What Do You Say?

My friend, James, was diagnosed a few years ago, as a young man, with a rare type of "old people" cancer.  He had a wife and three small children that he loved very much.  In one of our talks, he said that he was able to keep on keeping on because he had Faith.  He knew that God was taking care of him, that God has a Plan, and that His plan was better than James's.

James said that he was so grateful that he had Faith, because he didn't know how someone who didn't Believe could manage to keep from curling up in a ball and just giving up.

This thought was echoed by my friend, Stacie, when her infant son was diagnosed with a very rare, nearly always fatal kind of cancer.  Faith was what kept her going, gave her the strength to fight, and comforted her when Cash lost his earthly battle, but won the Heavenly one.

Last week, my husband's coworker, who was also the Branch Manager's 23-year-old son, died in a horrific accident on the job.  The responding Highway Patrol officers identified the vehicle by running the tags on the trailer that he was pulling and came back to my husband's workplace to ask the person in charge who would have been in possession of the truck and trailer, and hopefully, get next of kin information.  Obviously, if they had known that they were speaking to Jacob's next of kin, their delivery would have been a bit different. 

My husband had to step into his mentor's shoes to handle filing insurance claims, workman's comp paperwork, notifying the appropiate brass at Corporate, pulling in crews from all over the region to keep their small store running, and also comforting the man that has come closest to filling the father role that my "father"-in-law voluntarily left vacant.  Thing is, Rick, (my husband's boss) isn't a Believer. 

What does one say to a non-believer that is in the middle of a horrific, tragic storm?  All of the comforting things that my Wonderful Husband could come up with were things that his friend doesn't believe.  They brought no comfort.  They brought no understanding.  They brought no peace.  All that was left was "We're here for you.  We love you.  We know that your heart is breaking, and we think that it sucks, too."

Jacob's parents are a mess.  They're going through the motions, and both of them have dead eyes.  Rick is clinging to his wife, my husband and the other guy that he's mentored "since [they] were pups".  The memorial service was yesterday, and it was a fill-in-the-blank memorial service.  Prayers - check.  Pictures - check.  Stranger relating stories that he got third hand from whatever family and friends he could corner - check.  Maybe we should throw in a song - check.  It ended with an announcement that the family was thankful to everyone for coming, but that they were not prepared to greet anyone at this time, so they would be exiting first and then the rest of us would be dismissed.

They're curling up into their own little balls, and the people that love them are forced to stand on the sidelines and find something to do with our hands.

Where I'm From

I am from macaroni and cheese, from the bag and the block, ooey and gooey in a huge pot, from books and vegetable gardens and looking up the answers to your own questions in the Encyclopedia Brittanica that takes up the entire bottom shelf of the bookcase and diagramming sentances at the kitchen table after dinner "for fun".

I am from the small green house with the cris-cross porch railings and white trim.  The second one in from the corner, on a half-acre lot, divided by a fence overtaken by trumpet and honeysuckle vines.

I am from the shadow of a grain elevator, the strawberry patches, the fancy iris beds, the medium sized town in the middle of nowhere, a few miles from my great-grandparents' homestead, but two states away from either of my parents' hometowns.

I am from Fourth of July Family Reunions and debating everything from politics to theology to sports, from spunky Smiths and strong featured Stephensons and sturdy Roarks and determined McCartys.

I am from long, rich lives and bullheadedness and family values and dressing up for church on Sunday.  I'm from work hard to support your family, and life's much better if you're able to laugh at yourself, and from love the people that love you, and from family is not always determined by bloodlines, and from we're so very proud of you.

From respect but don't be afraid to question authority and Grandma cheats at Canasta. I am from having a soft heart for abandoned puppies, hurt rabbits, fallen birds nests, and sad children.  I am from a widow that remained faithful to her husband until she died, even though he preceeded her in death by a half century and from lovebirds who held hands on the couch while they watched the news, then M*A*S*H, and ate shebert after 57 years.  I am from plain gold bands and crepe paper skin and blue eyes that twinkle.

I am from Southern Baptists and Roman Catholics whose children met and married and raised their children in an Episcopal Church.  I am from Sunday School in the basement and Holy Eucharist every Sunday and from Preachers and Deacons and Choir Directors and Lay Ministers.  I am from incense at Christmas and Easter and processions and falling asleep in the polished wooden pew and waking up to see the crucifix on the beam overhead.  I am from Amazing Grace and This Little Light of Mine and What A Friend We Have In Jesus.
I'm from Oklahoma and Missouri and far South Texas and the shadows of Sandia Crest in New Mexico and from jello salads and fresh vegetables and whipped cream and butter instead of Cool Whip or margerine.

From Arch and Belle as newlyweds with a black iron bed in the covered wagon, the aunt that changed the spelling of her name because her new husband thought it would look more balanced, the same aunt that changed the spelling back after her husband died 50-something years later, and the grandmother that had one chest of drawers full of linens and another chest of drawers full of costume jewelry - all neatly sorted and contained in rubber-banded checkbook boxes.  I'm from having dollars and tissues in pockets - of your sweaters, your jackets, your pocketbook and from washing out your ZipLocks to reuse them and from saving the pink, blue, and yellow styrofoam trays in neat stacks because you never know when they'll come in handy.   I'm from not wasting leftovers and cassaroles and making every dollar stretch.

I am from headstones in the far corner of the IOOF Cemetary near a highway not far from here, from grave markers of a country family cemetary no bigger than my yard, and the one white marker with the very best view out of 39,000 in the Santa Fe National Cemetary.

*I have pictures in mind that will be added ... at some point.  ;)  And, I stole the idea from here, but she got it from here, and it was originally here.

Exhibit B.

My Babies are Growing Up.

I offer as evidence:

1. The Toddler has gone from pronouncing "horse" as "sol" to actually saying "horse"
2. Pick-ups are no longer "hick-pups" and are now "pick-ups"
3. I'm planning a birthday party for this weekend.  For the baby that was born just last week.

Marriage.

It’s about being a team, it’s about making each other the best that we can be, it’s about being better together than either of us are apart.


It’s about building each other up, in public and in private, to each other and to the world, and assuming the best about each other.

It’s about working hard to figure out what works for you and your spouse and your family without regard for what anyone outside your marriage thinks.

It’s about having someone on your side, someone who is not afraid to hold you accountable to/motivate you to achieve your shared goals.

It’s about two people sharing responsibility for maintaining the fences that surround and protect their relationship.

It’s about putting your spouse’s wellbeing first, ahead of anyone else’s - including your own, always.  It's about trusting your spouse to do the same for you.

It’s about saving the best of yourself to give to your spouse, and expecting the best of your spouse in return.

It’s about the freedom to share hurts in confidence and the ability to help each other to heal.

It's about prayer.  And faith.  And love.

It’s about presenting a united front to the world, regardless of private struggles.

It’s about saying “This is my Beloved. S/he is everything that is good for me. I chose her/him, and always will.”

It’s about you and me, baby, against the world.

7 short years ago.  And I love him more today than I did then.

Carseats (again)

Yesterday, the girls were talking about carseats.  Then, tonight, my sister posted a link to this on FB.  Just something to think about.

This was last summer - the Toddler was 19 1/2 months, and the Baby was a few weeks old.  They're still in this set up, but the Toddler is, obvi, a bit more leggy, and the Baby is ready for something with a little bit less recline.  :)  I'm going to borrow the Toddler's seat from my husband's truck for now, while I save up for the seat that I really want her to have.  I'll try to take a new picture this weekend. 

Church Ladies

are awesome.
Last night, I needed to go to church.  It was an almost physical ache.  So, even though service started at 6:30 and my girls were ready for bed when I picked them up at 6, and my husband was working out of town, so I was on my own, and I had forgotten to grap a couple of clean shirts for them, I took my two children and we went to church, assuming that someone would come running to my aid.
And run they did.
I didn't even get across the parking lot before someone was holding a door open for us.  Someone else was standing inside, arms out, to take whichever child would come to her.  Someone else handed me a couple of plates of spaghetti, and someone else brought me one highchair and offered another.  Yet another person plopped two cups of lemonade down in front of me.  When the toddler finished eating and started getting antsy, some older girls appeared out of nowhere and asked if she'd like to go play in the nursery.
At church time, we were invited to sit in the pew with one family.  Thankfully, while both girls were clingy/needy, neither of them needed Mama at the exact same time, and the congregants in the surrounding pews were more than happy to play pass-the-babies.
This Mama got fed.  And my babies got fed.  And, our seats in front of the smaller organ were prime time for my music loving kids - they stood facing backwards in the pew and danced, which made the organist smile.

And by the time we got home, both girls peacefully went to bed, one at a time, with sweet smiles on their faces, and slept all night.

That, friends, is what it's all about.

Because You Probably Deserve That Ticket Anyway

A friend of mine posted this on Facebook this morning.  I think it's a pretty good point.  Besides, if you* are speeding, you probably deserve to get pulled over anyway and so does that dude that you're "warning".

As I was driving home from Cheyenne today, I got to thinking of something. I'm headed down highway 287 somewhere east of Vernon and west of Wichita Falls. I come around a corner and notice a state trooper in the median. Luckily, he wasn't facing toward me otherwise I probably would have gotten a ticket. About a mile or so down the road, I noticed the car behind me flashing his lights at the oncoming traffic to warn them of the trooper.

It was at this point when I started to think a little bit. I must admit that I'm guilty of warning other commuters of a speed trap that awaits them. I'm sure a lot of us are guilty of this. But what I got to thinking of is something my dad once told me. He told me that it isn't uncommon for a simple traffic stop to turn into a million-dollar drug bust. I'm sure the little stretch of highway 287 that I rode down today is quite common for drug runs. This is probably why I always see multiple troopers each time I'm on it.

So the next time you think about warning others that there's a speed trap ahead of them, you might think twice about it. One of those cars that you're warning just might be headed to your home town loaded down with next month's supply of drugs that just might make it into your child's hands.

*general "you", of course.

Book, Recommended

I bought this book for the Toddler for Christmas.  I like it.  A lot.  So does she.

We also got this one for the Noob.  It's also awesome, but Wherever You Are is the one that we've been reading as a bedtime story lately, so it's the one that I love the most right now.

Dear Long Lost Friend Mz aka Kelly

If you decide to do your blog, please send me an invite.  If you don't decide to do your blog, please send me an email.  Or find me on Facebook.  Or something.  I miss you, and wonder how your latest project is coming.
Kthxbai.

Winner Winner

Chicken Dinner!  Thanks, Bree and Julie!

Look Out For Bikers

5 years ago, in my hometown, a lady in a minivan turned left in front of a man on a motorcycle.  She didn't see him.  He left 12 feet of skid marks on the road and hit the front quarter panel of her van.  The EMTs said that he died instantly of massive internal injuries.

That man was 36 year old Tony Trammell.  He was bigger than life.  He was an adoring father.  His world revolved around his son.  He was a friend to anyone he ever met, and many people considered him to be the best friend they'd ever had.  He loved being outdoors.  He loved being active.  He loved his Ducati motorcycle, which was a gift for Valentine's Day 2002.  He lived for making people laugh - at him, at themselves, at whatever could possibly be made laughable.  If somehow, someone didn't like him immediately upon meeting him, he made it his mission to win that person over.  He rarely failed and usually, those were the people that became his biggest fans. 

Tony had been riding motorcycles for his entire life.  His bike was like an extension of his body.  I felt safer on the back of his bike than I did/do in most people's cars.  If any biker could have avoided or lessened the impact of that accident, it would have been Tony. 

Tony is buried in the corner of a small family country cemetary about an hour from our hometown.  The funeral procession was led by a parade of motorcycles and was over 6 miles long.  His son, Anthony, had a son of his own last fall, and is raising his own little family in the house that he lived in with his dad and, for a while, me. 

 

Please, keep an extra eye out, not just for other cars on the road, but for motorcycles.  And bicycles.  And pedestrians.  And small, darting dogs.  Look twice, then look again.

Is it wrong

that Lent is my favorite Liturgical season? 
It is.

It gives me the chance encourages me to focus on my fallen nature and repent.  Since repentance involves striving to do better, not only do I get the reward of forgiveness, I (hopefully) come out a better person on the other side.  Besides - Lent ends with Easter.  And Easter is my very favorite holiday.

Forgiveness

Last weekend, I was wronged by someone.  I don't know if it was done maliciously or mistakenly, but I was l i v i d.  And I thought ugly thoughts about her for three days.  I doubted the World.  I doubted myself.  I doubted her.  And I became the ugliness.  The wrong isn't important, and the why isn't important.  What is important is that it was taking over my head and my heart.

So I forgave her.  I offered it with my whole heart and I meant it.  She didn't accept it.  In fact, she attempted to "retaliate".  To forgiveness.  Right.  But you know what's really really cool?  It doesn't matter.  I'm not angry and I don't feel ugly inside any more.

"If you forgive those who sin against you, your heavenly Father will forgive you." Matthew 6:14

Update:  3/10:  I spent Wednesday morning being smacked in the face with the fact that I was not a totally innocent party in the doing of wrongs.  And I probably didn't give enough credit to the person that wronged me as far as her non-acceptance of my forgiveness.  I think it was just a much bigger deal to me than it was to her.  Or something.

My daughter is two and a half.

And I am a little bit more in love with her and a little bit more exausted every single day.  That is all.