with kids when I met a certain little boy, he was around 5 or 6 years old. We became fast friends and soon we were inseparable--he followed me everywhere. At the end of that week, he presented me with a little gift--it was the arrowhead. I cried a little, he hugged me tight and I never saw him again. I went back the next year, but he was nowhere to be found. 40 years later that little arrowhead still rests in my jewelry box. I look at it often and remember that cute little boy. I wonder sometimes if he ever thinks of me.
Another one of my prized possessions is something my husband found for me when we were still dating. We were walking along a beach in northern California when he spotted something on the sand. He bends down to pick it up and then handed it to me. It was a perfect little sand-dollar the size of a dime. I still have it, it's laying next to my arrowhead. Two precious little memories tucked away just for me. I thought I should mention them since they are of great value to me.
I know it seems a little silly that after all these years I still have those two little gifts, probably worth nothing to some but worth everything to me. I would part with almost any other earthly possession before parting with one of those two items. I guess I am even more sentimental than I thought. I realize the older I get that some things can easily be replaced, while others--those attached to memories, can't. These are my memories though, I'm sure that when I pass on and my kids or grandchildren are going through my things, they'll wonder--why did she keep this, or why was that so important to her? That's why writing all this down is helpful to me. The writing keeps those memories alive. At least for me.
I have so many memories now to write about--well over 50 years of them, all tucked away until now. Until the writing began. Now, they are tumbling out--sometimes fast, and sometimes slowly. Funny how it works that way. I wonder why some come to mind quicker than others? And why do I have to wait ever so patiently for others to surface? It's interesting to me--I ponder those questions often. My memories now, along with this blog have become my keepsakes. As each little story or thought or memory surface, I write about it. Each and every one. They are my keepsakes now, sweet memories along with a few little treasures mixed in just to keep things interesting.
I don't have a lot of keepsakes though, not really. I've moved so much through the years that over time things have been either given away or donated to charity, but I do tend to be very sentimental. I am not however, a packrat. No, I am a certified thrower-awayer. That's what my husband calls me. I hate clutter, so I am constantly de-cluttering. I throw away, and then, I throw away some more. I like things neat and tidy--things might get a little dusty or need a quick vacuuming but most likely you won't find too many messy areas in my house. It's just the way I am. Therefore, I do not keep too many things--just a few very sentimental ones. I usually manage to keep my little mementos for a few years and then it's either off to one of the kid's houses or to Good Will. I always think someone else will benefit from my little treasures. What can I say--I'm a giver. This is said with a smile!
There are a couple of items though, yes, one or two that I can tell you about--one is a little tiny black Indian arrowhead. It is one of my more valuable treasures. I will never give it away. I was 17 years old when I received it from a little boy who lived on an Indian reservation. I went to help out and work with children the summer before my senior year of high school. That year my life was changed forever, it's where I met and fell in love with my husband. That particular Indian reservation will always hold a special place in my heart. Anyway, we were both attending a camp where we were working with kids when I met a certain little boy, he was around 5 or 6 years old. We became fast friends and soon we were inseparable--he followed me everywhere. At the end of that week, he presented me with a little gift--it was the arrowhead. I cried a little, he hugged me tight and I never saw him again. I went back the next year, but he was nowhere to be found. 40 years later that little arrowhead still rests in my jewelry box. I look at it often and remember that cute little boy. I wonder sometimes if he ever thinks of me.
Another one of my prized possessions is something my husband found for me when we were still dating. We were walking along a beach in northern California when he spotted something on the sand. He bends down to pick it up and then handed it to me. It was a perfect little sand-dollar the size of a dime. I still have it, it's laying next to my arrowhead. Two precious little memories tucked away just for me. I thought I should mention them since they are of great value to me.
I know it seems a little silly that after all these years I still have those two little gifts, probably worth nothing to some but worth everything to me. I would part with almost any other earthly possession before parting with one of those two items. I guess I am even more sentimental than I thought. I realize the older I get that some things can easily be replaced, while others--those attached to memories, can't. These are my memories though, I'm sure that when I pass on and my kids or grandchildren are going through my things, they'll wonder--why did she keep this, or why was that so important to her? That's why writing all this down is helpful to me. The writing keeps those memories alive. At least for me.
I have so many memories now to write about--well over 50 years of them, all tucked away until now. Until the writing began. Now, they are tumbling out--sometimes fast, and sometimes slowly. Funny how it works that way. I wonder why some come to mind quicker than others? And why do I have to wait ever so patiently for others to surface? It's interesting to me--I ponder those questions often. My memories now, along with this blog have become my keepsakes. As each little story or thought or memory surface, I write about it. Each and every one. They are my keepsakes now, sweet memories along with a few little treasures mixed in just to keep things interesting.
 |
| My tiny arrowhead and sand-dollar |
Thursday, July 19, 2012
Boy in the Basement
Let me set the scene--imagine a very small old fashioned church, in a very small old fashioned town. This particular little church just happened to have a basement. And in the basement were several rooms. One being a kitchen, and also there was a "fellowship" hall, a classroom, and a storage room. We used to hold our ladies Bible study down in that basement. We were able to make extra rooms by using an accordion type door, it was perfect for small discussion groups, etc.
So, one day as the ladies of my Bible study entered the basement to set up for the morning, something a little out of the ordinary happened. One of my friends went into the small storage area to grab some supplies and let out a little shriek. We all came running--thinking possibly a mouse maybe? Something small like that. However, what we found wasn't a mouse at all. No, it was a boy, or should I say, young man. I'm guessing he was somewhere in the 18 to 20-year-old range. He seemed like a mere boy to me at the time, as my own boys were almost his age. And being a mom, I didn't like to think of my own children as growing up.
My friends, understandably, were a bit shaken up. He looked disheveled and outright scary. The ladies began to back out of the room, however, I did not. My heart immediately connected to him, just as if he were one of my own. There is no other way to explain it, I wasn't afraid of him, nor was I afraid of what he might have hidden in his scruffy duffel bag. In fact, I didn't notice what the others did, I didn't even realize that as I was talking to him, he was clutching that duffle closely to his chest.
He was so afraid, so dirty, so desperate. There was no way that I was going to let him leave without making sure that he was OK. That was the mom in me. I felt the need to care for him, to make sure that he had a place to sleep, something to eat, and clean clothes. As I began to talk with him in a kindly manner, he slowly began to open up. He told me that he had crawled in through the window, he was cold. He had wrapped some old tarps around himself to keep warm. His mother had kicked him out due to drug use. The more he told me, the more I felt that God had brought him to our little church for a reason.
I stood in that little storage room for a long time talking with that boy. He said that I reminded him of his mother, that he missed her and that he wanted to go home but was afraid that she wouldn't let him in. I told him how I would feel if my son came home and asked me to forgive him, promised me he'd stay away from drugs and would get cleaned up. He was sure that she'd never agree. He was not only heartbroken for what he'd become, he was broken period. His very spirit was broken. I could see all this in him as we talked. My friends were waiting in the room next to ours, I could sense them praying for me as I spoke with this boy. I wanted so badly for him to make things right with his mom. I wanted him to be able to go home and to be safe.
After a while I asked him if he was hungry, he said yes. I gave him money for breakfast and then invited him to come to church on Sunday. You can sit with me and my family, I said. You won't be alone. I then encouraged him to go home, ask his mother for forgiveness and then, get clean and sober. I told him that I would help any way possible. And that I would be praying for him. I also gave him my phone number.
That, unfortunately, was the very last time I saw the young man. However, to this day, I still think of him and when I do, I pray for him. God knows where he is, God knows and is taking care of him for me. I truly believe that with all my heart. That He protected that boy and that he eventually got his act together. That is my hope.
The fallout from that little adventure surprised me though. I have to include it in the story, for without it, the account of the past would not be complete. You see, I guess I did not follow protocol. I was told later by the leaders of our little church that I should have immediately called the police. That the boy had broken into our church and that he could have had a gun in his duffle bag. I, by not calling the police, endangered the lives of the other women in the room. I was completely dumbfounded by this statement. I truly was. I wanted to know--since when do we as Christians rely on our human responses to handle situations? Since when do we not rely on the Holy Spirit to guide and direct us? These were my questions. Since when? And if you know me at all, you know that I am one of the most cautious people out there. I am a door locking, backseat car checking, close the drapes at night type of person you'd ever want to meet. I am not naive when it comes to reading people, I am not trusting by nature, especially of strange people hiding in a basement! I am also the mom that practically tattooed be careful on her children's foreheads. In other words--it wasn't like me at all to feel so comfortable with that young man. However, I felt a peace about talking with him and helping him. I truly felt God leading me and protecting me. And, truthfully I wasn't about to let anyone change my mind. In my opinion, I had made the right decision by not calling the police. In fact, that thought had never entered my mind.
I will say this now--my heart was so broken and sad by the responses of those so called leaders, those people that we had placed in authority, those we depended on to pray! No, in retrospect I would not have called the police, I would not have handled the situation any differently. I followed the leading of my God. The God who goes after the one lost sheep, the God who feeds the poor, the God who heals the brokenhearted, the God who is love, compassion, and who gives us hope, the God who died for me and everyone else. No, my kindness to that boy in the basement was driven by a force so much greater than myself. To me, what I saw was a poor damaged, broken, shattered little boy, hovering in the dark, cold, hungry, and needing his mom. That's what I saw. That's what I felt. Maybe the others saw something different. Maybe.
So today as with many other days in the past, I will take the time to pray for that boy from long ago, who was found in the basement by a lady who did not call the police, who gave him money for food and who invited him to church. Today I will pray that as the years went by, he found his way home and is now worshiping his God, in a church somewhere. Maybe his mother is sitting next to him. Yes, I certainly want to think that is the case.
I serve a mighty God. One who heals. One who saves. One who answers prayer. I believe with all of my heart that that boy in the basement was brought to us for a reason. Yes, I truly do. I learned something that day--I learned that no matter what others say or think, my job on this earth is to go by what I feel God is telling me to do. I trust Him. He will protect me. He always has and I know He always will.
So, one day as the ladies of my Bible study entered the basement to set up for the morning, something a little out of the ordinary happened. One of my friends went into the small storage area to grab some supplies and let out a little shriek. We all came running--thinking possibly a mouse maybe? Something small like that. However, what we found wasn't a mouse at all. No, it was a boy, or should I say, young man. I'm guessing he was somewhere in the 18 to 20-year-old range. He seemed like a mere boy to me at the time, as my own boys were almost his age. And being a mom, I didn't like to think of my own children as growing up.
My friends, understandably, were a bit shaken up. He looked disheveled and outright scary. The ladies began to back out of the room, however, I did not. My heart immediately connected to him, just as if he were one of my own. There is no other way to explain it, I wasn't afraid of him, nor was I afraid of what he might have hidden in his scruffy duffel bag. In fact, I didn't notice what the others did, I didn't even realize that as I was talking to him, he was clutching that duffle closely to his chest.
He was so afraid, so dirty, so desperate. There was no way that I was going to let him leave without making sure that he was OK. That was the mom in me. I felt the need to care for him, to make sure that he had a place to sleep, something to eat, and clean clothes. As I began to talk with him in a kindly manner, he slowly began to open up. He told me that he had crawled in through the window, he was cold. He had wrapped some old tarps around himself to keep warm. His mother had kicked him out due to drug use. The more he told me, the more I felt that God had brought him to our little church for a reason.
I stood in that little storage room for a long time talking with that boy. He said that I reminded him of his mother, that he missed her and that he wanted to go home but was afraid that she wouldn't let him in. I told him how I would feel if my son came home and asked me to forgive him, promised me he'd stay away from drugs and would get cleaned up. He was sure that she'd never agree. He was not only heartbroken for what he'd become, he was broken period. His very spirit was broken. I could see all this in him as we talked. My friends were waiting in the room next to ours, I could sense them praying for me as I spoke with this boy. I wanted so badly for him to make things right with his mom. I wanted him to be able to go home and to be safe.
After a while I asked him if he was hungry, he said yes. I gave him money for breakfast and then invited him to come to church on Sunday. You can sit with me and my family, I said. You won't be alone. I then encouraged him to go home, ask his mother for forgiveness and then, get clean and sober. I told him that I would help any way possible. And that I would be praying for him. I also gave him my phone number.
That, unfortunately, was the very last time I saw the young man. However, to this day, I still think of him and when I do, I pray for him. God knows where he is, God knows and is taking care of him for me. I truly believe that with all my heart. That He protected that boy and that he eventually got his act together. That is my hope.
The fallout from that little adventure surprised me though. I have to include it in the story, for without it, the account of the past would not be complete. You see, I guess I did not follow protocol. I was told later by the leaders of our little church that I should have immediately called the police. That the boy had broken into our church and that he could have had a gun in his duffle bag. I, by not calling the police, endangered the lives of the other women in the room. I was completely dumbfounded by this statement. I truly was. I wanted to know--since when do we as Christians rely on our human responses to handle situations? Since when do we not rely on the Holy Spirit to guide and direct us? These were my questions. Since when? And if you know me at all, you know that I am one of the most cautious people out there. I am a door locking, backseat car checking, close the drapes at night type of person you'd ever want to meet. I am not naive when it comes to reading people, I am not trusting by nature, especially of strange people hiding in a basement! I am also the mom that practically tattooed be careful on her children's foreheads. In other words--it wasn't like me at all to feel so comfortable with that young man. However, I felt a peace about talking with him and helping him. I truly felt God leading me and protecting me. And, truthfully I wasn't about to let anyone change my mind. In my opinion, I had made the right decision by not calling the police. In fact, that thought had never entered my mind.
I will say this now--my heart was so broken and sad by the responses of those so called leaders, those people that we had placed in authority, those we depended on to pray! No, in retrospect I would not have called the police, I would not have handled the situation any differently. I followed the leading of my God. The God who goes after the one lost sheep, the God who feeds the poor, the God who heals the brokenhearted, the God who is love, compassion, and who gives us hope, the God who died for me and everyone else. No, my kindness to that boy in the basement was driven by a force so much greater than myself. To me, what I saw was a poor damaged, broken, shattered little boy, hovering in the dark, cold, hungry, and needing his mom. That's what I saw. That's what I felt. Maybe the others saw something different. Maybe.
So today as with many other days in the past, I will take the time to pray for that boy from long ago, who was found in the basement by a lady who did not call the police, who gave him money for food and who invited him to church. Today I will pray that as the years went by, he found his way home and is now worshiping his God, in a church somewhere. Maybe his mother is sitting next to him. Yes, I certainly want to think that is the case.
I serve a mighty God. One who heals. One who saves. One who answers prayer. I believe with all of my heart that that boy in the basement was brought to us for a reason. Yes, I truly do. I learned something that day--I learned that no matter what others say or think, my job on this earth is to go by what I feel God is telling me to do. I trust Him. He will protect me. He always has and I know He always will.
Tuesday, July 17, 2012
A Day at the Beach
I have a new obsession. Going to the beach. I can honestly say that I have not spent much time at a beach or pool as far as floating on a raft or sunbathing goes in over a decade. However, a miracle has occurred. And what might that be, you ask? I've lost weight. Plain and simple. I no longer feel horribly fat. In fact, I purchased a new swimsuit the other day--the first one I've bought in about 15 years. And I bought shorts! 3 pair! Really!
In our last house in California, we had a pool. It was very pretty, with a rock waterfall on one end. There were 3 levels of water noise--one was a babbling brook sound, but I don't remember what the other 2 were called, oh wait, one might have been called waterfall, duh! What I do remember though is floating on my raft and soaking up the sun--drifting, dreaming, tanning. It felt like a vacation day every day. I loved that pool. One day after we sold our house and moved to the Midwest I was in Costco when all of a sudden I was hit with an overwhelming nostalgic feeling--I smelled chlorine and was transported right back to my home in California. I was depressed for several days after that quasi-pool encounter. It's hard to explain, but it really did happen. The smells, the sadness, the longing for my past. Those big ol' pallets of pool supplies almost brought me to tears. The smell of chlorine, the memories of my pool, floating on my raft, yelling at my kids (for all sorts of pool violations) and poolside b-b-q's--yes, the tears almost came. I had to remind myself though that I was out in public, so I pulled myself together and decided to avoid Costco until pool season was over.
Back to my obsession--why have I avoided all things pool inspired over the last decade? In a word--self-conscienceness. I was very overweight and felt extremely ugly. I was unhappy with what I had become. And, I had no one to blame but myself. I ate because I was lonely, bored, friendless and because my kids were growing up and moving out. My life as I once knew it was changing rapidly and I could not get off that awful roller coaster of emotional upheaval no matter how hard I tried. I did try, believe me. I tried every diet known, but after losing a few pounds something would happen to trigger my bad eating habits and there I would go again--cookies and candy--my biggest downfall. Emotional eater you wonder? Again, duh!
When we moved to the Chicagoland area a couple of years ago, it got even worse. Now I was far away from everyone--friends and family, church and work friends, kids and grandkids--there was no one to talk to, no one to go places with and food became, once again, my only friend. However, last year on October 1, 2011, I had an epiphany. I've already written about it so I won't go into it again. I am now 35 pounds lighter, I exercise regularly (and that word wasn't even in my vocabulary before) and I eat a low carb diet.
Enter the beach phenomenon. I was shown the man-made beach area by our realtor even before we bought our house. Our realtor proudly took us to this huge man-made pool/beach right in the middle of town. It is big, I mean big! With real sand, diving boards, a slide--chairs, tables, umbrellas and b-b-q's. This thing looks and sounds like a real live beach, and it's just across the river from--guess where? That's right, my new house. For 2 years I avoided it. When friends and family came to visit I made excuses not to go there. Let's just say that I kept them real busy sight seeing so as to steer clear of that place altogether. No one was going to see me in a swimsuit--no one!
And then came the weight loss. One day while driving past the beach I had a thought--maybe I could go there now! I went home and pulled out my 15-year-old swim suits, tried them on and was completely shocked--they were all too big! They hung on me. So, off to the mall, I went. I bought a new suit, some shorts, and why stop there? How about a new beach towel (or 2) and what about a couple of cute new beach chairs, and oh there's a fun little beach cabana! Yes, I was on a roll--after taking off a few! A beach roll. A new and exciting time of my life was about to begin and off to the beach/pool we went. Wow, it was amazing. I laid in the sun, I read my Kindle, I felt the water on my skin, and I remembered what it used to be like in my own pool. For the first time in over 12 years I was actually laying out in a swimming suit with other people around me, and I wasn't trying desperately to hide. It truly was a miracle for this self-diagnosed wack a- doodle person with a poor body image!
Life for me is now a little bit better. Ok, it's a whole lot better with the beach in my life. I am loving it. No more worrying about how fat I look. Now, I go a couple of times a week, and I pretend that I am on vacation somewhere exotic. I hold hands with my boyfriend/husband, I read, I eat my low carb lunch out of my new little beach cooler, I lay on my new beach towel while wearing my new swimsuit, I get my tan and feel like a million bucks! Yes, it's a whole lot better now.
No, I am not the youngest, hottest thing out there, but I never was. I am, however, healthy and having a blast. After avoiding this awesome beach/pool for 2 years, I am making up for lost time. I am excited about this new little discovery of mine. And who knows, it might be just the thing I need to inspire me each year to stay on my low carb diet and to keep working out. That little ol' first day at the beach might be what keeps me on the straight and narrow. My next adventure will be braving the beaches of Lake Michigan. Yes, one day you might see me there, toting my beach cabana, new chair and cooler, sporting my new suit and shorts, new beach towel flung over my shoulder. Yep, a day at the beach--that's what is so sweet about my life right now.
In our last house in California, we had a pool. It was very pretty, with a rock waterfall on one end. There were 3 levels of water noise--one was a babbling brook sound, but I don't remember what the other 2 were called, oh wait, one might have been called waterfall, duh! What I do remember though is floating on my raft and soaking up the sun--drifting, dreaming, tanning. It felt like a vacation day every day. I loved that pool. One day after we sold our house and moved to the Midwest I was in Costco when all of a sudden I was hit with an overwhelming nostalgic feeling--I smelled chlorine and was transported right back to my home in California. I was depressed for several days after that quasi-pool encounter. It's hard to explain, but it really did happen. The smells, the sadness, the longing for my past. Those big ol' pallets of pool supplies almost brought me to tears. The smell of chlorine, the memories of my pool, floating on my raft, yelling at my kids (for all sorts of pool violations) and poolside b-b-q's--yes, the tears almost came. I had to remind myself though that I was out in public, so I pulled myself together and decided to avoid Costco until pool season was over.
Back to my obsession--why have I avoided all things pool inspired over the last decade? In a word--self-conscienceness. I was very overweight and felt extremely ugly. I was unhappy with what I had become. And, I had no one to blame but myself. I ate because I was lonely, bored, friendless and because my kids were growing up and moving out. My life as I once knew it was changing rapidly and I could not get off that awful roller coaster of emotional upheaval no matter how hard I tried. I did try, believe me. I tried every diet known, but after losing a few pounds something would happen to trigger my bad eating habits and there I would go again--cookies and candy--my biggest downfall. Emotional eater you wonder? Again, duh!
When we moved to the Chicagoland area a couple of years ago, it got even worse. Now I was far away from everyone--friends and family, church and work friends, kids and grandkids--there was no one to talk to, no one to go places with and food became, once again, my only friend. However, last year on October 1, 2011, I had an epiphany. I've already written about it so I won't go into it again. I am now 35 pounds lighter, I exercise regularly (and that word wasn't even in my vocabulary before) and I eat a low carb diet.
Enter the beach phenomenon. I was shown the man-made beach area by our realtor even before we bought our house. Our realtor proudly took us to this huge man-made pool/beach right in the middle of town. It is big, I mean big! With real sand, diving boards, a slide--chairs, tables, umbrellas and b-b-q's. This thing looks and sounds like a real live beach, and it's just across the river from--guess where? That's right, my new house. For 2 years I avoided it. When friends and family came to visit I made excuses not to go there. Let's just say that I kept them real busy sight seeing so as to steer clear of that place altogether. No one was going to see me in a swimsuit--no one!
And then came the weight loss. One day while driving past the beach I had a thought--maybe I could go there now! I went home and pulled out my 15-year-old swim suits, tried them on and was completely shocked--they were all too big! They hung on me. So, off to the mall, I went. I bought a new suit, some shorts, and why stop there? How about a new beach towel (or 2) and what about a couple of cute new beach chairs, and oh there's a fun little beach cabana! Yes, I was on a roll--after taking off a few! A beach roll. A new and exciting time of my life was about to begin and off to the beach/pool we went. Wow, it was amazing. I laid in the sun, I read my Kindle, I felt the water on my skin, and I remembered what it used to be like in my own pool. For the first time in over 12 years I was actually laying out in a swimming suit with other people around me, and I wasn't trying desperately to hide. It truly was a miracle for this self-diagnosed wack a- doodle person with a poor body image!
Life for me is now a little bit better. Ok, it's a whole lot better with the beach in my life. I am loving it. No more worrying about how fat I look. Now, I go a couple of times a week, and I pretend that I am on vacation somewhere exotic. I hold hands with my boyfriend/husband, I read, I eat my low carb lunch out of my new little beach cooler, I lay on my new beach towel while wearing my new swimsuit, I get my tan and feel like a million bucks! Yes, it's a whole lot better now.
No, I am not the youngest, hottest thing out there, but I never was. I am, however, healthy and having a blast. After avoiding this awesome beach/pool for 2 years, I am making up for lost time. I am excited about this new little discovery of mine. And who knows, it might be just the thing I need to inspire me each year to stay on my low carb diet and to keep working out. That little ol' first day at the beach might be what keeps me on the straight and narrow. My next adventure will be braving the beaches of Lake Michigan. Yes, one day you might see me there, toting my beach cabana, new chair and cooler, sporting my new suit and shorts, new beach towel flung over my shoulder. Yep, a day at the beach--that's what is so sweet about my life right now.
Tuesday, July 10, 2012
I Won't Hide
It is no secret that I am a Christian. I have never hidden it, I never will. However, in making that statement, I am fully aware that a lot of others profess the same as I and yet...they are nothing like me. So what makes me different? In my opinion, it is what I stand for. It is what I believe in. It is what I live for and live out that sets me and others like me apart. It is not what I am standing against, but it is what I am standing for. Are you reading between the lines here?
For example, I stand for my belief in God, His son Jesus, and the Bible. No secret there. I stand for my husband and family, for true friendship, for love, acceptance, and forgiveness. That's a big one. Forgiveness. You might wonder, who does she have to forgive? Well, that's my business and something not to be shared in this particular venue, but believe me, when I say--I have forgiven those who have deeply hurt or condemned me. I had to, and I was told to--by God. And so I did. It wasn't easy, in most cases I had to swallow my pride, but as with anything worth doing or having, being a person with a forgiving heart is worth it--for my own spiritual well-being.
What else do I stand for? Well, I stand for godliness. This love, God's love is extended to all people of all nations. It's simple for me--love your neighbor as yourself. Simple. Be willing to lay your life down for a brother. Be the way that God intended. Kind, gentle, loving...is it really that hard?
What I don't want to do as a Christian, as a believer, as a follower of Christ is to stand against something. Wait, let me explain--I want to have and to live a life that is for something. I want to live for God, for all things that are good, for love, and for holiness. I don't want to waste my time or God's for that matter worrying about the things that I can't change. I want to spend my time thinking and praying about the things that God can and does change. And guess what? I know someone--I know the One who changes things! It's not me, I can't change a thing. However, I serve someone who can. As I pray, as I seek God, as I worship Him, as I lean on Him, I wait and I watch. As He changes the important aspects of and in my life and in the lives of others--He changes this sinful heart of mine into something He can love and be proud of and He does this very patiently. He is after all--my father. Come to think of it--He stands for me!
Do I ever get impatient? Of course, I do--I am the human one. The one who fails, the one who is weak, the one who is needy, the one who cries out to her God, the one who can do absolutely nothing without her God. Yes, that is me--in a nutshell. The human. I am the one who stands for God my creator.
Why would I hide who I truly am? Why would I be ashamed of who I love with all of my heart, soul, and mind? I don't see others hiding their beliefs or life choices. In all sources of media--others display their lives, their values, their beliefs. So, in my own little world of media--i.e. my blog, I will declare mine. I will set my heart and eyes on God. I will be patient, hopeful, trusting, loving and kind. I will endeavor to be like the God I serve. Oh, I will fail. You can be sure of that--but I will try and when I do fail, I will ask to be forgiven. He's just that kind of a loving God. Just like He says He is. And He will forgive me and let me try again and again. I will try to walk in the footsteps of His son Jesus. I will not act hateful, vengeful, selfish, mean or judgmental. No, I will not. So, if you ever see me behaving in that manner, I hope and I pray that you gently correct me. And remember this, if you ever need me, just ask, I will be there for you. No matter what you believe in, or whom you believe in, I will be there. A friend. A pray-er. A sister. A follower of Christ. I will not judge you or condemn you. I will just pray to the One who has the answers to all of your questions. The One I stand for.
If God is love then why should I be hate? I want to be there for the friendless, the hopeless, the broken.
I want to be the person that others can come to with questions about life and about God. I want to be that friend. The one who stands for something--something sweet, something kind, something godly. I guess the bottom line is this--I want others to know what I stand for by my actions and deeds even before I tell them.
This is what I stand for and I won't hide.
For example, I stand for my belief in God, His son Jesus, and the Bible. No secret there. I stand for my husband and family, for true friendship, for love, acceptance, and forgiveness. That's a big one. Forgiveness. You might wonder, who does she have to forgive? Well, that's my business and something not to be shared in this particular venue, but believe me, when I say--I have forgiven those who have deeply hurt or condemned me. I had to, and I was told to--by God. And so I did. It wasn't easy, in most cases I had to swallow my pride, but as with anything worth doing or having, being a person with a forgiving heart is worth it--for my own spiritual well-being.
What else do I stand for? Well, I stand for godliness. This love, God's love is extended to all people of all nations. It's simple for me--love your neighbor as yourself. Simple. Be willing to lay your life down for a brother. Be the way that God intended. Kind, gentle, loving...is it really that hard?
What I don't want to do as a Christian, as a believer, as a follower of Christ is to stand against something. Wait, let me explain--I want to have and to live a life that is for something. I want to live for God, for all things that are good, for love, and for holiness. I don't want to waste my time or God's for that matter worrying about the things that I can't change. I want to spend my time thinking and praying about the things that God can and does change. And guess what? I know someone--I know the One who changes things! It's not me, I can't change a thing. However, I serve someone who can. As I pray, as I seek God, as I worship Him, as I lean on Him, I wait and I watch. As He changes the important aspects of and in my life and in the lives of others--He changes this sinful heart of mine into something He can love and be proud of and He does this very patiently. He is after all--my father. Come to think of it--He stands for me!
Do I ever get impatient? Of course, I do--I am the human one. The one who fails, the one who is weak, the one who is needy, the one who cries out to her God, the one who can do absolutely nothing without her God. Yes, that is me--in a nutshell. The human. I am the one who stands for God my creator.
Why would I hide who I truly am? Why would I be ashamed of who I love with all of my heart, soul, and mind? I don't see others hiding their beliefs or life choices. In all sources of media--others display their lives, their values, their beliefs. So, in my own little world of media--i.e. my blog, I will declare mine. I will set my heart and eyes on God. I will be patient, hopeful, trusting, loving and kind. I will endeavor to be like the God I serve. Oh, I will fail. You can be sure of that--but I will try and when I do fail, I will ask to be forgiven. He's just that kind of a loving God. Just like He says He is. And He will forgive me and let me try again and again. I will try to walk in the footsteps of His son Jesus. I will not act hateful, vengeful, selfish, mean or judgmental. No, I will not. So, if you ever see me behaving in that manner, I hope and I pray that you gently correct me. And remember this, if you ever need me, just ask, I will be there for you. No matter what you believe in, or whom you believe in, I will be there. A friend. A pray-er. A sister. A follower of Christ. I will not judge you or condemn you. I will just pray to the One who has the answers to all of your questions. The One I stand for.
If God is love then why should I be hate? I want to be there for the friendless, the hopeless, the broken.
I want to be the person that others can come to with questions about life and about God. I want to be that friend. The one who stands for something--something sweet, something kind, something godly. I guess the bottom line is this--I want others to know what I stand for by my actions and deeds even before I tell them.
This is what I stand for and I won't hide.
Sunday, July 8, 2012
Grandma Crybaby
I think if my kids could change my name, they would call me grandma crybaby. Why? Because every time my kids leave our house with their kids or every time we leave their house--I cry. No, not the heart-wrenching sobs that some people make, mine are a silent cry. The cry of a grandmother's heart is broken a little more each time she is separated from her grandchildren.
Who would have thought it possible? To love someone so much, that your heart actually hurts? When I had my children it was unfathomable for me to think that far into the future--to the land of grandchildren. I was too busy raising my children to think of them having their own one day. I was a busy mom with much to do and I had lots on my mind. Thinking into the future wasn't a part of that thought process. Just getting by with day to day living kept me occupied.
I should have guessed it would happen, however, because when their father and I would go away for a little getaway or anniversary weekend, I would miss them--terribly. I would be so excited for some much needed time away and then once there within just a couple of days I would feel my emotions get the best of me and the tears would start. Slowly, running down my cheeks, hiding behind sunglasses--missing my children. My husband would then know that it was time to head back towards home and my babies. So, I ask you--why oh why would I not have those same feelings for my grandbabies? You know, that I miss them so much feeling, that my heart is breaking feeling when they (or I) pull out of the driveway? I guess I should have known that I would love them just as much, and miss them even more.
Eventually, my little kiddos grew up. I managed that pretty well, I tried hard to get used to the whole empty nest thing (which sucks by the way) and then one day they had children themselves. Yep, grandkids. I was hoping that I'd be immune to those same old emotions. You know, the attachment emotions. The crybaby emotions, the ones that feel like your heart is being ripped in two every time you have to say goodbye. I hate goodbyes. Sometimes I wish they'd all sneak off in the night. I'd wake up to an empty house and I could pretend they had just gone to the store or something. No, I wouldn't want that either. I need to say goodbye. I guess I need closure. I guess I'm one of those. A crybaby grandma who needs that last hug before the final car pack up and then heading for home.
Yes, I am grandma crybaby. It's hard on me. I feel so sad when I'm not around my little grandkids more often. I have 5 so far--I'm praying for more. Why? Because I have never known such joy as when I am with them--just talking with them, or rocking them, snuggling, singing or reading to them--my little ones, I love them. They are the joy of my life. And, when I think about it, maybe I wouldn't know that joy the way I know it now if it weren't for the fact that I get to see them only every few weeks. I think that maybe, just maybe, I appreciate them a little bit more. Sometimes I think about what my life would be like without them--how empty it would feel and I am grateful then for every moment I get to spend with them. I think to myself--at least I have grandkids or kids for that matter. I guess I should be thankful. And I am. Very thankful. So, I'll sit here and cry and miss my little grandchildren and hope that they one day they might feel the same way about me.
Who would have thought it possible? To love someone so much, that your heart actually hurts? When I had my children it was unfathomable for me to think that far into the future--to the land of grandchildren. I was too busy raising my children to think of them having their own one day. I was a busy mom with much to do and I had lots on my mind. Thinking into the future wasn't a part of that thought process. Just getting by with day to day living kept me occupied.
I should have guessed it would happen, however, because when their father and I would go away for a little getaway or anniversary weekend, I would miss them--terribly. I would be so excited for some much needed time away and then once there within just a couple of days I would feel my emotions get the best of me and the tears would start. Slowly, running down my cheeks, hiding behind sunglasses--missing my children. My husband would then know that it was time to head back towards home and my babies. So, I ask you--why oh why would I not have those same feelings for my grandbabies? You know, that I miss them so much feeling, that my heart is breaking feeling when they (or I) pull out of the driveway? I guess I should have known that I would love them just as much, and miss them even more.
Eventually, my little kiddos grew up. I managed that pretty well, I tried hard to get used to the whole empty nest thing (which sucks by the way) and then one day they had children themselves. Yep, grandkids. I was hoping that I'd be immune to those same old emotions. You know, the attachment emotions. The crybaby emotions, the ones that feel like your heart is being ripped in two every time you have to say goodbye. I hate goodbyes. Sometimes I wish they'd all sneak off in the night. I'd wake up to an empty house and I could pretend they had just gone to the store or something. No, I wouldn't want that either. I need to say goodbye. I guess I need closure. I guess I'm one of those. A crybaby grandma who needs that last hug before the final car pack up and then heading for home.
Yes, I am grandma crybaby. It's hard on me. I feel so sad when I'm not around my little grandkids more often. I have 5 so far--I'm praying for more. Why? Because I have never known such joy as when I am with them--just talking with them, or rocking them, snuggling, singing or reading to them--my little ones, I love them. They are the joy of my life. And, when I think about it, maybe I wouldn't know that joy the way I know it now if it weren't for the fact that I get to see them only every few weeks. I think that maybe, just maybe, I appreciate them a little bit more. Sometimes I think about what my life would be like without them--how empty it would feel and I am grateful then for every moment I get to spend with them. I think to myself--at least I have grandkids or kids for that matter. I guess I should be thankful. And I am. Very thankful. So, I'll sit here and cry and miss my little grandchildren and hope that they one day they might feel the same way about me.
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| grandbabies at the beach |
Tuesday, July 3, 2012
My Niece's Wedding
I knew before I even went that it was going to be a tough night. A beautiful night to be sure, but a rough one for me, my parents, my sister and her children. I knew that it would be hard. And it was. As my tears flowed, I could not help but think of my two nephews who were missing. Who were in heaven, who were not there to participate, to make us laugh, and smile and to make her special day unforgettable. No, they were not there.
I wondered--what should I do, what could I do to make things easier, less emotional for them and for me? You see, I am a big fat crybaby. I hate that about myself. That inability to control my tears. It's very frustrating, to say the least. So, I thought to myself--why not spend a few days in Monterey/Carmel first and then head on over to the valley to attend the wedding. That, I thought, just might help me cope a little bit better. I knew that my sister would be extremely busy with wedding plans, so that's just what we did. We landed in San Francisco and then drove on down the coast. We stayed in a nice hotel, shopped, ate out and I tried hard not to think about the wedding and who would not be attending.
The actual day of the wedding I made plans with friends. I didn't want to talk about the upcoming wedding. I just wanted to visit, to laugh, to talk about other things. I think our friends got the picture, they were very gracious and helped keep our minds off things. Diversion, that's exactly what it was and it did help. So I thanked them very much. I needed them at the moment. Throughout the day I'd pray for my sister and niece, for God to comfort them, give them strength, help them not to dwell on reality. I wanted them to focus on the wedding, the happiness, the joy.
We picked my parents up late that afternoon. It was an outdoor wedding, next to a beautiful little lake, with the chairs and altar under great big old oak trees. The weather that had been a scorching 106 degrees the weekend before had settled nicely into a comfortable 80 degrees just in time for the celebration. My prayers had been answered, that's for sure! I hate hot weather, I am extremely susceptible to heat exhaustion and have a slight phobia of passing out in public places. Geez, do you think that's ever happened to me before? Um, yes.
As the bridesmaids and groomsmen began to appear, I felt that prickly sensation behind my eyes. Do not cry, I told myself. But, where are my nephews, I also asked? They should be here. I was able to focus on the wedding, pull myself together and block out the pain. I watched the attendants all take their places, I watched as my sister and my niece's father walked her down the aisle, and I watched as she and her new husband exchanged their vows. It was a short wedding. Sweet, full of laughter, and a few tears and then it was over. We then filed into the huge beautifully decorated renovated barn and the reception began.
I kept thinking to myself--we made it! Not too many tears, not too much emotion, everyone seems to be doing great and having a good time. I was so relieved. And then, yes, and then, they did something that is common in a lot of wedding receptions nowadays. They showed the video. You know, the one of them growing up. Well, guess who is in the growing up pictures of my niece? That's right, her brothers. And that's when I lost it. The tears began to flow. I could not help myself. I felt so bad because the wedding parties' table was right behind ours. I did not want my sister or my niece to see me crying. I didn't want them to start crying. I was an emotional basket-case, to say the least. I wanted to excuse myself and pull myself together, but I felt trapped. Everyone was so engrossed in the videos, to leave would have drawn even more attention to myself. So there I was--stuck, crying, grieving for the nephews who weren't at the wedding, who weren't in line with the groomsmen, who weren't sitting at the table behind me with their little sister whom they loved so much.
Finally, it was over. Before the lights came back on I composed myself--along with everyone else in the room. It seems that we were all thinking the same thing. We missed the boys. They should have been there. They were truly missed that night. With their beautiful little sister getting married, they should have been there.
The toasts started then. The best man, the matron of honor, the parents, some friends, they all got up to speak about my niece and her new husband. They said some very sweet heartfelt things. And now, confession time for me. I wanted to say something too. However, I didn't want to speak to them, I wanted to pray over them. I wanted to lay a hand on each of their shoulders and pray for God's protection, guidance, direction, and love. I thought it might be a little out of place though, so I did and said nothing. Instead, I smiled after each toast and raised my glass to the beautiful newlyweds.
I did pray though. Later. In private. I prayed hard and I am still praying. I pray for her and her remaining brother every day just like I do my own children. I pray that God draws them closer to Him each day, I pray that God protects them, and I pray that they live a life that honors Him in all they do.
I miss my nephews. Both of them. They died too young. They should have been at the wedding for their sister. For their mother. However, for some reason that I am not privy to, God had other plans for them. Am I sad about that fact? Yes, I am. However, I do not question God's plans or ways. I hope and pray that my family doesn't either. I hope and pray that they felt God's presence at the wedding, and that with each passing year they grow to trust Him more and more. That is my prayer for my niece, her new husband, my nephew, my sister and my own children. Just trust God. Just lean into Him. Because even though my 2 nephews were not physically there to celebrate their sister getting married, they were in our hearts all the same. We felt them. At least I did. I imagined them smiling, happy, dancing at their sister's wedding, just like they are doing in heaven. Yes, I truly believe that. I do.
I wondered--what should I do, what could I do to make things easier, less emotional for them and for me? You see, I am a big fat crybaby. I hate that about myself. That inability to control my tears. It's very frustrating, to say the least. So, I thought to myself--why not spend a few days in Monterey/Carmel first and then head on over to the valley to attend the wedding. That, I thought, just might help me cope a little bit better. I knew that my sister would be extremely busy with wedding plans, so that's just what we did. We landed in San Francisco and then drove on down the coast. We stayed in a nice hotel, shopped, ate out and I tried hard not to think about the wedding and who would not be attending.
The actual day of the wedding I made plans with friends. I didn't want to talk about the upcoming wedding. I just wanted to visit, to laugh, to talk about other things. I think our friends got the picture, they were very gracious and helped keep our minds off things. Diversion, that's exactly what it was and it did help. So I thanked them very much. I needed them at the moment. Throughout the day I'd pray for my sister and niece, for God to comfort them, give them strength, help them not to dwell on reality. I wanted them to focus on the wedding, the happiness, the joy.
We picked my parents up late that afternoon. It was an outdoor wedding, next to a beautiful little lake, with the chairs and altar under great big old oak trees. The weather that had been a scorching 106 degrees the weekend before had settled nicely into a comfortable 80 degrees just in time for the celebration. My prayers had been answered, that's for sure! I hate hot weather, I am extremely susceptible to heat exhaustion and have a slight phobia of passing out in public places. Geez, do you think that's ever happened to me before? Um, yes.
As the bridesmaids and groomsmen began to appear, I felt that prickly sensation behind my eyes. Do not cry, I told myself. But, where are my nephews, I also asked? They should be here. I was able to focus on the wedding, pull myself together and block out the pain. I watched the attendants all take their places, I watched as my sister and my niece's father walked her down the aisle, and I watched as she and her new husband exchanged their vows. It was a short wedding. Sweet, full of laughter, and a few tears and then it was over. We then filed into the huge beautifully decorated renovated barn and the reception began.
I kept thinking to myself--we made it! Not too many tears, not too much emotion, everyone seems to be doing great and having a good time. I was so relieved. And then, yes, and then, they did something that is common in a lot of wedding receptions nowadays. They showed the video. You know, the one of them growing up. Well, guess who is in the growing up pictures of my niece? That's right, her brothers. And that's when I lost it. The tears began to flow. I could not help myself. I felt so bad because the wedding parties' table was right behind ours. I did not want my sister or my niece to see me crying. I didn't want them to start crying. I was an emotional basket-case, to say the least. I wanted to excuse myself and pull myself together, but I felt trapped. Everyone was so engrossed in the videos, to leave would have drawn even more attention to myself. So there I was--stuck, crying, grieving for the nephews who weren't at the wedding, who weren't in line with the groomsmen, who weren't sitting at the table behind me with their little sister whom they loved so much.
Finally, it was over. Before the lights came back on I composed myself--along with everyone else in the room. It seems that we were all thinking the same thing. We missed the boys. They should have been there. They were truly missed that night. With their beautiful little sister getting married, they should have been there.
The toasts started then. The best man, the matron of honor, the parents, some friends, they all got up to speak about my niece and her new husband. They said some very sweet heartfelt things. And now, confession time for me. I wanted to say something too. However, I didn't want to speak to them, I wanted to pray over them. I wanted to lay a hand on each of their shoulders and pray for God's protection, guidance, direction, and love. I thought it might be a little out of place though, so I did and said nothing. Instead, I smiled after each toast and raised my glass to the beautiful newlyweds.
I did pray though. Later. In private. I prayed hard and I am still praying. I pray for her and her remaining brother every day just like I do my own children. I pray that God draws them closer to Him each day, I pray that God protects them, and I pray that they live a life that honors Him in all they do.
I miss my nephews. Both of them. They died too young. They should have been at the wedding for their sister. For their mother. However, for some reason that I am not privy to, God had other plans for them. Am I sad about that fact? Yes, I am. However, I do not question God's plans or ways. I hope and pray that my family doesn't either. I hope and pray that they felt God's presence at the wedding, and that with each passing year they grow to trust Him more and more. That is my prayer for my niece, her new husband, my nephew, my sister and my own children. Just trust God. Just lean into Him. Because even though my 2 nephews were not physically there to celebrate their sister getting married, they were in our hearts all the same. We felt them. At least I did. I imagined them smiling, happy, dancing at their sister's wedding, just like they are doing in heaven. Yes, I truly believe that. I do.
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| Grandpa and Grandma |
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| Bridesmaids |
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| Groomsmen |
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| My niece and her groom |
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| My nephew |
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| The happy couple |
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| My husband Jerry and I |
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| My niece and her new husband |
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| My nephew |
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| My sister |
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| Bride and groom |
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| Grandma and grandpa with the newlyweds |
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