Several years ago, my Dad died. Had I been able to speak at his funeral, this is some of what I would have shared:
A broken marriage left a little girl wondering for over twenty years if her Daddy loved her. Life decisions that were made beyond her control, left her without his guidance in her formative years. Her story changed, however, the moment she decided as an adult with her own children, to contact this man who was absent from her day to day life, but present in her daily thoughts.
This is some of our story.
I realized that if I was ever going to see my Father, I had to be the one to make it happen. I summoned the courage to pick up the phone and dial his number. I explained that I wanted to reconnect, that I wasn’t exactly sure if he was interested, and asked if he would like to meet me and my family. His response of “Well, I’ve already met you, but yes I would like to meet your family," made me smile and we made plans for him to come to our home.
There were a few awkward moments after I opened the door, watching as he entered, I was a bit taken back by his appearance. Although he was tall, he wasn’t nearly as tall as I remembered nor was he as big. I remembered him being like this, “Giant-Man”. My confused look caused him to ask if I was alright and when I told him what I was thinking, he smirked as he said, “Well, maybe that’s because you were like 5, and very short as I recall.”
And that’s how it started. His semi-sarcastic response was the first of many, and I learned very quickly where my sarcasm came from.
Several phone conversations and numerous dinners with late-night talks, allowed us to sort through the broken pieces and we started a new journey together. He quickly became an important part of my life and my boys enjoyed having another Grandpa. I finally understood and believed, he loved me all along.
My boys learned a lot from my Dad. When they were little, they learned that he brought a boatload of junk food every time he came to babysit and often, tho' it was no-ones birthday in our family, brought a birthday cake - icing flowers and all because as he said, "It's somebody's birthday today - and I like cake." I'm still convinced my love of cake and chocolate is genetic. He would have at least one totally gross story to tell them that would, if they were lucky, make their Mom want to gag and as they grew older, they learned of his antics in high school as he shared the story of re-wiring something in the school office that could have gotten him in a lot of trouble had anyone found out - I was waiting for him to give the important advice of thinking before doing something foolish but instead, with a smirk he just said, “the key, is to not get caught”. He shared that Vicks Vapor Rub wasn’t only used for a chest cold, but to mask the smell of a decomposing body, and they learned that homicide investigators school was where he went for a few weeks of “vacation” in the summer.
He taught his grandsons about respect & honor, and his patriotism is something he should be remembered for. He shared stories of being a Pathfinder in the Army and what the motto of, “First In, Last Out” really meant. He explained the importance of always being aware of one’s surroundings, including that it’s best to sit with your back against a wall when dining out – you know, so you can see what’s going on and be ready with “a plan” should something go awry. He said self-defense is important but defending those unable to defend themselves is crucial, and most importantly, he told them he loved them and always encouraged them to work hard and follow their dreams.
His only brother preceded him in death and he never quite got over the loss he felt - his pride for Ron was evident every time he shared a story of their shenanigans. I can’t help but smile knowing they are together again.
It was about eight years after our reunion when I received a call that while on his lunch break at work, he suffered a stroke. He survived, but his body and his mind were broken and he was confined to a nursing home. After rehabilitation, he was able to once again be an active part of our lives but unfortunately, the stroke had taken its toll and things would never be the same. I felt like I had just gotten him back and felt cheated – like I was entitled more time because we had lost so much of my childhood, but it was also at this time that I began realizing we aren’t promised tomorrow and must treasure every day we have with those we love. I believe He too came to this realization, as the man who rarely said “I love you,” began saying it almost every time we spoke.
One particular day he told me that I would be happy to know that in the future he would be in heaven. My look of alarm caused him to follow that revelation with, “I believe now and I’ll be in heaven when it’s my time to go.” There’s no doubt in my mind, based on the sly grin formed on his face, he knew exactly what he was implying the first time. Of course, I hugged him tight and said how wonderful this was and, after drying some tears thought to myself, “It’s ok now – we’ll have eternity.”
One of the most difficult times in my life is when I received that phone call telling me he had passed away. I had talked to him just two days prior and although he sounded tired, he sounded fine. He had a few medical episodes through the years when we were expecting to lose him; the fact that this wasn’t one of those times, certainly made it more difficult to hear.
The Military service at Fort Indiantown Gap Cemetery gave a tiny glimpse of my Father’s life. I hope those who attended were able to understand that the man who was honored that day was so many things to so many people. He was a hard worker, a good friend, a Patriot, an Uncle, a Grandfather but most importantly, he was my Dad.
I’m proud of my Father. I’m proud of the influence he had on my life. I’m proud to be called his daughter and I’m so thankful for the time I was given. I know I will see him again and we'll be together - in a place where nothing is ever broken.
“And the dust returns to the earth as it was, and the spirit returns to God who gave it.”
I’ve driven a minivan for over twenty years - different makes, various colors, but a minivan nonetheless. I’ve hauled countless groceries, boys to soccer, boys to basketball, flea market treasures, boys to baseball, boys to cross country, home improvement materials, boys to art school, boys to college, boys to ….. ok - you get the idea. I’ve loved every trip, every mile spent making memories with those boys, but when our latest van needed repairs that would cost more than what it was actually worth, we decided it was time to get something else. (By "we" I mean "I" and then a bit of time was spent convincing my husband, since I'm the one driving it most of the time, to get a car instead of a van.)
Last Saturday we drove off the Dealer’s lot with an Alien Green Kia Soul. For those of you wondering, “No, it was not a leftover that nobody wanted; I actually chose the color” and, I named him Gus. Not the mule Gus, from the 1970’s Disney movie that my oldest brother asked me about, but it's named after the sweet little mouse from "Cinderella". (If you recall, Gus wore a little green shirt. I still wonder now and then why those mice never wore pants.) (I also wondered if my brother wasn’t hinting at my “stubborn streak” when he questioned about the mule ...thus the reason I used the word "oldest" brother instead of "older" because that's what he is...old(est). Sorry, I got off track there for a minute. :)
Anyway...This car was chosen for several reasons: its fuel economy, the ability to put the seats down and still haul things when needed, and the audio system. For those of you who don’t know, I like music – I mean, REALLY LIKE music. I sing at the top of my lungs sometimes and alone in a vehicle is the best way to do that without having people stare at me. Gus has six speakers, including two dash-mounted tweeters. I’m still trying to figure out what a “tweeter” is, but I can tell you that the music sounds great and I’ve realized the need to turn it down prior to entering a populated area.
From the dealership, we drove to a store and upon returning with our purchases, noticed that the driver’s side back bumper had either been hit with a shopping cart or scraped by another vehicle. I stood there, staring but saying nothing. This car had less than 12 miles on it, we owned it for maybe an hour and a half, and someone had already caused paint loss down to the metal. I looked at my husband and just shook my head. His, “You’ve got to be kidding me,” said it all. At that moment I had a choice - Did I allow my disbelief to turn into anger and escalate into a full-blown temper tantrum or did I recognize that there was nothing I could do about it and make plans to call about getting it fixed? I chose the latter. I made that choice for two reasons… One - my anger would not only get me all out of sorts, but would cause those with me to become angry also, and Two - anger would not miraculously fix the damage; when I was done being angry, I would still have to get it fixed. Over the years it seems our family has some kind of invisible “target” on it – if it’s going to happen to someone, it will probably be one of us. You know the “get into the shortest line in the grocery store only to realize the person in front of you has tried three different credit cards and none work, so they begin writing a check.” The, “go through the drive-thru and get home to find that the burger your husband ordered has the bun and the fixin’s, but not the actual hamburger meat in the paper wrapping.” The, “order new furniture while pregnant and having to wait about 17 weeks instead of 3, and when it finally arrives it’s a beautiful off white instead of the brown color you paid for, and then you have to use full-size, blue blow-up furniture that your husband bought as a gag gift because you’re too big and can’t get up off the floor anymore when you sit down, while you wait for the correct color to arrive because you're having your fourth boy and there is no way you can keep off white.” Or the “You’re sitting at a stoplight and the person driving a motorcycle coming towards you decides to pop a wheelie only to lose control, fall off, and you watch as the bike skids down the road hitting the side of your van.” Oh, my friend, I could go on and on! When any of these things happened, for the most part, our family has thankfully learned to take it in stride, just as we have with this most recent event. Gus has a couple of nicks but he runs, and he still has a great audio system.
Life happens. Each one of us has the choice to either throw the temper tantrum or realize there’s nothing we can do but sing our way through it. Whether it’s a heartbreaking tear-filled song, a favorite tune that warms your soul every time you hear it, or a “gotta sing this one at the top of your lungs” jam; I encourage you to sing; and should you ever pull up next to an alien green Kia Soul and the music's so loud you hear it even tho' the windows are closed, you can shake your head or you can sing along - but trust me when I tell you, it's so much better to sing along!
“For you have been my help, and in the shadow of your wings, I will sing for joy.”
Lately I’ve had several, “You’re Getting Old When Moments”. You know the things when you were younger and you heard someone say and you thought to yourself, “Seriously, they are old!” Trust me when I tell you, at least three of the exact things I used to question, I now believe wholeheartedly.
#1 – Birds are amazingly beautiful and can teach us a great deal.
I used to wonder why my Grandmother loved watching birds and why my Mother loved Hummingbirds – they are now one of my favorites, along with the Goldfinch. My dear neighbor Elaine, who has been like a Grandmother to our boys, has several bird feeders in her yard and faithfully feeds them all year long. A few years ago we began purchasing bird houses. We have a few surrounding our home and, one in particular I am able to see perfectly from my favorite spot on the couch in our “blue room”, as we call it; an addition we built that has many windows and a fireplace. This birdhouse has three levels and several sections per level. I actually call it “the apartment building,” and lovingly refer to its occupants as our “tenants”. Countless moments have been spent watching the activities that go on through the various seasons. I’ve watched in amazement as Momma and Papa birds have inspected and taken much time in choosing which apartment they would like to make their home. I’ve often wondered what makes them choose one over another. I mean really, they’re all the same size and as a bird, having wings they don’t have to worry about the third floor being too difficult to get to. I’ve watched as they’ve removed the last tenants “debris” and have been fascinated with the types of things we’ve found on the sidewalk; anything from yarn to dryer lint to Easter grass in December! The care that is taken to enter when the eggs have been laid is amazing. Prior to entering the apartment, they actually look from side to side several times. It’s as if they’re making sure predators aren’t watching where their sweet babies are, even though the entrance circle is too tiny for most animals to get in. I’ve also become a member of a Facebook Group whose name this year is, “Pennsylvania Bald Eagle Family 2016.” I’ve been a member for a few years and every year I watch in anticipation of when the Eagles decide if they will return and allow us the privilege of viewing (via webcam) the activities of the nest. My dear family has been very kind in allowing me to share my amusement and fascination. Everything from the anticipation of seeing the first egg (this year there are two again!), showing them a video of a tiny mouse exploring the nest (which is about 75 feet high), and everything up to the delight of seeing the sweet little Eagles finally hatching. It’s an exciting almost 40 days I can assure you! (Go ahead, I know someone is dying to say “Seriously, you find this fun?”) And if you aren’t saying that, I encourage you to check it out!
#2 - I’m comfortably in my jammies at the exact same time I used to leave the house to begin a fun evening with friends; and I’m totally fine with it.
I was placing my tea on the end table, grabbing the afghan, and settling in on the loveseat when my son came down the stairs, winter jacket in hand, saying “Ok, see ya…tomorrow I guess. I’m heading out to meet so-and-so.” I smiled, told him to have a good time, and after he left, looked over to Tom saying something to the effect of, “Funny – it’s almost our bedtime and he’s just heading out.” We shared a laugh and I had to smile thinking, “Yup, you’re officially old Faye.” This fact is solidified when my dear sister-in-law called at 9:30 pm asking, “Did I wake you?” before continuing to speak. I’m totally ok with all of this and hope our children realize that we are perfectly content being at home and this will surely make us wonderful babysitters for our grandchildren when they need a night out!
#3 - I watch the 20 and 30-something Mommas in my life and long for them to realize how quickly time passes, praying that they slow down and enjoy this time with their sweet little ones.
This is an entire blog post in itself which I’m sure I’ll share sometime in the future; but trust me when I tell you, it is truer than anyone realizes when in the midst of the craziness.
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Some of what I've learned:
I used to think life happened and I had to deal with it; I now know life happens but I choose how I will let it affect me.
I used to think that my mistakes defined me; I now know it’s what I’ve learned from those mistakes and how I change my behavior moving forward that does.
I used to think it was important to have a lot of friends; I now know a few true friends is all I really need.
I used to think God was in Heaven watching my life unfold; I now know He’s actually with me, helping me through.
“For Wisdom will enter your heart and knowledge will be pleasant to your soul.”
How can you miss something you never had?
The elevator doors opened and a co-worker stepped in chatting on her cell phone. Upon entering she said, “Ok, I’m at work now, I should go.” Hanging up, she looked over and said, “That was my Mom, we talk every morning. Even though she’s retired – she still calls me on my way to work.” The look of love on her face caused everyone in the elevator to say how wonderful we thought it was. It made me both smile and made my heart hurt at the exact same time.
My mother passed away several years ago and sadly we never had the, “call each other all the time” kind of relationship. Don’t get me wrong – I would have loved that, and I believe she would have too, but unfortunately, we didn’t. Upon becoming an adult, I made choices she didn’t like, she made comments I didn’t like, and we just weren’t close. Looking back, I believe we each had “baggage” from life events and neither one of us were interested in unpacking it. Whether it was we wouldn’t, couldn’t or didn’t know how, I’m not sure; but every time I hear of a Mother/Daughter get -together or see the wonderful pictures and comments on social media, there’s a tiny tug at my heart.
As a mother, I try to stay in tune with the boys and ask them when they seem “off”. I want to make sure they are ok. I remind them every now and then that I’m here if they need to discuss things or just need a listening ear. I really wish I would have taken the time to do that with my Mom. I wish I would have been able to stand back and see her as a person – not just as the role she played as my mother. Maybe doing that would have caused me to realize she was a woman with hopes and dreams, life experiences that caused joy and pain, and that there was so much more to her than what I knew. I remember one particular conversation she and I had. After leaving her house, while driving home I said to my husband, “man, she has issues”. I can’t help but wonder, had I picked up the phone and asked her what those issues were if we could have started some dialogue that would have brought some of those issues to the surface; maybe we could have begun the healing process and just maybe we would have grown closer instead of farther apart. It wasn’t like we fought constantly or that we were miserable when we were around each other, it’s more like we had this respectful dysfunction. Growing up I was taught not to question her and that spilled over into adulthood. I never learned how to get past that, and maybe I would have never been able to get past the walls she built around her heart, but I can’t help but wish I would have tried.
I can’t change my relationship with my Mom, but I most definitely, have learned from it. I’ve learned in order to be a real friend, an authentic person, and the best Mom I can be, I had to dig deep into the messy bits of my life. I had to take each piece that was in my baggage, grab it with both hands, shake it out and decide if it was worth keeping. If it was, it needed to be ironed, carefully folded, and put where it belonged; and if it wasn’t, it had to be thrown away in the trash, on garbage day – never to be seen again. It was time-consuming, it was extremely difficult, but it was worth every tear shed while going through it, because now my baggage consists of my life’s lessons, in an acceptable suitcase that needs to be kept to help others, instead of the full, 7-piece matching set that I started with. If you’ve never done it, it’s worth a self-evaluation to make sure that the baggage you’re carrying isn’t just excess and only weighing you down.
Therefore confess your offenses to one another, that you may be healed and restored. The heartfelt and persistent prayer of a righteous man can accomplish much. - James 5:16
As I approached the “Lane Ends Merge Right” sign, I looked to check the additional mirror my husband attached to the passenger side; you know the one that gives you the view of the blind spot that doesn’t allow you to see a car driving right next to you. Sure enough, there was a car that I couldn’t see. I put my blinker on and waited for it to pass. I was quite close to the point where the lanes come together when to my left, a car came speeding up, trying to get one or two cars ahead. My first reaction was not to kindly slow down and allow them to enter my lane, it was to wrinkle my brow and press on the gas just enough that he was unable to move over. I know what you may be thinking, “why not just let him in?” I’ll tell you why, at that moment, I was a bit irritated – not really at anything or anyone in particular – I just wanted to be home instead of driving, and it seemed like the thing to do at the time. Of course, it was a very dangerous decision and one that, quite honestly, I get upset when my husband makes. I immediately took my foot off the gas and let him in, deciding also to move over to the right hand lane, which I am not in too much. I’ve been known to have a bit of a lead foot, a trait my sons have brought to my attention from time to time. FYI – new vehicles have this ability to gauge your “average” speed and not only calculate it, but display it on the dashboard. I found this out after I had borrowed my son’s car.
He came in the house and said something to the effect of, “Mom, exactly how fast were you going? Your average speed was 60 something.”
“Um, I wasn’t going THAT fast.”
“You do understand how averages work?”
“How do you even know that?” I asked.
“It’s on the dash, the last “trip” is displayed.”
The first thing that came to mind, sadly was not, “You shouldn’t be speeding,” it was more like, “Next time, I’m going to turn the car off and then back on and off so it deletes the evidence.” I then had to chuckle and thought to myself, “My Dad would be proud.” (My father worked in the medical and law enforcement fields – his last job was as a Chief Deputy Coroner and because of this, my family has a very strange sense of humor.) Sorry.
Anyway, back to my poor driving practices. It was in the right hand lane, as I continued my commute. I was amazed at how many people were speeding past me. Not going the “just over 5 miles per hour” of the speed limit, but like 15 – 20 miles over it and then it happened. Traffic quickly slowed down, for no apparent reason, until I drove a bit more and saw the State Police car. Does anyone else instantly get that pit in your stomach when you see them – whether you’re speeding or not? You know the, “quickly take your foot of the gas and press the brake pedal – not so much that it appears you will go through the windshield, but enough that you hopefully slow down to acceptable speed and pass the nice officer on the side of the road, and then check the rearview mirror at least 6 or 7 times to see if he’s following you…please, I know I’m not the only one. Why is it that we put ourselves through this game of, “Oh man, I was speeding but I really don’t want a ticket, nor can I afford a ticket right now”; instead of just obeying the speed limit and not having to worry about it? And why do we question ourselves when we aren’t even speeding? Why are we always in such a hurry?
How much better it would be to just obey the signs and the limits, allowing everyone to have a safe commute and maybe even use this time to de-stress? I encourage you to slow down and take the time to relax. Listen to a podcast or audio book, sing at the top of your lungs - the funky music of your childhood, or better still, allow the silence to penetrate your soul and take in the beauty of the landscape around you. I’ve spent many commutes from Nazareth to Trexlertown talking to God and yes, sometimes I’m asking Him that the nice officer I just passed, stays right where he is.
Surely everyone goes around like a mere phantom; in vain they rush about, heaping up wealth without knowing whose it will finally be. But now, Lord, what do I look for? My hope is in you. Psalm 39: 6-7
Something about it caught my eye and I decided to click the start button. As the video began, I was squinting at the screen trying to make out exactly what I was watching. After a moment, I realized two swans had gotten themselves tangled together. They were floating helplessly in the water, as either there was nothing more they could do, or they were too tired to keep trying, maybe both. I watched as they continued to float aimlessly until they spotted some people walking nearby. It was interesting to see that they began working together, pushing themselves closer to the edge, so that they could position themselves directly at the feet of a man who bravely decided to help. This man assessed the situation for a few moments and then got to work. Gently lifting a fragile wing, he moved one of the necks over to the opposite side. Amazingly, not once did either one of the swans try to fight this guy. It was if they recognized they knew fighting is what caused them to get into this mess in the first place and they needed to be still and allow their helper to do his thing. Realizing another wing was twisted, he again assessed the situation. He had to extend an intertwined wing, causing a bit of discomfort to the swan, but with a few more deliberate movements, he was able to free them! Swan A, (let’s call him Chuck), quickly ran away from view and Swan B, (Fred) needed to take some time, as his wings had been ruffled a bit out of shape. He stretched them as far as they could go and flapped them several times before he began running, apparently trying to get back into the water; but he was going in the opposite direction and heading into some high brush where he clearly would have had some trouble navigating. The hero of the video followed Fred, picked him up, walked back to where the ordeal began, and placed him gently in the water. Fred instantly began swimming away, hopefully staying out of trouble and able to enjoy his restored freedom.
I couldn’t help but think of how those Swans reminded me of various seasons in my life. More often than I’d like to admit, I’ve found myself in the midst of some sort of dilemma; sometimes involving others and sometimes it’s just me, but a dilemma nonetheless; and sometimes my feathers were ruffled and I really didn’t know what to do to fix them. It’s so easy to be in the midst of the chaos and thrash about trying to find a solution but not able to fully grasp the fact that, while thrashing, it’s just getting worse.
What if, instead of the typical responses of, “Oh, it’s not a big deal and it’s not my fault,” “I can handle this on my own,” or “I’m not going to let anyone know and it will just go away,” we decided to instantly stop and take a good hard look at what’s really going on; allowing ourselves the time to evaluate the situation and take the steps needed to correct the real problem instead of either doing “just enough” to make it go away for a while, or ignoring it all together until it can no longer be ignored?
I used to be a procrastinator when it came to dealing with things, especially things that caused me to go outside of my comfort zone or things that caused me to deal with painful issues. Procrastination in itself can be exhausting – especially emotionally if you’re trying to avoid confrontation or are worried about what others might think. I have however, learned the best way to deal with anything is head on – putting the entire mess out on the table and taking it “feather by feather” until it’s finally all sorted out. This means sometimes having to go to others and say “You know, I can’t handle this on my own” or, “Hey, I’m sorry I said/did that – can we talk?” or most recently, tackling the bully within to stop being the one who’s holding myself back.
Who are you in your own “Swan story”? Chuck, who just wants to get out of the heat of it and runs away? Fred, who really needs help to get back on track? Or are you the “hero”, who steps back, assesses the situation, and then does what’s needed to clear it up? I’ve been both Chuck and Fred at any given time but I’m thankful that I have a “Hero” who I can go to at any given moment who helps me sort it out. I’ve learned that I’m in control of how long it takes for a situation to go from burden to blessing and it’s basically the amount of time it takes me to give that burden to God and let Him help me sort it out. Hoping that whether you’re Chuck or Fred, you realize He’s there to help you too.
“
You are my hiding place; You, Lord, protect me from trouble;
You surround me with songs and shouts of deliverance. ”
Realizing I had just enough time to run downstairs, switch the laundry and actually fold it, you can imagine my disappointment when I opened the washer lid to find the cycle had not actually run. Lifting the lid and allowing it to slam shut started the cycle again and I moved on to the dryer to start folding; only to find it was still damp. We have had a love/hate relationship for some time – my laundry appliances and I. Heading back upstairs to inform everyone that there was a malfunction, I was once again asked why we “just don’t buy a new set”.
“Well, it’s not that it’s totally broken – I just forgot to slam the lid; and the dryer, well, it needs an extra twenty minutes or so. They still work,” I said.
The boys reply, “It’s ridiculous – we should just get new ones.” “Yea, really.”
“When the heater is paid off,” was my reply. We budgeted to replace the roof but hadn’t planned on needing a new furnace two months later. I could deal with a faulty washer lid and extra drying time until we were able to pay for new ones.
Fast forward a few days.
While sitting at dinner, I was handed a pamphlet depicting a front load washer and dryer. “Really guys, we just can’t buy new ones right now.”
“We know, that’s why we bought them for you.”
Insert confused look. “What?”
“Yea, the three of us, we chipped in and bought a new washer and dryer.”
“Um, WHAT?! You did not!”
Smiling proudly, each one shaking his head in agreement that they did in fact, purchase a washer and dryer for us. I should clarify that they really purchased it for me, as my dear husband has not done a single load of laundry in his entire life. I have however, taught each of the boys how to operate the machines as someday, they will either live on their own and need to know, or, I will have daughters-in-law who may be happy that I made them learn this life skill.
After a few tears, group and individual hugs, I retreated to the basement to check the dryer. The laundry was now dry and I couldn’t help but smile that this would be one of the last loads I would have to dry twice.
Fast forward another few days.
Time for the installation. With a blizzard wreaking havoc outside, Tom and I (mostly Tom) set out to accomplish this. All went surprisingly well – until we started the washer. A few moments later, water began pouring out of the bottom. We hit the stop button, checked the troubleshooting guide - which didn’t address the issue, and thought “Great, here we go”. After the shop vac was used to clean up the mess, Tom found a small black compartment on the bottom, left-side front that he discovered wasn’t closed tightly – with a few turns we were back in business. I must tell you, this was a “You know you’re getting old when” moment. There we sat on the basement floor, Tom leaning up against the old washer, me - tucked in front leaning against him, watching the washer go through its first cycle. I could see our reflection in the front glass and had to smile. Had anyone told me twenty years ago that one day I would be completely content sitting on a basement floor, watching a washer go round and round, I would have told them they were crazy. Yet, there I was and there’s no place I would have rather been. Our children saw a need and without any prompting, made a significant purchase; we had relatively no issue installing it, and I will no longer have to take extra time to do the laundry. I must also tell you that every time I use that washer and dryer I am thankful. Thankful especially for the amazing boys I’ve been blessed with.
Thank you Zachary, thank you Noah and thank you Benjamin.
I may or may not admit if I know which one of the boys checked out where the “lost socks” go – you know, the washers bottom, left-side, front compartment. ;)
“Behold, children are a gift of the Lord. ”
Taking the little ticket from the red roll and seeing four people ahead of me, I realized it would be some time, so I stood towards the back waiting my turn. The deli counter of the grocery store is an interesting place. You see the woman who insists on making the young man behind the counter show her thicknesses of each of the five selections she is purchasing - prior to slicing them, only to tell him when she appears satisfied with the fourth try, “Oh, just go with your original thickness”, the young mom assuring her little one that she will get a slice of cheese as soon as it’s her turn, and the gentleman desperately trying to locate the “no salt, no nitrate, oven baked ham” and when told they don’t have it, asks the girl behind the counter what he should purchase because that was the only choice his wife had written down. Her suggestion to, “Just pick something you like” was accepted with a chuckle and the admission of, “what I like and what my wife allows me to eat are two different things.” All interesting enough by themselves but then the not more than 4ft, 9 in elderly woman who, accompanied by her husband, stopping abruptly at the end of the glass display, caught my eye.
I have a fondness of the elderly. So much we can learn from them if we just take the time to listen, so much they have to offer yet they frequently feel forgotten in our “fast paced, instant everything” world.
I watched as her husband now about three steps ahead of her, stopped, turned around and seeing where she was said, “Oh no, we have turkey AND you didn’t eat it yet.” She then pointed into the case.
“No dear, we have turkey.”
With as much strength as she could, her frail little leg was lifted about three inches off the floor and she stomped that foot while continuing to point at the case.
I watched as his chest rose and fell heavily into a sigh as he walked the three steps back to be by her side. He put his arm gently around her shoulders only to have her quickly turn her head and move ever so slightly away from him. He half smiled while saying, “Oh, is THAT how it’s going to be? Ok then, show me.”
She walked closer to the glass and pointed. He once again, and in a very gentle voice said, “We have turkey.”
She shook her head from side to side as adamantly as she could and took his hand, guided it to the glass, and held it towards the bottom.
In the sweetest, most gentle voice he said “Oh my dear, I see it, I’m so sorry. Of course. Of course, we can get that.” His smile penetrated her feistiness and she lifted both hands, placed one on each side of his face, pulled it to hers and gave him a kiss. His, “That’s more like it” comment made everyone watching laugh as he took a number, looked around and announced, “Sun Dried Tomato turkey is her favorite, I get my girl her favorite.” It was a precious, precious moment.
Clearly something had taken her voice. He could have hurried her along, he could have gotten frustrated at her inability to tell him what she wanted, and he could have insisted that she continue on, but he didn’t. He took the time to hear her and in the end they both won - she got the turkey and he got a kiss. I can tell you that those of us who watched that tender moment, got so much more. We witnessed love. The stick together through thick and thin love, the - you don’t throw it away because it’s broken love, the - ‘till death do us part” love.
I think we can all benefit from understanding the patience of that husband to his dear wife. How many times are we in a hurry and “shush, oh come on, hurry up” someone in our lives? He realized she had something she wanted to tell him and he took the time needed to understand. I wonder if he recognizes that someday he may not be forced to stop at the deli counter, she may not be with him to make requests like this, and maybe he too realizes, that each moment he’s given is a gift.
It is my prayer that I recognize when people have something to say to me, allow them to say it while taking the time to understand, and as the years pass, that Tommy and I have a “sun-dried tomato turkey” kind of love, no matter what lies ahead.
“Husbands love your wives, and do not be harsh with them.”
“When I think about it, my heart literally hurts.” Words spoken by a friend who recently lost a loved one. My heart was aching as I listened to the enormous weight being carried – the loss, the responsibility felt for those left behind, the grief. Having lost my father within the year, the tremendous feeling of sorrow was all too real and if I could have given a hug over the phone, I certainly would have.
A memorial service I attended over the weekend caused my thoughts, once again, to be drawn to this idea of comforting those who are hurting. How do we give support when nothing verbally expressed could possibly take away the pain?
We all accept and respond to comfort individually. I’m a hugger. The all-encompassing, you feel the hug to your core, kind of hugger; I have a friend who, if given the choice, would probably rather bungee jump off a bridge than be embraced in one of those hugs and yet, she is an extremely emotional and caring person. I know someone else who is shy, almost to the point of appearing aloof; yet she craves interaction, but few realize it. Then there are those who have tragic things happen in their lives and being unsure of how to respond, we don’t; they are left alone with the burden of their sorrow.
I’ve come to the realization that it’s ok not to know what to do, but it’s not ok to do nothing. In an age of having questions answered with the click of a button and being able to respond to every event occurring in someone’s life with a comment on a “post”, have we forgotten how wonderful it feels to receive a phone call from someone just telling us that they were thinking about us? The feeling you get when you open an actual USPS, need a stamp, letter from a friend. The warmth you receive passing the shelf that you’ve displayed the birthday cards you’ve gotten or the sentiment of someone saying they share in your loss. Those are things unable to be obtained from a computer and those are the things we should do.
There are times when schedules align and I finally get to sit face to face and talk with my friend and we discover that it’s been months since we’ve actually seen one another. I saw the post that her son picked a college and that her daughter looks adorable in Eeyore pajamas (no matter how old she is). I read about her trip to NYC and saw a few pictures, but it doesn’t compare to the look on her face when she says how glad she is that her son enjoys his new job or how proud she is of her daughter’s commitment to college classes. It’s the looks, the almost choking on your iced tea because she said something that makes you want to burst out laughing, and the “I can’t tell you how much I needed to talk” comments. Those are things you can only get when you take the time – when you make the time to get together, to be together. Face to face, real life conversations - that is what we can do. That is what I will do.
“He comforts us in all our troubles so that we can comfort others. When they are troubled, we will be able to give them the same comfort God has given us.”
Every. Single. Moment.
I could feel a slight tingle before the ache began and when I realized it was getting worse, I sat up. Having just begun relaxing and happily anticipating four days off to celebrate Christmas with family and friends, it wasn't quite registering that I had terrible pain going down my arm or that my heart felt like it was beating a hundred miles an hour. To make a long story short, an ambulance escorted me to the hospital.
The typical questions were answered and an IV was started. My husband, without my knowledge, made some phone calls, and three of our boys, along with one of their friends (my fifth son), joined us in the ER. While waiting for the results of a chest x-ray, an EKG, bloodwork, and a CAT scan, I watched them go from alarmed as they entered the room, to relaxed but on edge, as they joked with one another. Each glancing my way now and then awaiting my response of “I really am fine”. They all have personalities that individually make me smile but collectively can bring me to a fit of laughter leaving me almost breathless with tears running down my face. This evening was no exception. If it wasn’t them flirting endlessly with the nurse, it was comments to one another with Tom joining in when he could - all in good fun of course. Thankfully, all tests came back normal and I was instructed to “drink more fluids” as apparently, my body doesn’t like being in a state of dehydration. With discharge papers in hand, we exited the ER. Quite the sight with me, barefoot because I didn’t have shoes on when we left the house, two of the boys wearing face masks, and Tom carrying my purse, all while they each assured me this was exactly the way they wanted to spend the evening.
With hugs and assurance given that I was fine, we headed home. It was on that ride home, as my husband took my hand giving it a reassuring squeeze I realized, with much certainty, that any moment could be my last. I made the decision that life, MY life, needed to be lived to the fullest, every single day. “To the fullest” will look different for each of us and some days will be more exciting than others but one thing is certain. I will go to bed each night thanking my heavenly Father for the gifts he has given me….my boys, my husband, my friends and most importantly, His Son and the promise of heaven.
