Cemeteries, Sunshine and A Toy School Bus

For the past few years Memorial Day has meant a day of honoring my mother.  You see, she is "old school"  about it and likes to spend it in the cemetery (or cemeteries), honoring her loved ones.  She grew up going on family picnics on Memorial Day to the cemetery, and the whole family would place flowers at the graves of loved ones and spend the time cleaning off the headstones, pulling weeds, etc.  It was their way of showing respect and remembering loved ones.


Since my dad passed away 6 years ago, we have joined with her and my sister in making the 2 hour trek to a tiny cemetery in the hills above our little "home town", bringing flowers to my dad's grave and those of several other family members.  It's usually a cold, grey experience--it is Oregon after all.   We usually take a picnic and sometimes meet up with my brother & sister-in-law.  The kids are so sweet and take an exceptional interest in the experience.  As solemn a task as it can be, they have great attitudes.  The thing is, it is not exactly my husband's favorite thing to do.  He uses a rare day off of work to drive 4 hours round trip for a 20 minute  experience of placing flowers at the grave of someone who--quite frankly--couldn't care less about the flowers on his grave.  (I feel horrible saying this--please don't misunderstand.  We love my dad, but he is in heaven now and I don't think this is a huge deal for him.)  My husband doesn't complain, but I know what he's thinking.  He is very supportive of the ordeal because he cares about my mom too.  We do it not only to remember my dad, but to honor my mom. 


But this year we did something different.  We had the opportunity to go to the beach today.  But with how heavy our schedule has been, we didn't feel we could do the beach today, church tomorrow and the 5-6 hour cemetery trip on Monday.    A choice would have to be made and I automatically threw out the beach trip  because Monday seemed non-negotiable. 

But you know, it hit me.  Maybe this year, I could bless my husband.  Maybe it was time to celebrate life.  I emailed my sister and told her we'd love to do the beach if mom would go too, but that would mean we'd skip the cemetery this year.  Amazingly, my mom understood.  She agreed to come along to the beach, and so it was settled.

We played in the sand--in the sun.  It was gorgeously warm.  Our family got to be together in a joyous setting with laughter and play.  I would not trade this day for a thousand roses at my dad's grave.    The funny thing is, I found a little toy school bus at a gift shop and I purchased it for my two year old.  My dad was a school bus driver as a bi-vocational pastor.  He adored that job because of the kids.  He always had a million stories to tell about his experiences.  I think that he would have been pleased that this little grandson, whom he hasn't yet met, went to the beach today with grandma and came away with a toy school bus.  I think that this year, that bus is my bouquet for my dad; given instead to my son.  I'm certain my dad would approve.  

I'm At It Again

"So do not worry about tomorrow; for tomorrow will care for itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own."

I'm thinking too far down the road again.  When I do that, I get myself into trouble.  It's not necessarily trouble that any of you could detect.  It's more of an anxiousness that eats at me.  I can easily get myself into a tizzy at how things are versus what I think they should be.  I've caught it building and building the last couple of days, and soon I won't be able to handle the tension I've created for myself so I will have to let it out with trying to fix things on my own.

It's not like it's that far down the road either.  Really.  Kind of.  I mean.  Next school year isn't so far away (as much as I'd like to think it is), so I should have a plan for my kids.  And then there is: who will rent our house come August?  Oh, and isn't it time to start work on a second adoption before our littlest grows up and I'm in dentures?  And that will mean we need a car that seats eight. (We literally just paid off the one we have.)  And: Wow, our oldest daughter turns 16 next year---sure would be nice to have a house that could accommodate a "friend party" if we wanted.   And what about a bathtub?  The little guy is about to outgrow the kitchen sink.....  Yep, It's all up there.  In my head.  Right now.  Making me anxious and crabby and just a little wacky.  Struggling to give it to the One who can do anything about any of this.

As many of you know, our church just had it's very first ladies' retreat.  And having the budget that we do, I was asked to do the first session.   The subject of the retreat was on prayer.  And as many of you gathered from my facebook posts, it was a challenge for me to compile my thoughts into an outline and verbally share them.  God was faithful and helped it to come together, and by His grace, I think my session went OK.  But what is funny is that my friend and pastor's wife, Laura, warned me.  She warned me that when you teach on something, to be careful, because quite often God chooses to challenge you in that area.  Well, Laura, you are so right!

 I am so caught up right now in MY timeline and MY dreams, that I am starting to look anxiously about me.  I want to jump in and get everything on track for MY plans to work out.  But I know this isn't how it should be.   God says that He wants me to cast my cares on Him.  He wants to bear my burdens.  HE has plans for me and I need to rest in them and wait on Him.  "Preach it to yourself, Girl!" I'm telling myself. And so I will:

Isaiah 41:10 "Do not fear for I am with you; Do not anxiously look about you, for I am your God.  I will strengthen you, surely I will help you.  Surely, I will uphold you with My righteous right hand."

The Hall of Sin

We have a back hallway that runs from the kitchen to our pantry and back bathroom and around to our living room.  It has seen episodes of sneakiness before, but today it was the scene of two crimes--in a row.  My youngest somehow managed to pull a pitcher of Crystal Lite off the counter without spilling it and carried it into the back hall--you know, where the carpet is?  He raided the dishwasher for a cup and poured most of the contents onto the carpet, before being discovered.  I finished cleaning up that mess and moved on to my laundry.  For some reason I made another lap through that back hallway in time to find my little wonder boy into a bottle of cornflower blue food coloring. A lot of it!  Despite the fact that BOTH he and I have blue hands now, at least the carpet was mostly spared.  Let's just say that "cornflower blue" on skin translates into "hideous-bruise-what-happened-to-you?"looking blue.   Wonder Boy is now in bed.   And I am left wondering how to get this off us both before we are due at Parent Night at the school in 2 hours.  

Gettin' Myself in Trouble Probably

Well, I have enjoyed writing and sharing with you this past week--maybe a little too much.  You see I really should be studying hard to teach a session at our Ladies' Retreat which is coming up *gulp* next week.  I'm not a teacher.  I'm not a speaker.  I'm more of a mom and a pretend writer and a people watcher.  But when our lovely pastor's wife asked me if I'd be willing to do one session because she was in need (desperate need, I think) of someone to teach ONE of the sessions, I said that I would if she needed me.   That was before.  Before it started to be a reality.  Before I realized that I'd actually have to open my mouth and speak for real.  And definitely before I heard that the other speakers answered with "I'll have to pray about it" before they agreed.  OOPS!  Sign #1 that I'm maybe not the speaker who should be teaching a session on prayer.   Needless to say, I'm prayin' now!!

So, here I am writing a final post until I get my thoughts in order and my outline complete.  (No, it's not done yet, Laura--but no worries.  *nervous laughter*)  But now let me get to the purpose of this post.  (Some of you may be surprised that it actually took me a whole week to broach this subject, because it is one that is important to me. And I will probably cover it again at some point.)   It is this:  Smaller churches need well-taught believers to be a part of them.   I am NOT a retreat speaker AT ALL.  But some of you out there are or could be.  Some of you struggle with a lack of ministry because you go to a church saturated with "ministers".  Have you ever asked yourself why?  Your choice in a church home is made with many factors in mind--the foremost being the Word of God and how it is viewed and treated, hopefully.  And I'm not saying that it is wrong to go to a large or even a MEGA-large church, but I DO think we should all consider this:  Am I ministering effectively there?  As believers we are all called to serve the body somehow.  Are we doing it?  Or are we going to the services, signing up for the cool programs offered, having our coffee and then heading home to a week of ???  For what are we being fed anyway?  Are we teaching our kids that when THEY head out into the world they only look for what a church can offer THEM?     I know, that I am probably stepping in it here. Please keep in mind that I am a PK from small, struggling churches who would have been completely blessed by another family coming along side and encouraging our little fellowship.  I know I will probably actually get some comments on THIS post and they won't all be favorable, so let me say:  I am NOT saying everyone should leave their big church and go find a little one to serve.  I'm just saying every believer should at least consider it.

Last Year's Mother's Day Post--A Classic for Us & I'm Too Lazy To Post For This Year

Mother's Day 2010: You can kind of see my children's personalities by how they have handled Mother's Day this year.

My oldest daughter, very kind and sweet, gave me a card with a water color of a beautiful flower she had painted herself. It was still wet--she is very last minute like me but has twice the talent--thankfully for her. She just had a very busy social-life-type weekend is all. Also, she sacrificed a bag of her own chocolates to give me, which I recognize as one of the higher manifestations of true love. It was dark chocolate.

My oldest son came stumbling into the kitchen this morning with hair all sticky-up and thrust a 5 dollar bill at me and said: "Happy Mother's Day!" Then later he found a wrinkled up Penney's ad in the car and upped it to $30 if I wanted to pick something off the jewelry page in that price range. That must come from me too--though something in my memory says maybe his Dad has done that before...

My youngest daughter had a Hallmark card all signed and sealed -- with a pretty bow even. She had purchased it well ahead of time with her own money. She even added a very formal " May God bless you" in it-- which nearly makes me weep at the sweetness of it.

My 10-year-old boy was in the shower while all of this was going on. I guess it was a "Mother's Day" shower---good enough! I will count my blessings!

The little one was holding a pretty orange flower and cooing and smiling all over it. Upon coaxing he managed to hand it over to me for about 2 seconds. He liked the flower. It was very sad when its head popped off and he wasn't allowed to eat it.

They all are so unique and wonderful and I'm still puzzling why God would entrust them all to me. Doesn't He realize I don't have a clue? Anyway..their unique and ever so sweet ways of making me feel special today have blessed me beyond measure. I'm thankful I get to spend my days with them. Lord, equip me to guide them to You!

My Mom

She married my dad in the summer of 1955.   She made a lovely June bride and he was very proud of her.  My parents didn't really have a honeymoon as there wasn't a lot of time or money for such things, but in an effort to enjoy the comforts of the time and mark their beginning together as special, my dad purchased air plane tickets to make the journey from Portland to their new home in North Idaho (probably Spokane airport).   My dad's overture backfired and my mom was miserably air sick the whole way.   He took her swimming in Lake Couer d Alene when they arrived and she got Pneumonia.  Poor Dad.  But this isn't about my dad.   My mom was happy to be with my dad and eager to please her new husband.  She was willing to follow where he led no matter the outcome.  And this less-than-ideal beginning was a pretty good gauge of how things would generally go.

My parents loved serving the Lord together and were committed to going where He led and doing whatever needed doing in order to minister.   My dad chose well his wife of fifty years.  I'm not sure too many women would have been willing to do what she did.   There was very little money and sometimes almost none.  They church planted a couple of times--from scratch--no big mega church to sweep in with support and bands and cool brochures.  The other ministries were in rural areas--tiny churches.  My dad often had to be bi-vocational to pay the bills.  My mom was committed to be at home with her children and readily available to help Dad in whatever way needed.  She canned hundreds of jars of..everything, every summer.  She had a garden, she sewed clothes, she taught Sunday School, led VBS, had youth group meetings in her home, led Bible studies, counseled women, practiced hospitality to strangers, held my dad's head (yes, you read that right.  He would pass out with stomach troubles and nearly have a seizure.) made jam and reared 4 children who love the Lord.

My mom lived in houses not of her choosing.  There were cramped church parsonages or houses that the church might secure that would "work just fine".  There was a little house on a muddy dairy farm and the house on the river, there was even a time when she had to live IN the church and then the house I arrived at--across from the church.  She put up with people showing up at all hours wherever she lived, often endured unfair criticism, and graciously and gratefully accepted all manner of food gifts (she was given fish bones on more than one occasion--can you imagine??)

Despite the lack of resources, my mom always managed to put a beautiful meal on the table.  She was a yummy cook and practically famous for her fried chicken, chicken and dumplings, potato salad, and homemade rolls.  Give her a few potatoes, some onion, and some bacon grease and she'd make the tastiest dish on the planet.   I have often thought that a true cook is not someone who uses all the beautiful and rare ingredients to make a particular dish, but rather one who can find the few things in her cupboard or garden and make something delicious with what is available.  This was my mom.

She isn't ALL sugar and spice though.  You wouldn't DARE back talk her.  If so, you'd end up regretting it--usually with the flavor of soap residue lingering in your mouth. She has been known to tell an armed stranger  to put his gun away.  And then there was the time she confronted a male in the women's restroom of the campground. (You don't mess with my mom.)  She was never shy about using paint paddles or wooden spoons or an old belt to instruct either.  (Not even on me, despite what my brothers or sister may tell you.)  She prayed over JW's--even blocked the door so she could finish the prayer.  She was my dad's biggest fan and also his toughest critic.  Check-writing/bill paying day wasn't exactly the most pleasant day of the month either--so she was very human.  And oh goodness, if one of my siblings decides to show her this post....

And with all her facets of life, the first thing you would notice in her home in the morning, was the smell of coffee and her curled in her chair with her Bible opened in front of her.  She tried to please the Lord in all respects and instructed us that this was the most important thing.  Her life verse was Romans 12:1  "I appeal to you therefore, brothers,by the mercies of God, to present your bodies as a living sacrifice, holy and acceptable to God, which is your spiritual worship."

While her life has not been story book perfect and maybe less than ideal, she made it happy and secure for us.  And she was faithful--to my dad and to the Lord.  She is still there as an encourager, supporter and gift-giver to her family.  While much of what once defined her daily life is beyond her capabilities now, her work endures.  She showed us that the rewards are not of this world.  That God provides.  That her family was special.  That marriage was sacred.  That Scripture was powerful. That prayers are answered.  That books should be read. That music is necessary.  That to be friendly is better than to be popular.  That underwear really is a Christmas gift.  That jello is a food group.  That sharing is joyful.  That soap tastes bad. That furniture doesn't have to be the latest thing (she had the same couch for 30 years).  That beauty is in relationships.  That you eat what is put before you.  That you really don't need a full meal on Sunday nights.  That you dust where you think no one will look.  That sacrifice can be in the very practical details.  That your home is where your family is.  That God is good.  That He doesn't forget your labor of love and work of service.

And neither will I.   Happy 80th Birthday to my Mom on a life well-lived.

Across the Black Top

I learned to ride my bike in a church parking lot.   We lived next door to the church.  My dad was the pastor and we lived in the "parsonage".    My entire world was that couple of acres on Elm Street.  It included a creek with a fort and a swamp, 2 old chicken coops and an old barn that was used by my oldest brother for breeding hamsters.  The yard held several fir trees that could probably have been classified as "old growth" and strung between them was a hammock--made by the hand of my ever-crafty grandmother who wove it out of bread bags.  (She didn't make it through the Depression just to throw out bread bags.)

The two church buildings were in plain view of  our home and separated from it by beautiful, smooth black-top. ( I remember when it was poured.) Almost whenever I fancied, I could skip across it to pay a visit to my dad and his sweet, elderly secretary Frieda.   When I went through my fear-of being-abducted stage ( I had made the mistake of reading a Reader's Digest "Drama in Real Life"),  I would make my mom watch me from the kitchen window until I reached the other side and safely ascended the church stairs.  Whenever there was something going on at church, it seemed like the parking lot was full of kids running crazily around afterwards.  We might even venture back to our yard and terrorize each other on the hammock.  It was an amazing experience to have the entire church property as your playground.  I still remember my brother holding on to my  blue bike with awesome banana seat and running behind while I wobbled and peddled and  screamed for him to not let go.  He was pretty patient for a high school kid with better stuff to do.

On the days with events I wasn't a part of, I would sit in a chair at the window and stare across the parking lot and watch the comings and goings.  Of particular interest to me were weddings.  I loved to watch the bride and groom come sweeping down the stairs, being showered with rice or bird seed (remember bird seed?) and run to their decorated car.  Lines of cars would chase the newlyweds, honking all the way.    And then, there was the time I had strep throat and missed out on my brother & sister-in-law's Oregon wedding reception.  I was left at home to sit in that chair and watch my friends run and play in my yard while the mature guests ate cake in the fellowship hall and missed out on seeing me in my flower-girl finery.  It was almost more than I could take!

Various other moments come to mind where the parking lot was as far as I was allowed to see.  The dieter's support group's arrival, teenagers arriving and loading up on retreat bound buses.  Scroungy looking people pulling in for a hand-out or free counseling.  This was my view as a young child growing up.  It offered all the possibilities for adventure and diversity that I could hope for.   If I were lucky, the cars pulling up would have a passel of kids they'd let out and I'd run out to play.  If not, there was always the bike to ride.

Yep. That's right.

I am sitting here wondering why I have a blog.  I don't have much amazing to share.  I'm about as unaccomplished a gal as you'll find.  Heaven knows this won't be about my amazing knowledge of....anything.  And it certainly won't be about crafts.  I'm not a "couponer" ( is that what you call them?), so you can forget about saving money.   I WISH it were about decorating, but history has shown that if my house is looking put together--there must be a "For Sale" sign in the yard.  While I am a homeschool mom, I am the first to say that I  am not a "homeschool mom".  You may find an occasional lesson God is trying very hard to teach me, but I am no devotional writer or theologian.  Recipes are nice, but nope, I'll leave that to the professionals.  And if you are hoping for tips on organizing, well I can provide lots of "before shots".   So why AM I doing this?  Honestly, I am doing this for fun.  For me.  For Ryan. ( Because for some reason he wants me to.)  There is something satisfying to me by sorting through my life with written words--of finding humor where I can and acknowledging God's sovereign hand in the twists and turns.  It is delightful to recount the joys of motherhood and the spice of marriage.   While I am acquainted with the ordinary, the unspectacular, I am surprised by the fulfillment and the beauty, the laughter that has accompanied it.  So.....I'm gonna blog.

I Remember

I remember holding a newborn daughter and shuddering at what evil this world held. I remember looking at two precious boys and wondering what their future would require of them. I remember a little 5 year old girl who suggested to her mommy that we put up his picture on telephone poles in our neighborhood, as her sweet, practical way of doing what she could. I remember the horror, the fear. Tonight, I rejoice that the instigator is caught to face the Righteous Judge. But I WILL not dance. I will not be as they were when unimaginable evil befell our land--though that was unprovoked and this is just deserts.  I will remember that we are "under God". We are Americans.   We ought to be better than that.