Tag Archives: Faith

Change

Posted in Faith, Family by

It seems my life stays in a constant state of adjustment.

Change happens.  There’s no stopping it.

Some changes we create, and some changes just happen and we have no choice but to  hold on with a white knuckle grip.

Although I’d like to be in charge of the change in my life, sometimes I prefer the latter.  That way I can call it God or Fate or Providence or Destiny and in turn I can take no responsibility for the failures or disappointments that may come from it.

We all experience it, and change is not necessarily a bad thing.  It’s perceived as such most of the time, but we must ask ourselves:  really do we want to always remain the same person– in the same situations –working the same job –living in the same house– doing the same old things?

Yes!! Yes this girl screams!  We do!  I do!  It’s much safer there and it doesn’t hurt.

But life just doesn’t work that way.

Over the past two years I’ve come face to face and heart to heart with

  • the death of my dad (grief, tears, sadness, longing)
  • a move to the little trailer house on the prairie (snakes, wind, dust, mice, trains, and yes even Jehovah Witnesses still visit)
  • pregnancy and the birth of my child (joy, tears, pain, guilt, fear)
  • job change for my husband (worry)
  • quitting my job of 12 years to stay home with my baby (dependence, budget, purpose, freedom, happiness)
  • learning how to be a mother ( sleeplessness, selflessness, worry, guilt, time management, joy, exhaustion)

And now, now, another biggie is heading my way.  Another move.  But this time to another town.  In another state.  I haven’t really talked about it because when I talk about it, that makes it real.  I don’t talk about it, not because I’m not excited or I don’t want it to happen, but because I’m afraid.  I don’t talk about it because doing my ostrich impersonation is much easier than recognizing that it really is happening.

But change–it is a comin’.

Soon and very soon, we will be packing up our cares and woe, tossed in with a little happiness and excitement and heading to a new destination.

My husband’s dream is to live in the mountains.  And I guess we aren’t getting any younger.   We’ve sold our little place here in the country, chickens too, and as soon as the buyers little ducklings are in a row, we will know when our last night here will be.

So on this eve of Thanksgiving, with my heart and my head filled with so much worry, trepidation, and fear, that it’s hard to find the excitement, I give thanks to God my Father, the Almighty, Who knows every breath I’ll ever take, Who numbers every hair on my head, Who knows my thoughts before I think them, and my blog posts before I type them, Who did not give me a spirit of fear, but of strength and power; I thank Him for his sovereignty and grace, for His love and providence, for His son and my salvation.  I thank Him for my daughter and my husband, my family and my friends, my health and my freedom to just pick up and move whenever and wherever we choose.  I thank Him for my past and my future, for my hurts and my sorrows, for my joy and my elation, for opportunities granted and doors closed.  For all He has done and for all He is going to do.

Dear friends, please hold me and my family in your prayers as we begin again.

 

 

Feeding the Big Chickens

Posted in Animals, Children, Family by

We recently had a family picnic at the park.  It was a beautiful September day and we were in the big city, so we decided to grab a couple burgers and enjoy them under the treetops.

The park has a big lake with walkers and joggers circling it.  A few fisherman had cast their poles into the water and were waiting patiently in their lawn chairs.  A sweet elderly couple sat at a picnic table, his arm draped around her shoulders, enjoying the day.

 

We sat right at that other picnic table fighting off the flies.  I watched  that little old couple and my thoughts turned romantic.  I smiled at the idea of  how sweet and long-lasting their love is.  Like something Nicholas Sparks would write.  And then as I eavesdropped a little more, I discovered that they weren’t an old married couple after all, but new companions.  He was telling her about the time when he was twelve and they visited Wisconsin.  He talked about the war.  She asked questions about his former marriage.  As we got up to leave, I snapped their picture, glad to know that new love exists.  That little white-haired couple lifted my spirits and reminded me that no matter how old you are, there is still time to make new friends.

We saved a little bit of our hamburger buns for the ducks.  Is it just me, or do you get a little wigged out when all the ducks start surrounding you, crowding into your space, honking and quacking?  I was attacked by a duck once, I guess you could call it that, and ever since that experience, I’ve been a little gun-shy.  Or duck-shy.

EK has a way of expressing her delight.  She OH’s.  When she sees that little black baby boy on the Pamper’s box, she says Oh, Oh, Oh, but drags it out.  She Oh’ed at the ducks and the swans.  I wonder what her little mind was thinking of those gigantic birds.  Maybe something along the lines of “Whoa man, that is one big chicken.”

She was just as curious as they were and when it mistook her bare toes for bread crumbs, she didn’t cry, she just Oh’ed at it.

When all our hamburger buns were either eaten or growing soggy in the water, we took a little stroll around the lake and enjoyed the moment with dreams of many more to come.

 

 

 

 

In Memory of my dad—number forty something

Posted in Stories by my dad by

The green spiraled journal draws me in.

It belonged to my dad.

The very first thing I bought when I became an adult was a storage building.  It sits on my mom’s property (once upon a time it was my grandmother’s property) and my dad put a few boxes of belongings in there nearly twenty years ago.   In one of the boxes was this journal.

On the cover he has printed:
The Journals of Robert Lee—-soldier, statesman, author.

It is filled with his thoughts, his hopes, his disappointments, his memories.
Stuffed between the written pages he has a few cards from loved ones, pictures of my sister and I, and bills from the IRS.

I love this journal, although it is mostly sad.  He wrote when he was going through a very difficult time, of which I was completely unaware, but heck I was a kid then, barely out of high school, and completely wrapped up in my own life.

I discover that I didn’t really know my dad.  But who really did?

He hurt more than I know, and I don’t mean physically.

Today is the 15th of April, 1996.  Tax Time for most folks, but to me it is different.   Today I join the ranks of the homeless.  I haven’t learned a lot in my 53 short years aboard this planet, but I’ve learned this, we are just a short journey from this predicament that I find myself in right now.  It’s a feeling that I don’t wish on friend or foe, but I’ll come out of the water bushed and gasping of air, out of breath and hoping for a low hanging limb from which this wrecked body needs just a minute to catch it’s breath.  Then I’ll fight onward, searching for new friends, looking in familiar haunts for a few old compatriots, who’ll say—welcome ol’ shoe, come sit awhile and rest.

April 18, 1996—
It’s not good being homeless, but I have been getting reacquainted with my mother.  Before I was always in a  hurry when I went to see her, but now we are taking the time to talk to each other.  Today we spoke of my grandparents, the last who died in 1975.  I wish that I could have gotten to know them.

As I reread this journal, no as I pore over his words, I get the “missing my dad blues”.   The “If only’s”  The “I wish”.  It doesn’t help that its a rainy day in July either.  Much like my dad wrote on the page he titled, “July or is it June 27?”

I moved into my new digs yesterday.  Went to the store and bought boloney and beer.  It’s a cloudy, dismal day, in fact I’ll call this place “The Dismal Swamp”  It’s a dump, held together with spit n’ glue, but at least the neighbor’s are nice—which means that they don’t bother me or even come out of their own hovels.  I’m into Charles Bukowski, poet, short stories, novels, drinker extraiordinairre.  Life is good as we let it be.

He was phenomenal with the written word.
Dawn comes on a silvery black flash that gently turns to a pale blue as the sun makes it’s ascent into the morning sky.  Departure time is steadily approaching and I feel a twinge of excitement as the clock ticks onward toward the time of making my exit.  My brother warned me about this happening, he said, “don’t let one year turn into ten” when I first moved here for just a year.  Well, June marks the 10 year span that I’ve spent here in Green Country.  I can see the changes here in Okla.  that have occurred since coming here.  Mainly, traffic flow, the driving here is atrocious.  But that does not take from  the few close friends that I have made here.  I’ll always appreciate them.

He was funny.
“Guess I’ll go by leon’s house and see if he wants to go fishing with me n’ doc tomorrow—-it is the fourth of July and we do live in the bosom of democracy, so why not fish.  Uh Oh.  Outta beer.  So I’ll take to task the advice of my ol’ mentor and friend, Horace Greely—-Go West—-about 2 miles—–the have Busch on sale.” 

11-19-96
Keeping a journal and trying to keep sounding interesting is so boring.

Yes, dad I agree with that one whole heartedly!  He continues…..

My life is boring, but the mundane way of life is peaceful.  Living quiet has it’s own reward.

He got lonesome and had regrets.

Nov. 24, 1996
I dreamed of Jo and Angel night before last.  They were small and cuddly and we laughed and played.  I awoke all discombobulated and out of sync.  It’s good to dream old dreams.  I miss the girls so much.  I hope Angel is doing all right out there in the west.  She is so private it’s hard to find out anything from her.  Joley has John so I don’t worry about her so much.  Joley is my little mother.  I know that she will see to it that I am taken care of.  I hope that I never need it tho.  I’m sorry now that I didn’t know how to love the girls’ mother.  Hindsight has perfect vision.  But I just didn’t know, and for that I am sorry. 

Jan. 13, 1997
I’m lonesome and being broke don’t help.  I’d visit an axe murderer if he’d stop by my digs. 

Although these notes are sad and some remorseful, I receive peace when I read them.  I know how much my dad loved me.  There was never a time I doubted that.  He wrote of it many times.  His heart was full of love.

I am the proud father of 4 children.  Two boys and two girls.  How this mixed blessing came about, I’m not exactly sure.  It just came at me out of the blue, kinda like a fighter with a good left hook.

I also receive comfort knowing I’ll see him again.

Feb 7th or 8th
I know God is my friend and I hope he lets me hang around for a few years.

Thanks God for the years.

There’s more.  There’s lots more.  But I’ll leave you with that for now.  I don’t think my old pop would mind me sharing this.  It helps me, and I know there are family and friends who miss him terribly.  I hope it helps them too.  Sometimes we just want to hear from our loved ones one more time and this is the way that I do that.  When I read these words, I hear his voice.  I see the twinkle in his eye.  I see him throw his head back when he thought something was funny,  yet keeping his laugh inside and quiet.

I see him in my baby girl too, little bits of him.  There are times I wish he could see her, but then I remember…..I’m pretty sure they’ve already met.

A Better World

Posted in Children, Faith by

I  think I’m officially a mommy blogger, as all my posts of late center around my baby.

But how can you blame me?  She has yet to lose that new baby smell as my husband jokingly says.

She is my obsession.
She will always be my obsession.

She is sleeping in my arms as I type, and oh, if only you could smell her!  She’s scrubbed clean, dressed for church, and doesn’t smell like sour milk.  Who knows if we’ll actually make it to church.  It’s so easy to hold her and let the minutes tick past, as if there is nothing more important than this.  Is there?

I find myself struggling with that very thing.  I must now make a conscious effort to find balance, especially in other relationships. I must give my loved ones some attention too.  They’re being neglected I feel.

A mother is a true servant to her children, sacrificing her time, food, showers, make-up, and all kinds of other previously thought important things to meet the needs of her babies.  We are called to be servants to everyone, just as Jesus Christ came to be a servant o all.  If only I could show love to every human being I encounter as much as I show love to this baby in my arms.  After all, isn’t love “action” rather than “feeling”?

I challenge myself to this greater love for others and it is HARD for me.  But I desperately need the world to be a better place for this darling girl to grow up in.  We CAN make a difference in someone’s life.  Let’s all try, okay?

For her.
And all the others.

 

Shots.

Posted in Children, Faith by

In two short days, my baby girl has to get her 2 month shots.

Oh, how I dread it.  To the very core.

She’s oblivious.  She doesn’t know what is up ahead.  But I do.

She is content and happy, living in her little 2 month world.  Trusting her mama and daddy to take care of her, without a worry in the world, unsuspecting of what is to come.  I want to prepare her.  I’ve tried telling her about it, reassuring her that it won’t last long, that everything will be okay, that it’s not meant to harm her, but it’s to protect her in the future.  But she doesn’t understand my language.    I want to avoid this necessary evil.  But I know she needs it.

When my old cowdog Fancy had to be put to sleep, I couldn’t stand it.  It was the best thing for her, as she was in a lot of pain.  My mother and I took her to the vet, and as much as I wanted to stay and pet her head while the needle was injected, I just couldn’t bear it.  I left the exam room and cried in the waiting room instead.  It was just too much.  My mom stayed with her as she closed her big, brown, trusting eyes for good.  I wish now I would have stayed with her, letting her know I was there.

With EK, I want to escape as well.  I want her dad to stay with her and I would rather wait in the waiting room and not witness her going through the pain.  But I would never leave her.  I will endure her cries, and hold her tight, and comfort her.

We are told in the Bible that we cannot know God’s thoughts.  Isaiah 55:8 My thoughts are not your thoughts.  Neither are your ways, my ways, declares the Lord.  But sometimes, I believe He allows us, in our mortality, to experience small, ever so minute glimpses of His ways.

He, as our Heavenly Father, sees the big picture.  He knows what is coming our way.  He knows our tomorrow and the days after that.  He too wants to protect us from the pain and discomfort of our “shots”, but perhaps it is better for us in the long run to experience them now.  When we receive word of death of a close one, or a troubling diagnosis, or loss of a job, or relationship, we are rattled, shaken, and upset.  We don’t understand why it happened, but God does, and also why it needed to happen.    We may be caught off guard, but He never is.  And perhaps He too tried to prepare us.  Maybe He spoke to us, told us it wouldn’t last long, that it will all be okay, that it is not for harm, but for our good. But we don’t always understand His language.   He doesn’t abandon us to wait in the waiting room.  He holds us close, speaks comfort and wipes every tear from our eye.

What an awesome Father we have.

My grandmother had this photograph framed and hanging in her bedroom for as long as I could remember.  It is from the local newspaper in 1976.

The caption read “Mrs. Anne Briggs holds Angel’s hand while she gets her immunization shots.  Angel looks nervous but didn’t cry.  RN Berlinda Leyba of Texas State Department of Health gave shots.” 

Maybe EK will have a little of her mama in her and handle her shots well also.

If you will, send up a prayer for her.  And for me.

 

Emotions.

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The first time I watched the movie Raising Arizona, I couldn’t believe how stupid it was.  But, in its defense, I didn’t really watch it.  I busied myself with other things, catching snippets here and there while my husband sat in his chair giggling his little butt off at, in my opinion, bad actors.

At a later date, I watched a little more of it, and then a little more, until finally I’d seen the entire movie and understood it.

In case you’ve never seen Raising Arizona, it’s about a couple (one outlaw, one law enforcement officer) who can’t have any children so they decide to kidnap one from a rich man and his wife who recently had quintuplets.  They figured that was too many babies for one couple and they probably wouldn’t even miss one anyway.

Here’s a little clip from the movie.  This scene takes place right after they have abducted Nathan Jr. and have him in the car.

I so get this.  I so get her.   That woman is me in a nutshell.  And J-Dub too.

We are utterly, completely head over feet in love with our new baby.  To the point of tears.  Add to that, my hormones which are up, down, east, and west and I can break down at any moment.

I have so many emotions.  Indescribable emotions.  From overwhelming love that I never knew existed…..

to guilt and remorse over the circumstances surrounding her birth……

to worry that every breath she takes is normal…….

to exhaustion from the past 11 days……..

to determination to give her the absolute best in life……..

to contentment when I feel her soft cheek next to mine…..

And to think, I am not alone.  Every mother in the world has felt these same feelings.

What an honor to be a mom.

A New Body

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It made many trips down I-40 from Tahlequah to Pampa.  It rode in the passenger seat of a red dodge pickup and when that vehicle wore out, a yellow Chevy pickup. 

When he died, it rode in the back of my vehicle one last time along with the potted plants sent with condolences and a couple of cardboard boxes of belongings.

When we arrived home, it sat in the floor of the spare bedroom right behind the door.  I couldn’t bring myself to throw it away.  I went about my day-to-day life and when I found time, I sorted through the cardboard boxes that had made the trip,  discarding unnecessary things.  But still, it remained. 

When the spare bedroom began changing into a nursery, it sat on the floor watching while paint went on the walls, and office furniture was replaced with a crib.  Like a child’s teddy bear with the eye missing and the stuffing coming out, it remained as a reminder.   

It wasn’t valuable.  It wasn’t decorative.  It wasn’t useful to anyone.  But it was such a part of him that I kept it around.  It’s funny how when someone dies, their everyday things become such strong reminders of them.  For my grandmother, it was a silver fingernail file that sat beside her chair.  She probably used it every day.  For my dad, it was a grimy, white Easter basket he used to carry his medication.  An Easter basket.  While other men have a satchel or a tote, or even a gallon size Ziploc bag, my dad used an Easter basket. 

“Take one daily with a meal.”  “For management of high cholesterol, take one each day.”  “Take each morning and evening.”  The instructions on each bottle kept him going for several years.  High blood pressure, cholesterol, blood thinners, aspirin.

When New Year’s Day 2012 rolled around, sadness overcame me.  A new year, a new beginning, only without him.  Moving ahead, moving on, I knew I must.  But I didn’t know how.  And then I was reminded: 

“For instance, we  know that when these bodies of ours are taken down like tents and folded away, they will be replaced by resurrection bodies in heaven—God-made, not handmade—-and we’ll never have to relocate our “tents” again.” 2 Corinthians 5:1 The Message

My dad no longer needed his pills.  It was just a sad reminder to me of the temporary body that burdened him.

“For we walk by faith, not by sight.  We are confident, yes, well pleased rather to be absent from the body and to be present with the Lord.” 2 Corinthians 5:7 

On Monday January 2, I carried the basket to the dumpster and set it in.  Don’t think I didn’t consider taking it out and bringing it back in the house throughout the day.  I was home on Tuesday, the 3rd, when the loud roar of the trash truck pulled up.  I heard the lifting of the dumpster, the bang of the lids as it flipped over.  I imagined the dirty Easter basket and the bottles of pills scattering as they fell.  I sat on the couch as the truck roared away, thinking of my dad and his new body.  No longer sick.  No longer burdened.

Today, he would’ve been 69 years old.  He left this world February 26, 2011.

He is dancing. 

Happy Birthday, Dad. 

I love you.

Change and Creation—my year in review

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I’m three days late, but I wanted to take some time and reflect on the year 2011. It’s long gone now,  but still deserves some time of remembrance. Any blogger worth their weight in blogging ability has already accomplished this feat, however, it’s me we’re talking about here.

I began this post a couple of days ago with the best of intentions, but I was (and still am) having trouble getting my thoughts nailed down to make it coherent, but alas, I’ll try. 

I’m experiencing mixed emotions about the new year, and about saying good-bye to the old.  This is a new phenomenon for me.  I usually wake up on January first of whatever year it happens to be, and go about my usual life.  Just another day.  But this January 1st, 2012, I found myself  at a crossroads.  There’s a song by the Bellamy Brothers where one line says, “he’s an old hippie and he don’t know what to do, should he hang on to the old, should he grab on to the new.”  Oh how I can  relate.

 Last January there was a movement if you will, instead of resolutions, choose a word for the year. A word that will define you. A word that you will focus on during the year.  Like hope or faith or happiness or fitness.  My friend Suzanne asked me what my word was.  I took a while to think, and finally I chose the word create. I wanted to create great writing.  I wanted to create a home for J-Dub and myself in our new country dump, I wanted to create a wonderful garden, a chicken coop, so many  new things. 

How little did I know that with creation comes change or perhaps change begets creation.  But I can look back now and affirm, create was my word. 

We lost my dad to a heart attack in February and I began to create a life of only memories.  Whether through facebook or blog comments or email or phone calls, we spoke daily.  I’m thankful for technology, for through that our relationship grew closer and we knew each other better than ever.  Creating a new life without him has been hard for me. 

Less than a month after burying my dad, J-Dub and I packed our horse trailer with boxes and furniture and moved to a place outside of town.  A place that needed (and still does) a lot of work.  We had spent the previous winter attempting to create a home for ourselves along with a  plethora of mistakes, problems and money that come with home improvements.  Moving is life changing and not knowing where the dadgum lightbulbs are kept is more than irritating.  Shortly after moving in, like 4 days, I got a box of little chicks in the mail and my life was changed forever!  I spent the spring and summer, raising those babies and adjusting to the country life with snakes in the front yard, water wells breaking, drought, wild fires and wind.  And with wind, lots and lots of dust. 

In May, I felt like I was losing my ever loving mind.  I believed Satan had come in and taken control of my body.  I felt like a raging lunatic, and then while on a trip visiting my dad’s grave for Memorial Day weekend, I discovered the cause of my angst.  I was pregnant.  So the summer was spent in shock and adjustment.  And the fall was spent in shock and adjustment.  And now that we are three weeks away from giving birth, I’m still in disbelief and adjusting.  Someone told me in a comment on this blog that God gives us nine months to prepare for childbirth.  I’m here to tell you, I probably could be a pretty good elephant because nine months isn’t enough time for me.

Although I desired to create great writing, and a wonderful home, and new and beautiful things in 2011, I never would have fathomed that I would create a daughter. What a change.  What a creation. What a scary experience.

Plans for building a new fence and putting up a barn were replaced with painting a nursery and choosing a name.  A whole new dimension has been added to my life.  God has given me a great task.  He has chosen me to be the mother of a little girl who I worry I won’t do right by. 

With this great task ahead, I find myself fearing the new year. Afraid of what it holds. I find myself walking by sight rather than faith, fearful of the next step.  And the one after that.  And the one after that. 

My 2011 was a year of adjustment. Lots of changes took place, the kind of changes that rate high up on the stress level list.  So why don’t I want to move on?  As I ponder, I decide it must be the familiarity of  the old and the fear of the new.  I am embarking on this new year,  expecting more changes and I’m frightened that the struggles I faced in 2011 will follow me into the new year. 

I’ve been weepy the last two days and it appears this day is no different.  My present prayer is that my sorrow will be turned to joy, my worry will be changed to rejoicing. 

Like the old hippie, should I hang on to the old or should I grab onto the new?

If I look to the scriptures, I am instructed to remember the days of old, remember what God has done for me, how He has carried me through, and then press forward to what is ahead, walk by faith, finish the race, and trust in the Lord.

Hang on or grab onto?  I’ll try to do both.

And so I go.

Happy 2012.

Is that You, God?

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It happened on a Sunday morning two years ago.  Or was it three?  I really don’t know.  Not because I don’t remember it vividly, but instead because I dismissed it as nonsense, ridiculousness, even poppycock.

I had gone to church that morning.  Whether I started my day with a heavy heart or whether I became burdened during the service, I don’t remember.  But it happened during that time of our church service when our pastor asked for anyone who had a need to stand right where they are to be prayed for.  This is a common practice in our church.  People have needs.  We’re sick.  Sick in body and sick in spirit.  You shouldn’t have to leave the House of the Lord in the same condition in which you entered.  He is, after all, the Great Physician. 

I stood.  I can’t recall my need now.  Perhaps it was a broken heart.  Maybe financial worries.  It could’ve been I was feeling a sore throat coming on.  Whatever it was, the Holy Spirit led me to stand.  Which is not easy.  When the Holy Spirit begins talking to me, my pride begins yelling louder.  “What are you doing?” it screams.  “Do you want all these people to know you’ve got problems?  Don’t you care what they are thinking?  Don’t do it!  Don’t stand.  You can pray for yourself.  You don’t need others to pray for you“.  But deep down, I know God desires obedience.  It will be rewarded.  So this time, my pride gets hushed, and I stand.  I can feel all those pairs of eyes boring into me.  My body temperature rises.  My neck begins to burn.  Then the preacher asks for everyone who is standing to have a prayer partner.  The sound of shuffling feet fills the sanctuary as people rise to meet the ones who are standing.  I feel hands on my back, on my shoulders.  I hear whispered prayers being lifted towards the heavens.  People interceding on my behalf.  The prayers end.  We clap our hands to the Lord, praising Him for what He is going to do.  I  look up at the ones who prayed for me.  We embrace.  Eyes are brimming with tears. 

And that’s when it happened.  A small, older man, who had never spoken more than a cordial greeting to me, with his dark skin and heavy foreign accent looked at me and confidently proclaimed, “The Lord will give you a baby.” 

I smiled politely.  
I’m not even praying for a baby I thought to myself. 

We sat down, and as the preacher gave final announcements, I remember my mind drifting to what had just been spoken to me.  I even felt a little angry.  Why do people automatically assume that I want a baby? 

Church dismissed and we went on with our day.  But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t forget that event.  I chuckled to myself.  Much like Sarah from the Bible did when she was told she would have a baby.   What a crazy old man, assuming things he has no idea about.  I told a few people and they laughed with me.  How weird.  How strange.  How bizarre.

Now fast forward to November 2011.  I’m walking out of the Sunday School room into a narrow hallway and I meet that same man.  I doubt he even knows my name.  His large brown eyes dropped to my bulging belly.  He wagged his wrinkled finger toward it and in his thick accent said, “I told you.”

“I believe you now.” I answered with a smile.  He went on to explain to me that God had been talking to him and wanting him to tell me.  He said it wasn’t just once, but two or three times.  Finally, he obeyed.  Okay, I’ll tell her, he said. 

So.  He isn’t a crazy man afterall.  In fact, he assumed nothing about my needs.  He was obedient to the voice of God no matter how crazy it sounded to me.

Just as so many women were visited by a messenger and told they were going to give birth, I too, was visited by a messenger and told the same thing.  But I didn’t believe him.  Right there, in church, during prayer, as obvious as a lightening strike, God spoke to me through someone else, and yet my ears remained closed.  I even scoffed.  I wonder how many blessings I’ve missed because of my lack of faith?  I hope I have learned my lesson.

God is speaking to you.
Listen.

Gobble, Gobble, Wobble

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It’s the most wonderful time of the year.  Yes, I know the song refers to the Christmas season, but I disagree.  I believe the Thanksgiving season is the most wonderful time.  It is my favorite by far. 

This thanksgiving, 2011, I am blessed beyond my wildest comprehension.  There has been loss.

And there has been gain. 

 

 How much things can change in one year.  
This time last year, I saw my dad alive for the last time.  We sat on the steps of my old house on a beautiful Autumn day as birds honked above overhead.  I mistakenly called them geese.  He was quick to inform me they were sandhill cranes.  He always loved the birds. 

We took a drive around the old Celanese plant  where he spent some time working years ago, and although we didn’t say much of anything, I’m sure he was venturing down his own memory lane, just as I am now.   Days gone by.  Out of reach.

I snapped this last picture of him and my sister lying in the floor, right before we watched Four Christmases together.  He forgot that blue handkerchief when he left.  It’s now washed and folded and put away in a box of things, along with a pair of glasses left forgotten.  He passed away the following February, and I have missed him everyday since. 

But we shall meet again, and there will be rejoicing.

This time next year, we will have a 10 month old little girl crawling around, possibly beginning to pull up, yanking all the popcorn and cranberries strands from the Christmas tree.  She will have brown hair and brown eyes and little dimples on her knees.  We will play peek-a-boo and patty cake, feed her pumpkin pie with lots of whipped cream, and smother her in kisses. 

And I’ll be tired, but it will all be worth it.

Things change.  There’s no doubt I’ve changed. 
And thank God for that.

Robert Frost said he could sum life up in three words.  “It goes on.”

And thank God for that too.

I hope you take a moment to be thankful today and everyday.  We are so blessed. 
Praise God.

Cherish Loved Ones.

Be happy.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Love,
Angel