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.

Katie, in California

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--

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.  

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.

My tiny arrowhead and sand-dollar

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.

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.

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.

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.

grandbabies at the beach

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.

Grandpa and Grandma

Bridesmaids

Groomsmen

My niece and her groom

My nephew

The happy couple

My husband Jerry and I

My niece and her new husband

My nephew

My sister

Bride and groom

Grandma and grandpa with the newlyweds

Same Time Next Year

I am forever indebted to whoever created/invented the internet, Facebook and any other source of media that was used to help me find my old friends.  And by old, I mean those girls I went to high school with.  Because something pretty awesome has happened.  A couple of years ago when I made my way back to my hometown for a visit I was able to track down a few of my high school friends and get together for coffee.  Then last year when I went back home for a visit, our little group multiplied and 20 of us or so met for lunch.  This year?  Well, this year was something else entirely.  This year as we were "talking" back and forth via our very own Facebook group page (that was set up for our graduating class) I let everyone know that I was coming into town.   And like my last visit I wanted to meet as many as possible for lunch.  As it turned out, lots more than we anticipated wanted to join in the festivities, so one of our most gracious friends (who just happened to be visiting from Australia no less) and her mom invited all over to their house.  There were over 30 of us that ended up attending that day and boy, did we have fun.  So, this is my rendition of our time together on that very special day--my thoughts, emotions, feelings, etc.  It's a little scattered, like me.  But also, full of heart, like me.  Here goes nothing...

When did I grow up?  That's what I'd like to know.  How did I go from being just 17 years old to being (almost) 57 years old?  And what happened in-between?  I've got a lot of questions, that's for sure.  Lots and lots of questions.  They never stop actually.  My mind keeps whirling around until I am dizzy with questions.  Where have the last 40 years of me gone?  I had a life somewhere in there.  40 years of college, children, grandchildren, working, moving, houses, dogs, trips, you name it.  And yet, just how important were those things in shaping whom I've become today?  And what about before that?  What about my high school days?  How did those years shape whom I've become today?  I have so many deep thoughts--I told you so.

When we finally all got together that beautiful summer day I walked in fully loaded with questions just like those previously mentioned.  I wanted to know everything about all of them.  I wanted to know about their in-between lives.  Those years in between graduation and now--all 39 years of the in-between years.  I came armed with questions--are you married, do you have children, how about grandchildren?  Where do you live, what do you do, do you own a dog?  Yep, those were the questions I thought I wanted answers to.  However, from the minute I saw their smiles, all those questions faded into the background.  Not because I didn't care, no, that wasn't it at all.  It's just that when I saw them, I had a chance to actually see them.  The real them, the high school them.  The them without the stuff.  I looked into their eyes, and whether they were sad, broken, or happy-- for just those few short hours, I think we had decided to be the real us.  The 17-year-old girls from way back in the day.  The girls I knew, whom I had lunch with, talked with, had a class with, played sports with (OK, maybe not so much sports) but you get the gist.  We knew each other.  The real us.  Without fancy cars, big houses, jewelry, hot husbands (well, mine is) college degrees or major accomplishments.  We were all there and we were real.  We were the same.  Yes, that's it.  We were the same.  I didn't even have to close my eyes and imagine it.  Because for all the years that have passed and for all the time that has gone by--we looked and acted just the same to me.  I thought it would take time if it even happened at all.  I thought there would have to be a take a deep breath and relax time, a getting to know you again time, a can I trust you time.  But no, there was none of that.  We all just fell into a I already know you, I already feel comfortable around you and an I can't wait to talk with you again time.  Yes, that's exactly what we did, and I am so thankful.

I guess I didn't know what to expect.  So, as is my habit I hid once again, behind my camera.  I was afraid.  Would they like me?  Had I changed?  I was told I used to be quiet.  Really?  Me?  Quiet?  So, what were they expecting from me?  How should I act?  And as always, can my camera hide me until I am ready to be exposed?  I wondered--would they think I'd aged terribly?  What about my fat stomach, or saggy skin, or droopy eyes?  Don't laugh!  I was nervous!  I hadn't seen some of them in years!  And I do mean years.  So, I did what I usually do--I took pictures, all the while laughing and cracking jokes--which, however, is the real me.  We all wore name badges because face it, some of us had changed.  A lot.  However, I received something quite different from what I had anticipated.  What I got instead from those girls were complete and total love, acceptance and genuine friendship.  To the extent that I was mentally transported back in time to our senior year of high school.  I pictured us sitting on our senior lawn at school--eating lunch, hanging out, talking, and laughing, with our skirts hiked up tanning our legs.  We looked good back then, we look good now too.  I know this because of the looks on their faces.  We never stopped smiling or laughing or talking for a minute.  And I'll bet you anything if given half a chance we would have stayed until midnight.  Just catching up, just being there for each other, just listening.  And with me, just taking pictures.  Maybe it's just another way of me journaling what I see and feel.  As I look at the pictures I took that day, I see a beauty in the faces of my old friends that I once saw many years ago.

Yes, we've all changed, we've grown up, we've accomplished much.  And yet, we are all just the same as we were way back then.  And you know what?  I'm relieved.  I'm no longer nervous.  I'm no longer afraid that they won't like the real me or what I've become over the years.  Why?  Because on that one afternoon, we became friends all over again.  New friends, who were once old friends.  I'm closer to all of them now.  My high school friends.  The girls who in my mind are just as fun and beautiful as ever.

Out on the patio with some of my old high school friends

Hugs all around

Group shot

So much laughter

Looking at old pictures

Next year will be our 40th high school reunion.  40 years!  It's hard to imagine.  So much has happened to all of us in the last 40 years.  And yet, I know that when we are all together again, it will be like time has stood still.  We will laugh, and we will cry.  We will remember those who are no longer with us.  We will remember the good times and choose to lay aside the bad.  And we will be all be together again--same time next year.

Roadmap

I forgot my cell phone the other day.  We were on our way for a fun filled Father's Day extravaganza day (that's what we call special holidays) of shopping, food, and fun.  And there I was about 10 minutes from home when I suddenly realized that I had left my phone sitting on the counter.  My husband immediately turned the car around saying, you would not have a good day without your phone, so let's go get it.  I felt terrible, going all the way back home just to retrieve a phone?  It seemed crazy to me, however, he was right, I wouldn't have a had a good day at all.  That little cell phone is my only connection to my children, grandchildren, and friends.  We have no land line, no home phone, no voice mail, no way for others to get in touch with us in the case of an emergency.  So yes, it was important to go all the way back home and get my phone and then let the day start all over.

In the mean time, I wondered about what might have laid ahead of us had I remembered my phone.  Yes, this is the way my silly brain works.  What if...what if I had remembered my phone and we had been on our way.  Our way to what?  That's what I think about.  Yes, we had a plan.  We were headed somewhere.  We had a time, a place, a destination.  However, what if our destination was different from God's?  What if He used that I forgot my phone opportunity to change our destiny?  What if...

And that's where road maps come into play.  You know, road maps.  The kind that the Bible talks about.  
It says in Jeremiah 29:11--For I know the plans I have for you, declares the Lord, plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.
And in Psalms 37:23 where it says--The Lord directs the steps of the godly.  He delights in every detail of their lives.  

I gave my heart to Him 50 years ago.  Therefore these 2 verses, in particular, belong to me and anyone else who claims to be a Christian.  Don't they?  So, if He has plans for me, and if He directs my steps, then who am I to get upset or complain when things don't go my way?  Maybe He has a map that He hasn't shown me.  Maybe He has a plan that He hasn't discussed with me.  Maybe just maybe, I should sit back and let Him guide me.  It's what I do--most of the time.  I try not to get upset when I hit heavy traffic, I try not to get mad when others are late to an event, I try not to come unglued when plans fall through.  Please notice the I try part.  I do try--really hard.  Because I truly believe that God has complete control over my life.  I also truly believe that many times I fall so short of total trust in Him.  Sometimes I want to grab that map right out of His hands and say--let me take a look at that map, there just might be a better way!  Wow, really?  There just might be a faster, better, different way?  I seriously doubt it.  And also, I really seriously doubt that my ways are better than His ways.  Why, oh why then do I get so upset when...fill in the blank.  Why do I get so upset when I don't get my way, when I don't get to live where I want to when I don't get to control certain situations when I don't get to protect those I love, when, when, when....why?

I guess if I understood the what, whys, and wheres of each situation in my life I wouldn't need God.  But, the fact is I do need Him.  I can't see what is on the road ahead of me.  I need Him.  He's holding that roadmap and leading me along--steadily, strongly, safely, and lovingly.  He's got that road map memorized.  And if it were left up to me?  Well, who knows where I'd end up.  So, I'll make sure that I keep my hands off my road map, I'll make sure that I look to God for guidance and direction.  I'll trust Him, and sit back and enjoy the ride.  Because God also says that--my ways are not your ways.  And I am very grateful for that.  His ways are not my ways, His ways are better than my ways.  And to me, that is the most comforting feeling of all.  I want to live His way.  And if I forget my cell phone again, or being caught in traffic, or have to move again, or whatever it is big or small that He has planned for me, well, that's OK with me.  It makes life just that more exciting, and also restful at the same time.  Yes, that's it, it's restful.  I can go to sleep at night knowing that whatever tomorrow holds--it's going to be held in the very palm of God's hand.

I Remember Too

I wondered...will she remember this time?  No, of course not, I told myself.   She's far too little, far too young--and soon I'll be far far away.

I wondered as I sat there rocking her, singing to her, reading her little stories from her tiny little books--will she remember any of this?  Will she remember going to lunch with my friends, shopping at the mall, riding in grandma's car?  Will she remember the songs I sang, our fun little dance, my patting her back as she fell asleep for her afternoon naps?  Will she remember my smell or my voice?  And if there are any memories at all, what will they be?  These are the things I wondered about, as our car rolled out of our driveway for the very last time.

During the first year of my youngest granddaughter's life, I had the privilege of babysitting her.  Her mother went back to work part time, and I readily volunteered to watch her.  At 8:30 in the morning 3 days a week my doorbell would ring and there she'd be.  All snuggled in her little infant carrier dressed so cute.  I'd have her all day until 4:30.  And boy, did we have fun.  I took her everywhere.  Target, the mall, my friend's homes, grocery shopping, restaurants, you name it, we went there together.  The big joke was that she'd gone to more fancy restaurants than her parents.

There were also many days that we'd just stay home.  After all, grandma did have a house to clean and laundry to do.  She would sit there in her little chair, eyes following my every move.  We'd sing songs, do puzzles and play peek-a-boo.  I tried to make our boring household chores as much fun as possible.  Although I always figured I could get a lot done during her nap time, so most of the time we just plain had fun.

At the end of that first year, two things coincided--my husband was offered a job in another state and my daughter-in-law became pregnant with her second child.  That was a dark day for me.  Wait, let me explain.  I knew that within just a few short months my world was going to change.  We were going to be moving away and also my daughter-in-law was going to quit her job--which meant that I was going to be separated from my little granddaughter.  Now, I've done this before.  I hated it then and I knew that I was going to hate it this time too.  I was going to experience pain, heartache, great sadness, and depression.  They would be the same emotions I felt when my daughter moved overseas and then again to California, taking my grandson with her.  Sometimes I wonder (only to myself of course) if these children of mine know how incredibly hard that is for a grandmother to endure.  We (the grandmas) experience separation anxiety from being torn away from our grandchildren.  And they (the children) seem to do this at will.  But, I digress.

This story really is about something wonderful that happened the other day.  It's a true story.  However, let me preface it with this--I'm not so sure I really believe it.  So, you be the judge, I'm just telling you what happened.  And know this, I will cherish what happened all my days.

This last weekend was my youngest grandson's first birthday.  It was outside at a park with lots of friends, family, and food.  My daughter-in-law did a great job--there were balloons, a cute cake, decorations, the whole thing.  So, a couple of hours into the party, after the food, cake, and gifts, my little granddaughter and I were walking around talking to people when we came upon one of my kid's friends who'd recently had a baby of her own.  He was just a tiny little thing and was 2 months old.  He was sleeping peacefully in his little carrier.  My granddaughter (who is now 3 years old) looked at him and then up at me and said, Grandma, bremember when you used to carry me around in one of those fangs?  It's important for me to spell her words just the way she said them--she's so cute.  Anyway, I looked down at her and smiled and said, yes, I do, but how do you remember, you were very little back then?  However, she assured me that she did indeed bremember.  So, I said OK.


And then, just about an hour later as the party was winding down, I was sitting on a picnic bench in the shade.  She spotted me and came running over.  She crawled up on my lap all hot, sweating and tired and asked me to sing to her, just like I used to.  I asked her, what did I use to sing?  And she said, bremember, you would rock me in the chair and sing me songs, all the time.   My eyes began to fill up a bit with grandma tears, and I said, you mean like Jesus loves me and This little light of mine?  And she said, yes and the other one too.  Yes, I remembered the other one.  I will never forget it.  You see after I found out that I'd be moving away, I'd sing to her, You are my sunshine while fighting back tears.  Yes, I bremembered, and I'll never forget.  Not ever.  So there we sat, rocking slowly back and forth in the warm summer shade sitting on a picnic bench, while I hummed You are my sunshine.  No, I'll never forget, not ever.

For the rest of my life, I'll remember that day in the park.  The day my youngest grandson turned 1, and the day my little 3-year-old granddaughter said that she remembered--that a long time ago, Grandma used to rock her and sing to her and carry her around in her little infant seat.  And whether she really and truly remembers or not, she'll be able to one day read this little story about a specific time in her life, a time that her grandma remembers enough for the both of them.

Grandma's do count.  We really do.  We make an impression that lives on in the sub-conscience hearts and minds of our grandchildren.  Those simple little things that we do, they matter.  I have thus far been blessed with 5 grandchildren, and I hope before it's all said and done, maybe, just maybe I'll be blessed with a few more. And maybe, just maybe I'll get to sing to them too.  For they really are my sunshine.  They really truly are.

My granddaughter and her dog

Let's play chase grandma!

Robins Nest

I had two of them.  Two little nests, one tucked in between the branches of my tree in the front yard and another built high above in the crook of a gutter spout near my back patio.  Two nests, each with a mommy robin and two eggs.  I took pictures of them while standing out of sight with my telephoto lens.  I was hoping to stay far enough back so as not to scare them.  Once though while in my breakfast nook, she saw me and flew across to the neighboring tree.  She gave me the evil eye as if to say--stay away from my babies.  I was very careful after that.  It wasn't my intention to cause her any anxiety, I was just curious.  I had never before been that close to a nest, let alone one with real baby chicks still hidden away safe inside.

It kind of felt like I had a secret.  A little family of birds all my own.  I felt protective of them--always making sure that they were all right.  I worried when it was too hot and the sun was beating down on them.  I worried when it was cold and windy, with the mommy robin's feathers blowing fiercely in the wind.  And then one day the horrible of horribles happened.  We had a storm, and one of the nests was blown out of the tree into my front yard.  The only evidence--tiny little feathers scattered on my front porch.  I'm not ashamed to admit that I cried--just a little.  I was heartsick.  The incident made me all that more protective of my remaining nest and little chicks.

I was truly blessed one morning.  I got to see it.  Experience it with my own eyes for the first time in my life.  I woke up, and as was my habit, I went to the window.  There perched on the side of its nest was one of the babies.  He looked straight ahead at his mother who was about 10 feet across from him, and in one swift motion flew--he landed on the closest branch, his mother not far away.  I felt the intake of my breath as I literally gasped out loud.  It was beautiful to see.  I waited for a long time, I wanted to see what would happen next, but after several minutes realized that most likely he was going to stay on his safe little branch for a while.  He sat calling out to her, but she was waiting, teaching, being a mom.

They are gone now--mommy and baby.  I wonder--who will come back next year?  Where will the new nests be built?  I'm looking forward to watching and waiting and discovering, I love birds.  Always have.

I guess in some ways I feel like that mommy bird.  I watched her prepare, build her home, make it safe.  And in a moment...the nests are empty.  My chicks flew away a few years ago.  They tested their wings and then, in a breath of time, they were gone.  Yes, I think I feel her pain, for it happened to me too.

Mommy Robin

Feeding her babies

Watching protectively

                                                             

Baby bird