Normally when I hear “Make a joyful noise unto the Lord” it is in reference to singing, which is all well and good. However, I like to think joyful noises are not limited to songs…those noises can also refer to laughter.
I remember when Dan was little. He tried so hard to be angry when he felt he had the right to be, but it just wasn’t in him. Keith would “sneak” toward Dan with his fingers poised to tilt Dan’s frown upside down and Dan would smile, giggle and then laugh out loud. His laughter overpowered his bad moods. Isn’t that the way it should be? Even now, I cannot look at pictures of young Dan without seeing the smile that continues to light his face.
Mate, our foreign exchange student, wrote recently, “I miss all the Family dinners. And all the humor. My parents always try to be funny, but it just doesn't work for them that well.” Mate is a funny guy. He continued to tell me about his religion teacher: “He just doesn't make sense at all and his only question in tests is: "what have we learned in the previous lessons?" [I] Would write nothing, but am afraid he doesn't see it that way.” Every member of our families at least try to be funny and Mate was surrounded by sarcasm the entire 10 months in the U.S. Luckily, he appreciated it; not everyone does. We had many good laughs when Mate was with us, we had many before he came and we will continue to laugh even as he lives life in Hungary. I hope his parents continue to practice being funny, it doesn’t always come naturally; we often have to nurture it.
Laughter is the best medicine, or so we are told. I have to believe it because I have seen it in action. Keith leaves behind smiles and laughter in every doctor’s office we visit. At least he did until this past week. Due to his lack of lymph nodes on his left side, he has developed Lymphedema. Lymphedema is a gathering of fluids in the extremities due to the fact the lymph nodes are no longer there to direct it out of the body. There is no cure, but it can be controlled with massage and wrapping. We visited an occupational therapist who specializes in Lymphedema and start to finish, all of Keith’s jokes and smart remarks fell on “deaf-to-humor” ears. Every little flippant comment, which normally draws at least an eye roll from other health care workers, was left with no response. She asked if he had any hard areas on his arm: He answered by flexing his muscle and saying, “Just this one.” She looked very seriously and asked him to show her exactly where. He had to explain that he was joking, that the only hard parts were his “guns” to which she replied, “Oh, do you hunt?” He joked about only taking his shirt off to show off to the girls next to the pool…nothing. In response to the question, “are you allergic to anything?” He responded “Yes, washing dishes.” She marked it on his chart. I felt bad for Keith. If he was a comedienne on Seinfeld, he would have been labeled as having a bad set; and booed off stage by a heckler. Her inability to catch his jokes threw his timing way off. He no longer knew how to answer her questions. He had to get serious and it didn’t sit well with him. The appointment was not very enjoyable. If you can’t have a little fun at the doctor’s, it makes for a long day.
There are so many times I feel like screaming, crying or cursing but nothing makes me feel better than a hearty laugh. I imagine that God loves the sound of laughter almost as much as the sound of earnest prayer. Make a joyful noise unto the Lord today, laugh hard, laugh often and laugh at people’s jokes, even if they may not be very funny, it will make you both feel better!
Wednesday, 3 November 2010
Thursday, 28 October 2010
Falling For Fall
I love fall weather. There is something so comforting about curling up in a blanket at night cuddled next to Keith, then snuggling for warmth again in the morning. (Unfortunately it makes getting out of bed tougher!) Add to that the warm sunshine during the day and it makes for perfect weather. There are other aspects of fall I don’t like: getting up in the morning while it is still dark; going home from work in the dark; hearing the kids complain it is cold in the house when they wake up, then complaining it is too hot when they get home from school; and never knowing how to dress for the day. I have about six jackets in the car right now because I wear one in the morning, take it off when the temperature rises and forget it in the back seat.
The crispness of fall brings with it the amazing colors and the fresh smell in the air that can never be duplicated by any deodorant sprays known to man. Fall reminds me of growth, re-growth and the promise of life. I watch the leaves turn and fall; see the trees appear to lifeless and bare; then watch as the warm spring winds bring buds to the branches and life to the yard and garden. God’s promise of rebirth is all around.
Fall has always been the month when I notice how much the boys have grown, too. Summer shorts can be deceiving. Winter pants tell all! When Caleb put on the first pair of jeans since late spring, it was obvious by the clear view of his ankles that he had grown…substantially. He is now about 2-3 inches taller than I am. My baby is taller than me…and even if he stops growing right now, he will continue to grow taller than me as I shrink with old age.
The twins are growing, also, to the dismay of Molly. As much as we want our children to stay little and dependent, it isn’t meant to be! Luke and Logan are crawling and trying to walk and they have the tell-tale red marks on their foreheads to remind us of their occasional missteps. Soon those foreheads will have the same type of marks as they discover they are too tall to walk under cabinets or to stand under the table. Soon after that more bumps and bruises will appear from walking into the side mirrors of cars in the parking lots that used to be higher than the tops of their heads. Bruises will be replaced by abrasions as they learn to ride bikes and skateboards. Pretty soon Molly and Tim will be mending broken hearts as they learn the tough lessons of love and friendship. Time flies, it sounds so cliché, yet it is so true.
Caleb mentioned a few days ago that he can’t believe he has been in high school for two months already. I can’t believe it either! I met a young gal at a work event last week. She told me about her kids, six months and three years old. When I told her that mine were 27, 21, 19 and 15 and that I had twin grandsons who are almost one, she was very quiet. Part of me hoped it was because I just don’t look old enough…but I know it was because she was, in that instant, picturing herself in 20+ years. That “deer-in-the-headlights” look is unmistakeable. I know, I have been the deer a few times in my life.
Time goes on, wrinkles and grey hair take over, makeup takes longer to apply over the dark circles and brown spots, the clothes fit a bit tighter and I see all those around me aging a bit, too. Then I think of Fall and the empty trees and brown grass and often grey skies and I remember that this season will also pass; that this season has its beauty and its bleakness; that this season holds the promise of growth, re-growth and life. I remember that while I change, God stays the same and His love for me never grows old and that makes the dark times of fall a little easier to get through and the bright times even more glorious.
The crispness of fall brings with it the amazing colors and the fresh smell in the air that can never be duplicated by any deodorant sprays known to man. Fall reminds me of growth, re-growth and the promise of life. I watch the leaves turn and fall; see the trees appear to lifeless and bare; then watch as the warm spring winds bring buds to the branches and life to the yard and garden. God’s promise of rebirth is all around.
Fall has always been the month when I notice how much the boys have grown, too. Summer shorts can be deceiving. Winter pants tell all! When Caleb put on the first pair of jeans since late spring, it was obvious by the clear view of his ankles that he had grown…substantially. He is now about 2-3 inches taller than I am. My baby is taller than me…and even if he stops growing right now, he will continue to grow taller than me as I shrink with old age.
The twins are growing, also, to the dismay of Molly. As much as we want our children to stay little and dependent, it isn’t meant to be! Luke and Logan are crawling and trying to walk and they have the tell-tale red marks on their foreheads to remind us of their occasional missteps. Soon those foreheads will have the same type of marks as they discover they are too tall to walk under cabinets or to stand under the table. Soon after that more bumps and bruises will appear from walking into the side mirrors of cars in the parking lots that used to be higher than the tops of their heads. Bruises will be replaced by abrasions as they learn to ride bikes and skateboards. Pretty soon Molly and Tim will be mending broken hearts as they learn the tough lessons of love and friendship. Time flies, it sounds so cliché, yet it is so true.
Caleb mentioned a few days ago that he can’t believe he has been in high school for two months already. I can’t believe it either! I met a young gal at a work event last week. She told me about her kids, six months and three years old. When I told her that mine were 27, 21, 19 and 15 and that I had twin grandsons who are almost one, she was very quiet. Part of me hoped it was because I just don’t look old enough…but I know it was because she was, in that instant, picturing herself in 20+ years. That “deer-in-the-headlights” look is unmistakeable. I know, I have been the deer a few times in my life.
Time goes on, wrinkles and grey hair take over, makeup takes longer to apply over the dark circles and brown spots, the clothes fit a bit tighter and I see all those around me aging a bit, too. Then I think of Fall and the empty trees and brown grass and often grey skies and I remember that this season will also pass; that this season has its beauty and its bleakness; that this season holds the promise of growth, re-growth and life. I remember that while I change, God stays the same and His love for me never grows old and that makes the dark times of fall a little easier to get through and the bright times even more glorious.
Tuesday, 5 October 2010
Follwing the Crowd
I was at the stop light on 83rd & Maple yesterday heading west. The red light seemed to take longer than usual and of course I was in a hurry. As I impatiently waited, something odd happened; the vehicle next to me (a white SUV) accelerated and went through the intersection. My first thought was that the light changed and I didn’t see it, but glancing upwards the light was still clearly red. Before too long, cars behind the rogue vehicle followed. One by one drivers ignored the traffic light and proceeded. I continued to stare at the light, certain that the other drivers were seeing something I didn’t; but the light was not yet green!
The fifth car stopped; slowly inched forward, then floored it, narrowly missing the car in the east bound lane, now free to turn with a green arrow. The last driver’s hesitation at breaking the law almost caused an accident. I shook my head in disbelief and wondered why do people follow other people who make poor decisions? Safety in numbers?
This isn’t the first time I witnessed poor judgment passed down to others. Everyday I encounter a stop light clearly marked NO Turn on Red 6:30 a.m. to 7:00 p.m. Yet everyday one car will ignore the sign and not only do others follow, but the drivers obeying will often get honked at or be the recipients of dirty looks. How dare we do what’s right when it may inconvenience others!
Bullying is a prime example of taking poor judgment and running with it. One mean-spirited person is all it takes to create groups of taunters and teasers.
I love the Liberty Mutual Insurance commercials which depict good deeds being paid forward. They are examples of seeing good behavior and following with additional acts of kindness. Why can’t more people follow good behavior? Why can’t more people give good examples worthy of a following?
Today, make a conscience effort to do a good deed, an act of kindness. Tell someone they look nice; congratulate a co-worker on a job well-done; tell the maintenance person that the floor they just finished mopping looks great; help someone pick up their spilled groceries; let a waiting car into the long line of traffic; then pray that others may follow your example. Now the hard part: don’t follow someone’s bad behavior! There is too much bad behavior these days, don’t add to it!
The Lord clearly tells us to love our neighbors as ourselves, let’s spread some of that love around!
The fifth car stopped; slowly inched forward, then floored it, narrowly missing the car in the east bound lane, now free to turn with a green arrow. The last driver’s hesitation at breaking the law almost caused an accident. I shook my head in disbelief and wondered why do people follow other people who make poor decisions? Safety in numbers?
This isn’t the first time I witnessed poor judgment passed down to others. Everyday I encounter a stop light clearly marked NO Turn on Red 6:30 a.m. to 7:00 p.m. Yet everyday one car will ignore the sign and not only do others follow, but the drivers obeying will often get honked at or be the recipients of dirty looks. How dare we do what’s right when it may inconvenience others!
Bullying is a prime example of taking poor judgment and running with it. One mean-spirited person is all it takes to create groups of taunters and teasers.
I love the Liberty Mutual Insurance commercials which depict good deeds being paid forward. They are examples of seeing good behavior and following with additional acts of kindness. Why can’t more people follow good behavior? Why can’t more people give good examples worthy of a following?
Today, make a conscience effort to do a good deed, an act of kindness. Tell someone they look nice; congratulate a co-worker on a job well-done; tell the maintenance person that the floor they just finished mopping looks great; help someone pick up their spilled groceries; let a waiting car into the long line of traffic; then pray that others may follow your example. Now the hard part: don’t follow someone’s bad behavior! There is too much bad behavior these days, don’t add to it!
The Lord clearly tells us to love our neighbors as ourselves, let’s spread some of that love around!
Tuesday, 21 September 2010
Selective Counting
Keith is out of town...again.
When we first married, he traveled ALOT! In fact, he almost missed our youngest son, Caleb's, birth. He informed me at the beginning of one extra-long trip that I had a ten-day window in which to go into labor. This window occurred between May 18 thru May 28. Caleb was due June 5th. Having been in labor three times before, I knew when the pains started on May 17th, I was in trouble. I tried to put off going to the hospital until Keith arrived home early the next morning, but when my water started to leak, I didn't have a choice. My last baby was born 17 minutes after arriving at the hospital. The one before was an hour and a half. The first was more typical at 10 hours. Number four could have been born in the van en route. One of my sisters drove as I "hee-hee-hooed" my Lamaze breathing and cried, certain that Keith would miss the event.
The nurse who checked us in knew the situation and did her best to cheer me up, but when the first check showed that I was 8 cm dilated at 10:00 p.m., there wasn't much hope. Then, it happened. The contractions stopped. The water quit leaking. I was still dilated, but active labor ceased completely. The nurse told me that my will to have Keith present at the birth stopped my labor. The night passed slowly. The doctor came often to check on me. Nurses changed. My story must not have been passed on to the new shift as the middle of the night check went something like this:
"Hi, I am Sue. I need to check you again."
She turned to smile at my sister, patiently sitting next to me.
"Would you like your 'special friend' to stay or should she wait in the hall?"
My family left messages at airports to have Keith go directly to the hospital, none of which he received. They left a note on our front door, which he didn't see since he went through the garage. He noticed I wasn't in bed and the other boys were gone, put two and two together and headed to the maternity ward.
Labor started again shortly after he arrived, my sister went home to sleep and Caleb was born shortly thereafter on May 18th. That was not the first, nor has it been the last of sleepless nights when Keith is gone.
Neither of us sleeps much when he travels. During his first cancer battle he didn't travel at all. I was so glad because having him next to me at such a stressful time was exactly what we both wanted and needed. He traveled a bit during the next few years, mostly on short 2-3 day trips. Whenever he would leave Monday morning at 5:00 and return home on Wednesday at midnight, he selectively counted the days and informed me that he would only be gone one day.
"I'm here on Monday and here on Wednesday, so I am only gone one day."
Right. 56 hours equals 1 day. Only in Keith's head is that true!
I found out within the last few years that Keith's brother, Mark, counts similarly. He tells his wife and family that a Monday through Friday trip lasts only 3 days and if he leaves at 4:00 a.m. one day and comes back at midnight the same day, he isn't gone at all!
Funny how we can justify and rationalize anything. Whether we have selective hearing, selective memories or selective counting, the truth is that 56 hours is a long time for a loved one to be gone, yet we as Christians know that an entire life is but a blink of an eye compared to an eternity.
The wife of a friend of mine was diagnosed with incurable leukemia. Her life here on earth is numbered, as all of ours are, yet she smiles and speaks only of today. She in confident in her eternity and knows that one day, in the blink of an eye her family will join her as though she hasn't been away at all!
Keith is the traveler whose trip is over in a snap and I am the one left at home, while time drags. The nights are long and sleepless, but the anticipation of being together again keeps me going. We are all on one side or the other of that scenario. One day we will all be together on the other side, waiting for those we love to join us. What a glorious day that will be. Until then, I will continue to count the minutes until Keith is back home and he will continue to selectively count those minutes.
This story reminds me of a song by Carolyn Arends: "We've Been Waiting for You"
We've Been Waiting For You
words and music by Carolyn Arends
Let me hold you close, I know you're frightened
Go ahead and cry, I understand
You were safe and you were warm
And then suddenly without a warning
Things began to change
It must have seemed so strange
To all at once be traveling a journey
All the way to this delivery room
But baby you are not alone
Your room is ready, let's go home
You're gonna like it here
Let me make it clear that
We've been waiting for you
We're so glad you came
We've been looking forward
To showing you the place
There's so much in store and
We've been waiting for you
I know it can take some getting used to
But this old world is where you're meant to be
Life is something not to miss
The taste of ice cream, your first kiss
And when love takes your hand
You will understand why
We've been waiting for you
We're so glad you came
We've been looking forward
To showing you the place
There's so much in store and
We've been waiting for you
And watching you come into this world
Baby, you've made me believe
Another journey awaits us
So when I have to leave
I am pretty sure that I'll be frightened
But even if I cry, please understand
I will know I'm not alone
When my room is ready I'll go home
And when I reach the gate
I'm going to hear them saying
We've been waiting for you
We're so glad you came
We've been looking forward
To showing you the place
There's so much in store and
We've been waiting for you
(C) 1998 by New Spring Publishing/running arends music/ASCAP. All rights administered by Brentwood-Benson Music Publishing, Inc.
Listen Now!
http://ilike.myspacecdn.com/play#Carolyn+Arends:We%27ve+Been+Waiting+For+You:2230275:s27501951.8113073.2547333.0.2.150%2Cstd_75e3e9db59d945afbb6f72265f73a24e
When we first married, he traveled ALOT! In fact, he almost missed our youngest son, Caleb's, birth. He informed me at the beginning of one extra-long trip that I had a ten-day window in which to go into labor. This window occurred between May 18 thru May 28. Caleb was due June 5th. Having been in labor three times before, I knew when the pains started on May 17th, I was in trouble. I tried to put off going to the hospital until Keith arrived home early the next morning, but when my water started to leak, I didn't have a choice. My last baby was born 17 minutes after arriving at the hospital. The one before was an hour and a half. The first was more typical at 10 hours. Number four could have been born in the van en route. One of my sisters drove as I "hee-hee-hooed" my Lamaze breathing and cried, certain that Keith would miss the event.
The nurse who checked us in knew the situation and did her best to cheer me up, but when the first check showed that I was 8 cm dilated at 10:00 p.m., there wasn't much hope. Then, it happened. The contractions stopped. The water quit leaking. I was still dilated, but active labor ceased completely. The nurse told me that my will to have Keith present at the birth stopped my labor. The night passed slowly. The doctor came often to check on me. Nurses changed. My story must not have been passed on to the new shift as the middle of the night check went something like this:
"Hi, I am Sue. I need to check you again."
She turned to smile at my sister, patiently sitting next to me.
"Would you like your 'special friend' to stay or should she wait in the hall?"
My family left messages at airports to have Keith go directly to the hospital, none of which he received. They left a note on our front door, which he didn't see since he went through the garage. He noticed I wasn't in bed and the other boys were gone, put two and two together and headed to the maternity ward.
Labor started again shortly after he arrived, my sister went home to sleep and Caleb was born shortly thereafter on May 18th. That was not the first, nor has it been the last of sleepless nights when Keith is gone.
Neither of us sleeps much when he travels. During his first cancer battle he didn't travel at all. I was so glad because having him next to me at such a stressful time was exactly what we both wanted and needed. He traveled a bit during the next few years, mostly on short 2-3 day trips. Whenever he would leave Monday morning at 5:00 and return home on Wednesday at midnight, he selectively counted the days and informed me that he would only be gone one day.
"I'm here on Monday and here on Wednesday, so I am only gone one day."
Right. 56 hours equals 1 day. Only in Keith's head is that true!
I found out within the last few years that Keith's brother, Mark, counts similarly. He tells his wife and family that a Monday through Friday trip lasts only 3 days and if he leaves at 4:00 a.m. one day and comes back at midnight the same day, he isn't gone at all!
Funny how we can justify and rationalize anything. Whether we have selective hearing, selective memories or selective counting, the truth is that 56 hours is a long time for a loved one to be gone, yet we as Christians know that an entire life is but a blink of an eye compared to an eternity.
The wife of a friend of mine was diagnosed with incurable leukemia. Her life here on earth is numbered, as all of ours are, yet she smiles and speaks only of today. She in confident in her eternity and knows that one day, in the blink of an eye her family will join her as though she hasn't been away at all!
Keith is the traveler whose trip is over in a snap and I am the one left at home, while time drags. The nights are long and sleepless, but the anticipation of being together again keeps me going. We are all on one side or the other of that scenario. One day we will all be together on the other side, waiting for those we love to join us. What a glorious day that will be. Until then, I will continue to count the minutes until Keith is back home and he will continue to selectively count those minutes.
This story reminds me of a song by Carolyn Arends: "We've Been Waiting for You"
We've Been Waiting For You
words and music by Carolyn Arends
Let me hold you close, I know you're frightened
Go ahead and cry, I understand
You were safe and you were warm
And then suddenly without a warning
Things began to change
It must have seemed so strange
To all at once be traveling a journey
All the way to this delivery room
But baby you are not alone
Your room is ready, let's go home
You're gonna like it here
Let me make it clear that
We've been waiting for you
We're so glad you came
We've been looking forward
To showing you the place
There's so much in store and
We've been waiting for you
I know it can take some getting used to
But this old world is where you're meant to be
Life is something not to miss
The taste of ice cream, your first kiss
And when love takes your hand
You will understand why
We've been waiting for you
We're so glad you came
We've been looking forward
To showing you the place
There's so much in store and
We've been waiting for you
And watching you come into this world
Baby, you've made me believe
Another journey awaits us
So when I have to leave
I am pretty sure that I'll be frightened
But even if I cry, please understand
I will know I'm not alone
When my room is ready I'll go home
And when I reach the gate
I'm going to hear them saying
We've been waiting for you
We're so glad you came
We've been looking forward
To showing you the place
There's so much in store and
We've been waiting for you
(C) 1998 by New Spring Publishing/running arends music/ASCAP. All rights administered by Brentwood-Benson Music Publishing, Inc.
Listen Now!
http://ilike.myspacecdn.com/play#Carolyn+Arends:We%27ve+Been+Waiting+For+You:2230275:s27501951.8113073.2547333.0.2.150%2Cstd_75e3e9db59d945afbb6f72265f73a24e
Thursday, 2 September 2010
Dishwasher Intelligence
I know for fact, without a doubt, that all the males in my household are extremely intelligent beings. They get good grades in school, can carry on conversations about many diverse subjects, they speak correct and fluent English along with some of at least one other language.
Why is it, then, that none of them are able to completely unload the dishes from the dishwasher?
It seems that even though unloading the dishes is the only task they must complete on a semi-regular basis they cannot figure out or remember where certain items are kept. They easily handle the glasses and seem to be capable of shoving plastic storage containers in the proper cabinet (not neatly, of course, but they do get there.) The youngest has mastered the silverware and even he complains that no one else realizes there are two different sets of flatware and should be separated appropriately.
I try to demonstrate where everything else belongs. They watch me open cabinets and point out the similar items like one of the gals on “The Price is Right.” I can almost hear the announcer,
“And behind door number one we have….bakeware! Cake pans, brownie pans, muffin tins and cookie sheets, all the bakeware any kitchen needs.”
“But wait, under the next cabinet we have…frying pans, sauce pans and griddles! Stove top cooking has never been easier!”
For some reason, though, there continues to be a pile of items on the counter or remaining in the dishwasher, just waiting to be reunited with their friends. I could understand if I had only one of everything…one Pyrex baking dish, one measuring cup, one microwave safe dish, one mixing bowl…but I have several of each and I store all like items together. Something is amiss. Either they really don’t understand the concept of organizing kitchen cabinets, or have decided to take the easy way of a chore. It can’t be the latter…they are much too smart to try to pull that over on me.
Why is it, then, that none of them are able to completely unload the dishes from the dishwasher?
It seems that even though unloading the dishes is the only task they must complete on a semi-regular basis they cannot figure out or remember where certain items are kept. They easily handle the glasses and seem to be capable of shoving plastic storage containers in the proper cabinet (not neatly, of course, but they do get there.) The youngest has mastered the silverware and even he complains that no one else realizes there are two different sets of flatware and should be separated appropriately.
I try to demonstrate where everything else belongs. They watch me open cabinets and point out the similar items like one of the gals on “The Price is Right.” I can almost hear the announcer,
“And behind door number one we have….bakeware! Cake pans, brownie pans, muffin tins and cookie sheets, all the bakeware any kitchen needs.”
“But wait, under the next cabinet we have…frying pans, sauce pans and griddles! Stove top cooking has never been easier!”
For some reason, though, there continues to be a pile of items on the counter or remaining in the dishwasher, just waiting to be reunited with their friends. I could understand if I had only one of everything…one Pyrex baking dish, one measuring cup, one microwave safe dish, one mixing bowl…but I have several of each and I store all like items together. Something is amiss. Either they really don’t understand the concept of organizing kitchen cabinets, or have decided to take the easy way of a chore. It can’t be the latter…they are much too smart to try to pull that over on me.
Wednesday, 25 August 2010
Randon Ramblings
Why do people cut me off in traffic, when no one is behind me for miles, only to immediately put on their brake to turn a few feet up the road?
Why are long envelopes cheaper than the short ones?
Why can a teenager maneuver around video games to find people hiding in dark corners or locate missing jewels and still not be able to see the giant bottle of ketchup in the fridge?
How can the same child who speaks 10 words a day to the family single-handedly use up all the shared minutes on the cell phone plan?
Did you know that watermelon and pumpkin plants grow long, thin, curly tentacles which attach to grass, weeds, etc. in order to keep their leaves growing straight and flat?
Why do people at garage sales always feel the need to ask if they can get a $.25 item for a $.10...are you kidding me?
If smokers dislike the smell of cigarettes so badly they feel the need to hang the lit cig out their car window, why do they smoke to begin with?
On that same line...do smokers really think that throwing their cigarette butt out the window is not littering?
Why do the songs that have strong memories attached to them always seem to play when I am feeling emotional and vulnerable?
Why does WalMart build stores big enough to have 50 check stands, but only open two or three at a time?
Why isn't there a law that everyone who has a sidewalk outside their house has to walk it occasionally to make sure it is free of obstructions. All the walkers out there would really appreciate it!
These are just a few questions I have found myself asking myself and never getting an answer. I thought it would be fun to see if any others have the same questions. I know I have thousands of them, but why is it that I can never think of things when I need them? Why is it that I can't remember important things but still have the word's to Barry Manilow songs permanently in my head?
Keith tells me that when we get to Heaven all the questions that have haunted us will be answered: where did I lose the set of keys 20 years ago? Why did certain events have to happen? Did the dryer really eat socks? Why did the dog continue to get into the trash no matter what we did? Did my husband hear any of the things he claimed not to hear? Did the kids really not understand the concept of replacing the toilet paper roll?
I'm guessing that by the time we get to Heaven, most of the questions will not be important enough to ask Jesus to answer and we just won't care anymore because there will be so many other things to keep us busy.
Even so, I still wonder why healthy, kind, loving, wonderful people have to get cancer, or any other disease. That question is the one I will take the time to ask and not feel badly that I am keeping the Lord away from other important duties. The spiritually-immature child in me wants to sit on my Holy Father's lap and ask, "Why?"
I know the Biblical answer. I know the Adam and Eve curse: the separation from God that sin causes. I know that we all fall short of the glory of God. I know that bad things happen to good people. I know that one day all believers will be reunited. I know all of this and more...but I still want to know...why?
Until I get to Heaven, I will rely on my faith to know there is an answer. Until then, I will rely on my faith to know that no matter what that answer is, the Lord will be in Heaven to answer it for me. Until I can be on His lap, I will remain in His hands here on earth as He holds me up and wipes my tears until then when there are no more.
Why are long envelopes cheaper than the short ones?
Why can a teenager maneuver around video games to find people hiding in dark corners or locate missing jewels and still not be able to see the giant bottle of ketchup in the fridge?
How can the same child who speaks 10 words a day to the family single-handedly use up all the shared minutes on the cell phone plan?
Did you know that watermelon and pumpkin plants grow long, thin, curly tentacles which attach to grass, weeds, etc. in order to keep their leaves growing straight and flat?
Why do people at garage sales always feel the need to ask if they can get a $.25 item for a $.10...are you kidding me?
If smokers dislike the smell of cigarettes so badly they feel the need to hang the lit cig out their car window, why do they smoke to begin with?
On that same line...do smokers really think that throwing their cigarette butt out the window is not littering?
Why do the songs that have strong memories attached to them always seem to play when I am feeling emotional and vulnerable?
Why does WalMart build stores big enough to have 50 check stands, but only open two or three at a time?
Why isn't there a law that everyone who has a sidewalk outside their house has to walk it occasionally to make sure it is free of obstructions. All the walkers out there would really appreciate it!
These are just a few questions I have found myself asking myself and never getting an answer. I thought it would be fun to see if any others have the same questions. I know I have thousands of them, but why is it that I can never think of things when I need them? Why is it that I can't remember important things but still have the word's to Barry Manilow songs permanently in my head?
Keith tells me that when we get to Heaven all the questions that have haunted us will be answered: where did I lose the set of keys 20 years ago? Why did certain events have to happen? Did the dryer really eat socks? Why did the dog continue to get into the trash no matter what we did? Did my husband hear any of the things he claimed not to hear? Did the kids really not understand the concept of replacing the toilet paper roll?
I'm guessing that by the time we get to Heaven, most of the questions will not be important enough to ask Jesus to answer and we just won't care anymore because there will be so many other things to keep us busy.
Even so, I still wonder why healthy, kind, loving, wonderful people have to get cancer, or any other disease. That question is the one I will take the time to ask and not feel badly that I am keeping the Lord away from other important duties. The spiritually-immature child in me wants to sit on my Holy Father's lap and ask, "Why?"
I know the Biblical answer. I know the Adam and Eve curse: the separation from God that sin causes. I know that we all fall short of the glory of God. I know that bad things happen to good people. I know that one day all believers will be reunited. I know all of this and more...but I still want to know...why?
Until I get to Heaven, I will rely on my faith to know there is an answer. Until then, I will rely on my faith to know that no matter what that answer is, the Lord will be in Heaven to answer it for me. Until I can be on His lap, I will remain in His hands here on earth as He holds me up and wipes my tears until then when there are no more.
Thursday, 12 August 2010
Being Tired
Being Tired
Have you ever been so tired that just keeping your eyes open during the day is a chore? I was trying to add a list of 12 numbers today and it took six times before I ended up with the correct amount. I found myself nodding off in the middle and couldn’t keep track of where I was in the list.
Many years ago, before Keith and I married, I worked an extra job as the weekend, night-time PBX operator at the Marriott Hotel. For approximately one year I worked Friday, Saturday and Sunday nights from 11:00 p.m. until 7:00 a.m. My responsibilities would have been considered easy if I hadn’t been half asleep through many of them. I worked a full-time job at the same time as an administrative assistant at a bank, so on Friday I left the bank at 5:00 to spend time at home with my oldest child, Tim. Tim was four years old at the time and it was important for me to have a second job that would not keep me away from him any more than necessary. Tim would go to bed at 10:00 p.m. and I left at 10:30. I worked over night answering phones, “Thank you for calling the Omaha Marriott, this is Sherri, how may I direct your call?”, making wake-up calls, “Good morning! The time is 7:35 a.m. The weather today will be sunny and warm with a high of 89 and a low of 68.”, and completing credit card transactions. Every other Saturday I worked at the bank at 8:00 a.m., so I would leave the hotel and go straight to work. My parents and sisters helped by watching Tim until I got home at noon. Saturday and Sunday nights would be more of the same, except I would try to take short naps because when Sunday’s shift would end, I was in for a full day at the bank again. Looking back, I really don’t know how I did it, except that I needed to. I needed the money.
Nights in a nice hotel are interesting. Back then Aksarben held concerts and all the celebrities stayed there. Lincoln’s hotels were a bit scarce so even teams playing against the Huskers slept at the Marriott. One heavy-metal rock band caused quite a stir when their fans tried climbing up the building to get to them and some of the band members were caught in compromising positions in the bushes surrounding the parking lot and a few in the elevators.
The toughest part of the job for me was trying to concentrate while completing the credit card slips. I would doze off and enter into deep-sleep dreams for 5-8 minutes and wake feeling completely disoriented. I had very odd dreams that often rolled over into real life. One early morning I dreamt that someone died and I was at the mortuary purchasing a burial…ceremony and all. When I woke, the credit card slip that should have read “2 days weekend rate……68.00; 4 local phone calls……$18.50” instead read: “Gold Casket with Brass handles……$365.00; plot…….$425.00; service…$289.00”; etc. I panicked wondering what the gentleman staying in room 520 would think when he saw his credit card receipt. It took a long time, but I was able to scratch it all over with a pen and added a short note apologizing for my messiness!
One weekend, I met Lou Rawls, a wonderful, classy man who had a voice like silk. Lou, as he insisted I call him, suffered from insomnia so he would call several times during the night to talk. He was very kind and very much appreciated that I would listen to his stories about being on the road and missing his family. I enjoyed hearing about his life and the communication helped keep me alert and focused. At the end of his stay he surprised me with a gift from the kitchen, breakfast on him, anything I wanted to eat and a lovely thank you card. He died recently and I think now that he is at Home, I am sure he is sleeping very well indeed!
I often wonder if I could have stayed up all night with Jesus, when he, too, was thinking of going Home and I’m sure, missing his family. Would I have been prepared to keep my eyelids ajar or would I have nodded off with the Disciples? Was there caffeine available? I know Jesus had the ability to keep them awake, but maybe He wanted them to realize on their own that He needed them. If it was yet another test, they failed. Keith often calls them “Duh-ciples” because they didn’t catch on with lightening speed and often messed up. In my young days, when sleep depravation didn’t apply because I was young and energetic, I couldn’t understand how they could fall asleep like that, in the middle of nowhere, amidst the rocks and bugs, without pillows and blankets, and at a time when their friend really needed them. Now that I am older, busier and less energetic, I have experienced first hand how hard it is to keep my eyes open when the rest of my body is ready to shut down. I couldn't even stay awake when I was being paid to do it! Maybe I would have made a good “Duh-ciple”! Then again, I wonder why they didn’t work harder to keep each other awake. Didn’t they question why Jesus insisted they stay awake? He had gone off to pray many other times without this request. Weren’t they curious at all? Wasn’t one of them an insomniac with the need to talk?
One day I will sleep in the Lord, so while here on earth I want to be awake with Him. I would rather be tired than lost! There will be plenty of time to catch up on lost zzzzs. My reward will be a lot better than breakfast, it will be an eternity of feasting!
Have you ever been so tired that just keeping your eyes open during the day is a chore? I was trying to add a list of 12 numbers today and it took six times before I ended up with the correct amount. I found myself nodding off in the middle and couldn’t keep track of where I was in the list.
Many years ago, before Keith and I married, I worked an extra job as the weekend, night-time PBX operator at the Marriott Hotel. For approximately one year I worked Friday, Saturday and Sunday nights from 11:00 p.m. until 7:00 a.m. My responsibilities would have been considered easy if I hadn’t been half asleep through many of them. I worked a full-time job at the same time as an administrative assistant at a bank, so on Friday I left the bank at 5:00 to spend time at home with my oldest child, Tim. Tim was four years old at the time and it was important for me to have a second job that would not keep me away from him any more than necessary. Tim would go to bed at 10:00 p.m. and I left at 10:30. I worked over night answering phones, “Thank you for calling the Omaha Marriott, this is Sherri, how may I direct your call?”, making wake-up calls, “Good morning! The time is 7:35 a.m. The weather today will be sunny and warm with a high of 89 and a low of 68.”, and completing credit card transactions. Every other Saturday I worked at the bank at 8:00 a.m., so I would leave the hotel and go straight to work. My parents and sisters helped by watching Tim until I got home at noon. Saturday and Sunday nights would be more of the same, except I would try to take short naps because when Sunday’s shift would end, I was in for a full day at the bank again. Looking back, I really don’t know how I did it, except that I needed to. I needed the money.
Nights in a nice hotel are interesting. Back then Aksarben held concerts and all the celebrities stayed there. Lincoln’s hotels were a bit scarce so even teams playing against the Huskers slept at the Marriott. One heavy-metal rock band caused quite a stir when their fans tried climbing up the building to get to them and some of the band members were caught in compromising positions in the bushes surrounding the parking lot and a few in the elevators.
The toughest part of the job for me was trying to concentrate while completing the credit card slips. I would doze off and enter into deep-sleep dreams for 5-8 minutes and wake feeling completely disoriented. I had very odd dreams that often rolled over into real life. One early morning I dreamt that someone died and I was at the mortuary purchasing a burial…ceremony and all. When I woke, the credit card slip that should have read “2 days weekend rate……68.00; 4 local phone calls……$18.50” instead read: “Gold Casket with Brass handles……$365.00; plot…….$425.00; service…$289.00”; etc. I panicked wondering what the gentleman staying in room 520 would think when he saw his credit card receipt. It took a long time, but I was able to scratch it all over with a pen and added a short note apologizing for my messiness!
One weekend, I met Lou Rawls, a wonderful, classy man who had a voice like silk. Lou, as he insisted I call him, suffered from insomnia so he would call several times during the night to talk. He was very kind and very much appreciated that I would listen to his stories about being on the road and missing his family. I enjoyed hearing about his life and the communication helped keep me alert and focused. At the end of his stay he surprised me with a gift from the kitchen, breakfast on him, anything I wanted to eat and a lovely thank you card. He died recently and I think now that he is at Home, I am sure he is sleeping very well indeed!
I often wonder if I could have stayed up all night with Jesus, when he, too, was thinking of going Home and I’m sure, missing his family. Would I have been prepared to keep my eyelids ajar or would I have nodded off with the Disciples? Was there caffeine available? I know Jesus had the ability to keep them awake, but maybe He wanted them to realize on their own that He needed them. If it was yet another test, they failed. Keith often calls them “Duh-ciples” because they didn’t catch on with lightening speed and often messed up. In my young days, when sleep depravation didn’t apply because I was young and energetic, I couldn’t understand how they could fall asleep like that, in the middle of nowhere, amidst the rocks and bugs, without pillows and blankets, and at a time when their friend really needed them. Now that I am older, busier and less energetic, I have experienced first hand how hard it is to keep my eyes open when the rest of my body is ready to shut down. I couldn't even stay awake when I was being paid to do it! Maybe I would have made a good “Duh-ciple”! Then again, I wonder why they didn’t work harder to keep each other awake. Didn’t they question why Jesus insisted they stay awake? He had gone off to pray many other times without this request. Weren’t they curious at all? Wasn’t one of them an insomniac with the need to talk?
One day I will sleep in the Lord, so while here on earth I want to be awake with Him. I would rather be tired than lost! There will be plenty of time to catch up on lost zzzzs. My reward will be a lot better than breakfast, it will be an eternity of feasting!
Saturday, 31 July 2010
One Last Time
Keith had another surgery this morning. In the past almost six years now, he has had 11. These 11 included a few biopsies, a few out-patient, and a few major, three to four hour challenges.
He is really remarkable (but don't let him know I said that!) He goes in to every surgery with a smile on his face and more than a few wise-cracks for the nurses and doctors. Today he told his dad that the doctor had to remove some of his sense of humor, but it was okay because there wasn't much there anyway. I know because I have seen it over and over again...it's there...and there is a lot of it!
His newest gag is asking if he could get a Bergan Mercy Club Card to acquire frequent patient points. He figures with as many doctor appointments, tests, scans and surgeries he has had he would be a Platinum Card holder and at least two of his past surgeries should have been free. Nice concept, but I really don't see it catching on.
The nurse today was a young, very sweet Marian girl who happened to know my niece Korie. (Keith's brother Mark swears all Catholics know each other because we always seem to run into someone I know.) He had her laughing several times and most were genuine laughs, not the "feel sorry for the sick guy and giggle every now and then" responses he has gotten in the past. She said that he was a great patient because he made the day fun. I'm not sure how many nurses get to say that.
He remarked about the lovely and stylish blue surgical caps that must have been a real fashion craze since almost everyone was wearing one. (Not me, of course, because I am never in style!) He told an older gentleman waiting for his wife and holding her purse that he should reconsider the color choice of his purse, it didn't match his outfit. He asked about a discount if he provided his own surgical tools, then said it was probably for the best when they declined, since he only had a putty knife. I usually tell him, "You are so weird!", to which he responds, "Well, at least I didn't marry weird."
He takes little if any pain medication, but always has a very convincing, very pathetic little moan when asked how he is. The poor nurse believed him and rushed to his side which only fueled him for later.
Keith always tells me that he refuses to worry even a minute about something he has no control over. He chooses to make the best of the situation and because of that, he leaves the radiation room, chemo unit and operating rooms a little brighter than when he got there. He would never want to hear that he is dealing with cancer heroically, he insists having an illness does not make him a hero and there are plenty of people in the world worse off than he is. He simply puts his faith in the Lord, and laughs instead of crying, smiles instead of frowning, and jokes instead of complaining.
I keep saying that this surgery is going to be "the last one." So far I haven't been correct. No matter what, we know that we go day by day, step by step, joke by joke and if one last time turns into one more time, we'll deal with it and Keith will think of a few new witty remarks to remind us all that laughter is the best medicine and faith in the Lord is the best cure.
He is really remarkable (but don't let him know I said that!) He goes in to every surgery with a smile on his face and more than a few wise-cracks for the nurses and doctors. Today he told his dad that the doctor had to remove some of his sense of humor, but it was okay because there wasn't much there anyway. I know because I have seen it over and over again...it's there...and there is a lot of it!
His newest gag is asking if he could get a Bergan Mercy Club Card to acquire frequent patient points. He figures with as many doctor appointments, tests, scans and surgeries he has had he would be a Platinum Card holder and at least two of his past surgeries should have been free. Nice concept, but I really don't see it catching on.
The nurse today was a young, very sweet Marian girl who happened to know my niece Korie. (Keith's brother Mark swears all Catholics know each other because we always seem to run into someone I know.) He had her laughing several times and most were genuine laughs, not the "feel sorry for the sick guy and giggle every now and then" responses he has gotten in the past. She said that he was a great patient because he made the day fun. I'm not sure how many nurses get to say that.
He remarked about the lovely and stylish blue surgical caps that must have been a real fashion craze since almost everyone was wearing one. (Not me, of course, because I am never in style!) He told an older gentleman waiting for his wife and holding her purse that he should reconsider the color choice of his purse, it didn't match his outfit. He asked about a discount if he provided his own surgical tools, then said it was probably for the best when they declined, since he only had a putty knife. I usually tell him, "You are so weird!", to which he responds, "Well, at least I didn't marry weird."
He takes little if any pain medication, but always has a very convincing, very pathetic little moan when asked how he is. The poor nurse believed him and rushed to his side which only fueled him for later.
Keith always tells me that he refuses to worry even a minute about something he has no control over. He chooses to make the best of the situation and because of that, he leaves the radiation room, chemo unit and operating rooms a little brighter than when he got there. He would never want to hear that he is dealing with cancer heroically, he insists having an illness does not make him a hero and there are plenty of people in the world worse off than he is. He simply puts his faith in the Lord, and laughs instead of crying, smiles instead of frowning, and jokes instead of complaining.
I keep saying that this surgery is going to be "the last one." So far I haven't been correct. No matter what, we know that we go day by day, step by step, joke by joke and if one last time turns into one more time, we'll deal with it and Keith will think of a few new witty remarks to remind us all that laughter is the best medicine and faith in the Lord is the best cure.
Tuesday, 27 July 2010
Filled to the Brim
Packing the car to leave for vacation is no fun. The only thing less fun is packing the car to go home from vacation. Every one of us needs a suitcase, the boys (including Keith) insist on taking computers, videos, video games and video game systems. We have a bag of toiletries, 2 golf bags, a cooler, a few bags of grocery items, camera bag, a pillow or two…all to fit in the cargo space plus one seat of a mini van. The van was filled to the brim before we had even picked up Jake from Maryville and before Keith encouraged Caleb to take his guitar.
I remember traveling when I was young. We had a huge wooden carrier attached to the top of the station wagon as we headed to Ponca State Park. In addition, every inch of space in the car was packed. The floor where Mom’s feet were supposed to be instead held snacks and a cooler of pop, her purse, a jacket, a pillow, a bag with band-aids and wet cloths, a package of napkins, cups and plates and a garbage bag. I still am not sure where she put her feet…good thing she was short. Mom would complain that she was crowded, throwing out the occasional “Jesus, Mary and Joseph, there is too much stuff up here!” But, she would never give up being the one in charge, the one to feed her kids and make them happy with cookies, crackers and chocolate.
When Mom died, she wanted a private visitation...just us kids and Dad. The night before the service, my sister Geri called everyone and told them that if they wanted anything to be buried with her, to bring it the next morning. I declined…she was taking my heart, what else could I send?
By the time my family arrived, all my brothers and sisters and their families were there. As I walked passed the coffin, I couldn’t help but notice the many trinkets and bobbles that were carefully chosen to be given to mom. There were t-shirts and small volleyballs, letters, pictures and photographs. Memories of her gambling and travels to Mexico, her favorite angel statues…PILES of items from the over 50 in attendance. When I reached my chair next to Keith, I got the giggles and the harder I tried to stop, the worse it became. My sister, Lindy, turned back,
“What in the world are you laughing about?” she whispered through clenched teeth.
“I just can’t help but imagine Mom looking at all that stuff and saying, ‘Jesus, Mary and Joseph, can’t I even take ONE trip without everyone’s junk being in the way? It’s my last trip, I’m going by myself and I still have to squeeze in!”
Lindy, laughing at this time added, “At least it isn’t all at her feet!”
Within minutes the funeral director came in to the room, cleared all the items away from the upper part of the casket, opened the bottom half and carefully placed it all at Mom’s feet. Lindy and I couldn’t contain our guffaws and we shared the joke with the rest of family, giving everyone a much needed laugh on a day when great sadness loomed.
Every time I pack the car I think of Mom. Every time I do anything I think of Mom, but especially at vacation time. I am reminded that every trip we make, we take with us all those things we think we will need. We take back with us all those things plus a life-time of memories, which is probably why we seem to have so much less room on the return trip. Those memories fill us to the brim, cramming us a little bit tighter together on the way home. Those memories will be what we will all take with us on our final trip Home. We won’t need snacks, cold beverages, t-shirts or photos, we will simply take the joys that fill our soul, the Lord’s outstretched hand and off we will go, to join the drivers, navigators, families and friends who have taken the trip before us.
I remember traveling when I was young. We had a huge wooden carrier attached to the top of the station wagon as we headed to Ponca State Park. In addition, every inch of space in the car was packed. The floor where Mom’s feet were supposed to be instead held snacks and a cooler of pop, her purse, a jacket, a pillow, a bag with band-aids and wet cloths, a package of napkins, cups and plates and a garbage bag. I still am not sure where she put her feet…good thing she was short. Mom would complain that she was crowded, throwing out the occasional “Jesus, Mary and Joseph, there is too much stuff up here!” But, she would never give up being the one in charge, the one to feed her kids and make them happy with cookies, crackers and chocolate.
When Mom died, she wanted a private visitation...just us kids and Dad. The night before the service, my sister Geri called everyone and told them that if they wanted anything to be buried with her, to bring it the next morning. I declined…she was taking my heart, what else could I send?
By the time my family arrived, all my brothers and sisters and their families were there. As I walked passed the coffin, I couldn’t help but notice the many trinkets and bobbles that were carefully chosen to be given to mom. There were t-shirts and small volleyballs, letters, pictures and photographs. Memories of her gambling and travels to Mexico, her favorite angel statues…PILES of items from the over 50 in attendance. When I reached my chair next to Keith, I got the giggles and the harder I tried to stop, the worse it became. My sister, Lindy, turned back,
“What in the world are you laughing about?” she whispered through clenched teeth.
“I just can’t help but imagine Mom looking at all that stuff and saying, ‘Jesus, Mary and Joseph, can’t I even take ONE trip without everyone’s junk being in the way? It’s my last trip, I’m going by myself and I still have to squeeze in!”
Lindy, laughing at this time added, “At least it isn’t all at her feet!”
Within minutes the funeral director came in to the room, cleared all the items away from the upper part of the casket, opened the bottom half and carefully placed it all at Mom’s feet. Lindy and I couldn’t contain our guffaws and we shared the joke with the rest of family, giving everyone a much needed laugh on a day when great sadness loomed.
Every time I pack the car I think of Mom. Every time I do anything I think of Mom, but especially at vacation time. I am reminded that every trip we make, we take with us all those things we think we will need. We take back with us all those things plus a life-time of memories, which is probably why we seem to have so much less room on the return trip. Those memories fill us to the brim, cramming us a little bit tighter together on the way home. Those memories will be what we will all take with us on our final trip Home. We won’t need snacks, cold beverages, t-shirts or photos, we will simply take the joys that fill our soul, the Lord’s outstretched hand and off we will go, to join the drivers, navigators, families and friends who have taken the trip before us.
Saturday, 24 July 2010
The Path Less Traveled
My family just spent a wonderful, hot, humid and busy week in Branson, MO. My whole clan was there, including Tim and Molly and the twins, which was a great treat. Keith's mom and dad made the trip, as well as his brother Mark and sister-in-law Kathy, their two kids Ethan and Emily, her brother Gary and sister-in-law Daina and three of their girls Tanna, Toni and Tiffany. It was quite a group all sharing a six bedroom, six bathroom house that slept 22 thanks to sofa sleepers and roll-away cots. It may seem odd to some to spend so much time with in-laws and actually enjoy it, but we have vacationed together for several years now and still speak to each other at the end. One year, 12 of us traveled in 1 36' RV to Atlanta. Georgia...but that is a blog of its own!
Branson is full of activities and each one of us had particular favorites we wanted to do. Keith was intent upon seeing Noah, the Musical. Tim and Molly wanted to rest and play with their babies. Jake, Dan and Caleb wanted to spend as much time as possible on jet skis. I love water sports, but wanted to walk at least one of the many trails that climbed up the hills and down by the lake. I got my wish when the boys went golfing early one morning. Tanna, Toni and Tiffany wanted to see the sites while getting some exercise and decided to hit the trail with me.
The trail was narrow, contained over 300 stone steps and went on for about three miles. We saw caves, shale rock formations with water running down the sides, lots of bugs and more spider webs than the girls cared to see. I led the group. mostly because walking through webs didn't make me scream! According to Branson's visitor sites, over seven million people visit annually, but judging by the overgrown trail, not many hike while there! We were stuck in traffic jams up and down the strip, so it is obvious that the preferred mode of transportation is motor vehicle. I can't imagine not getting out of the car and exploring the natural beauty that is accessed directly behind the Dick Clark American Bandstand Theater.
As I was walking through the Lord's handiwork, I couldn't help but think that we didn't know much about where we were going. We knew the trail eventually came to a dead end, because we read it on-line. We didn't know if we would come across any obstacles, wild animals, other hikers...we were walking with faith that no matter what we encountered, we could handle it. At the beginning there were signs, directing us and warning us that the steps we took going down, would have to be climbed up on our return trip! There were few markers along the route, until a large red sign warned us the trail would soon end. Tiffany was nervous and wanted to turn around, certain the forged trail had already come to end. The others girls convinced her to go on. A good distance later, we saw a big sign, impossible to miss or misunderstand: STOP, The trail has ended, DO NOT CONTINUE PAST THIS POINT! We rejoiced at making it to the end, and headed back confident that even the 316 stairs awaiting us wouldn't be a problem.
Life is a lot like hiking. We don't always know where we are going, when it will end or what difficulties we will find along the way, but if we stick together, encourage each other and look for the signs that the Lord gives us, we can make it and have fun a long the way. If the way is hard and we lose our footing, it is all the more reason to celebrate when he get to the end. The easiest of walks aren't usually the most memorable. I plan to take the path less traveled more often!
Branson is full of activities and each one of us had particular favorites we wanted to do. Keith was intent upon seeing Noah, the Musical. Tim and Molly wanted to rest and play with their babies. Jake, Dan and Caleb wanted to spend as much time as possible on jet skis. I love water sports, but wanted to walk at least one of the many trails that climbed up the hills and down by the lake. I got my wish when the boys went golfing early one morning. Tanna, Toni and Tiffany wanted to see the sites while getting some exercise and decided to hit the trail with me.
The trail was narrow, contained over 300 stone steps and went on for about three miles. We saw caves, shale rock formations with water running down the sides, lots of bugs and more spider webs than the girls cared to see. I led the group. mostly because walking through webs didn't make me scream! According to Branson's visitor sites, over seven million people visit annually, but judging by the overgrown trail, not many hike while there! We were stuck in traffic jams up and down the strip, so it is obvious that the preferred mode of transportation is motor vehicle. I can't imagine not getting out of the car and exploring the natural beauty that is accessed directly behind the Dick Clark American Bandstand Theater.
As I was walking through the Lord's handiwork, I couldn't help but think that we didn't know much about where we were going. We knew the trail eventually came to a dead end, because we read it on-line. We didn't know if we would come across any obstacles, wild animals, other hikers...we were walking with faith that no matter what we encountered, we could handle it. At the beginning there were signs, directing us and warning us that the steps we took going down, would have to be climbed up on our return trip! There were few markers along the route, until a large red sign warned us the trail would soon end. Tiffany was nervous and wanted to turn around, certain the forged trail had already come to end. The others girls convinced her to go on. A good distance later, we saw a big sign, impossible to miss or misunderstand: STOP, The trail has ended, DO NOT CONTINUE PAST THIS POINT! We rejoiced at making it to the end, and headed back confident that even the 316 stairs awaiting us wouldn't be a problem.
Life is a lot like hiking. We don't always know where we are going, when it will end or what difficulties we will find along the way, but if we stick together, encourage each other and look for the signs that the Lord gives us, we can make it and have fun a long the way. If the way is hard and we lose our footing, it is all the more reason to celebrate when he get to the end. The easiest of walks aren't usually the most memorable. I plan to take the path less traveled more often!
Thursday, 15 July 2010
The Dog Days of Summer
My neighbor Vivian and I walk a few days a week early in the morning. We always take the same route around the neighborhood, about 3 miles or so. Vivian’s dog, Frodo, comes along with us. Frodo is a small, long-haired dog who looks cute and cuddly but looks can be deceiving. I personally have never had a problem with him, but he sounds like a demon-possessed when we walk past other people and turns into a ferocious animal when he sees other dogs. I have concluded that Frodo may be a little “intelligence challenged”, or he is extremely self-confident because he behaves the same whether the dog he wishes to attack is small enough to beat or large enough to eat him as an appetizer. Vivian is a very conscientious owner who cleans up after Frodo and keeps him far enough away from temptations so there is no trouble.
Frodo does a great job of keeping up with us considering his legs are about the length of my hand. I feel sorry for him in winter because he gets snow balls on his legs that can begin to weigh him down. During the summer his fur is kept closely cropped so he usually doesn’t get too hot.
Last week the temperature at 5:00 a.m. was 83 degrees and the humidity was about 99.9%. The air was so thick, it was difficult to breathe. Frodo raced up the hill the way he always does, he tried to chase bunnies, like he normally does. He even growled a few times at other walkers, like he usually does. About ¾ of the way, Vivian called for me to hold up as Frodo circled around the grass. She pulled a plastic bag from her pocket, ready to clean up anything he left behind. Frodo had another idea, though. He wasn’t scouting a good area to relieve himself, instead he spread both sets of paws out to the side and laid out in the grass with his stomach flat, put his head in the grass and refused to move as he panted. Vivian and I, feeling the same way as Frodo but unwilling (or unable) to lie down, gave him a few minutes to catch his breathe, but she reminded him, “You are the one that insists on going for a walk with us. I will not carry you home.” She tugged at his leash and Frodo eventually got up and finished the walk, but I wouldn’t be surprised if that was the only moving around he did that day.
There are so many days I feel like doing what Frodo did, just lie down and give up. I get tired and frustrated and scared and it would be so easy…too easy…to go into my bedroom, shut the door, collapse onto my bed and bury my head in the pillows. Like Frodo, I am blessed to have a Master who knows exactly what to do to encourage me. Whether He tugs at chain a bit or gently reminds me that it’s time to try again, He is there. The difference is that He does carry me, more times than I care to admit! My Master also provides me other forms of encouragement: family; friends; clergy; prayers; and while I may bark at some and attempt to chase away others, I know they are put into my life to keep me from sitting by the side of the road watching life go by.
Hebrews 10:24 reminds us, “Let us consider how we may spur one another on toward love and good deeds.”
Next time you see someone giving up, gentle pull them up, walk with them. The journey will be so much easier together!
Frodo does a great job of keeping up with us considering his legs are about the length of my hand. I feel sorry for him in winter because he gets snow balls on his legs that can begin to weigh him down. During the summer his fur is kept closely cropped so he usually doesn’t get too hot.
Last week the temperature at 5:00 a.m. was 83 degrees and the humidity was about 99.9%. The air was so thick, it was difficult to breathe. Frodo raced up the hill the way he always does, he tried to chase bunnies, like he normally does. He even growled a few times at other walkers, like he usually does. About ¾ of the way, Vivian called for me to hold up as Frodo circled around the grass. She pulled a plastic bag from her pocket, ready to clean up anything he left behind. Frodo had another idea, though. He wasn’t scouting a good area to relieve himself, instead he spread both sets of paws out to the side and laid out in the grass with his stomach flat, put his head in the grass and refused to move as he panted. Vivian and I, feeling the same way as Frodo but unwilling (or unable) to lie down, gave him a few minutes to catch his breathe, but she reminded him, “You are the one that insists on going for a walk with us. I will not carry you home.” She tugged at his leash and Frodo eventually got up and finished the walk, but I wouldn’t be surprised if that was the only moving around he did that day.
There are so many days I feel like doing what Frodo did, just lie down and give up. I get tired and frustrated and scared and it would be so easy…too easy…to go into my bedroom, shut the door, collapse onto my bed and bury my head in the pillows. Like Frodo, I am blessed to have a Master who knows exactly what to do to encourage me. Whether He tugs at chain a bit or gently reminds me that it’s time to try again, He is there. The difference is that He does carry me, more times than I care to admit! My Master also provides me other forms of encouragement: family; friends; clergy; prayers; and while I may bark at some and attempt to chase away others, I know they are put into my life to keep me from sitting by the side of the road watching life go by.
Hebrews 10:24 reminds us, “Let us consider how we may spur one another on toward love and good deeds.”
Next time you see someone giving up, gentle pull them up, walk with them. The journey will be so much easier together!
Monday, 12 July 2010
Purses and Other Necessary Evils
I have a confession to make: I hate to shop. Yes, I know that the stereotypical woman loves to shop for shoes, purses, makeup; the list could go on forever. I have never enjoyed shopping. I don’t really care if my shoes and purse match (as a matter of fact, I prefer to not carry a purse at all and wear my tennis shoes more often than any other pair.) I get most of my clothes from my sisters’ closets and my makeup from bargain bins. Shhh, don’t tell anyone, I am not a stereotypical woman.
I love to buy things for others, but hate to spend money on myself. My ideal shopping trip lasts long enough to run into a store, grab what I need (preferably when it is on sale) and run back out to the car. If I can accomplish this in 10 minutes or less, I am geared up for another such shopping trip, six months or so down the road…I don’t want to rush it or make it any type of habit.
One item I especially hate to purchase is a new purse. I normally find one every three years or so on clearance then use it until the zipper breaks, the bottom tears out or the straps can no longer be tied, taped or stapled. My current “saddle bag” as Keith calls it, is still intact, but after a bottle of Diet Coke spilled in at the school carnival, it tends to get sticky and attract bees.
Various friends have hosted purse parties and encourage me to abandon my old habits and find the perfect new fashion accessory. I admit I enjoy looking at all the pretty colors and styles but am shell-shocked by the price tags. If there are any husbands reading this story who have been told by their wives that the stylish new purse they carry cost less than $50, stop now, or I see an argument looming. The ugly truth is that unless a purse is purchased at the Salvation Army Thrift store, the price tag reads $65 or more. The not so conventional woman in me admits that I would rather have a $10 purse with $55 in the side zipper than a $65 animal print knapsack in which to carry Kleenex, lip balm and coupons.
I got my wish this weekend. Keith and I did some garage sale shopping and I found the purse deal of the century…stylish bags with name brands sold by a teenager with expensive taste and a short attention span for $5. I bought four and still spent less than I would have at Kohl’s big 40% off purse sale. Now I can confidently carry the purse to all the events I attend: basketball games, church, baseball games, work, garage sales, school, and feel like I made an attempt to be stylish. Then I can take the bag to the car, and shove it under the seat or throw it into the trunk without fear of ruining it and wasting the cost of a tank of gas.
I can’t be sure, but I think that my son’s basketball team was impressed by my cow print bag, as were the employees at Arby’s. My co-worker was impressed with the $5 price tag and Keith has already nicknamed it the Heifer. The kids will like it because it is big enough to hold all the stuff they don’t want to carry when we are on vacation and the faux cow hide matches the leather in my favorite tennis shoes quite well. If I ever decide to carry makeup with me, there is ample room. So far the stereotypical womanly purchase fits into my unconventional life quite well. Next week I hope to find a garage sale featuring a teenager with a size 8 ½ foot, a decent job and shoe fetish.
I love to buy things for others, but hate to spend money on myself. My ideal shopping trip lasts long enough to run into a store, grab what I need (preferably when it is on sale) and run back out to the car. If I can accomplish this in 10 minutes or less, I am geared up for another such shopping trip, six months or so down the road…I don’t want to rush it or make it any type of habit.
One item I especially hate to purchase is a new purse. I normally find one every three years or so on clearance then use it until the zipper breaks, the bottom tears out or the straps can no longer be tied, taped or stapled. My current “saddle bag” as Keith calls it, is still intact, but after a bottle of Diet Coke spilled in at the school carnival, it tends to get sticky and attract bees.
Various friends have hosted purse parties and encourage me to abandon my old habits and find the perfect new fashion accessory. I admit I enjoy looking at all the pretty colors and styles but am shell-shocked by the price tags. If there are any husbands reading this story who have been told by their wives that the stylish new purse they carry cost less than $50, stop now, or I see an argument looming. The ugly truth is that unless a purse is purchased at the Salvation Army Thrift store, the price tag reads $65 or more. The not so conventional woman in me admits that I would rather have a $10 purse with $55 in the side zipper than a $65 animal print knapsack in which to carry Kleenex, lip balm and coupons.
I got my wish this weekend. Keith and I did some garage sale shopping and I found the purse deal of the century…stylish bags with name brands sold by a teenager with expensive taste and a short attention span for $5. I bought four and still spent less than I would have at Kohl’s big 40% off purse sale. Now I can confidently carry the purse to all the events I attend: basketball games, church, baseball games, work, garage sales, school, and feel like I made an attempt to be stylish. Then I can take the bag to the car, and shove it under the seat or throw it into the trunk without fear of ruining it and wasting the cost of a tank of gas.
I can’t be sure, but I think that my son’s basketball team was impressed by my cow print bag, as were the employees at Arby’s. My co-worker was impressed with the $5 price tag and Keith has already nicknamed it the Heifer. The kids will like it because it is big enough to hold all the stuff they don’t want to carry when we are on vacation and the faux cow hide matches the leather in my favorite tennis shoes quite well. If I ever decide to carry makeup with me, there is ample room. So far the stereotypical womanly purchase fits into my unconventional life quite well. Next week I hope to find a garage sale featuring a teenager with a size 8 ½ foot, a decent job and shoe fetish.
Friday, 9 July 2010
Let There Be Light
Dan, my 19 year old cleaned the basement the other day. While many may not think this is a suspicious activity for a young man, my mom radar told me something was up. The basement was once an unfinished room with an old television set and boxes of “stuff” we really didn’t need but convinced ourselves to keep anyway. A few years ago my husband Keith decided to take his bonus money and create a young man cave for the high school aged boys. We ended up with a sectional sofa that realistically holds about 10 normal people or 5 high school boys, who must sit far enough apart so that they aren’t in contact with each other at all. We added two large screen televisions and a poker table. The room was a hit and accomplished the goal for which we set out…to keep the boys at our house as much as possible. We later put a ping pong table in an adjoining room and a game system. Before we realized what had happened, the basement was a full time entertainment room. We also discovered that as long as there is a high school girl between each of the boys, the sectional holds 15.
As much as I loved having the boys home more often, the basement soon became cluttered with soda cans, empty chip bags, cereal bowls, jackets and an even dozen of basketballs. (Dan’s older brother Jake never traveled anywhere without one!) Cleaning the basement usually consisted of stacking the empty pop cans on the television and shoving the empty wrappers into the seat cushion. As the older boys moved on to college and Caleb, now 15, was the only remaining boy at home, the basement continued to be the hang-out for several neighborhood kids and the dumping ground for food and drinks of all kinds. The lovely sectional has more than a few stains, the last being from a chocolate malt, spilled by a friend, which Caleb attempted to clean with a dry beach towel.
I continue to struggle to “encourage” the boys to clean up their messes without resorting to fingerprint analysis to determine the mess maker.
So…when Dan volunteered to clean, I knew it was not just a sign of benevolence. As suspected, he wanted to have a few people over. Guests began to arrive at 11:00 p.m., normal party time for young people, normal bed time for me! I am still unsure when they left because the dog doesn’t bark incessantly when people are exiting the house. What I am sure of it that the only thing that kept burglars away from the unlocked and slightly ajar front door that night, was the notion that our household never sleeps since every light and television in the house was left on. When I woke the next morning, Dan was asleep on the couch in the family room with infomercials blaring in the background and the house aglow.
His explanation was that after everyone left, he went upstairs to grab a bite to eat, intent on returning to the basement. He turned on lights as he walked around the house. “You don’t expect me to eat in the dark, do you?” When he settled on the couch to finish off his snack, he got a bit too comfortable and before he knew it, he was asleep.
It’s funny how comfortable we are in the light. Daylight seems less scary than night time. A lit house looks inviting and loving. The glow of a night light softly and safely guides us, even through dangerous sharp-toy minefields. The Bible tells us that evil keeps out of the light, finding its way through dark alleys and dark hearts. Evil is exposed in the light for what it truly is. I’m not sure that when God said “Let there be light” He meant in every room, but He did give us light to guide us, to lead us, to shine upon us and to surround us, awake or asleep.
As much as I loved having the boys home more often, the basement soon became cluttered with soda cans, empty chip bags, cereal bowls, jackets and an even dozen of basketballs. (Dan’s older brother Jake never traveled anywhere without one!) Cleaning the basement usually consisted of stacking the empty pop cans on the television and shoving the empty wrappers into the seat cushion. As the older boys moved on to college and Caleb, now 15, was the only remaining boy at home, the basement continued to be the hang-out for several neighborhood kids and the dumping ground for food and drinks of all kinds. The lovely sectional has more than a few stains, the last being from a chocolate malt, spilled by a friend, which Caleb attempted to clean with a dry beach towel.
I continue to struggle to “encourage” the boys to clean up their messes without resorting to fingerprint analysis to determine the mess maker.
So…when Dan volunteered to clean, I knew it was not just a sign of benevolence. As suspected, he wanted to have a few people over. Guests began to arrive at 11:00 p.m., normal party time for young people, normal bed time for me! I am still unsure when they left because the dog doesn’t bark incessantly when people are exiting the house. What I am sure of it that the only thing that kept burglars away from the unlocked and slightly ajar front door that night, was the notion that our household never sleeps since every light and television in the house was left on. When I woke the next morning, Dan was asleep on the couch in the family room with infomercials blaring in the background and the house aglow.
His explanation was that after everyone left, he went upstairs to grab a bite to eat, intent on returning to the basement. He turned on lights as he walked around the house. “You don’t expect me to eat in the dark, do you?” When he settled on the couch to finish off his snack, he got a bit too comfortable and before he knew it, he was asleep.
It’s funny how comfortable we are in the light. Daylight seems less scary than night time. A lit house looks inviting and loving. The glow of a night light softly and safely guides us, even through dangerous sharp-toy minefields. The Bible tells us that evil keeps out of the light, finding its way through dark alleys and dark hearts. Evil is exposed in the light for what it truly is. I’m not sure that when God said “Let there be light” He meant in every room, but He did give us light to guide us, to lead us, to shine upon us and to surround us, awake or asleep.
Life is Hard!
In my afternoon phone call with my husband Keith, he told me of a conversation he had with one of his Gideon brothers. This man had been watching the General Patraeus confirmation hearing and repeated how the General responded to a question about ending the war: “Just because it’s hard doesn’t mean it is hopeless.” Neither of us knew if the General is a Christian, but this answer made us believe that he probably is.
Those nine words really made an impact on me. Life has been hard lately. Keith’s illness, a busy time at work, not enough vehicles for the drivers in the family, repairs needed to be done at home, a sense of disconnect with church…life is hard. Difficulty is not new to us, we have always had one problem or another, whether it be finances or family sickness. Funny, at the time, I am sure the hard times were so overwhelming we wondered how we would ever survive. Now, looking back, I struggle to remember the circumstances. I guess the old adage, “That which does not kill me only makes me stronger" is true.
Romans 5:3-5 just happens to be my life verse and just happens to directly correlate. “And yet we rejoice in our suffering, because suffering produces perseverance, perseverance character and character hope and hope does not disappoint us because it is given to us through Jesus Christ.” Life is only truly hopeless if life is Christ-less.
Pastor John Reinke worked as an interim pastor at Atonement Lutheran Church years ago. I was lucky enough to be serving as secretary at the time. John believed that all Christians needed to find a life verse, a Biblical passage that could be memorized and used often. I can’t remember how I found Romans 5:3-5, I just know that it has helped me more times than I can remember and has been repeated to others as much if not more. It is the answer to all pain and suffering: loss of life; loss of job; hurt feelings; physical pain; emotional strife; marriage woes; misunderstandings…a cure-all of sorts. It is God’s way of reminding that if suffering does not kill me, it will make me stronger. If it does kill me, there will be no more suffering. It really is a win-win situation.
As I write this I look at an old Avon purchase, a small ceramic church with scripture cards that I try to read daily. Today’s passage is also from Romans, chapter 12, verse 12: “Be joyful in hope, patient in affliction, faithful in prayer.”
Life is hard, but Jesus is faithful and it will be better. “The will of God will never take you where the grace of God will not protect you.” So if life is hard, pray, be patient and believe that the hope and grace Jesus gave us is sufficient to get us through.
Those nine words really made an impact on me. Life has been hard lately. Keith’s illness, a busy time at work, not enough vehicles for the drivers in the family, repairs needed to be done at home, a sense of disconnect with church…life is hard. Difficulty is not new to us, we have always had one problem or another, whether it be finances or family sickness. Funny, at the time, I am sure the hard times were so overwhelming we wondered how we would ever survive. Now, looking back, I struggle to remember the circumstances. I guess the old adage, “That which does not kill me only makes me stronger" is true.
Romans 5:3-5 just happens to be my life verse and just happens to directly correlate. “And yet we rejoice in our suffering, because suffering produces perseverance, perseverance character and character hope and hope does not disappoint us because it is given to us through Jesus Christ.” Life is only truly hopeless if life is Christ-less.
Pastor John Reinke worked as an interim pastor at Atonement Lutheran Church years ago. I was lucky enough to be serving as secretary at the time. John believed that all Christians needed to find a life verse, a Biblical passage that could be memorized and used often. I can’t remember how I found Romans 5:3-5, I just know that it has helped me more times than I can remember and has been repeated to others as much if not more. It is the answer to all pain and suffering: loss of life; loss of job; hurt feelings; physical pain; emotional strife; marriage woes; misunderstandings…a cure-all of sorts. It is God’s way of reminding that if suffering does not kill me, it will make me stronger. If it does kill me, there will be no more suffering. It really is a win-win situation.
As I write this I look at an old Avon purchase, a small ceramic church with scripture cards that I try to read daily. Today’s passage is also from Romans, chapter 12, verse 12: “Be joyful in hope, patient in affliction, faithful in prayer.”
Life is hard, but Jesus is faithful and it will be better. “The will of God will never take you where the grace of God will not protect you.” So if life is hard, pray, be patient and believe that the hope and grace Jesus gave us is sufficient to get us through.
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