Category Archives: How to Have a Grace-Filled Home

Feb29

Average or Extraordinary?

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“The truth is maybe we are just average. But the way I see it — families where parents get up every morning and go to jobs that are hard so they can get their kids through school and through life, and struggle to make it all work and manage to do it with dignity and a little humor — well, that’s not average. That’s extraordinary.”
Frankie Heck, The Middle

cafeteria-662458_1920There she stood, her jet black hair in a perfect Laura Petrie flip. Unlike Rob’s wife in the 60’s sitcom, her features were harsh. She had a nasally voice and when she saw me she smirked and demanded an explanation. After all, students weren’t permitted in the cafeteria before school unless they had business there.

I had strict orders from my mother that I was to hand the sealed envelope to anyone but her. I must have been all of ten years old, and a most compliant child. I was torn between obeying my mother and respecting the Tasmanian she-devil adult in front of me. I have no idea what happened next.

Honest. It’s blocked from my memory and while I’m sure that spending precious time and money with a counselor might help me remember and sort it out, I’m not sure I that I want to go there. It was mean-spirited but I did learn at a tender age that I never wanted to make another person feel like that.

She was the mother of my friend, our neighbor across the street. And she thought our family had too many kids. Even I realized that. And I knew that the envelope contained an application for free lunches. Handing it to anyone else was safe, but handing it to her just confirmed her opinion.

Strangely, I admired the perfect little playhouse that was situated in the perfectly manicured back yard. Her children, one boy and one girl, completed a perfect family. They were even born in the correct order, boy first. Her home was so clean it shined.

I never, not even once, felt welcome or wanted there. I did feel shame and judgment, not able in my immaturity to fully comprehend the strong opinions behind them.

Hubby and I married young. It was our choice. I was ready for my own home and family. The reality of the cost of providing for a family and the social norm of the 70’s to have 2.5 children were a big part of our choice to limit our offspring to two. In fact, I was so naïve about the heart’s capacity to love that during my second pregnancy I worried that I could never love another child like I did my first.

I am incredibly grateful for my two daughters. The real joy in having lots of children is giving them siblings. The truth is, our brothers and sisters know us as we always were. They share family secrets, feuds and jokes. And they show up. Good times, bad times, hard times. Two daughters, born six years apart, with four hundred miles separating their homes. And yet, their hearts are in tune. And while I wish I had given them a larger family, peace floods my soul when I realize they have each other; that they will drop everything and run from everything else to each other.

Sometimes life comes full circle. As of this moment, I have eight grandchildren; my mom would be so proud of her granddaughter’s house full of babies and children. Yesterday, the youngest turned a year old. He’s a foster but he just might stick and that would oh so wonderful, because you see, I love him like crazy.

When the whole crew arrives for a visit our normally tidy home is cluttered and loud within minutes. Babies cry and toddlers act like, well, toddlers. The kitchen stays busy and the door to outside slams loud when the windows are open and the weather is perfect for outdoor play. There are disagreements over sharing toys and someone skins a knee and because we have a five year old girl in this mix, there is drama. Lots of drama. And poop – with three in diapers, someone always has poop. We deal.

But that’s not all. There are moments of baby snuggles and reading to toddlers. There are five year old secrets to share and hair to braid. Big boys build Lego models and share their favorite things about the new Star Wars movie. There are showers and tubbies every evening and lots of stern warnings about staying in bed, even at Grandma and Grandpa’s house. I sneak in and warn them about nice Mommy being done for the day before she confirms that she’s not kidding.

The truth is, it’s a lot of work to manage a large family. Things that some families take for granted are not possible. The budget may allow for a meal out, but seriously, why wrangle so many littles to a restaurant when it’s so much easier to feed them at home? I marvel at the way that the older boys take responsibility, whether making sure all of the diaper bags get to the van or buckling and verifying everyone is safely seated.

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I’m mostly a spectator in the life of this big family. I can’t speak on their behalf and I have no experience parenting so many. I freely acknowledge all of that. But I am so thankful for a second chance at a big family.

When I think about them in twenty years, I can only imagine how great Thanksgiving will be at their house. I sure hope I live long enough to see it.

As it turns out, this heart of mine does have the capacity to love more than one child.

 

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Feb21

A Habit of Faith

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It’s Sunday morning and in our house, that means we are going to church. It’s always been that way. As newlyweds, we slept in on Saturday mornings. My earliest irritation with my father in law (may he rest in peace) was with his Saturday morning drop in visits. The man just never got the hint that newly married couples 1) like to stay in bed on their day off and 2) even if they are up, they are not interested in entertaining a third. We loved our lazy mornings. We needed those lazy mornings.

However, on Sunday we were up and out the door to church. We were already serving as teachers and for you Millennials, there was also church on Sunday night. It would have been so easy to justify staying home, but we established a habit from the start.

I grew up around priests and nuns. They were easily recognized by their religious habits, the clothing that identified them as consecrated to God. The habit is an outward reminder to all  of their devotion to Christ and the church. Our faith “habits” are a regular reminder of the price that was paid for our redemption as well as our commitment to the Body of Christ, the church.

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If memory serves me well, this was her first time to church.

With the addition of a baby we were even more determined to be there. Our firstborn entered the world on Sunday and the following Sunday morning she was dressed up and taken to church. You read that right…I took my newborn, one week old into the house of God, aka the Temple of Germs. I’m sure we were warned, but we were determined to be back in our community.

This paragraph is a little disclaimer: I didn’t put my precious little in the church nursery and I let no one – not even her grandmother (I didn’t want to put her in the awkward position of saying no) – hold her while we were there. I politely declined and explained that we would love for them to stop by our home where they could cuddle to their heart’s content. No. One. Ever. Came. People didn’t want to hold my baby, they wanted to hold a baby. They were not nearly as excited about getting to know her as they were about giving their uterus a baby fix. Not my baby.

Six years later our second little girl was born, also on a Sunday. After a Lamaze birth and a couple of days of rest we set out to church the following Sunday, continuing in our pattern. I returned to work five weeks after she was born. When not at my job, I hung cloth diapers on the line to dry while my husband worked in a very physically demanding job six days a week. It never once occurred to us to use Sunday mornings to recover from the week or get things done for the following one.

Of course we stayed home when we were sick. There were vacations and other things that kept us away, but it was our pattern, our habit to get up, get ready and go. There was never a Saturday night conversation about whether we would be going. It was our routine. Just like we went to work and school on Monday, we showed up at church every week.

Lest you think I was a conformist, I must tell you that I was the pioneer who (I’m sure of this) was the first person to introduce the notion of not having Sunday night church. Don’t get me wrong, Sunday night church was awesome. It was more casual and relaxed; from the music to the atmosphere in the sanctuary, it felt more like family than Sunday morning. Almost without fail, we traded hosting casual after church dinners with another family. That was the best time, whether we adults played cards or just chatted while the kids gathered in the other room.

The problem with this? By the time the evening was ending, it was past bedtimes and we were already behind in our normal weeknight schedule. I’m not known for boldly introducing groundbreaking new ideas but one morning as we sat in a fast food restaurant with our pastor and another local pastor, I made a bold statement: “Sunday night church isn’t good for families. I think we should consider not doing it.”

WHOA….I might as well have said that pastors could wear jeans in the pulpit and Baptists should speak to the Episcopalians in the liquor store. Based on their reaction, I was sure that if the Baptists excommunicated heretics, I was on my way out.

Needless to say, I now know that my vision was clearly anointed since this new enlightened generation realizes that Sunday nights are best spent with family, friends and neighbors, building relationships and sharing Jesus over supper. And therein is true Sunday Night Church, my friends.

I pop out of that rabbit hole to tell you that I’m so glad we have a habit of going to church. Last week, one week after my husband’s discharge from the hospital, I guided my car into a handicapped space, pulled his walker from the back seat and we made our way to the elevator that would carry us to the room where the church meets.

Walker at Church

It would have been easy to stay at home. He is recovering from major surgery. There are germs in such a large group of people. But the community that is the church was there, waiting for us. They greeted us with concern and care and open arms. We were with them again as we worshiped our Jesus, the one who knows our hearts and loves us anyway. The one who has brought healing and comfort in the midst of every storm. Our habit led us back to that place of imperfection and our hearts were encouraged.

The messages haven’t always been great. Sometimes things that were spoken from the pulpit made me cringe. We’ve been let down, hurt, overlooked and overworked. People have lied about us and to us. They are all flawed, these people who love God. We are all flawed. But the one who we seek is perfect. In his perfect love, we see the hope for redemption that is within every one of us. We encourage one another in that hope.

It is because of the community of Christ-believers that we have remained married for over forty-three years. The people in our community expected that of us; we know that they have counted on us to walk with them, learn from them and share with them our struggles and our victories. We owe it to them to show up, so if you’re looking for us this morning, we’ll be in the center row, about 2/3 of the way back.

HEbrews 10

“Let’s see how inventive we can be in encouraging love and helping out, not avoiding worshiping together as some do but spurring each other on, especially as we see the big Day approaching.” Hebrews 10:24-25 (The Message)

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Feb12

Great Expectations of the Heart

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Dear Valentine2Valentine’s Day is upon us. According to Bankrate, the typical basket of goods and services exceeds $500. Expectations are high, especially among women. That “basket” includes chocolate, diamonds, roses, dinner for two and a bottle of champagne. Individual expectations may vary from that, but for many the day won’t come anywhere close to their idealistic expectations for expressions of love and romance.

The basket referenced above didn’t include a card. I happen to love cards…any written expression of thoughts and feelings is dear to me. Hence, there is a keepsake box of cards on my closet shelf from, no kidding, the 1970’s. As I sorted through it recently, I found a folded sheet of notebook paper. It was a Valentine note from my husband.

We were new parents. Our little Kathy Jo, as we referred to her then, was not quite five months old and we were….well, economically challenged. There was no budget for chocolates or flowers, and in that era expectations didn’t yet include all of the extravagance outlined above. All of those were luxurious and honestly, not on my radar. In fact, even cards were not in our meager budget. So, this man took a sheet of notebook paper and penned words of love and devotion.

ValentineNote

Dear Valentine,
Though I have no fancy card today,
complete with sweet refrain,
you’ll always have the sweet assurance
of my love even when I’m old and on a cane.

When I read that again, I laughed. Out loud. I LOL’ed, something that I don’t do that often, but how sweet. I wasn’t laughing at his silliness as a young husband, rather at the irony of his prose.

How could we have known what he was prognosticating, that more than forty years later we would be walking through a season that we couldn’t have dreamed of then? He’s recovering from back surgery; and he’s relying on a walker. Face palm.

We can afford to buy cards these days, but ouch! I admit my irritation at paying $5 for a valentine. Over the years, he’s bought many beautiful cards; in fact, this man usually buys two for every occasion – one funny and one elaborate with lovely sentiments. As I pulled that box down and again sifted through its contents in preparation to write, the handwritten note is the one and only valentine remembrance there.

I married a romantic. He’s hired barbershop quartets to serenade me, one of my favorite and yet most awkward valentines. Four men surrounding your desk as coworkers gather round whilst they sing sweet songs of love and devotion is an original and fun idea. However, everyone watching your face for a reaction is a lot of pressure even if you aren’t an introvert! However, to this day, when I hear those sweet harmonies I remember his thoughtful surprise.

Roses, chocolates, dinner dates and jewelry – over the years as the budget allowed each has played a role in the annual observance of a day set aside to celebrate love. I’m a romantic as well. If you read my “We Kissed Dating Goodbye” post and think that I’m not into that, I misled you. I love making plans for a special evening out… planning an outfit that will thrill him, anticipating the foreplay of sweet talk and stolen kisses in an evening devoted to just us two. Now that’s a date that’s going somewhere.

I’ve been pondering all of this as the big day approaches. I listened to the woman who called the radio station complaining that her boyfriend refused to join the commercial madness that is Valentine’s Day (his opinion, not hers or mine). She had minimum requirements. Anything less than her expectations meant he didn’t care enough. Based on what I heard, they were significantly more than words penned on notebook paper, but somewhere south of the $500 estimate by Bankrate.

It’s ironic that in a time when lovers are sometimes cast off like last year’s fashion, the outward expressions of love are more extravagant than ever. It’s also easier than ever to make things happen with our access to virtually (no pun intended) everything on the internet. Faster than you can write a few lines of silly prose you can make dinner reservations, order flowers complete with candy and stuffed animal and check her Pinterest page for the perfect bracelet. Just a few more clicks and love is in the air.

That note I received all those years ago didn’t end with the silly poem. The sentiments that followed were filled with promises and hope for the future. The last paragraph is remarkably apropos:

“As a new phase of our life begins I look to you for encouragement and support and most of all, your love. I love you more today than ever before.”

Today more than ever, with your Facebook feed filling up with pictures of flowers and gifts and status updates from dinner dates, it’s tempting to devalue simple expressions of love. Compared to the highlight reel of others your love life may appear to be pretty normal.

For many, normal is no longer an option. Today, I read this, Rory Feek’s plans for his last Valentine’s Day with his beloved Joey: “…I’m hoping for a few soft kisses. The passion for each other that Joey and I once had has been replaced by the sweetest, gentlest kisses. I live for those kisses. They are enough.”

This year, consider this: the purest expressions of love from a sincere heart will not only be enough, they will endure.

 

 

 

 

 

Jan24

We Kissed Date Nights Goodbye

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Regular date Nights. Sounds great, right? Get a sitter, get out of the house and spend time together. If you don’t, your marriage is doomed. Everyone from Redbook to your pastor is declaring it.

Pisha, I say. On what grounds, you may ask, do I declare this pisha?

Forty three years of marriage and counting. Staying happily married for that much time lends credibility to one’s opinions.

I can’t jump on the date night bandwagon, in spite of the fact that hubby and I are in the “business” of hitching and counseling young couples:

  • First, the word regular. Regular as in your bowel function? Done or happening frequently? Or regular as in conforming to the usual?
  • Have you ever wrangled the kids out of the house on a weeknight? Better yet, on a Thursday night??? After a Wednesday night at church? That project that’s due on Friday isn’t gluing itself to a poster board.
  • Money. I know that you can argue that you can come up with creative date night ideas that don’t cost a dime, and good for you. What happens when we use those creative juices to come up with a way to get the baby to sleep through the night (or just through a quickie)?
  • No children in the house? Why in the world do you want to leave the coziness of your own nest? Nothing more romantic than a snuggling together and seeing where the night goes.
  • I’m totally in favor of special time together.
  • Weddings…always be the first to respond Yes! And never take your young children unless it’s a close family member. What a great gift to you! A beautiful ceremony to recall the joy and sacredness of your vows, followed by dinner (free) and dancing. What could be more romantic?
  • Coffee Breaks – I’m a striver. Sometimes it’s difficult for me to relax at home, surrounded by the things that I need to do. When he “scoops me up” for a visit to a nearby coffee shop it is a perfect diversion and gets me focused on the man I love.
  • Volunteer – What are you passionate or your spouse passionate about? Get involved together.
  • Completing projects – Paint a room, organize your pictures, or plant a garden. Work side by side, even if it’s after the kids are tucked in at night.
  • Family walks – Even with a passel of kids, you know they will run ahead and around you as you walk. Head to a park, run off some steam and you’ll be surprised what the endorphins will do for their sleep and your love life. There is nothing sexier than your man playing with your children.
  • Vacations – Biggest regret? That we didn’t take more…but as a family.
  • Every night – okay I know this doesn’t work for everyone but you know your life and can figure this out:
    • Put the kids to bed and spend time together, not just sitting in front of the TV
    • Go to bed together. It can be tricky if you’re a night owl and he gets up early. Adjust. The time before you sleep is critical to your relationship. Devote a few minutes to each other, even if you have to get up after he’s drifted off.In 1989, the Orlando Magic was established as a franchise. I married a man who loves, and taught me to love, the game of basketball. We were season ticket holders for the first few years and rarely missed a game. We were away from home lots of nights, but our girls were responsible and could look after themselves – it was “our” time. I remember seeing Larry Bird (Google him – he’s a legend) and Michael Jordan on the court and pinching myself. We thought we were in heaven.When I look back, the seats in the arena were a dream come true, but the time and money spent were extravagant. However, working as a team in that gym we accomplished something that was truly ours, yet outside of ourselves. It was ours to share.
    • Fifteen years earlier, we volunteered to run the basketball league for a local organization. Every Saturday we drove around, collecting a rag tag bunch of preteen boys in our Chevelle. The rear floor board was rusted out and we were always a little concerned about having enough gas to make the drive across town and back. We had our baby girl with us, too and she was at home on the courts. We spent all day at the gym, working together to get games started on time, pay the officials, keep scorebooks and keep tabs on those boys. Lots of weeks we spent our meager budget to buy at least one of them a burger. We worked hard side by side and we loved it.
    • It’s great to plan a night out. It’s even better to have a night out planned for you; to be dated, to be wooed and in the process remember the things that brought you together in the beginning. I love getting primped for a night out because it’s special. But I’m just going to say it. Regular sounds a little too….regular. There’s nothing magical happening at Chili’s, friends.

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If you are still with me…go, enjoy a night out once in a while. If your church (like mine) is offering babysitting services free or at a great price, take advantage of it. But don’t let anyone tell you that your marriage is doomed if you don’t have a weekly date night.

 

 

 

 

 

Jan18

A Matter of Focus

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It’s almost time.  I’m already having the dream where I’m wandering around trying to decide what to pack and everyone is waiting for me. It’s the one where I’m also standing, undressed, in front of my closet, paralyzed.  Nothing looks like my clothes and I just stare. It’s as if I’m glued to the floor.

Hubby is going to have surgery soon. It’s a couple of weeks out.  I can’t wait for it.  I’m terrified of it. I’m making lists for my lists.  I’ve read everything they’ve sent and everything I can find on the internet (don’t do that!). I’ve also read most of it to him.  Because, you know…men.

The house is being made ready for convalescence. I’ve cleaned the fridge, because you know…you never know. The windows are clean, because if I were laid up the dirty windows would bother me.  I bought thank you cards, because people are going to visit and bring food.

Valentines are ready to mail. The oven is clean, because…I don’t know!

The hospital checklist is detailed.  If you forget to take the MRI the surgery will be cancelled.  CANCELLED, people!  I can’t do this again.  The surgery cannot be cancelled. Therefore, the MRI is in the folder that is in the bag that is being made ready.

The truth is, controlling things is sort of my thing.  Order makes me happy and knowing exactly what to expect makes me really happy.  When I travel on business, I spend lots of time on Google Earth.  I look at the street view from the front of my hotel. I research restaurants, shopping malls, drug stores in near proximity.  I love familiarity.

To say that I’m anxious about this might be a bit understated. They are going to cut his back open and expose his spine, friends.  I’ve seen pictures (note remarks above warning about internet research).  The surgeon has done thousands of these procedures and I’m sure it’s just another day at the office for him, but this is my sweetheart. It’s not just another tick mark in a long line of one after another. It’s my love.

Be still my trembling heart. I know.  Over and over I remind myself that God has him. He has us. And He will be with us through the storm.

cameraI have a really nice new camera.  I want to do some cool shots and every single time it focuses on the object in the foreground.  I’ve got to spend some time with the owner’s manual to learn how to switch from auto focus.

The truth is, that’s the problem with this surgery. On auto focus, fear and anxiety are in the foreground of every shot.

It’s time to be finished with house work and packing. The lists we’ll be making these next two weeks are of gratitude and confidence. It’s time to celebrate healing and look forward to precious opportunities to be a blessing in this journey.

Focus, Lorraine, focus.  It’s about to get real up in here.

You will keep in perfect peace those whose minds are steadfast, because they trust in you.
Isaiah 26:3

 

Jan10

The Lie that Says “You Can’t”

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Marathon

When I read this Annual Report provided by Word Press, I literally caught my breath. A year ago this blog was a secret little dream, one that I thought would stay hidden in my heart.

It wasn’t until our small group leader introduced me to a book by Bruce Wilkinson called “The Dream Giver” (Thanks , Josh Grosshans!) that I began to consider the possibility. I was inspired by the book; I was encouraged by my hubby, whose confidence in me is epic; and I was terrified by the voice that said “You can’t”.

It’s been just over six months. I remember sitting in our favorite coffee shop with my sweet, patient niece. Armed with nothing more than a laptop and a name for the blog, Annie walked me through setting up the page. Since, then I’ve pretty much flown by the seat of my pants.  Jesus, take the wheel because WordPress isn’t exactly babysitting bloggers!  As I write I am so thankful that I didn’t wait until I had it all figured out to start. I wish I knew more about web design and had a bigger budget but one thing I know: this undertaking is a marathon, not a sprint.

This morning my grandson and I drove out to Epcot to watch his mom, MY daughter, cross the finish line at the Disney marathon.  She didn’t train as much as she’d hoped and I’m sure that at 2:00 this morning when she ate a bowl of cheerios, hoping they would digest before race time, she heard that same terrifying voice saying “You can’t” This wasn’t her first marathon; she’s run a Goofy (that ‘s a half marathon on Saturday, followed by the marathon on Sunday – she’s her father’s child) a couple of times and she knew exactly what she was about to undertake.

C and I worked our way up to a barricade near the finish and stood anxiously on tiptoes, surveying wave after wave of finishers. That boy never looked away, his gaze intent for the face of his mom.  As runners passed, the crowd cheered and shouted out names.  In the hour that we stood there, I wept for those who obviously were overcoming more than 26.2 miles.

Before I could spot her, in spite of my height advantage, he shouted “There she is!” Her eyes lit when she saw him and she blew a kiss, then crossed the finish and collected the prize that finishers earn.

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DSC_0005As we walked to the car, she talked about the tough miles and moments when she fought hard against the voice that continued to tell her “You can’t”. She chose the only way to overcome the lying voice; keep moving forward.

This writing journey has been an emotional roller coaster, but I’ve kept my head up and my eyes forward.

I cannot begin to express how encouraged I’ve been by friends and family who have faithfully read every post. You are part of the analytics that follow.  I love you all.

Along this journey, my most faithful encourager has been my hubby.  He proofreads my posts and cries with me over the words every week. I can’t imagine any journey without him. I love you, baby!

As we stood near the finish this morning, I witnessed the joy of a stronger, more seasoned runner reaching back to cross the finish line with a novice.

One of the greatest blessings of writing has been in the encouragement from other writers. One precious momma in particular has reached back and taken my hand. The unselfish sharing of her reputation and influence in the blogging world has been refreshing and life-changing. Thank you, Jami Amerine, for your friendship!

It is with humility and great awe that I share what HE has done with the dream that he placed in my heart.  Take a few minutes to read the report. You will be amazed, as I was.  Your dream is safe with him, but you have to take the first step, my friend. The only answer to the lying voice that says “You can’t” is “Watch me!”

 

To Him alone be the glory!

Here’s an excerpt:

A New York City subway train holds 1,200 people. This blog was viewed about 3,900 times in 2015. If it were a NYC subway train, it would take about 3 trips to carry that many people.

Click here to see the complete report.

Dec28

Not so Fast…We aren’t Finished!

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Perhaps you have already “put Christmas away” for the year. For many, the season started before Thanksgiving and they were done before the wrapping paper was at the curb on Christmas day. I understand…sometimes there is an overwhelming need to return to normal. For others, the next thing is right around the corner and it’s time to refocus. I have a friend who will be starting a new job on New Year’s Eve and she is ready to prepare for a new beginning. New job, new year, new opportunities…how exciting!

XmasTreeI’m not there yet. We haven’t had family Christmas. It’s the one where paper flies and one kid accidentally opens another kid’s gifts and someone is young enough that they embarrass their parents by saying “I want more!” (If you’ve ever had a three or four year old you know what I mean. They just like ripping paper off packages with no particular interest or appreciation for the contents.)

One of our sons-in-law is chief officer in charge of collecting the discarded wrapping paper and reminding kids to be careful so nothing gets thrown away. He’s really good at this job; he is tenured and valuable and secure in this position. Since our family continues to grow this scene has become more and more chaotic. We think you people who sit in a circle and orderly open gifts, one person at a time, carols softly playing in the background are so cute. In my idealistic, Hallmark/Publix commercial moments, I want to be like that. And then I get real and I’m thankful that we are all together and assure my anxious heart that we will sort it all out later and not throw one single scrap of paper away until everything is accounted for. I want joy and family; order and ceremony are overrated! And I want to be right in the middle of the happy chaos.

Vintage Cello Tree

This is similar to the tree we had in the ’60’s.

When I was a child the Christmas season lasted about two weeks. In my younger years our family had a short cellophane tree, just about three feet tall. It was placed on a high table a few days before Christmas, with my mom supervising the placement of the precious ornaments and bead garland and then six children proceeded to pelt it with tinsel. As I think about it today, it was meager, pitiful….and absolutely beautiful.

I loved Christmas because of the anticipation and the joy that I saw in my parent’s eyes as they watched all six of their offspring open gifts. They didn’t have the means for extravagance, but they always gifted toys and things we truly wanted rather than essential items that we needed. One gift in particular does seem odd as I look back. I mean, really…how many of you received a nun doll? My sister and I did! They were dressed in full habit, but had the faces of children. We were Catholics, but I don’t think my parents had plans to send either of us to a convent.Exif_JPEG_PICTURE

I recall vividly the year that I ruined Christmas, at least for myself. My parents had wrapped all of the gifts and placed them in the bottom of their closet. One day when they were away, I peeked. I knew EVERY gift, even my Simon and Garfunkel “Bridge Over Troubled Water” album…no surprises. I remember being ashamed and sad that there would be no surprises on Christmas morning. It was one of my last Christmases at home. TO. THIS. DAY. I NEVER peek. My hubby cleverly hides things under the bed in our room. Apparently he thinks that I won’t be cleaning the floors the weeks leading up to Christmas! But it’s all good, because I’m never again going to peek. Lesson learned.

I have another Christmas memory that has disposed me great determination to immerse myself in the crazy that ensues with a house filled with children. I was a preteen – I have no idea the year, but we had guests from Indiana for Christmas. It was my mother’s uncle and his family, and I know she must have been thrilled to have them with us. It was also one of the few years that I recall her buying a gift for my dad, a watch. With so many in the house, she was busy in the kitchen and even starting a load of laundry. I can still see her face when she returned to the living room and realized that my dad had already opened and set the precious watch aside. The moment was lost – she missed that special connection between giver and recipient when the surprise is revealed and joy bubbles up. I saw it in her face and though I didn’t fully understand, I could feel her disappointment.

I want to be present; I want to experience the joy and even the occasional disappointment that is hard to hide, because all of it is real life and it has an expiration date.

There will be eight grandchildren around our tree this Thursday…from the ten month old baby celebrating his very first Christmas to the eighteen year old who reminded me again Christmas day that he “is a man now”. No matter. We will gather, and I could not have imagined the mix when I was a young mother of two girls. Our family. An incredible blend of souls; by God’s grace, I am the mom. And I don’t want to miss a thing.

And so, we light the tree every evening and we wait. Christmas Eve was excellent; Christmas day was wonderful, but Family Christmas will be joy. There will be no perfection; I am certain that someone will poop at the most inopportune time; there will be tears (hopefully only from a little one) and there might even be some attitude, but it will be us just as we are. And I am sure of this more this year than ever; that “us” is a gift to anticipate, unwrap together and enjoy.

Happy Christmas, my friends. Happy New Year, too!

Dec22

What Your Mother Really Wants for Christmas

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edit Door Prize WrapI write one post a week and the most difficult words to write are the four to six in the title. Last weekend, while enjoying a rare theme park date with my husband, the title came first.

I’ve been a mom for more than forty-two years.  Motherhood was my first job with benefits and it’s a great gig. I’m quite sure that I’m not the first woman to say that it is the most difficult, yet most rewarding thing I’ve ever done.

I love that God saw fit to give me girls.  (Without them, I would have zero fashion sense.) Now that they have children and we have mothering in common and I think they even get me sometimes. At my age, when I look into a mirror I see my mother’s face…and I am shocked! But I look into the faces of my daughters and they reflect my life.

The Osborne family of Arkansas donated a bunch of lights to Walt Disney World after their neighbors got in an uproar over the display at their home.  Disney took those lights to Hollywood Studios and in true form turned them into something magical. The magic happens when you turn the corner from the back lot onto the Streets of America and see millions of dancing lights, Christmas music filling the air and a mass of people absolutely in awe and full of Christmas cheer.  I’ve taken that walk with my children and grandchildren. We’ve danced together in the streets to “Rockin’ Around the Christmas tree” and I’ve kissed my sweet husband as we sang “I’ll Be Home for Christmas”. I’ve stood in awe of the beauty of the nativity. If that display were Sodom and Gomorrah I would be a pillar of salt because I can never just walk away without glancing back and wishing I could stay a little longer.

edit Osborne Peace

 

They claim this is the last year – I doubt it. They may relocate it, but I digress. Just in case, I desperately wanted walk under those lights one more time, to relive the memories my heart cherishes; the selective memories that don’t include the tired children, the grumpy parents and the complete absence of any place to stop and rest.

How do you feel about questions like “What do you want for Christmas?”?  I detest them. Answering always makes me feel greedy, and typically I can’t think of a thing. To be honest, I’ve been in a bit of a funk this Christmas season and what I secretly want is Christmas like it used to be.  Kids opening presents, food and lots of family. Waking up to an empty house and waiting until almost new years to have everyone in one place is the new normal.  And it is way better than some people’s normal…I know that well.

Because  she works for the mouse and she makes magic happen on a daily basis, but mostly because she loves me, my sister gave us tickets to see the lights one more time.

My hubby has something called severe spinal stenosis.  For a least three years, he’s had issues with standing in one spot for more than a few minutes; for the last year, the pain is excruciating when he walks even short distances.  He wanted to go with me (insert emoji of joy mixed with angst). After agreeing on the limitations his current health conditions  impose, we decided to make a day of it – a sort of mini vaca before he has spinal surgery early next year.

The inspiration for the title came as, throughout the day, text messages  from our daughters popped up on both of our phones.  “Get a wheelchair for Dad” “You don’t have to wait in line, Dad. Get a wheelchair. Do it for Mom…you want to be able to make it to see the lights – this means a lot to her!” “I hope you are taking it easy, Dad.”

My greatest gift these days is their love and care for us. They know how we love one another.  They’ve seen how we prop one another up and push through hard things for one another. In the midst of their busy days they took time to urge us to take care of each other. We didn’t get a wheelchair, but we stopped when he needed to. He carefully managed his  pain and we had a wonderful day.

The way that our children love us is touching.  I’m especially moved by how they care for their dad.  Families are dynamic and I know that God has scattered ours a bit more than this mom would like.  But the real test of family is how we care for one another. Nothing is sweeter than watching your children, though separated by 400 miles, rally a joint campaign to ensure that their sentimental fool of a mom remembers their dad’s limitations. They were with us and they were looking out for us.

This Christmas, perhaps the greatest give you can give won’t require wrapping. Who needs to know you are with them and are looking out for them as we enter the new year?

Osborne Nativity

Merry Christmas, friends! May the peace of Christ fill your hearts and homes this Christmas.

 

 

Dec7

A Flame of Hope

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MerryBrightThe weather was beautiful – perfect for an outdoor event on a December evening in Central Florida. The sun was beginning to disappear and the sky was doing that thing where the horizon glows like the edge of the earth is on fire. Early, as is often the case at this stage of our lives, we pulled into the parking lot of the big First Baptist church. It was already beginning to fill up and we paused to greet friends as we walked from the car toward the center of town. People were already gathering, claiming a spot to view the festivities.

The stage, situated opposite the Christmas tree that replaces the fountain as the centerpiece during the holidays, was already filled with singers, warming up and performing sound checks. We took time to get coffee and settled in on the street with thousands of our neighbors. It was small town America at its best.

The program began as the worship team sang the classic “Go Tell it on the Mountain”. People were sitting and standing shoulder to shoulder around the stage and looking around; you couldn’t see the end of them. They were clapping and singing the soulful spiritual. The song was first published in 1907 in a book by John Wesley Work, Jr. who was the first African-American collector of Negro spirituals. It seemed fitting that the worship leader from the Baptist church, a young African American man, led the community as we gathered and celebrated the joy of “telling the story” this Friday evening.

Local pastors, one after another, read from the Bible, sharing the account of the birth of Christ. Then, a single candle was lit and the flame was passed. It was windy, and there were thousands of people. It seemed like a nice thought but an impossible feat, to be honest. I can be pretty realistic pessimistic at times, but as in this case, I’m often wrong.

I watched the flame and the people as they handled it, shielding it from the wind and relighting it as needed. As I saw each person turning to the next, offering the light, my heart swelled with sacred realization. This was a beautiful illustration of the Gospel: every person passing the light of Christ to the next; carefully and intentionally sharing hope.

PassTheFlame

As the light traveled across and down the crowded streets, faces shone in the soft light of candles. In the midst of a great crowd of people, my heart was moved. I quietly and privately vowed to a change of heart. While I can’t escape the busier schedule or the responsibilities that come with this season, I will choose hope over stress and anxiety. These are just a few of the things that I hope for this Christmas:

  • To bless my family with the gift of a joyful wife, mother and grandma
  • To explain the concept of a budget to my “love to give” husband
  • To enjoy all things in moderation: food, drink, work and play
  • To enjoy the festivities that come once each year at Christmas
  • Comfort for my recently widowed friend and others who will have their first Christmas without a loved one
  • Peace for mommas everywhere, cause you know…momma stress

I’m relieved that my Christmas tree is decorated. I’m thrilled that we chose to spend Saturday evening with six precious friends who have been together with us through ups and downs for the last several years. I’m grateful for another Christmas shopping day with my sister, my friend.

I’m really glad that I chose to deal with the crowds last Friday evening. I was almost ready to throw in the towel and give up on the whole lot of stuff to do and places to be. I was just too tired and I didn’t have the time. But I ran across this late last week. I can’t even recall how I got to it:

“All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given to us.”

I haven’t read the books or even seen the movies, but if you are a Lord of the Rings fan, you’ll recognize the quote is from Gandalf. His flaming words made their mark on my heart. The choices are mine.

  • On Friday night, “Light Up” was the best choice for us.
  • On Saturday afternoon, despite tradition and a multitude of other good reasons to attend our town’s Christmas parade, I chose errands and decorating. It was wonderful to prioritize and complete tasks, and now I can enjoy our home.
  • Saturday night, an intimate party with dear friends was a perfect time to relax and enter the joy of Christmas.
  • Sunday? It was the perfect day with my sister to catch up on more than just a shopping list.

The demands of the season can be overwhelming. The honest truth is that we all have the same currency of hours, and necessities of life often dictate most of the budget. Discretionary spending of time is where the difference is made. I’m vowing to consider every minute as if it were a precious gold coin. I won’t clutch it tight in my hand because thankfully, time, must be spent as it comes. It is a gift to be used and enjoyed and this Christmas season I hope to have no “spender’s remorse”.

May your Christmas be filled with the things that make your heart leap, whether the hustle and bustle of a theme park or mall, the magnificence of a production akin to the Radio City Music Hall Christmas Spectacular or the blessing of an evening at home.

ShoreNativity

 

 

 

 

 

Nov2

Relationship Status Update

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girl-925284_1280I was having coffee with a friend. We were sitting outside, enjoying a beautiful fall evening and one another’s company. In the course of conversation, I mentioned a picture and grabbed my phone to share it. I was immediately distracted by notifications and actually lost my train of thought (what WAS I looking for?). I wish I could say that was an isolated incident. Not even close.

Riding in the car with my hubby, the radio is always loud. His philosophy is that if the music is too loud, you are too old. While he is always willing to turn the volume down and listen to my chatter, I have recently taken to pulling out my phone when we are riding together. Before I know it, I’ve been perusing status updates, checking email and twitter and browsing Pinterest far too long and I have no idea where we are or have been. Next to reaching our destination, my favorite part of any trip is the journey. Lately I’ve been missing too much of the journey.

Sunday mornings are the best; coffee at home from a real cup and leisurely breakfast with my hubby before church. Recently we slept in. The extra rest was much needed but we were a bit rushed. After a quick breakfast I hurried to get ready. In record time we were on our way. Settling into a chair in our small group, I reached for my phone to turn the volume off. It wasn’t in my purse. My chest tightened—I was anxious. I learned later that I was suffering from nomophobia – the fear of being out of mobile phone contact (really, it’s an actual thing now). If you think I’m exaggerating, try separating from your phone, even for a short time.

Hubby quickly offered to run home to retrieve it, but I declined. Honestly, it is rare for me to get a call or text on Sunday morning. And my children know that the parents are together, so they would reach out to dad if mom didn’t answer. But what if there was a need to research a term during class or locate lyrics from a worship song (I actually do this)? What if something in the service was awesome and I wanted to share a picture on Facebook or Instagram? I felt the anxiety of losing connection – to my people (although a lot of them were in the room with me) and to information. The truth is, absent that instant connection to the WORLD, I was actually present in MY world—100% engaged, fully focused on the people and happenings aound me that morning. It was refreshing.

AdultBinkyAll of this led me to an article in the Huffington Post referencing a study from Iowa State University. You can read it here but the key for me is the scientific test attached to the article. I took it. I am embarrassed to share my score, but I will admit that I have a problem that implies serious FOMO. I am a smartphone junkie and as a result, I am distracted in almost everything I do. Reading a book? Phone within reach. Having dinner/coffee/walk with friends or family? Phone is a third wheel. Even at work, my phone is in my sight, although I don’t take it into meetings (don’t get me started on the madness of people in a meeting checking their phones). Watching TV with the hubs? Phone right next to me.

Worse than my constant connection is the tether (implied and perhaps more me than them) that gives everyone I know instant access to me, with an expectation of immediate response.

I was a child in the 60’s. We had one phone in our little home and it hung on the wall in the living room. Most of my married life was the same. When we were away from home, we were out of touch. When we took a vacation we made sure the people who NEEDED to know had emergency contact information and we truly “checked out” for a period of time.

Today we have information at our fingertips and instant access to people. We follow “friends” on Facebook (I have almost 600 and I bet you have lots more), most of whom we would never take the time to sit with over coffee. Why? Because we don’t have that much time! And yet, I scroll through status updates and see the highlight reel of their lives, and often get the feeling that I’m missing something. All the while, I’m likely sitting with or near a real, live person with whom I desperately need to connect. I recently took one of those Facebook tests, this one to analyze how many hours I spent on Facebook in the last year. I have no idea the accuracy, but I was mortified when it returned 907 HOURS. That’s an average of two and a half hours a day. Lord help.

I am struggling with this, friends. There are so many things I love about social media. But I am feeling and hearing this more and more from others: I have hundreds of connections but few I can count on. Sobering, but for many that is reality.

I have been thinking a lot about Jesus and his friendships. He had a few close friends…three to be exact. Those were the men he poured his life into – they hung out a lot and they worked together. I imagine that on any given day, they knew one another’s whereabouts. They knew about the struggles and the triumphs of one another’s lives. They were in the trenches together and had each other’s backs. They were tight.

Then there were the twelve, and even among those he had a doubter, a denier and a double-crosser. Jesus’ life and ministry touched the masses at times, but he spent his time with a few. He poured his life into even fewer.

I’m beginning to think these last ten years of my life, as I’ve added to my friends list and spread myself thin among relationships, that I’ve been totally off course. While I hope that I can occasionally touch the masses, I’m looking at his example for friendship. I want a few friends who will show up; friends who come in my back door and know the sodas and water bottles are in the garage fridge. I want to be the friend that will change from PJ’s to clothes to meet you because you really, really need to talk. I want to be the friend who takes the time to sit with you in the ER, and cries with you when tragedy touches your life.

And the thing is, we have limited capacity: physically, emotionally and spiritually. I know this because I’ve been disappointed and I’ve disappointed others. I’ve grieved lost jobs and lost kids alone. I’ve known there was a need in a friend’s life but I just didn’t have anything left in me to join them.

Perhaps this has resonated with you. Did you sense a little anxiety as you read? I wish I could tell you I’ve got this, but I am working on it. I’ve begun intentionally spending less time with my virtual connections and intend to return my focus to the people who are part of my inner circle. I’m putting some distance between myself and my smartphone, especially when there are “real” people in my vicinity. I’ve already left home without my phone again, and I’m happy to report the anxiety was much lower!

If you made it this far, here’s a treat for you!  Isn’t this just gorgeous? It was last fall, on my cousins pontoon boat. The only thing we did with cell phones that evening was take some pictures.  Precious time spent with people I love.

StJoe

I would love to hear your perspective and insight. Talk to me by leaving a comment below.