Thanksgiving Past

I think it's odd.  I can't remember childhood Thanksgivings.  I remember Christmas--who doesn't?  Presents!  I guess that's why I can remember almost each and every Christmas as a child.  But, that's for another post.  Right now I want to write about the first Thanksgiving that I can recall as a child.

I was probably 16, that's my best guess.  It was held at my aunt's house.  They lived in a great big old English Tudor and as you know, that is one of my favorite types of homes.  Hers was exceptional.  Huge, with leaded glass windows and arched doorways.  I loved that house.  I'm sure that it has played a big part in my love for old homes.  It would be interesting to drive by it now and see just how big it really is.  Sometimes as children, we see things much bigger than they really were.  I wonder if that's the case here.  It doesn't really matter though, it was big to me--I loved that old house.  I always will.

It seemed that on that particular Thanksgiving tons of relatives turned out.  I remember lots of aunts, uncles, cousins, grandmas, and lots of food.  Lots of food.  The table was decorated beautifully, that turkey had to be at least 25 or 26 pounds.  There was so much food on the table--so many side dishes brought by all the aunts.  We had to eat buffet style because there were so many of us.  But that was OK, we were just happy to all be together--one big family.  Afterward, the uncles and dads laid all over the sofas and chairs, rubbing their bellies and moaning.  Moaning about being overstuffed and blaming everyone but themselves.  And then a few short hours later the pies came out.  So many pies--of all types, but the star of the show was the pumpkin pie.  Yes, in my family--we are all about the pumpkin pie--we just love a good pumpkin pie.  And homemade whip cream!  Gotta have that.

We'd had a good day--full of family, food, and pie.  What could be better?  We were all cozy comfy with family all around.  It was a memorable day to be sure.  However, it has dawned on me while writing this that maybe it was memorable for me for another reason.  Maybe I remember it so well because it was the last Thanksgiving that I would ever spend with my cousin.  She died tragically in a car accident the next year.  That was my last holiday with her.  We were close.  And I miss her.  I wonder--what would she look like now?  Would she have children?  Where would she live?  And the lives of my aunt, uncle, and her sisters--how would they have turned out--how different would they be?  Her family was mightily affected, as were all of us.  And so, I remember that Thanksgiving past.  Yes, I remember it well.  My last Thanksgiving with her.

I have a tendency now for every holiday that I encounter to take a lot of pictures.  I have to.  I am obsessed.  What if--it's the last holiday that I ever have with you?  What if?

cooking in my old kitchen

The Day After

I made it.  I got through the first holiday of this season without sadness.  Well, almost.  I did get sad once.  When my daughter called from DC.  I got really sad then.  It hit me quite hard that she and her family weren't with us.  We talked with them via FaceTime on our iPad.  When I saw the cute little faces of my 2 oldest grandchildren I almost started to cry.  I didn't want to ruin Thanksgiving dinner though, so I sucked it up and smiled and kept on going.

It was hard for me to know that that day they'd be going to a restaurant and then to see the Muppet Movie.  I wanted them here with me.  I wanted to watch them eat turkey and pumpkin pie.  I wanted to sit and listen to their silly stories and I wanted to hear their--I'm thankful for this and that.  Yes, I wanted all of my children and grandchildren in the room with me for this Thanksgiving dinner.  However, it didn't happen that way.  We were only 2/3 full.

It's a new day today though and we are off to cut Christmas trees.  Our 2 sons, their wives, and babies and my daughter-in-law's grandfather--we're all going.  I love the place we go to, we've been going now for 12 years with them.  Ever since we moved to Ohio.  It's a wonderful little spot south of Cleveland.  They've not only got a tree farm, but a restaurant, a huge gift shop--full of wonderful goodies--a hay wagon pulled by horses, and best of all it's got our memories.  So, since we were driving to Cleveland for Thanksgiving it stood to reason that we'd go with our kids back to our magical place to cut trees.

Once again we will make more memories.  We will get up early, go to Starbucks (we need fortification) and tromp through the woods picking out trees, we'll walk through the awesome gift shop and then end with a fantastic lunch, then after we've seen and done it all, we'll come home and help decorate their tree.  And then like always I will sit late into the evening and edit the pictures that I've taken throughout the day.  The pictures that have captured the wonder of tree cutting with grandma and grandpa and the laughter of our children as they share past memories of coming to this quaint little place.

Yes, I made it through Thanksgiving without everyone coming to my house.  I knew I'd be OK, I knew I could do it.  I made it.  And I am so much more grateful and thankful than ever before.  Holidays are going to work out.  I am assured of that.  Whether they are held at my house or one of my children's houses, holidays will work out.  They always do.  I think because it's not where they are held but who they are held with.  Yes, I think I am finally growing up.  

Ring Those Bells

We're doing it differently this year.  The holidays.  It's going to be hard for me, I just know it.  However, I will have lots of little self-talks and I'll be OK, I just know it.  I think.  You see, I am more of a traditionalist than I once thought.  I guess I like everything my way.  I'm trying to change, I'm trying to accept that my children are all grown up and that they just might have ideas of their own.  Holiday ideas.  Not my ideas, but theirs.  And that's OK.  I think.

This year, no one will be coming to my house for the holidays.  Everything is topsy-turvy for me.  I decorated for fall--no problem--candles, warm colors, leaves, and potpourri.  But, no turkey for Thanksgiving, not this year.  This year we are going to my son's house.  I will still participate in the cooking, I will still bake the pies, and make my favorite dishes, however, we won't be at my table, we'll be at his table.  And that's OK.  I think.  We won't be using my fall dishes, or lighting my fall candles, or even using my turkey platter.  We won't be having pumpkin pie on my Christmas dishes or using my fall tablecloth or napkins.  No, it will be different this year.  And that's OK.  I think.

And since we are leaving the day before Thanksgiving and since no one will be seeing our home all decorated for fall and since we will not be returning until afterward we decided to decorate our home for Christmas before leaving for the Thanksgiving holiday.  Hmm, decorating for Christmas before Thanksgiving has even happened?  Well, that's a little hard for me.  I want to be honest here.  It's more than a little hard for me.  It's very hard for me.  I want to have Thanksgiving dinner here in my home, around my table, decorated just so and using all my wonderful plates, and glasses and serving pieces.  Yes, that's the real truth.  But, it's OK.  I think.

So here we are playing Christmas music and decorating our one Christmas tree.  Not two like we usually do.  Just one.  And instead of our house looking like a winter wonderland this year, it will look like just a little bit of Christmas because this year we won't be home for Christmas either.  We are going to our daughter's house.  I am excited about seeing all of my children and grandchildren this year--really I am.  However--I want everyone to come here--to grandma's house.  Where there are usually two huge trees, lots of smaller trees, lots of wreaths, garland, candles, German decorations, and all things Christmas.  Seriously it looks like Christmas threw up in my house--most years.  But not this year.  This year there is just one tree.  And just a few decorations--a couple of candles, no garland and honestly to me it looks kind of sad around here.

When we get home next week we will walk into a house that is semi-decorated for Christmas.  We will enjoy it for just a couple of weeks or so and then head out to our children's homes, making the rounds, delivering gifts and looking at their decorations.  They will not see ours this year.  And usually, I decorate for them.  The grandchildren--with little trains and snow globes--it's usually all for them. But not this year. And that's OK.  I think.

I am determined--I will play my Christmas music, I will enjoy the minimal decorations, I will eat off my Christmas plates and drink coffee from my Christmas mugs, and I will be thankful that I have a family.  One whom has so graciously invited us into their homes for the holidays this year.  And I'll be OK.  I think.

I'll be honest though.  I know what I'll be thinking about.  I'll be thinking about next year--hoping beyond hope that next year they'll come to my house.  And I'll be thinking that next year I'll really decorate.  I'll put everything out--all the trees, garlands, candles, dishes, lights, little trains and German toys--it'll look spectacular and they'll love it.  I'll see the looks in my grandchildren's eyes and I'll be so happy.

And I'll be OK, I just know it.  I think.  Next year.

hand made place markers--by my granddaughter

her little slippers

European Friends

There is something about them.  They make me smile and laugh, wonder and ponder.
They challenge me in a way no others can.  They stretch my mind and make me think.  Are there other ways better than ours?  Our American ways?  Are there ideas out there--inventions, concepts, theories and beliefs that compete with my own?  And why for so many years did I or do I now think that everything smart and inventive comes from my country?  Why?

These are some of the things I think about when I am with them.  As I stroll through boutiques, as I meander through long boulevards, as I sit in cafes or bistros, these are the things I ponder.  Small thoughts infiltrate my mind--even as I listen to their funny stories--these are the questions and thoughts that float through my head.

I sit and smile and share stories too.  I laugh and tease and tell funny jokes and all the while my little brain is working overtime.  Trying hard to figure out the cultures and customs of my friends.  My European friends--I love being with them.  They are very different from me and yet so similar.  And each year as I am able to travel or they are able to travel here, I make new friends and cheerfully add them to my entourage.

Sometimes while we are sharing a meal I will look around the table, I will intently watch each one as they tell a story or share a joke--they make me feel so warm inside.  They are such great friends.  We only get together every year or so and sometimes even 3 or 4 years go by without seeing each other, however, we always take up right where we left off.  Yes, things change--but usually for the better.  Some have started their new little families, some are getting ready to let theirs go, some are new grandmothers, some are just like me.

I always get so nostalgic when they leave me or I leave them--these friends of mine, I miss them so.  And even though we are separated by hundreds if not thousands of miles--we are close.  We have our laptops and iPads and iPhones with text messaging.  Modern technology is allowing us to maintain our long distance relationships.  We can share photos of our families and vacations and holidays.  We can make our plans for the next big get-together--even though sometimes we have no idea of when it will take place or who will be there.  We can still make plans.  Yes, in our hearts, we can still make those plans to be together once again.  To laugh, talk, and share our hearts and lives.

Them--those far away friends--whom I love so much.

Thankfulness

It's that time of year--when my thoughts turn to thankfulness even more so than usual.  I am by nature a very thankful and grateful person.  I reflect on all the blessings that God has given to me and I thank Him constantly--I really do.  It's funny though--even the smallest thing can set off deep emotions of gratitude--a leaf floating to the ground, a rosebud, a small little chickadee sitting on a branch outside my window.  And I am thankful for big things too, although it's those small things that can bring tears to my eyes.  They are tiny little gifts from God--small things that some never even acknowledge.  I see them.  The little things.  I guess that's how God made me.  A seer of the smaller things in life--of the little things that most walk right on by without ever looking--but I look.  I see them.  And I want Him to know that--I want Him to know how much I love, appreciate and acknowledge all He does for me.  Even the small things.

I could sit and make a list of all the blessings in my life, I guess that would be easy.  But, I'd rather just share my feelings about those gifts--those blessings.  I'd rather tell you how I feel.  How thankfulness began for me, even as a small child, how He literally saved me from a living hell on earth.  A child's nightmare, one full of fear.  He rescued me--so why wouldn't I be thankful?  He is a superhero--to this child at least, He is my savior.

I can look back and in my mind's eye--my memory, I can see how His hand was on my life from the very beginning.  He is my father and He has never let me forget it.  I have always felt Him near--protecting me, shielding me, nurturing me, loving me.  I've always known that He is able to do anything, anytime, anywhere--I've never doubted His power--I've just accepted it as part of His character.  In my heart of hearts I've always felt His love for me--never wavering, ever.

Thankful?  Yes, I am thankful.  How could I not be thankful?  And how could I not acknowledge the God who created me, loved me, provided for me, counseled me--how could I not be thankful?  That wouldn't make any sense to me.  To live a life of ungratefulness?  No, not me.  Not ever.

So, I live each and every day with praise, adoration, gratefulness, thankfulness and with a true appreciation
for what God has done and for what God will do in my life.  I know that I know that He is able to do all things.  I know that I know that He loves me.  I can sit back and chill out, I can relax, I can leave it all up to Him.  He has complete control over my life, and that's just how I like it.


And what is my part in all this?  Well, I pretend that I am 6 years old again, and as I look up at this great big father/God--I hold tightly to His hand.  I keep my eyes on His face, I keep in step with His guidance, I never let go, and I skip through life--smiling, trusting, happy, and carefree because I know that He will always take care of me.  No matter what is in the future for me--He will be there holding my hand--like the Father He is.  Maybe that is that child-like faith we are supposed to have, the tiny grain of faith that is the size of a mustard seed.  Faith equals thankfulness for me.  I will walk in faith--the faithfulness of God.

That's what I will be thinking of on Thanksgiving Day--as I spend the weekend with family and friends--I'll be thinking about Him.

Thankfulness--it's in my heart forever.

My Oldest Son

Today is my oldest son's birthday.  He is my middle child, the one I almost didn't have.  Or maybe I should restate that.  He's the one my doctor told me I might not ever have.  When my daughter was 2 years old we started thinking about adding to our little family.  We tried for months to get pregnant with absolutely no luck.  I was sent to a specialist who confirmed my worst fear.  It seemed that because of a female problem (the details aren't germane to the story) I most likely would not be able to have another baby.  His words to me were--you should be thankful that you ever got pregnant in the first place.  He was surprised that we already had a daughter.

I went home that day feeling extremely sad.  I had wanted several children, not just one.  I had wanted a houseful.  A big 2 story houseful.  I didn't tell anyone, I just kept the sadness to myself.  I didn't really even discuss it with my husband, I think we were both a little stunned at the bad news.  And most of all I didn't want to hear the words--well, you could always adopt.  I knew that.  But, I didn't want to hear it.  Instead, I prayed, but as each day passed I began to feel more and more desperate.  I read my Bible and I prayed and prayed and prayed.  And I believed.  Somehow I was going to get through to God and He was going to heal me and I was going to get pregnant.  I just knew it.  I even got so desperate that I decided that I was going to show God just how serious I really was.

There is a verse in the Bible in Matthew that says--But when you pray, go into your room and shut the door and pray to your Father who is in secret. And your Father who sees in secret will reward you.  So, I did that.  Also, I thought a lot about the way Hannah in the Bible begged God for a baby, and He gave her Samuel.  So, I decided that I would show God that I was as serious as Hannah.  I made a little space inside my bedroom right by my side of the bed and I prayed during my daughter's nap times--she slept for 3 or 4 hours at a time.  I was that serious.  I prayed that much every day and asked God to allow me to get pregnant again.  I asked Him to heal my body.  And He did.  Sometimes I think that maybe He just got so sick and tired of me praying, begging, crying out to Him--that He gave in to me, just to shut me up.  I don't know, but within a few months, I was pregnant.

When my daughter was 3 1/2 years old I gave birth one fall morning to a son.  All 10 pounds, 4 ounces of him.  He was huge.  My doctor was--to say the least--surprised that I was able to get pregnant, to begin with, but he was also surprised when I told him how God had healed me.  I had to tell him.  I just had to.  Wouldn't you?

Our next week in the hospital was a pretty bad one, I had complications due to his birth and was in intensive care, and then my son had to stay in for a week due to other issues, but we were soon released, and home with big sister and daddy.  Life was good, and I was thankful.  Very thankful.

My son turned out to be quite a lot like me in temperament and personality.  He didn't need a lot of sleep, and he was always happy.  He loved his big sister and with his little eyes, he followed her all over the room.  He didn't go through the terrible two's or any of the other horrible stages that most kids go through.  He was an easy one to raise.  Always the peacemaker and the loyal friend.  Being that he was such a big guy it was comforting for me to know that he was the kid in school who would stick up for the underdog and that he was not the bullying type.

Our rough time with him didn't start until he was 16 or 17 years of age.  Independence reared its ugly head, and once again I prayed like there was no tomorrow.  I didn't want to lose my son--I wanted him to remember that He was being raised to serve and love God.  However, he had other things in mind for a bit.  It was a hard time for me--those next few years.  But his behavior just encouraged me to pray even harder.

And then one day I met her.  His future.  His wife.  I knew from the minute I laid eyes on her that one day she would become my daughter-in-law.  And I believe with all my heart that God used her to draw my son back to Him.  She was just what he needed to bring him back.  Not that he had strayed far, I don't want to give that impression, but he had grown a little cold towards God, and that more than anything bothered me.

My son has been married for several years now and has 2 children of his own.  He is walking in the footsteps of his father--he is kind, loving, caring and most of all he serves the God we serve.  I am so proud of him and not a day goes by that I do not thank God for my children and grandchildren.

My son, the one I prayed for, is an awesome man of God.  He is a wonderful father and husband.  How could I ask for anything more?  He is my middle child, the one I had to work with so that he didn't get lost in the shuffle.  I had to make sure that even though he wasn't the oldest, he was still heard.  And even though he wasn't the baby, we still thought he was just as cute and funny.  We had to coax things out of him--we'd say--tell us what you think or how you really feel.  And even though his big sister was standing right there itching to talk for him, and even though his baby brother was right there trying to steal all the attention--we'd wait patiently for this gentle child to speak up.

So, happy birthday to my son!  You were a truly a gift from God all those years ago.  A real miracle.  May God continue to richly bless you and your family.  I will remain eternally grateful to be your mom.  You are and always will be my special gift from God.

my oldest son and his daughter

In-law Kids

I wanted 6 children.  Right off the bat, I knew that I wanted a large family.  A big large noisy family, and a big large wooden kitchen table, and a great big sofa--big enough to hold us all on movie night.  Those were the desires I held in my heart for my future when I was younger.  I ended up having half as many.  And that's OK with me, I am happy (more than happy) with the 3 children that God blessed me with.  Because in that blessing He also included 3 in-law kids.  Guess how much 3 and 3 is?  So, I have my 6 kids.  And in my eyes, those 3 in-law kids are mine--they became mine the minute they made wedding vows to my children.

It's funny--when my children were growing up I often wondered who they'd marry.  I wondered what type of personality they'd be interested in.  When they became teenagers I'd carefully analyze those they dated or flirted with--I wanted to get inside their heads--so to speak.  A pattern soon emerged, and yes, there were certain types that they were attracted to.  I'm sure they never realized it, but I did.  I would observe their faces and body language and then I'd know--they were interested.  I prayed hard for my kids--while I was pregnant and while they were growing up.  I asked God for all kinds of things--protection, wisdom, more wisdom, and I also asked Him to be on the lookout for my future in-law kids.  I prayed for them too from the very beginning.

I'd like to think that I played a match-making part in all of my children's love stories--most specifically in how they met their spouses, and since this is my blog I'm going to tell their stories my way--through my eyes.  Well, I guess it's more my story about their lives.  Whatever.  Bottom line--it's my blog.

My daughter's husband (before they were married) used to come over with a group of other kids from our church, she was 18 and had dated a few boys in high school, but nothing serious.  Let me set the stage--we had a pool in our backyard.  And fortunately for us, our 2nd-floor master bedroom bathroom window was right over the spot where the kids liked to hang out and talk on those hot summer evenings.  Don't judge me--but I'd sit there on the seat of my toilet, ear to that little bathroom window and listen to them--laughing talking, joking--they were a good group of kids.  There was one boy, in particular, that was a real cutie, he was painfully shy though, he'd laugh and smile but rarely talk.  I remember watching him--watch her, and I knew.  I just knew--he was twitterpated.  Yes, that's a word a made up word that I want to use.  He was a goner, he had those moonstruck eyes that would linger on her every move, he'd laugh at all her funny stories, and he never took his eyes off her.  I mentioned this to my daughter and she said--no mom, he's too cute to like me, he'd never ask me out.  I assured her that the only reason he wouldn't ask her out was that he was too shy, so I suggested that she ask him out.  She got up the nerve, and of course, he said yes!  They've been married now for 12 years and have 2 children.

I met my oldest son's wife at her parent's house.  They were the pastors at our new church.  As we stood there talking something strange happened--the hair on the back of my neck stood up as I realized that I was talking to my future daughter-in-law.  I'm not kidding, it's like I heard a voice saying--this is her.  I boldly asked her if she had a boyfriend, to which she replied, yes.  I then asked her if she'd ever seen my son in church, to which she replied, yes.  I then asked her if she'd like to meet him, to which she replied, yes.
My son had another girlfriend at that time too.  However, when I returned home I boldly told him what had happened and proceeded to ask him the same questions that I had asked her and he replied with the same answers--yes.  I introduced them in church the following Sunday and discreetly walked away when the sparks began to fly.  They've been married for now for 9 years and have 2 children.

And then there is the baby of the family.  I'm going to take some liberties here and tease my youngest son a bit.  You see--he's a looker, and fancied himself to be a real Don Juan--a player--at least that's how I used to tease him.  He dated a lot and probably only had 1 or 2 serious girlfriends but he dated tons of girls.  He was in no hurry to settle down--he made that clear.  He had a best friend who happened to be female.  They hung out almost every day.  In fact, sometimes they'd invite me to go along to the mall, or out to lunch with them--they were besties.  And then one day he came to me and confided that he had feelings for her.  He was so afraid to expose them, as he didn't want to ruin their friendship.  I remember sitting him down and telling him--no girl hangs out with a guy 24/7 if she doesn't have feelings for him.  She's always had feelings for you--tell her how you feel, I promise you, she feels the same way.  They've been married now for 5 years and have 1 baby.

So--you see, I had a hand in picking my in-laws kids.  I'm patting myself on the back as I type.  They are wonderful additions to our family.  They are the other half of my kids.  They are the in-law kids I prayed for.  I thank God for them every day.  I pray for them just like they are my own.  Because in my little mind--they are--they are mine.  I picked them--just for me.

From the Beginning

I keep thinking about something, so the best thing for me to do is write about it.  I can organize my thoughts as I type--while I can't seem to do so on paper.  It's very frustrating for me.  I wish that I could just keep a notepad with me at all times.  That way as thoughts come I could immediately write them down.  However, I seem to need a laptop.  I can only compose via computer.

So, today I kept thinking about my life--my past to be specific, but not my recent past or even my past of a few years ago.  No, I've been thinking all day of my past that was a long long time ago.  I'm not sure how much I should share.  I'm not sure if what I share will hurt others.  So how do I tell you something without crossing a boundary?  And you know how us psychology types are about crossing boundaries!  It's hard for us, we battle internal battles, we talk to ourselves and weigh each thought--running the sentences through our minds--will this hurt them?  Will that be too much?  Can I disguise it somehow?  


So, how do I tell you how it all began?  How do I explain the before and after?  I guess all I can do is try.  And then, I'll read it back to myself and make adjustments and hope that it all makes sense in the end.  That you somehow get the gist of what I am telling you.  I hope it makes sense and I pray that it does not offend.  It is never my intention to offend, only to share my life--from the beginning.

When I was 6 years old my life changed dramatically.  My parents became Christians.  In the real sense of the word.  They became followers of Jesus Christ.  They made the decision to accept Him into their hearts, and go to church and read the Bible and that's where my story should begin, but it doesn't.  My story begins at birth (well everybody's does I guess)  and after that, it begins with what I remember and I remember a lot.  Everything really, mostly--from the age of 2.  I was a very observant little girl, always silently watching.  And what I saw and lived through wasn't fun or normal.  Without encroaching on my parent's privacy, let's just say that my father drank a lot and he gambled and that my parents fought viscously.  No other details are necessary.  Just believe me when I say that God did not live in our home.  Not in any way.

I was a very frightened little girl.  There were many nights when I wondered if I would get something to eat, or whether the lights would work or whether we would have running water.  I knew that sometimes my dad did not have a job and I also knew that sometimes my mother did have a job.  To be blunt, and very honest--I hated the first 6 years of my life.  They were very unsettling for me.  In adult terms, they made me nervous.  Always jumpy and unsure.  Disconcerting.  6 years of fear.  I have to be honest, I have to say it.  It was horrible.  And yes, there was so much fear locked up inside of me that I wondered how I would survive.  I know I sound like a drama queen here, but you weren't there, I was.

And then one day, my parents started going to church.  There is a big long story around how that happened, but it is their story, not mine.  I am only sharing mine--for now.  As a 6-year-old, I wasn't at all sure what that whole church thing was all about.  Church?  Stories?  Songs?  Crafts?  More church? 
I remember thinking--I guess I could get used to this stuff, after all, it was kind of fun.  However, I wasn't so sure that I could get used to the difference in my home.  I'm not sure if at 6 years old I sat there scratching my head or not, but I do remember wondering--what's going on?  Why aren't they yelling, hitting, fighting, screaming and hating?  And just who is this God person?

Her name was Mamie.  That's what she told us to call her anyway.  She taught the 1st grade Sunday school class at the church we were now attending as a family.  I was painfully shy, so during story time she'd let me sit on her lap while she read the stories about Jesus and others in the Bible.  I felt so safe with her, and one day as she was talking about Jesus she said that He could come and live in your heart.   And that He would take away all the pain and fear--that I'm sure she saw that in my eyes--I just knew that I had to meet this Jesus.  She prayed with me that Sunday morning, and from then on Jesus has lived in my heart and I have served God.  I became a Christian that day.  I can close my eyes and still picture that moment vividly in my mind.  The day I met God, the day He became my real father.  The day my life went from hell to heaven, with just one prayer.  And now 50 years later nothing has changed.  He lives in me.

I've heard people say it's too hard to be a Christian.  Really?  Tell that to a 6-year-old.  There isn't one complicated thing about it.  It's simple.  And that's how it was for me from the beginning.  Simple, easy, holy, fearless, loving, awesome, safe and sweet--a sweet life from the beginning--after I met God.

Cancer

I found out today that another friend has been diagnosed with cancer.  I am sick to my stomach.  I have told her that I am committed to pray for her daily, and I will pray.  Believe me, I will pray.  I hate cancer--all diseases really--anything that can claim the life of someone whom I love and care about.

I guess after you reach a certain age it becomes much more common.  You get the email or phone call announcing --hey, I just wanted to let you know...
It just plain stops me in my tracks.  Literally.  I stop whatever I am doing and I find myself just staring off into space, and then I begin to process the news--I think about their families, and I began to slowly pray.  Please God, heal them, spare their lives, please.


I've had several such scares myself over the last few years.  The first one was when my husband was out of the country.  When my doctor began using the words--surgeon and tests and scans--well, I thought I had better let him know.  He immediately tried to fly home--only to find that every flight was booked.  He had to stay an extra night and was even more distraught than I was.  As it was everything turned out OK for me.  So, over the next few years when something has shown up on a test or scan, I really don't sweat the small stuff.  I always think--I'll worry when there is something to worry about. 


However, now the shoe is on the other foot, so to speak.  Something has shown up on one of my husband's tests.  It seems he has a nodule on his lung.  I'm a little freaked out.  I went with him for a CT scan this morning.  I won't be posting this blog until we get the results back.  I have been trying to pray.  No--I have been praying.  Please God--heal my husband.  I can't imagine a life without him.  You don't want to know my other thoughts.  Thoughts of him in pain.  Thoughts of him missing out on all the things of the future that we've dreamed of.  It's unbearable to me.  He really isn't talking much about it, but I know he's thinking, wondering, praying.

I have several friends and family members that have survived cancer--even the real bad scary kinds of cancer.  So, I know that I will not give up hope--for my husband (should the diagnosis come back bad) nor for my friend.  I will pray my brains out.  And I will hope and trust that all things work out for good.


The test results came back yesterday--and everything is fine!  Talk about feeling relieved.  I felt myself gulping for air, I had to take deep breaths, I guess I had been holding mine for days and didn't even realize it.  I just sat there thanking God that he was fine.  This morning again while I was praying I thanked Him even more.  I know that had things turned out differently we would have dealt with it, we would have gone through the motions--the testing, the treatments, the whatever, we would have prayed and trusted and cried and hoped.  But, I have to be honest here--I am so grateful right now.  So very very grateful that he is ok.

Cancer--I hate it.  I will pray for my friend, I will ask God to heal her body because I believe in a God that heals, I believe in miracles, I believe--period.  And I trust Him.  So, if you believe too, please say a prayer for my friend, it would mean a lot to me.