Real Life Reflections

Christmas - a time of year so full of joy, of family, of friends that one can almost see the magic in the air - reach out but a little and touch it. I love that about this time of year - the thrill of the season is everywhere. I decorated our Christmas tree last night, and with virtually every ornament, anticipation for the holiday, for treasured time alone with my son and daughter-in-law built; and with virtually every ornament, scenes from Christmases of years gone by came alive as if the Spirit of Christmas Past held my hand and flew me back through the years, and tears flowed freely: tears of the happiness that was, tears of sorrow for what will never be again, tears of grief for those I will only see once more when I pass from this life. What a mix of emotions! Although, when it comes to the holidays, I dare to think that I'm not the only one who experiences such elation and sorrow within the same moment. Very few of us escape this life without loss and without grief; and

December 2, 2012 brought with it beautiful deep blue skies with nary a cloud and temperatures warm enough to bask in. A perfect day for a walk. So I took one. Taking a walk is not an odd thing for me to do. I like walks. Having a dog is a great excuse to make myself do it even when the weather isn't December 2-ish all year round. I like to walk in the evening, after most of the day has passed. It gives me time to let the thoughts in my brain catch up to the activities and conversations my body and ears have taken in on that particular day. It's a time to reflect, to unravel my mental and emotional threads and place them in their corresponding slots in this brain of mine that has to organize it's thoughts in such a way. On this particular walk, my brain was quite busy. I had a slew of unorganized thoughts that needed to be untangled and set straight, labeled, and placed in their proper places on the shelves of my mind. I walked for a little over an hour. About forty five

I love the Christmas season - the festive decorations, the Christmas parties, the family gatherings, the traditions, the joy that abounds. When I've been asked what my favorite day of the year is, I answer without pause: the twenty-four hours that begin around 4:00 on Christmas Eve. To me, those hours are sacred, reserved for just our family - what used to be "the four of us" and is now "the eight of us." During that time, work and business cease, no telemarketers call, no neighborhood child tries to sell us cookie dough or popcorn, laundry and errands can wait. This is time for us. I'll make our traditional Christmas Eve dinner with Christmas music playing in the background, the tree twinkling with joy, the presents below it fairly bursting with the need to be opened. The guys work on a jigsaw puzzle or play dominoes or cards. The girls help me in the kitchen. We talk. We laugh. We love. We eat dinner by candlelight, then attend Christmas Eve service. B

I'm sure you've heard the term, "the highways of life," and if you've ever lived in a big city, near a big city, or traveled through a big city via their highway system, you know that not every interchange is a simple exit from one roadway to the next. Sometimes the exit/entrance ramp loops around, over, and/or under the converging highway. It can be confusing, and you're not always sure you made it onto the right road. Life can be like that - not every change is a simple glide from one season to the next. Sometimes the new road doesn't feel right. Surely we've taken a wrong turn. We're on the wrong road.This is just too different. The sun is on the left now, glaring through the driver side window. The terrain is unfamiliar too - sand and cactus instead of oaks and lush green grass. You want to turn around and get back on the other highway. The familiar one. The comfortable one. The thing is we don't always choose which highway to get on ne

A two year old can hold approximately one gallon of pee before relaxing to such an extent that pee gushes forth, cannot be contained in any one diaper, and covers approximately half the bathroom floor after soaking two-year old's clothing - sufficient cause for whining to begin. The most likely time for the aforementioned two-year old to release gallon of pee is when Grammy is rinsing one extremely odoriferous poopy cloth diaper of one-year old brother (over which Grammy has just fought the battle of Gettysburg and is awaiting a medal of honor for winning said battle) While two-year old whining continues (understandably, who wants to stand in a swimming pool of one's own pee in clothing soaked in pee?), Grammy  attempts to soothe two-year old and remove wet clothing (having now set aside odoriferous diaper and turned on bath fan), one-year old brother (now clean and happy) crawls into bathroom to enjoy a few splashes in the pond until vanity doors attract his attention and he o

For the second time in my life, I am on page 839 of the 1024 pages of Gone With The Wind , and for the umpteenth time in my life, I've had it with Scarlett and her conniving, deceptive, heartless ways. I could read the book or watch the movie a hundred times, but Scarlett isn't going to change. This isn't Groundhog Day . Each re-reading isn't another opportunity for Scarlett to get it right. Scarlett O'Hara Hamilton Kennedy Butler will always be Scarlett O'Hara Hamilton Kennedy Butler - a woman motivated by fear, greed, and spitefulness. I don't want to live my life motivated by any of those things. I don't even want to associate with those words, but although I may not be so blatantly obvious about it as Scarlett, I have more in common with her than I'd like: Fear - I don't actively fret. I'm not a "nervous Nellie," but I worry about my children, my grandchildren, my husband, our finances, retirement, the future. Isn't th

Have you ever been embarrassed to the point of tears? I have and for something about which I have no need to be embarrassed - my food allergies. I was at the rehearsal dinner for my niece's wedding, and I couldn't eat a single item in the buffet line without fear of some very unpleasant repercussions before the evening was over. My brother, the father of the bride, very kindly offered to run out and get me something, but whether I sat at the table and ate nothing while everyone else indulged or my brother went out and brought me back something, I was singled out. I didn't just blend in with the rest of the group. I felt the tears burn behind my eyes, which only served to irritate me with myself for being embarrassed. I hate having all these food allergies because they make me different. At restaurants and social gatherings of all kinds, I have to ask about the food. I can't just partake like everyone else. At home, planning, shopping, and cooking foods I can eat and m

I read these words this morning: "In accusing me of being a damnable sinner . . . you are reminding me of God's fatherly goodness toward me . . . you really comfort me above measure."          Martin Luther As I read this words, I realized that I have something to be grateful for that in the past, I'd only despised - I'm so very grateful that I'm a sinner for it means that Christ died for me. I'm actually excited about being a sinner! If I were not, I would have no need of the cross, no need of Christ. If I could do it on my own, if my works and my goodness could bring me to heaven, I wouldn't need a Savior. So, when the enemy of your soul accuses you, when your faults and failings and sin threaten to engulf you, rejoice.They are your reminders that Christ died for you.

voice 1. the sound or sounds uttered through the mouth of living creatures 2. the faculty or power of uttering sounds through the mouth by the controlled expulsion of air 3. a range of such sounds distinctive to one person   May 8 marked the 34th year since I and my siblings have heard our father's voice. I still miss him terribly. I often call to mind some of his favorite expressions ("crime-in-etely" - I have no idea what it means, but he used it as a curse word or "oh my aching back" - an expression of disgust or impatience with a given situation). I remember his jokes (that he told over and over and over). I miss his laugh. I miss the sound of his voice. No one else in the world has the exact same tone or timbre. No other voice sounds just like his. I miss the sound of my mom's voice too, and my mother-in-law's, and my brother-in-law's. I can't wait to hear them all again, but there's

I was asked the question the other day, "what do you believe about God but don't really comprehend?" My answer was easy: grace - the undeserved favor of God. Grace is altogether outside the human experience. Everything in this life is about rewards, punishments, and consequences. All of our decisions and choices shape our lives - for good or bad, ease or hardship. There are natural consequences to our actions, choices, words, and decisions. That's just the way it is, and it helps us navigate through our time on earth, but grace isn't about any of that, and I, for one, all too often confuse the two. Over and over again, I slip into works-mode where I live as if God's favor depends upon my actions, choices, words, and decisions. Several years ago, our pastor pounded grace into our heads. He taught on it Sunday after Sunday after Sunday. His teachings were never boring. I never thought, "oh brother, I see where this is going - grace again ." On the

When our oldest child celebrated her tenth birthday (over eighteen years ago - ugh!), it hit me like a pie in the face: more than half of her years with us were now in the past. That realization formed a new resolve in me. "No regrets" was my new motto of motherhood. I determined that when her adult years came, albeit way too soon, I would be able to look back and say with utter confidence that I did absolutely everything I knew to do in the best way I knew how to do it and with all my heart and strength. That's also when I began to pray for the man she would some day marry (and the woman our son would some day wed). It was a simple prayer. I prayed for the two most important things to be found in a spouse: that the man Ami would marry love God and love Ami. Nothing else really matters, although I have to say that we got much more than that in our son-in-law (and our daughter-in-law). In many ways, he reminds me of my own husband: he has a tender heart, he values honest

Last week I went on an adventure. Typically one would not describe their attendance at a wedding as such, but when one travels via plane to attend said wedding with a (almost) twenty-month old, an adventure is exactly what it is. It was altogether stressful and wonderful by turns. My grand daughter is at that stage where everything is new, and she wants to know the name for it - and then talk about it for the next half hour. One such moment came as we looked out the window of the airplane. We saw the beautiful, crisp blue sky ("bwoo sky"). Twenty minutes later as I tried to distract her from the fact that we couldn't let her get down ("DOOOWWWNNN"), the blue sky was gone. All we could see were clouds. I told her the blue sky was hiding behind the clouds. For the next half hour, intermittently, she told her Momma or me by turns, "bwoo sky . . . hide" and bobbed her head up and down in ferocious agreement with her statement. I'm sure no one can

I recently began to read One Thousand Gifts - A Dare to Live Fully Right Where You Are by Ann Voskamp. I picked it up, not because of the title, but because so many people had recommended it - highly. I'm not sure what I expected, but it's all that and then some. I have to admit that her writing style is difficult for me. I have to weed through her poetic prose to grasp the jewels of truth, but there are jewels sprinkled throughout every page, and it is well worth my efforts. I'm not writing a book review this morning, but I mention this book because it is the reading of it that has planted a new cry in my heart: I want to see.   I came home from the office frustrated yesterday. I'd spent two days working on one problem. It felt like trudging through cement. I changed clothes and immediately went to walk out my frustrations. I prayed, "Lord, I want to see. I want to see You in this." Albert Einstein's words sprang to mind, "It's not that

I stepped into their living room. I'd only be there for a minute as this was just a stop to pick up my daughter on our way to another destination. She held my grandson as she opened the door, and I saw no one else in the room. I talked to him, baby talk, a silly, high-pitched voice reserved only for those who have yet to celebrate their first birthday. He gave me one of his lady-killer smiles. Just then his daddy walked into the room and said, "aren't you going to say hi to Grammy?" Now, my grandson is, of course, advanced for his age (he's a two-fisted carrot-eater among countless other talents), but to say, "hi, Grammy" at six months is beyond even him. I followed my son-in-law's gaze and found that there was someone else in the room. She stood there quietly - in the corner by her toys and books. I hadn't seen her, but she had seen me. She was watching and waiting patiently for me to notice her. I hunkered down and squealed in delight. She wa

It's no secret among my co-workers that because of additional tasks and responsibilities with absolute deadlines, January usually brings me to the brink of sanity. Once or twice I've teetered precariously. This January was different. I kept God ever before me. I kept myself consciously and proactively aware of Him (see my January 25 post for details). Then February came, and before I knew it, I felt like I'd been knocked flat. I was down for the count in a boxing match that I hadn't even known I was in. My opponent brought his punches in hard and fast. There I sat, dazed, reeling, wondering what just happened. I tried to shake my head clear. I tried to remember what it was that had gotten me through January. Nothing came to me.My mind was blank . . . . . . Until this past Saturday. I'm related (by marriage) to the author of the Cuppa Joe Bible Minute . Writing a blog isn't Jenni's only gift, she also teaches Bible studies and at women's retreats. Ev

We all have bad days, right? You're sick or running late or you have an accident or a flat tire (or maybe all of the above and then some?). Sometimes a bad day is as simple as getting bad news - news that doesn't stop with just the saying of it, the fact of it. Bad news that isn't just a statement but news that reaches into the heart and changes the scenery, colors the way you see things, makes you look into the future and see that your life will look different from here on out because of it. News that catches you by surprise and changes what you thought would always be, changes the status quo of your life. I got news like that recently. Then a few days later, I received a totally unrelated phone call the purpose of which was to rake me over the coals, make sure I knew how badly I'd screwed up. A few days after that, I got a letter from the IRS informing me that the organization for which I work and am responsible for much of the accounting and human resource complian

Life is teeming with reminders of our need for God. Take today for example: I'm exhausted. I have this ridiculously sensitive body rhythm, and I messed it up yesterday. I went to St. Louis with a mother and daughter. The daughter is strongly considering an extended stay in Burkina Faso as a missionary. So the mother/daughter team that have been there/done that spent the day with the mother/daughter team in the early stages of going there/doing that. It was a great time. Ami and I both enjoyed sharing our experiences, and by their own admission, the time was profitable for the other mother and daughter; but for me, to talk for a full eight hours is waaaayyy past my conversation limit. "Conversation limit?" Yep. Conversation limit. A previous boss used to cite some statistic about how many words an average woman speaks each day as compared to the average man. He'd see me talking and joke that I hadn't reached my quota for the day. My quota, however, is much lower

My husband and I talked about parenting last night. We've been at it for a little over twenty-eight years. What I never expected was the constant change, constant adjustments that parenting requires of you all your life. As your child(ren) grow and move into different seasons of their life, so your parenting moves into different seasons and has to adapt. If we treated our twenty-eight and twenty-five year old children the same way we treated them when they were five and two and a half, we would be sorry parents indeed (and our kids would be even sorrier!). The past few years I've learned that now, more than ever before, I don't know what I'm doing as a parent. Fortunately, I no longer have to concern myself with preparing them to be responsible, independent adults. Unfortunately, this is where the problem comes in. I haven't figured out how to adapt to this stage of parenting. In their formative years, I knew what I had to do, my job was clear (although the best

I stood there taking in the sights and sounds: the water as it gently lapped the bank, the playful twitter of what I could only assume were birds of some sort as I couldn't see anything through the dense foliage, the tall - monstrously tall - trees, thick with leaves of deep green, gold, red, orange, and purple (I swear - purple leaves!). How had he done that? How had Mr. Throgmorgenson transported me here? This island shouldn't exist anymore. The Naterans took care of that hundreds of years ago, and yet here I am. I'm not complaining. I mean, this is amazing. Awesome. I scanned the landscape, but it was impossible to see anything through the pack of trees that stood at attention like a massive army. The center of the island could be mountains, or valleys, a huge crater, or maybe marshes, it could be forest all the way through to the other side. There was only one way to find out. I headed inland, but just as I began to walk, enjoying the peace and the time to t

Oh January! That month of the year that has pushed me to the edge of early retirement every year since 1994. I don't want to jinx these last few days of said month, but I just may make it through without checking the balance in our retirement fund and calculating possibilities. So what's different? My task list is every bit as long in 2012 as it has been in previous years. This January isn't running any smoother than past Januaries. I've run into just as many problems (if not more) with my January responsibilities as in years past, but here we are with less than a week to the month left, and I haven't walked out on the job or even cried (though, I admit, tears did threaten to trickle at one point last week). I'm actually heading into the home stretch with a more positive attitude than when I started. I'm not complaining, but what's the deal, Schlemiel? In a word - God. God's the deal. I kind of have a thing for books (I know, big surprise for t

Once we cleared the trees, we instinctively ran towards the river. I could hear them behind us. We didn't have much time. Our only hope lay on the other side of the water in front of us. We were going to have to swim for it. We had no other choice. Breathing hard from our escape, we stopped, both of us bent at the waist with hands on our knees as we tried to catch a breath. My lungs were usually the stronger between the two of us, and they didn't disappoint me today. Sam continued to wheeze, but at least, she was standing and not passed out or coughing uncontrollably as she tried to catch her breath. That's good. Her asthma was under control. She'd be able to go on. I stood up and breathed in deeply of the salt-water river smell. With my eyes closed, I could easily believe that we were at the ocean. I opened my eyes half expecting to see flip flops scattered along a beach and sun-bathers asleep on their towels, but instead I saw the dry banks of the river with dozens of

Somewhere in my early years of faith, I read a little book entitled, The Practice of The Presence of God by Brother Lawrence. It's about being mindful of God every waking moment of your day. Many years later, I discovered Practicing His Presence by Frank Laubach and Brother Lawrence, which is the original work plus Frank Laubach's diary of his experience of following The Practice of the Presence of God . I'm now on my fourth reading, and it's getting a bit dog-eared, and the highlighting makes the pages quite colorful. Unfortunately, I've found that life continues to get in the way of being mindful of God with me, and I end up relegated Him to a corner of my life set aside just for Him.Then life goes from being in-the-way to overwhelming, and I remember that God isn't a part of my life, He IS my life. Out comes Practicing His Presence . Perhaps if I read it one more time, I'll get it. That's what I hope anyway. It's not easy to keep God in the for

You know that feeling you have when you know someone else is in the room or even just looking at you? That's what it felt like. I was face-down on my bed, folded into my sheets like a big pile of dirty laundry, my pillow balanced on top of my head but my eyes had popped wide open. The room had suddenly become chilly. I usually get hot and throw my covers off this time of the night, but here it was, about half an hour before sunrise, and I shivered. The bunny was here. In my room. Knowing that he'd come to our world was one thing. Knowing he'd made it into the house and into my room was something else altogether. He was following me. He wanted something from me. Revenge? Did he blame Sam and me for his incarceration? Did he come back here to bite us, to inject us with his poison? Was I about to die? I knew one thing for sure: if I got bit, no one in any hospital in this world would be able to save me.

Do you ever feel like you have to learn the same life-lessons over and over and over? Like Jethro Bodeen, you repeat the sixth grade countless times? Yeah, me too. Of course, this wouldn't be the case if I would just get the point the first time around. The latest in my litany of lessons is Love. Not love, but Love as in "God is." 2011 was a tough year around here. Many of you know about just a few of the things that helped it earn that descriptor, and you know what I do when life gets overwhelming? I focus on the overwhelming of course! I rant against the wrongs. My faith gets crowded out by the problems that surround me. I don't want to do this, but it seems to creep up on me, and before I know it, I'm in that place yet again - a shrinking shadow backed into the corner by a bully. As it happens though, God turned out to be the walls of the corner into which the issues and circumstances of 2011 backed me. I'm still in that corner, but I've realized (f

I think the holidays are the ultimate test of familial love (though weddings may very well be a strong contender for that title). Expectations run high: the food, the festivities, the gifts, the time together - it's all part of the magic of the season. The problem is that the magic falls flat when reality crushes our expectations. Not that I've ever experienced that of course. I'm just sayin' it's a possibility. One of the biggest issues for couples, though, is how much time to spend where and with whom. If you're like me, you have very little family in-town, so every celebration of the season involves out-of-town travel either personally or by other family members. This often involves an over-nighter if not multiple nights, and this is where the rubber meets the road. You either raised the now-adult people with whom you will be temporarily cohabiting, you or your spouse grew up with them or they are the spouse or off-spring of one of the above. Generally spe