Hello Ireland, We Are Back

My love for travel started when I was about 6 years old. I didn't realize then that a little one-and-a-half-hour ride to my grandma's house would change my life. Sitting in the back seat, looking out the window, seeing blue skies, big puffy white clouds, and cows. We'd then drive by orchards, rice fields, and olive trees. I was hooked--I'd see birds perched on wires, old-time gas stations, and cafes. Travel soon became a goal. I just didn't know it then. So when my parents would tell us--we were going to grandma's house, I was ready in a flash. Adventure became a part of me.

So, my love for travel was born at an early age. When I became an adult, my husband and I planned weekend trips up and down the West Coast — from Mexico to Canada, from hotels to camping; we just wanted to explore. That eventually turned into international travel, and we looked for any excuse to travel.

We dragged our kids with us for as long as we could, and now, long after they've all flown the nest, we get to kidnap our grandkids. We take them camping as much as they'll come. And when they've outgrown that--we take them to Europe. Last year, we took our grandson to Amsterdam and Paris. He chose those cities for his high school graduation gift. This year, during her spring break, we took his sister — she chose Ireland. The land of many of my ancestors. We were just there in 2019, pre-COVID. So, being able to show her what we had discovered and, in turn, discover new things with her was fantastic. 

First, before I begin the story about our adventure, let me share a bit about our oldest granddaughter. We were visiting our daughter and son-in-law when my daughter's labor began. I was so excited to be with her during that time. Unfortunately, she had to have a C-section, so we waited until our little granddaughter was delivered, and then the nurse came out to get me. She said, " Come on, Grandma, you get to be the first to hold her. Your daughter is still in recovery. I looked around, wondering if this was OK. Me? First? OK!

What a joy. I held that little baby girl, rocked her, and thought right then — we're going to have a special relationship. And we do. She's almost 18 years old now. She's graduating from high school this weekend and is ready to take on the world. She's got several ideas of what she'd like her future to look like. Ireland, for her, was the first step. I was excited. I knew that traveling with her was going to be a blast. And it was. 

I learned a lot about Sophia during those two weeks abroad. For one thing, she's fearless. She could have made that trip solo and would have been just fine. She's highly independent and very easy to travel with. We drove all throughout the country, staying in five different hotels. Our hotel rooms were, for the most part, pretty nice. Some were better, and some were bigger than others. Upon traveling with her, though, I learned a few things — she loves hotels. One of the first things she noted was the lobby. She made us laugh — as she walked into each one, she would rate it immediately. Nice lobby, or where's the lobby? And next? The bathrooms. We'd walk in the door and into the bathroom, she'd go! A rain shower! Then, she'd sit on her bed--soft, big enough, her own nightstand, USB ports, water? She was our own private room checker. Another thing I learned about her was that she is very tidy. From her bed area to her suitcase to leaving the bathroom nicely--she made traveling with her a breeze. Her OCD grandmother was relieved and thankful for this newly discovered attribute! 

Sophia was also our free entertainment. She is hilarious. She made everything funny. She kept us laughing, from our small rental car to the tiny winding Irish roads, the baby sheep, and the castles. She just made everything fun. There was no time to get grumpy from jet lag with her around. Nope, we laughed our way through it. I would travel with that girl any time and any place. 

Hopefully, we have ignited the travel bug within her. She says we have. She's ready for another trip! And while it won't be Europe, how about a camping trip with grandma and grandpa to the Michigan shore? Yep, she's up for that. She's flying up to our house to go camping with us. It'll be her first time in our travel trailer.

I'm looking forward to her "review."  It's not Ireland, Sophie, but it's fun, I promise. So let the adventure of your life begin!

Granduations and Europe

My husband and I came up with a plan. Since we couldn't afford to take our children to Europe for their high school graduations, we'd take our grandkids! All eight of them. One at a time, of course, and as a gift for graduation. We thought the plan was ingenious. First, however, we had to let them know that these trips depended on our health. So no promises were made, only dreams. 

So, we made plans for our oldest grandson's graduation in June 2020. We bought airline tickets, train tickets, made hotel reservations, and dreamed — until March. And then Covid 19 hit, and all plans were canceled. So, it wasn't until two years later that we finally grabbed Jack, boarded the plane, and took off for Amsterdam and Paris. 

Excitement doesn't begin to describe how we all felt. So many emotions. We finally got to travel after 2 years of being stuck at home. Unfortunately, everyone else on the planet (at least it seemed that way) had the same idea that we did. Let's travel! We did not let that dampen our spirits, though. We boarded that plane, and away we went. Amsterdam, here we come. I did feel the need to warn Jack — we'll be tired, jet-lagged, homesick, hungry, needing a shower and a nap, and just a little bit grumpy. I didn't lie. That's just how it was. Especially since the room wasn't ready until 3:00pm. I'll admit something here--grandpa and grandson did lie down on park benches for a bit. I was embarrassed but totally understood. When you're tired, you're tired. 

Traveling with a grandchild all to ourselves was an experience to be savored. We got to know Jack in a new way. Sadly, by the time we left for Europe, he was already 21 years old; however, I was so thankful that he still wanted to travel with his grandparents. He's an "old soul" like me, an INFJ, so he has always been very easy for me to read. As we walked through Amsterdam, going into thrift shops, riding slow canal boats, and eating fantastic food, I knew he was happy. And, by the time we took the train to Paris, he was already an old pro at traveling through Europe. I had the feeling this would not be his last trip. 

Paris, as many know, is my favorite city. I've been many times. There isn't one thing about Paris that I do not love. So, when it was a city that he chose to travel to, I was so excited. I was going to show him my city. Again, a slight turn of events — a heat wave hit France, and it was horrible. Walking through streets that usually sparkled--they simmered in the heat instead. Also, it was mobbed because people had not been traveling over the last couple of years. I felt like I was visiting Disneyland. Tourists, children, traffic, long lines, humidity, dirty--so disappointing. However, I am the type to make lemonade out of my lemons. I was determined to show him that all was not lost. We made the riverboat rides, museums, and fantastic food as fun as possible. We stopped at many cafes, drank coffee, and just meandered. We were in Paris, after all. 

My husband and I have a goal. We want to infect our grandkids with the travel bug. We want them to think of nothing but travel when they get home. We want them to experience other people and cultures and be fearless. For me, the more I travel, the smaller my world gets. The more I travel, the more I want to travel. The more I travel, the more I learn and grow. It's a never-ending gift. And we want to share it with them — our grandchildren.

I hope they will never forget these trips and that, in the future, they share their stories about our European adventures with their children and grandchildren. I'm praying for that. Because in the giving of these trips, they are giving us so much joy. We love them so much, and we are so proud of them. They are all unique and have taught us about themselves and us. Seeing the generational sameness and yet the differences as young adults — it's an amazing thing to experience. 

So, while they are thanking us, we are the ones who are thankful. Our children have done a fantastic job raising their children. We are so blessed. We are so thankful. We are so appreciative. We will be forever grateful.

Slowly Fading Away

She is losing her memory of me. It is quickly fading. She tries hard to pull them out of the shadows, those memories. She complains that something is wrong with her brain and will bat softly at the side of her head. It infuriates her. Why can't she think or put two words together? Why can't she remember our names or where she lives?

Who are you again? What is your name? Where do you live? How old are you? Why can't you come to visit me? These are the questions she asks me. These are the tough questions that I find myself answering over and over again as she sinks deeper and deeper into the ocean of forgotten memories.  

The phone calls become harder and harder to get through without breaking down in tears. I feel such grief. I am slowly losing her. Very slowly. It's like having my heart ripped in two. She sometimes begs, like a child. Please take me with you. Why can't I come? Are you my sister? How do I, as her daughter, answer these questions without crying? I cried today while on the phone with her. She asked me, "Are you crying?" And when I said yes, she began to cry. Why are you crying? She asked. I didn't know how to answer. Do I tell her how sad I am? That I am already grieving her death? The death of her memory? And soon, her final death? And will it be easier? The final death? Or harder? I guess I'll find out soon.

I wonder now if I will lose my memories? My sister and I talk about it. Will it happen to us, we wonder? Both of our parents suffered and do suffer from dementia. Both. Our father died a few years ago. It nearly broke our mother; she would call out for him in the night. I could hear her crying. Even now, in her demented state, she knows who he is. She knows of him, not his name or who he was; deep down inside her psyche, she knows she is connected with this man in the picture. She likes the photos of our younger father. He's cute, she says. When I show her the oldest version of him, she pushes it away--no, the other one, she says, holding that picture close to her heart. This is the one I remember, she says. Interestingly, she remembers him from long ago, when they first met. I'm glad she has this imprinted on her heart. 

Will I be that way? Will I call out for my husband? Will I remember our lives together? Will I know my children's names? Will I recognize them when they come to visit? Or will I say--who are these strange people? It scares me. I don't want to live that way. Anything but that. Memories are something that I treasure. There are huge photo books in my home, along with many pictures in every room. Children, grandchildren, dogs--will I forget who they are? Will I forget my mother? 

Some days, sadness overwhelms me. I can go for days or weeks and not dwell on her and her disease. However, when I talk to her, it all comes back. Slow death. Memories lost. 

God be merciful. Take her soon. Please. Hear my prayer.

Spoons

There was a knock on my bedroom door. " Everyone wants you to come down and play," said my oldest son. It was one of the best requests I've ever received. Come down and play. My son and some of his friends were playing games in the basement. And they wanted to know if I'd play Spoons with them. That was something I'd never ever turn down. I got up, got dressed, and headed for the basement. Spoons it is.  

When your children are teenagers or young adults, you never turn down a request to hang out. You are well aware of the time shortage. It's ticking loudly in your ear. The clock of clocks, tick tock, tick tock. I lived in dread of the last alarm going off. I feared the day when there would be no one left to ask me to go down and play.

So, down I went. For a couple of hours, I played Spoons and laughed with a bunch of loud teenagers. I had the time of my life. They all called me mom, laughing so hard they snorted and made great, long-lasting memories--in my basement. 

For them, most likely, they've forgotten. Me? I'll always remember it. It was spending time with my children, who really were no longer children. It was that feeling of being wanted and of feeling included. I've always thought of myself as close to my kids, and that time made me feel like a part of them. Of their friends, of their lives, and of their memories. All over a game of Spoons. 

I've often wondered —what if I had been the type of parent who had said, "No, I'm sleeping or too busy watching TV"? However, my husband assured me they would not have asked me in the first place. They knew the answer. They knew that they were important to me and that I loved spending time with them, and still do. Even now, as adults, when they call us and ask, "Hey, do you want to..." we say yes. Even when we don't. 

My prayer is that I've passed that on to my kids. I pray that they play Spoons with their kids and friends and make memories — silly ones, important ones, memories that will last them until the clock stops ticking. I pray that they learned from us the value not just of being parents, but of building relationships. 

We will always say yes. We love spending time with them. So even when we're busy, even when we've already canceled plans, we try hard to always say yes. Because when your kids ask you to play Spoons, you do.

Taught By a 7 Year Old

I now have 8 grandchildren. Varying from ages 2 1/2 to 21 years old. I've learned a lot from them over the years. basic things like how to love deeply, protectively, and longingly. They've kept me humble and teachable and ignited my imagination. I love being with them. I always want to make myself available — to babysit and take them places. I love taking them shopping, camping, out to lunch, and sneaking them little treats. All those grandma things that parents shake their heads at. 

However, I mostly love sitting and asking questions. And that's where this story begins. I learned yesterday that I do not know everything. Even in my ripe old age of grandma life, I have much to learn. I was taught this very thing while sitting with my 7-year-old grandson. 

I'll provide a brief background on him. He is the second son of my second son. He looks like his uncle-- my oldest son in stature and height. And yet, oh and yet...he has the same personality as his father. In other words, I can read him like a book. Each facial expression I have seen before, each gesture, each shrug of the shoulder, they are all familiar to me. I'm sure he's not too pleased with that revelation. I am constantly one step ahead of his mischievous shenanigans. I believe the word imp came from him. He's adorable.

I was with these grandkids yesterday while their parents were at an appointment; I made it a day of asking questions and learning more about what makes them tick. Just what do they think of this and that? The 7-year-old and I had a fascinating talk about twins. He did not know that there were two types of twins. I mentioned that one type was identical in every way. Even their DNA. He listened intently. learning about the two types and asking questions--leading to triplets, and so on. Finally, after he'd heard enough, he had something he wanted to teach me. So, he very seriously rested his hand on mine and said--Grandma, they aren't identical in every way. Not exactly. They have different fingerprints. God made them unique. Each person has their own fingerprints. Then he held his fingertip to mine. Tears sprang to my eyes.

I had forgotten about the fingerprint part. So much so that I had to Google it. And, of course, he was right. We are all uniquely made in the very image of God. Each one of us, and it took a 7-year-old to remind me. 

My prayer is that I am always young enough to learn. Learn from anyone at any time. Even from a 7-year-old. And especially from my grandchildren. 

My Youngest Son--Part 2

To my youngest son,

December 27 is a day I remember! Happy 40th birthday. Wow, I am having a tough time wrapping my brain around this. My baby is turning 40. When did that happen? What has happened over the last four decades? And mostly, why did it go by so fast? I hope you know how much you are loved, how much you were wanted, and how proud I am to be your mom. 

When I discovered I would have my 3rd baby, I was so happy — for many reasons. To name a few--your big sister and brother were about to have another sibling! Your dad and I knew we wanted three children, so we were excited to hear the news! Baby number 3 was on his way. Oh, yes, I knew you were a boy before I was even tested. I just knew. Just like I knew you would be a great little brother. I loved that you were the perfect size when you were born, not too small like your sister or too big like your brother. Just right. Within a few months, I watched as your personality emerged. Super funny, intelligent, and easygoing. Until you were two, however, I'll skip that part; most kids go through the terrible twos, so why dwell on it? Right?

I always thought it was interesting when you were school-age. You were much wittier than most of your teachers. I could see it, but they could not. You seemed to outsmart them at every turn. But, once in a while, you'd get a teacher who saw you! The real you. The bright, witty Curtis. And they thoroughly enjoyed having you in their class. Those were outstanding years for you. They helped nurture you.

I never doubted that you would turn into the man you are today— a great husband, hard-working, and a great provider. A great father - you always loved kids! And, a wonderful son. But, I can honestly say a son who became a real man- thank God for answering my prayers. And by real, I mean gentle, tender-hearted, and kind - actual fruit of the spirit. When I carried you, I prayed for you just like I did for your siblings. I prayed for your childhood, adulthood, and future spouse and children. And God, in all His wisdom and mercy, gave me you and answered every prayer.

Continue, Curtis, to always put God first, serve Him all of your days, and do what is right in the sight of God. These are the words of wisdom I want to give to you. You are an amazing son. I am so proud of you. I love you so much. I love everything God has done in your life, and I will continue to pray for you until I take my last breath. 

Happy 40th birthday!

God bless you and yours, and thank you for being my son.

Love, Mom

This Is Where Home Is

As I age, I always make wonderful and fascinating discoveries about myself. For example, I discovered that my true home doesn't reside inside a house. It's taken me all these years to discover that my true home is where my husband, children, and grandchildren live. Not in proximity to my house, per se, but almost. It isn't necessarily living distance--it isn't as though I need to live closer to them (although I certainly would be okay with it). It's more like a feeling of closeness when we are all together. That time of "living" and "being" together. 

Our sons live within a 30-minute drive, and our daughter lives about 6 hours away. And my life feels complete when she and her family visit and join us for the holidays. That's the only way I can describe it. It's a completeness that makes my heart feel safe. Knowing that my baby chicks are within my wings' reach. Silly as it might seem, it's a feeling that appears extremely real to me. 

Yes, there are some holidays, some horrible holidays, that I have to share my children with their in-laws. I will be sincere here and say I hate that part. The part about sharing my kids' lives. I don't want to share. I understand that the in-laws also wish for their time; I really do. I just don't like to share. I want my kids close by — joining in our family fun, playing games, laughing, eating, and watching TV together. Sometimes, I want to stop time. I want them home. With me, especially during the holidays. It's a weird feeling; it feels selfish, yet they, indeed, are my feelings. My very selfish feelings. 

Tonight, as I write this, everyone is where they are supposed to be— according to me. My daughter and her husband are sleeping here at my home, and my oldest grandkids are here as well. My sons are close by, all within 30 minutes of each other. That is home to me. It's that special feeling of peace, safety, and love, and once again I feel as though I can protect them — for I am their mom. 

How do I describe this feeling of home any better than this? For this is where my home is. It's in the heartbeat of my family. Snuggled in their beds, safe and sound, with their mom watching and praying over them. Just as it should be. 

Merry Christmas, kids — I'm so glad you are home.

Christmas Time

I find myself becoming so reflective at Christmas time. I think most of the birth of Christ and what God means to me. And also, I think a lot about my memories. Many of my memories involve my parents and relatives; however, most are of my husband and children. They are memories of past Christmases. All that to say — I am reflecting. And, when I remember, I learn about myself. When I do that, I can grow and change, hopefully for the better. That's what this is all about. Growth and change. 

I actually have a lot of quirks. Most people don't care for their idiosyncrasies; they wonder if they irritate others, are too different, or fit in. They question themselves. Oddly enough, I don't do that. I have learned to be content and embrace my quirks. I like them. I'm a little strange, and that makes me--well, me.  

During our pandemic years, each person I've talked with had a unique way of dealing with their isolation. My method was to pretend it wasn't happening. So, each morning I made a plan. I got up, drank my coffee, got ready, and went somewhere--anywhere. I had to go and get out. My husband and I did some pretty silly things. We made picnic lunches and ate them in the car by ourselves. We took long drives along Lake Erie. In other words, we made the best out of a bad situation. As restaurants and businesses were closed, we were forced to make do with what we had. We did a lot of hiking and biking. Cleaning and baking. Remodeling and gardening. Anything to make the time go faster?

And now that things are back to normal and we are about to experience a typical Christmas with family and friends, I have begun to reflect again. I can look back on 2 years of crummy Christmases and holidays and see that growth took place.  

I've come to realize this: I am living each day as if it's my last. I get up thankful, and I go to sleep grateful. I get ready each morning, and I'm ready to explore, wonder, and appreciate all that I've been blessed with. I plan my days and fill them with time with my friends. I make plans to get together with my children and grandchildren. I want to experience life to its fullest each day. So that when I lay my head down at night--I can say--this has been the best day ever. I can pray and thank God for all that happened — good and bad, for each encounter —and I find that each endeavor is a learning experience, and I can see growth in my life. It draws me closer to God, makes my heart more thankful, and makes me reflect on the goodness, mercy, and grace of the God I serve.  

What better time than Christmas time?  

Time to reflect, time to heal, time to praise, time to worship--at Christmas time.

11 Boxes

I don't know how it happened. Well, yes, I do. I know how it happened. It happened because I love Christmas. I do. I love it so much that I've lost all self-control. So I have boxes and boxes of decorations. And that's not including the trees, wreaths, and garland. In those 11 boxes are nothing more than knick-knacks and bric-a-brac, from Santas and sleighs to candles and manger scenes. And believe me, each one holds a memory.

Some were given to me by friends, and some were handmade by my children. Some were from European Christmas markets, and others were found in wonderful gift shops. So tell me then — which should I dispose of? Which memory shall I throw away? This is what I face each season as I ask my husband to haul those 11 boxes down from the attic. So what do I do with these memories of mine?

After almost 49 years of marriage, 3 children, and 8 grandchildren, do I toss the handmade ones? Do I throw away the photo ornaments? How about the one from Germany that we picked up on vacation? Do you see the dilemma here? This is what I face each year.

We have substantially downsized our homes, which means fewer rooms, fewer walls, and less floor space. So, where do I put my treasures? As I walk around our house, where do these memories hang? 

However, I've made myself a promise. Each year, I will donate one box of tchotchkes until decorating for Christmas is manageable. Notice that I did not promise to stop buying. I cannot stop doing that. It goes against my nature. But, donate, I will. And I did. After putting out my favorite and most loved items, I donated one box to charity. I shall never again view, touch, or hold those memories in my hands. They are gone. Hopefully, to create a memory in someone else's home. 

And as we pack up 10 boxes of decorations after Christmas this year, I hope I don't miss that 11th box. With 10 left to love and then deciding next year what to donate, I shall be happy with what I'm left with. 

I want to avoid the after-Christmas sales and not fill the 11th box again. But I'm really going to try. I promise. I really do.

It's Not Writer's Block

No, it isn't writer's block. I don't have time to write. It could be a time block. I just don't have time. I love to grab my computer and jot down some thoughts and ideas, just as I love to grab my Kindle and read a bit. However, I am at a loss for time. 

By the time evening rolls around, and dinner is made, I'm ready to cozy up, throw a blanket on my lap, watch some TV, and knit. But, instead, the thought of thinking hurts my brain. It's a problem, though, that needs to be fixed. I need to write. It's how I process; without it, I will eventually crash and burn. And nobody wants to see that.

Without this way of processing, my thoughts tend to pile up like a wreck on a foggy night on the freeway. Get the picture? As each story of my day or week goes by without an outlet, my brain begins to feel overcrowded. Things get messy up there, and pain (also known as emotions) begins to back up. I truly never realized how much I depended upon this outlet of writing and how important it is to me.

My goal now is to write about something going on in this brain of mine. I want to put my thoughts down and clear this backlog of emotions. I find that by just grabbing my laptop and writing — poof. Brain drain commences. It's incredible -this way of downloading my innermost thoughts. It's like jumping into a pool on a hot summer day. Refreshing is the word I'd use. I need to be refreshed weekly, if not daily. 

So, there you have it, my first of many brain dumps. I promise to start the week off right —brain dump at least once a week. Tell my stories, share my thoughts, and make writing a part of my life again. Story by story, I'll make time for writing. I promise. 

Memories of Laura

My first real friends were my cousins. Perhaps yours were also. I have 33 first cousins. Yes, you read that correctly. I was one of the oldest, which I liked. It meant that most of the time I was a ringleader, especially for the girls. Depending on which side of the family we visited, the type of play that transpired varied. And just how bossy I could become!  

This particular memory is of my mother's side. I am writing about my younger cousin Laura. She was 4 or 5 years younger than me, the daughter of my mother's oldest sister. I was the oldest girl cousin and, yes, very bossy. Laura's older sister and my little sister were the same age and hung out. My job was to watch out for them as we all played together — making sure they toed the line. My relationship with Laura was a little unique, as we had many things in common (despite our age). One of which was our love for animals--primarily horses. Man, could that little girl draw! She would sit for hours drawing pictures of the most beautiful horses. I loved seeing them as I had absolutely zero drawing ability. We would sit for hours talking about horses and dogs, sharing books and movie recommendations, and we loved being together. Even though several years separated us, we were very compatible. 

For many years, as I was growing up, my family would go to theirs for Thanksgiving or Christmas. My aunt always bought my sister and me little gifts that meant so much. I have such great memories.  

And then something horrible happened. My aunt, uncle, and 2 of my cousins were killed in a horrific private plane crash. Laura and her older sister were not on the plane and were left without their parents and siblings. They were only 16 and 18 years old. Laura went to live with her older sister and, in my opinion, never fully recovered emotionally from that horrific accident. 

Still, though, we remained close — the 3 of us —and lived close to each other for many years. Laura had a son and then eventually a grandson. She had her job, raised her child, and had a few friends. As the years went on, she became increasingly withdrawn. She developed some major medical problems and had significant weight issues. The more weight she gained, the more of a recluse she became. When I would come home for a family visit (from 2500 miles away), she would make excuses not to join our cousin's family reunions. It made me so sad.

We conversed via Facebook and emails, and she even commented on my blogs. She was a faithful reader. I loved reading her posts, opinions, funny memes, and comments. Oh, how I shall miss that. You see, she passed away last week in her home from natural causes. Most likely heart failure. She was alone and seated at her desk, probably getting ready to type something funny on Facebook. Just a few hours before, she had posted funny comments on some of my grandchildren's photos. And, now she's gone.

That fast, that quickly, her death sneaked up on us all. I shall miss her tremendously. However, her sister, who is now my closest cousin, my soul sister cousin, shall miss her the most. She will need loads of prayer. She has now lost her entire immediate family. Thank you, God, that she also has lots of cousins to pray for her. She has an awesome husband and three wonderful children to help her through this loss. She has great friends and a wonderful church family. And she will need them because a loss like this is significant.

I will miss you, Laura. I know that if you were reading this blog, you'd be telling me not to be so sad. You would be telling me that you are happy. That you are not only with your God, but also with your mom and dad, your brother and sister, and our grandparents! You would tell me — it's okay, I'm happy. So, Laura, I will heed your words, and I'll be happy for you and take care of your siste — -don't worry.

Rest in peace, sweet cousin; I shall miss you forever.

When I Was Born

When I was born, I was born into a family of three. Soon after, my little sister was born. Now we were four. And then, when I was eight years old, I found out that I had an older half-sister. So we were now a family of four and a half. Kind of. However, that's a whole other story.

I had a Granny and Paw Paw and a Grandma and Grandpa. I was closest to my Grandma; we were thick as thieves, and she was pretty much my favorite person. I also had 9 aunts and uncles, then add in their spouses, and voila! 18 of them. Add their children to the mix, and before too many years had passed, I had 14 cousins on my mom's side and 17 on my dad's. So yes, 31 first cousins — to play with, grow up with, hang out with, and learn all about those close family ties that are very important to our development. 

Let's not forget my parents' cousins — I actually thought they were also aunts and uncles in my early years, which added to my cousin count. I was in heaven--so many little cousins to play with. So many cousins to have fun sleepovers with, share secrets with, and, yes, even fight with. We were a brood to be reckoned with, that's for sure. Hurt one cousin, hurt them all. We were a fierce bunch. It's funny that one particular cousin has become more like a sister to me. I've nick-named her my soul sister cousin. We have become very close over the years. We have each other's backs. We pray for each other, listen to each other, and try hard to see each other across the miles as much as we can. Those family ties are just that important. I don't ignore those. They are even more crucial now than ever. Memories are what I will have to hold on to in the future. So, I will work my hardest to preserve them.

As one of the oldest cousins, I observed our family's growth. Many babies, lots of little ones running about, and a couple of older cousins that got us into trouble--more than a few times. I believe my best memories are those that wrap around my extended family. They were incredible times, from playing in their backyards and in the sprinklers to having sleepovers. I miss them. A lot. The older I get, the more precious those memories become. I want those times back; there are things I want to say to some of them. Especially to those I've lost.  

As I've mentioned before, I was closest to my paternal grandmother —we were 2 peas in a pod. I'm told I look like her, act like her, and have the same sense of humor. That makes me proud. I wish I could have told her how much I love her. I valued those summers staying at her house, picking blackberries, and making cobblers. I loved staying up late, watching TV, and laughing. I also want to tell her that I saw her cheating at poker and never said a word. She was awesome!

I have others in my family who I was close to — for example, my aunts. One died of cancer,  another aunt from a plane crash, and another from a heart attack. Gone way too soon. Sometimes, I get very nostalgic when I think of things they've missed out on. I wish they were still here. I want them to see what I've seen. Their children and grandchildren...so much loss.

And then there is the horrific loss of 2 of my nephews at ages 17 and 24, and my niece at age 6. What do you say when you think of them? How does one heal from the loss? When I dwell on what they were unable to experience in life, it is too much. To lose family creates a deep sorrow. It is an emotion that should not be visited often. Instead, I believe we should dwell on the memories--the good ones, the funny ones, the stories of our family that bring about a smile. I like to let that smile rest a bit deep inside of me and then move on.

I wonder what my children's memories will be. Of their grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins? Will they be bittersweet, like mine? How different will their perspective on life be? Will they be shaped by their memories like I was? And, will they one day look back and wonder--what should I have said when I had the chance?

I am thankful for my family--for all of them, from young to old, from the past and the present; I absolutely love the memories, from when I was born.  

I Chose The Good Things

It's true about me, I'm a little Pollyanna. I can't help myself. It's just who I am. I chose the good things. o look at, to live through, to cherish, even in the really bad times--silver lining and all that.    isn't that I don't see it or feel it--those bad things, I do.  It's just that after a time of praying, analyzing the situation, and going through the emotions of it, I chose to look at the positives. 

So, here they are. When COVID hit our world, it took a devastating toll on me. And others, I am sure. People were dying, being locked up in their homes, and losing family members and friends.  Businesses were shutting down, and restaurants were closing. It was horrific. And I became very depressed.   knew it wasn't a deep depression where medication was needed. I knew from my education that it was clinical depression. So, after really praying hard about it, I looked beyond myself and decided to keep busy. I had no idea how long this COVID-19 thing would last, but I was determined to do my best.

Before the vaccines came out and we knew that European travel was out at least for a few months, we bought our first little travel trailer. We made our own happiness.  They traveled locally mostly, as some states (I know, hard to believe) were shut to us. When that first summer was over, we had no idea that summer number 2 would be just as bad. But I'll get to that later. During that first summer, as I said, we had to make do with the resources we had.  We had our RV, our home, and our family, as friends weren't allowed to gather. We watched church on TV, did minimal shopping, traveled about in our RV, and did some home improvements. In other words, we made the best of a bad situation.  

When we bought our current home almost 4 years ago, we knew that every single room required renovation. We did the kitchen and bathrooms right away, and then, room by room, we changed out the flooring, painted, and put in new lighting. Our home was built in 77' and hasn't really been touched since. We had a lot to do.  Oh, what better time than during a pandemic, right? That first summer, we began slowly, one room at a time — first our master bedroom, then the bathroom, then came the... well, you get the point. There was so much to do. 

We made it through that first year by keeping ourselves very busy. Then, the following spring, vaccines came out. We were so excited; we lined up, got jabbed, and thought — woohoo, Europe is next! Nope. It didn't quite happen that way. Not everyone got on board, and so the virus grew.  If any businesses remained closed, many more people died, and depression once again reared its ugly head! I thought we were done with this! Why weren't people taking this seriously? Also, during that time, I lost many friendships and family relationships--I blame it on the cult of Trump.  I won't go into that here. It's too heartbreaking.

Summer number 2, living with Covid, brought about an even bigger RV, and again, away we went. We were now allowed (because of vaccines) to travel to other states, so we ventured further out. We had a wonderful summer- weeks away, 2 weeks home. However, no European travel for us yet.  We then again decided to finish up the restoration of our house. We had always figured it would take us about 5 years' worth of home projects to finish it, but thanks to Covid, we are now in the home stretch. We are almost done!  It's February now, we will begin our camping travels again in April, and if things go according to plan, we might even get to go to Canada this year! Alas, no Europe, however. That will have to wait another year. I know I wouldn't be able to handle wearing a mask on a plane for 9 hours, plus the airport time — forget it. With my allergies, cough from medication, and asthma--I wouldn't make it. It would be too stressful. I'll have to wait.

It seems as though this virus is dying out. Yes, there are variants; however, those of us who are fully vaccinated will most likely live through them even if we get COVID.  And, one day, life might return to normal--no masking, with stores and businesses reopening, etc.--one day, soon, I hope. I want normal again. I liked normal.  I felt safe. I got to do what I wanted when I wanted to do it. I got to go places and see people. I was able to be in large groups without spreading out. Starbucks used to be open--all the time!

I want normal again. However, until that happens, I will choose the good things to dwell upon. I will try to keep busy, and I will pray for my friends and family (even though they've dumped me for their cult leader). I will plan trips, whether they are in an RV or eventually to Europe.   will think of new fun things to do at home, invite friends over, be with my kids and grandkids, and, most of all, be very thankful. I will continue to choose the good things.

 

Bye bye Cora, Hello Fiona

Well, that didn't take long. One summer camping in a 23-foot travel trailer changed our lives. We were hooked. Glamping, it seems, has become an obsession. o much so that we sold our dear little Cora and bought great big Fiona.   30-foot Jayco.  

It was sort of hard for me at first. Letting go. he was so very cute, our little Cora, and she had personality and was just the perfect little weekender trailer.   However, we found out that weekends weren't our bag. 2- or 3-weekers were our bag, so to speak. Oh, we sold Cora, and when Fiona arrived, we packed her up, and away we went. It's true, Fiona doesn't quite have the same looks or personality as Cora, but I've tried hard to make her homey. They decided that we'd travel for 2 weeks every month. We started in April. We've gone from Virginia to Michigan to New York and all points in between. I am now exhausted. Oh, not really. I had fun. nd I'm a little tired.   I'll admit it.  

Fiona, though, is pretty stinking awesome if I do say so myself. She's big, has 2 recliners, a fold-out sofa bed, a nice-sized dinette, tons of storage, a huge shower, more storage, and a real closet in the bedroom. I'm in glamper heaven. Camping for 2 weeks or more in Fiona is just like living in a really tiny house. In fact, we now call her our little Paris apartment on wheels. The only thing missing is a washer/dryer. And most campgrounds have very nice laundry rooms. So, I'm all set. 

And we did get to visit most of the locations we were shut out of last year due to the pandemic. Finally, it's been a great summer. We still haven't camped in Canada, but we'll most likely be able to go without restrictions next spring. That's our hope, anyway! We've had our vaccines, including boosters, and predictions are that the virus is waning, so we're praying hard for some normalcy to return. It has felt much better this year.

It's kind of funny, this nomad life of ours.   love going, yet about halfway through our trips, I am overwhelmed with homesickness. I ride it through, though, and then I'm good to go for another week. I think we're home now for most of the fall months, we might do a weekend or 2 here or there, and then winter will set in.  

I'm sure we will sit down on some snowy evening, with the fireplace burning and laptops open, and we'll be planning our spring/summer trips for next year. We're already talking about going to Yellowstone, Canada, and the East Coast shoreline.  

For me (I'll just speak for myself), I am feeling an urgency due to age, I think.   want to travel, see the sights, hike, and explore — before my energy runs out. I know, hard to imagine. But the feeling is there deep down inside. Go now, before it's too late. It's got to be an age thing.  

And, then, there's Europe. Oh, man. Now I long for Europe. I want to get on a plane and fly so badly.   want to step off that plane and hear a foreign language.   want to walk cobblestone streets again and eat great food. I want to see old buildings and be in a different culture. And hotels! Did I mention hotels? I haven't stayed in a hotel in almost 2 years. That's a record for me! When will it happen again?   don't know.   en it does, though, I'll write about it. OH, will I ever! However, until then, it's all about the glamping life.  

Call Me Ina

It happened like this.  

It was a strange day. To begin with, I woke up a little sad. It's not unusual for me to wake up needing 3 cups of coffee before I can converse, but I don't usually wake up sad. However, that particular morning, I did. And my husband suggested a ride and a brunch date to cheer me up. It was a lovely day, with sunshine but a little too much wind. Too cold to sit outside anyway, so we opted to ask for a table indoors when we arrived at one of our favorite restaurants. 

I couldn't believe it when they said they were full and wouldn't be able to seat anyone else, as they were closing soon. I was (again) so sad. So, we decided to order food to go and have a car picnic instead. We have been having those over the last few months due to the pandemic we are all in. We've been making the best of our new normal. Now that restrictions are being lifted, though, we've been having fun going out to eat, shopping, and trying hard to have a life again.

So, although on this bright, sunny day, when we thought our plans were ruined, God had a different plan. It turns out I was about to have a "God moment" or a "divine appointment". I was about to see God at work around me.  

As I was waiting for our order to be brought up front and my husband went to get our parked car, I was being observed, unbeknownst to me. And as I was paying for my order and starting for the door, a young woman was also heading towards the door. I immediately stepped back and insisted she go first; of course, she did the same. We laughed, I walked out, and then I held the door for her. It was comical; we both were smiling, even with our masks on. 

As we were standing outside the restaurant, ready to go our separate ways, she asked if she could ask me a question. Sure, I said.

She said, " Has anyone ever told you that you look like Ina Garten? And I laughed and said yes. It's my haircut, I have a round face, and I'm short. She smiled and said, I think it's because you look so cute and lovely. Your outfit is so cute, too. Ina seems so sweet, like someone you want to hug, and you know she'll hug you back. She looks so approachable, and so do you.  

Tears sprang to my eyes, and I was then so happy that I had a mask on. I wanted to go right over and give her a hug, and I know she felt the same way. COVID has a way of stopping those hugs; we've all been conditioned to stay 6 feet apart! But, you see, I've been so lonely this last year. Since I haven't been around people, I haven't been able to "minister" to anyone. I've been complaining quite a bit to God in my prayer time. How does a person with a counseling ministry counsel during a pandemic? How do I comfort, hug, and pray for people? It's been so hard. Or shall I confess--heartbreaking? That's how it's been for me these past few months.

And then, right there in front of a bit of a brunch place, stands a young lady, probably in her 20s or 30s, wanting either to get a hug or give one, and she speaks up and says something! That's why it was a God moment. However, I was the one who was ministered to that morning. In just those few moments, I received a spiritual hug from God. It meant the world to me. As my husband pulled up and I got into the car, I could barely speak. I needed time to process what had just taken place. God had met me in a real time of need. An emotional need, but a need nonetheless. 

And that is how He works. He heard my prayer. He saw what my heart needed. And He answered me when I called. He used another human being to come alongside and say--You look huggable, and " You look nice and safe. It's the way God made me, the way God uses me. And it made my day.  

I know myself. I know what I'm going to do now. I'm going to be praying every day for that young woman. So that — if she doesn't know God, she'll meet Him.  And if she does know God, she'll let herself continue to be used by Him. I'm going to look for her every time we go to that little restaurant on the other side of town. I'll never forget her. She ministered to me that day. And I hope she prays for me, too. I hope she prays for Ina. 

Kids These Days

I'm going to ask your forgiveness before I even begin writing this blog. It might hurt a little. It did for me. Taking that long look back, seeing where I failed, asking God to forgive me, and then praying that I didn't leave any long-lasting scars. 

You see, what I have learned over these past 6-plus decades of life is that it's all in the modeling — raising kids, that is. You lead, they follow. whether we want them to or not.   They do what we do. They see it all. nd much to our chagrin, they're just like us.   The good and the bad.  

What prompted me to begin this? Millennials. nd those who don't like them are in those who constantly complain about them. Those millennials, they say. If it's such a derogatory word, I want to ask — who raised them? Those silly millennials with their heads in the clouds, making mistake after mistake, and most definitely not doing what they're told. Who, in fact, raised them?  

There it is. There's the truth staring right back at us. The mirror.  Why did no one tell us that our kids would be a direct reflection of us — that is my question!   Maybe I would have tried harder — parenting, I mean. Maybe I would have been just a little more like Jesus and a little less like me.  

So, what brought this on? People on social media are complaining, blaming, and calling out the kids in their 20s and 30s.  Call them out all you'd like; however, you're looking in a mirror. And, maybe, just like me, you can admit that you might have failed, at least in some respect. At least, concerning the parts of them you don't like. Let's break it down, shall we?

What exactly did your kids see in your home? You know, the one you raised them in? Did they see what the Bible refers to as the Fruit of the Spirit? Love, joy, peace, and patience? Did they see meanness, sadness, arguing, and impatience? For me, honestly, it depended upon the day.   tried, I did.   However, sometimes, ok, most of the time, I failed. Sometimes I didn't show much love. nd there were many days when being joyful wasn't on my calendar.   ace? What 3 kids? You've got to be kidding me! There were many days when I wondered if I'd get through those child-rearing times. And what about the times people would pull out in front of me on the freeway and cut me off, and oops, there I'd go, yelling at them again! Patience? Fail.  

I know what my kids saw at home.   was there.   They saw a mom who failed many, many times and then got back up the next morning to try all over again. Which made me wonder —how did I parent? My folks or Jesus?   often wondered what Jesus would have been like as a father to his own kids. I could just imagine Him sitting there patiently, reading them stories, talking to them about faith, being so patient and kind.  It's what I strived for.   at being like a Jesus thing.  

There's no way I can/could blame my kids for the way they turned out. All their faults are mimicking mine. Their impatience, their lack of peace or joy, they are, in the truest sense, a carbon copy of my husband and myself--the good and the bad.  

At some point during my child-rearing years, I decided to try. And try-hard was going to be my very best, as best as I could. I would pray every morning that God would give me patience, kindness, joy, peace, and love.   prayed every day to be a good mom. Instilling values, principles, and love.   knew if my kids needed a role model, I'd be it.   I would be the one whom they patterned their lives after, and if I didn't like something that I saw, I would correct it, in them and in me. I learned to apologize for my bad parenting skills, and I also learned to thank God every time He showed me a better way to parent.  

I guess what I'm trying to ask is: why are people exclaiming about the youth of today? They made them, and they were their role models. If you don't like what you're seeing, then maybe examine your own lifestyle (and heart) and change that. It isn't the millennials' fault. Not at all. They are doing nothing more than what they were taught. Own it, parents. And, if you don't like it, change it. earn to ask them for forgiveness, learn from your mistakes, pray for them, and stop asking--what's wrong with kids these days?  

100 Years

I have just finished priming and painting 6 large pieces of furniture. One is a very big old hutch, which I turned into a coffee bar, and the other 5 pieces are our entire bedroom set. Uggg, talk about tons of work, and yet, so satisfying. I thoroughly enjoyed myself. I primed each piece, a vision began to take place, and then, when applying the final coat of paint, wow, I absolutely loved the outcome. Everything turned out as expected, which, when you think about it, doesn't happen very often. There's usually some tweaking to do, but not in this case. I'm in love with everything I painted. And, I'm ready for more. I've decided that a furniture hunt might be in my future.  

I have also tiled a kitchen backsplash and a bathroom floor, and we installed Euro-style shower doors. We're now refinishing our hardwood floors in the family room. And, in a month or so, we'll be replacing the carpet in the living room with new hardwood flooring. Oh, so many changes, so much fun. Most we do ourselves, some we have done professionally.  Fortunately, we know our limitations. 

During my adventure in painting, my mind wandered and wandered far. I had many hours to daydream, which, by the way, is one of my favorite things to do. I thought about where this furniture might end up in 100 years. You see, I took perfectly good, solid wood pieces that were, to the normal eye, in great shape. However, I was tired of it. The bedroom furniture had been in my possession for almost 20 years. I needed a change. I could either sell it as is for pennies on the dollar, or I could paint it. My choice. Oh, I did the latter.  

As for the hutch, I bought it from a private party. They had had it for years and just wanted to get rid of it. She needed a change, and I also understood. So, I brought it home and proceeded to prime and paint her. I separated the pieces, affixed the upper part of the hutch to the wall as if it were part of my kitchen cabinets, and then placed the sideboard part underneath for all my coffee needs. It's amazing. Did I mention that I painted her red? Yep, I did. I don't have what you'd call a normal kitchen.  I don't like the same old —same old. I personally like to add a twist.  Sometimes more twisty than others. For example, my Boos butcher block island has red legs.   could have chosen black or white legs b, but no, I wanted red. I purchased it with the pure intention of building my new kitchen around it. 

I also have Mexican tiles for my backsplash. Bold? Different? Oh yes. And now, a bright red coffee bar that takes up most of one wall.  It houses all things drinkable in my kitchen.  From coffee to tea to hot cocoa to carbonated drinks — there's even a cupboard for wine.  It's awesome. It was a little country-looking when I brought it home, so I de-countryfied it by removing some bric-a-brac and adding a feature or two of my own. I love it. It's perfect for me.  However, one day, say, in 100 years, it might not be perfect for the next person who owns it. They might look at it and think — who in their right mind would paint this beautiful hutch red? Well, I would, and I did.

I was a little more subtle in my paint choice for the bedroom. In the meantime, I  have been antiquing away and have purchased several Frenchy-looking items — a chandelier, some brass, a few (yes, more than one) mirrors — so I decided to use a quiet, soft color for my bedroom furniture. I chose a darker gray. I started with one nightstand to see if I liked it, ,and boy, did I Itt was beautiful. It took me the better part of 2 weeks to complete 5 pieces of furniture, but now that it's all done, it was well worth the work. Our master bedroom looks amazing.  The dark gray with blue, gray, and beige accents looked so good together —all the items meshed well, with the room coming out even better than expected.  

The things we've done to this older home astound me. We've worked hard. For almost 3 years, we've put in hours upon hours of sweat and hard work. We've put in a new kitchen and bathrooms, and we've painted everything.  We've rebuilt the front porch, put in a pantry where a hallway had been, added a fancy "mudroom" area, and generally done every room. And then some! I've loved everything so far. It makes me happy to walk through the rooms and think- we did this. We are DIYers for sure. We have a lot more to do. And it's so fun to think about. However, I also want to enjoy our downtime.  It gives me time to think (daydream) about future ideas for this house. I'm thinking a screened-in sunroom might be in our future. Don't tell my husband.  He needs time to recuperate between projects. 

So, all of this got me thinking. In 100 years, well after I'm dead and gone, long after my kids and grandkids have decided they have absolutely no interest in keeping grandma's old (solid wood, remember) furniture —who will buy it? Most likely, it'll end up at some old barn sale. Someone with a wild imagination will see that bright red hutch and think--oh, I know what I'll do with that! And they'll take it home and most likely strip the paint, restoring it to its intended color or stain. They'll take my personality right off and apply their own. And that's ok. I understand. It's just that I'd love to be there to hear their thoughts and ideas as to what to do with it next. I'd love to be that proverbial fly on the wall--I want to hear them exclaim--who would do this?   Would you paint this red? Who? That must have been some wild old lady!  

And I wonder (in 100 years), as people walk through our home in anticipation of perhaps purchasing, what will they think of my choices? Will they undo the pantry?  Put the doors back on the entry closet? Remove the hutch from the wall? What colors will be trending then?  What tile colors will they choose?  

Yep, in 100 years, someone will have a new and better idea. Someone will buy these old pieces of furniture and give them new life.  Someone else will love them the way I do. Someone will paint these old walls in new colors, change my tile, and put in new floors. I think about things like that when I buy my little treasures--my little decorator pieces, antiques, and whatnots. I think about all that. History moves through our lives in the form of furniture, living in different homes with different people, changing colors, and living new lives all over again, in 100 years.

I'll Say It Again

I said it so many times I wanted to scream. I warned friends and family members, anyone who would listen, really. I knew, I just knew. Maybe as an INFJ, my intuition was kicking in full throttle, but I think it was God genuinely speaking to my heart. Many Christian friends disagreed with me on this issue. You're wrong, they said. He isn't like that at all. He is God's chosen. However, I just didn't buy it. I could feel this person's heart in every single word he spoke. He was, and still is, a lying, deceitful man. He felt/feels demonic to me.   wolf in sheep's clothing. The anti-Christ.   all a. The opposite of Christ. 

I was in complete shock at first. How in the world did he win? I was stunned. And then, slowly, as reality began to sink in, as I realized that there was so much more going on behind the scenes, I knew it was true. This was not a war between flesh and blood; the Bible calls it a war between principalities and powers. It was beginning to happen before our very eyes. The beginning of the end of Christianity as I/we knew it. F  a time, anyway. Christians began to worship him rather than God. They tossed aside the teachings of Christ and followed a man rather than God. They deny it, of course. They are blind and cannot see. I see it, though. I do. The hatred, bigotry, racism, and sexism. The bullying, name-calling, etc. His filthy, dirty language became the norm. They called it rhetoric. I heard it, I saw it. Didn't you?

My heart began a slow, horrible breaking process. I watched as people began to believe the lies. One by one, they fell under his cultish curse--until hatred took over their minds, hearts, and souls. One thing I knew for sure — this was not of God. Not even a little. This was a cult in the making. This was a satanic move to grab the hearts of people who while professing to believe in God, His Word, and teachings--really knew very little of them. They were, as the Bible teaches, being tossed to and fro with every wind of doctrine. They were hung up on one issue. Abortion. It's interesting to me that Satan chose this topic to rally the troops. Abortion. They called me a baby killer. All because I would not bend to the almighty Trump. And, when I objected, I was told that I was delusional. As a Democrat--how could I be pro-life? And yet, I am. There are many of us out there, you know. Many. Also, I do not believe in capital punishment, and yet during his 4 years in office, he sent many to their deaths, more than any other president.  Pro-life, I think not. Pro-birth? Maybe. And then there was the separation of children from parents as they came from other countries seeking asylum. Torn from their mother's arms and thrown in cages like animals. But hey, at least they weren't aborted, right? Or is that concept just for American babies? I've wondered. 

This was a power grab. The great deceiver had won--for a time. He came to steal, kill, and destroy the body of Christ. To turn families against each other, to destroy lifelong friendships, and to cause great anguish in our country and even the world. True believers were praying hard. Open their eyes, oh God, let them see the truth, take the veil from their eyes. At least that's how I prayed. 

I prayed hard, I took a lot of criticism, and I even had (online) death threats.  Your heart broke as people took sides. And yet, I took a side. I sided with the disenfranchised, I stood with the poor, the children in cages, the unloved. I had many ask me why I wasn't standing up for the unborn. I was. However, in doing that, I also stood for the already born. I was called names, made fun of, told I wasn't a Christian, and a lot of other things, and that's OK. I can take it. I know who I really am. I know that I try my hardest to know God, to please Him, and to do His work. As I read the words of Christ, I know that He also took a stand--for the disenfranchised, the poor, the children. So I'm OK. I'll be OK.  

And then today happened. We elected a new president. My heart went from being overburdened to being lightened with joy and hope. I understand that not everything will be perfect. I'm not that simple-minded. I understand that it isn't about a political party. I understand that there will be times when I disagree with our new administration; however, I will know, deep down in my heart, that at least as a nation, we are trying now.  We're finally back on the road towards treating people with love, acceptance, and forgiveness. That's my goal anyway. To be more like Jesus and less like me. Less division, less selfishness, less all about me/us, and more about them/others. More about respect and kindness. More about understanding.  More about catching flies with honey. You see, I am pro-life. I hate abortion. However, if you know that I love you and care about you, you just might come to me ( if you wanted to talk about abortion) and share your heart with me, and we just might come to an understanding. I might be able to steer you in a different direction.  Maybe not. However, it would be done in love.   feel the same way about divorce, abuse, and many other subjects.   I'm not hung up on just the one. That's the difference between them and me.   Come from a place of loving your enemies. Not hating them, not screaming obscenities in their faces, not showing up with assault rifles, etc.  

I sometimes wonder what our country (or world) would be like if local churches took their rightful places in this nation as givers. Givers of time, money, and comfort. Givers of heart, listening, and love. What if? Let's change it all now. Let's be more like Jesus. Let's forget the why and just be the who — to people in need. Let's stop judging, throwing people out, building walls, calling names, and bullying. Let's take care of each other. Let's change. Shall we? Let's be a better nation this time. We've got 4 years to change, 4 years to be better, 4 years to show the world that we can and are one nation under God. Wouldn't that be amazing?   

If, in reading this, you disagree with me, that's OK. I just pray that you can see my heart. You can have your own opinion. I won't judge you for that. Please don't judge me for mine. Let God do that. If you don't like what I write about, pray for me. God will show me the error in my ways; He is faithful and just. 

In the meantime, if you are a true believer, a follower of Jesus Christ--pray. Pray like never before. Pray that God changes the hearts of mankind. Pray for our nation, pray for fewer abortions, divorce, abuse, bullying, suicide, etc. Pray for marriages, families, and your neighbors. And most of all, show love. And remember the words of Christ--perfect love casts out all fear. So much of what we say and do is brought about by fear. Remember that the next time you encounter fear. Pray and love your neighbor as yourself.  It's a great start anyway.  

It's Not About Me

It’s not about me, it’s about Him. It’s about peace, hope, joy, and love. 

It’s not about me, it’s about Jesus. It’s about his birth, it’s about miracles, and it’s about salvation. 

It’s not about me, it’s about God. It’s about the creator, it’s about the one who sent His son, and it’s about life everlasting. 

No, it isn’t about me. It’s about everything that has to do with what I live for. 

It’s all about Jesus, it’s all about God, and it isn’t one little bit about me. 

So with this time of uncertainty, and with this time of a pandemic, and with this time with not being with family and friends, I will endure--because of him. 

And it’s not about me, it’s about Him. 

So with this season of love, joy, peace, hope, and giving of ourselves, I will do just that. 

You see, at some point this past year, it became about me.  All of it, everything.  It became about my wants, my needs, and my desires.  My emotions, my heartache, my everything--all about me.  

And that's when it dawned on me, it's not about me, it's about Him.  Every single thing I go through, every obstacle I face, every good or bad thing in my life is all about Him.  My God, my Jesus.  My savior, my creator.  My everything.  

Because it isn’t about me.  

I Need a Little More Cash

I realized something the other day. Something I needed. You see, we've become somewhat of a cashless society lately, what with the COVID virus. Everyone wants to deal with touchless credit or debit card transactions. And, I don't blame them. Less spread. Safer. I get it. However, something caught my attention, and now I realize, I'm going to need some cash. Real money, real dollars.

We were just leaving the parking lot of a big box store when on the corner stood a man with a sign that read--Lost my job, need cash. Or something to that effect. His wife and 2 small children were sitting in the shade under a tree. It was a warm, almost hot day. I felt sorry for them, so I rolled down my window and gave him all the money I had. Which is to say — not much. Maybe $5. I told him how sorry I was that I didn't have more cash on me, and he assured me that he was grateful for anything. Then he said — God bless you. I left with tears in my eyes. I wish I could have handed him more money. And then it hit me, I didn't have more cash in my wallet because I've been using my credit card everywhere. I immediately wanted to remedy that situation. I needed more cash.

I know a lot of people think that I have a bleeding heart, that I should tell them to "get a job," or that I am enabling them. Teach a man to fish, and all that, and maybe all is true. Maybe. However, that isn't being the real me. If I were to go that route, I would be going against everything that God has ever taught me. I would be throwing away the many life lessons He taught me as a child and young adult. If you've read much of my story, you'd know that my life was a roller coaster of poor-girl/rich-girl, and that through those life lessons, I became a giver. I don't need anyone to tell me their stories before I give them a handout or a hand up. That's between them and God. And, if I am ever taken advantage of, well, so be it. That again is between them and God.

I raised my children to be this way. Whether they realize it or not, their father and I were their role models for giving and giving and giving and then giving some more. I taught them that God supplies our needs, not jobs or savings accounts. I taught them that if God blesses you, it is so that you may bless others. I taught them that no matter how hard you try, you can't outgive God. He will always supply your needs. Now, as I watch my children and grandchildren interact with those less fortunate, I see that my teachings have paid off. I watch them give. They now inspire me.

A few weeks ago, while visiting my daughter and her family, I had the opportunity to watch both of my teenage grandchildren give to the poor on separate occasions. Roll your window down, Grandma. Can you hand them this? And they put money, their own money, into my hand to hand off to someone in need. I sat next to them in the car, barely able to contain my tears. I kept thinking how proud I was of them. They had giving hearts. They weren't selfish. They never said I worked hard for my money, why don't they? They never even flinched. They just gave. Out of the abundance of what their God gave to them, they gave. I was so proud of them.

I need a little more cash. Not for the stores and shops. But for those that God puts in my path. And then, after giving what I have, I will pray. I will pray for the family in need until the next person or family comes along. Bleeding heart? Enabler? Oh yes. Please God, always keep my heart open, willing, and giving. And I promise I'll always have a little more cash.