What's in a name?

One more reason to purchase a Hallmark card

Today is Grandparents Day.

It was almost 25 years ago. 

I was just a few weeks shy of my first year of widowhood.  I had purchased a home, my youngest child had married, and I was settling into a life much different than I had envisioned.

Because I was a Vistakon employee, I had the privilege of shopping in the  J&J Company store. I was visiting my daughter, Renee, when she handed me a piece of paper containing a list she had made.

It was innocuous: Q-tips, Tylenol, No More Tears shampoo, Johnson & Johnson Baby Powder—a name my first grandchild could call me.

And so it was, on June 1, 2000, a date that would forever be etched in my heart; my first grandchild was born. I was delighted.  Happy to have a granddaughter - but happier that Renee, who had loved babies since she was not much more than a baby herself, had the opportunity to be a mother. 

Then, when that granddaughter was about nine months old,  I kept my little Amazing for about four hours, and  I've never been the same.

With the arrival of each new grandchild, my heart expanded with love. Each one brought a unique joy and a deeper understanding of what it means to be a grandma.

Early on, I determined that I wanted to be the fun grandma. A friend suggested that I be called Grand, which made sense. Grandma seemed like an old person.

That is until my third grandchild was born, and her daddy, who loved his grandma (my mother), wanted me to be Grandma.  

It really doesn't matter what they call me - as long as they let me "love on them."

I had one "fun grandmother."  She loved pretty clothes, shoes, and laughter. My other grandmother was stern, even though she was very hospitable and kind. In her later years, she also loved pretty clothes.

Grandmother took me shopping.  Grandma held my wedding reception in her home and focused on my yellow color scheme when she planted yellow dahlias that could be seen from the dining room.  I'm pretty sure that the Paula I am today is a little like Lonnie and also a little like Pauline.  

My second granddaughter was about 7 when she encouraged me to write a blog. I knew I couldn't include my grandchildren's names in anything I published.

She suggested, "Here's what you should do, Grand. 

Give us a name that says who we are."

Her idea was that she would be Awesome, and she continues to represent that word greatly.

One more note about this grandma thing. Although this is not something I am proud of, I was very jealous of my mother's relationship with my first child. Recently, I had a little ah-ha moment when I remembered that my mother might have been just a tad jealous of my relationship with Daddy's mother (whom I called grandmother). And, truth be told, my first child has a daughter—and now I get it.

I was not a person who longed to be a grandmother.  

However, I cannot imagine life without the joy of being Amazing, Awesome, Graceful, Terrific, Effervescent, Caring, and Radiant's Grandma.

Being that in their lives is plenty!!! 

They can save their money! 

May you have enough sunshine in your life to make you appreciate the shadows

Successful Cobbling

My children's dad called it Neighborhood Pie.

Actually, the proper name - and a huge family and friends favorite: 

Company Apple Dessert

My mother discovered the recipe when I was in the fifth grade. It became a staple.

I was looking for ideas for decorating my home (especially my kitchen) with apples. September seems too early for the pumpkin patch.

In my search, I came across apple cobbler recipes.  Truth be told, my mother's Company, Apple Dessert, was just an apple cobbler - with a "fancier" name.

As often happens with me, the word cobbler began to ruminate a bit.

I have a mental picture of a man working on a shoe - replacing a heel; that's a cobbler.

I remember walking through the streets of Philadelphia on our honeymoon after I married Rich Suhey. I had a print that we purchased then, but it's long gone. I do remember the small street with stones placed closely together—cobbled.

When I thought of the word "cobble," I thought of stones, shoes, and maybe apples.

Until 

I lost my job as the Special Events Coordinator at Pine Castle in March 2008, and my friend, the Reverend Mark Atkinson, suggested that I cobble together an income.  I was a year short of early  Social Security. 

My parents had moved in with me in 2005 and they contributed to my monthly expenses. Besides that, daddy's health was declining just as the medical experts had predicted, and I was needed more and more to be a help to them.

I got unemployment for the first few months, but that didn't go well with who I am.

Hum.

My aunt Ann had worked as a poll worker in an election, so I asked her for input, and she suggested I look into it.

In 2008, I joined the Duval County Supervisor of Elections team. I trek to the Elections Training Center on Imeson Road every couple of years for training. My daddy would say, "I am driving a fur piece" to reach my destination.  I think it's interesting that when I am traveling on Imeson Road just to my right, behind rows of bushes, I can see the runways to the airport I remember from my childhood.

That particular means of helping me satisfy my financial obligations has been successful, but it was just the beginning. I could include a list of my experiences, but this is not a job interview. Let me say—the good, the bad, and sometimes the ugly—but my bills "got paid."

Of course, the best job ever fell into my lap when I learned that the Mandarin Museum & Historical Society needed a Volunteer Coordinator. This past July, I celebrated my 9th anniversary.

The Museum has changed—for the better!!! But one thing has not changed—the volunteers continue to be faithful, eager to help, and excited about our mission. I have made several very dear friends and picked up a "best friend" along the way. I believe that my time in this capacity has broadened my horizons.

So - today's word is COBBLE.  I still do it.  And it's been a good word for me! 

May you have enough sunshine in your life to make you appreciate the shadows

Love Note

I got a note from my mother. . . 

Not really.

So let me tell you about yesterday.

The week has been hectic. Finally, there would be time for my best friend and me to enjoy a nice quiet dinner.

A casserole was ready to go into the oven when I learned - my friend had been called to attend an impromptu family celebration.

Those kinds of things are very important to me, so I had no trouble "going with the flow"

In fact, my neighbor has recently had hip surgery, and I had been thinking I needed to take some food to them. The casserole and some of the jello salad would be perfect. Within a few minutes, a friend called, "Did I want to go get some ice cream?"  Well, yeah.

The note from my mother???

My devotion this morning featured Romans 8:28.

If there's any Bible verse we heard more than that one, I don't think my siblings or our children would know what it is.

Yesterday's changes were nothing - no issues in the least.

There have been times, however, in my life (and in yours) that we have been thrown a curve ball and struck out.  

I read the devotional, knowing that, remembering all the times my mother has helped me with an issue but reminding me of the scripture.

The devotional I read always has a photo to help a person remember.  Today's said, "Where the Lord guides, He provides".

More than 70 years ago, our mother wanted to go to Bible college.  Cindy and I were little girls  I hadn't started school.  Mother wrote to Tennessee Temple College in Chattanooga and received a letter back with those words.  As it happened, daddy did not have the same desire to go to Bible College.  He told mother he would take care of us but she decided that going to Bible college was not what was best for our family.

She never forgot those words, however.

And so it was that as I read the devotional I felt like my mother had sent me that message.

She would have been grateful that I thought of sharing the casserole and happy that I had a visit with my friend.  She would also like it that I am still writing about her!!!

May you have enough sunshine in your life to make you appreciate the shadows

Have I got a story for you. . .

What did I want to do when I was growing up? That's one of the questions in a project I'm participating in—a gift for my children and grandchildren.

 

I wanted to be a journalist.  I valued a couple of Florida-Times Union columnists, Cynthia Parks and Elizabeth Cornelius. I also loved the writings of Elizabeth Elliott and Catherine Marshall, who were both "preacher's wives," so I believe my vocational wishes and what I considered my "life's call" as a Christian worked together well.

You might say that my love for storytelling has always been a part of me, a passion that I'm eager to share.

 

My creative bent emerged a few weeks after my sister, Cindy, was born.  I don't remember, but my mother told me the back of the living room couch was my canvas.  Words soon replaced crayons, however.  There's a story about me standing on a chair in my grandparents’ kitchen - preaching, and then there's the one about the "story" I made up as a first grader.  I told the teacher my daddy got his hand cut off in a machine at work.  I made that up as an excuse for not coloring inside the lines.  It was because my crayons were all broken, and my daddy said there would be no new crayons until Christmas. (I know, it was a lie).

 

In the early years of my marriage, I wrote a column for our church newsletters. I called it I've been thinking... If there's one thing I consistently do, it is THINK.  That later became a nonpaid column in the early days of Jacksonville.com.

And then I started to write Sunshine and Shadows, this blog that I hope is an encouragement.

 

In 2010, I interviewed and wrote about physicians, medical practices, and hospitals when the Duval County Medical Society published a book about their history.

 

Recently, I helped with the editing of John Beehner's latest book, Live in Freedom, Don't Believe Everything You Think. which, as it happens, contains many stories of people who have experienced a change in their lives because of their faith walk.

 

I've been a contributor and an editor, but still, there's this nagging desire.  

 

So , , , 

 

I'm going to put together a book of stories.  Somehow, that seems less self-promoting than saying that I am going to write a book.  It will be an E-book through Amazon. The title is From Paula's Pen...Have I got a story for you!  Some of my stories will be included, but my main purpose is to share your stories.   

 

I believe this sort of undertaking needs a timeline, so I'll start on August 5^th (the day my parents married in 1942). I first thought that it would be a six-week project, but I am going to refrain from a publication date. I believe that I will know when it’s time to set a completion date.

I welcome your stories, and I will edit as little as possible. Knowing that I am not a good proofreader (especially for my work), my friend Deborah Hansen will be my editor. She has been one of my major encouragers in putting my words into print.

 

When I hit the publish button on this blog, post it on my Facebook page, and send emails to people encouraging them to send me a story, I'm going to be thinking, "Oh, help," as Maria expressed when she was on her way to the Von Trapp family home in The Sound of Music.

 

And like Maria, I have confidence in Sunshine and Rain, in you, who will share your stories, in Deb, who will edit my work, and most of all, in God, in Whom I Trust!

And this will be my number one goal:

Two Goodbyes

I didn't know I was saying goodbye.

On the third day of July 1982, I boarded a Jacksonville-bound airplane from Louisville International Airport. My children were visiting my parents. Their dad suggested that I come to Jacksonville to be with them and my extended family. He would arrange to meet us sometime in the next few weeks.

That didn't happen.

Years later, I told my brother, Lester, that I needed to return to Louisville. I said, "I didn't say goodbye." As it happened, Lester went with my parents to get my things after I knew I was not returning to that life. When I said I needed to go back, Lester was very kind.

"I said goodbye for you".

In the 42 years since then, I have often remembered when I was devastated that my life as a Pastor's wife was over. Note that I didn't say "wife." My identity was tied up in what I believed my "calling" had been.

As it happened two years ago, 40 years later, it was time once more for me to say goodbye/ This time, I knew/ I was not surprised.

I was watching as my 99-year-old mother, who had been the source of hope, strength, and love for me for my 75 years of life, was slipping away.  She actually had now been sleeping on and off for several days.  Our family sat with her and  talked to her.  I read the Bible to her.  I recited the Lord's Prayer and was surprised as she mouthed some words with me.

The Hospice nurse told me that I needed to tell her that it was okay for her to go.  I suggested that my son, Tray, would be a good person to do that.  No, it had to be me. I was the principal caregiver. It was my responsibility.

At some point, I was alone with my mother in her room.  I had a flashback.

I married Rich Suhey the day after my mother had turned 75.  He told her that he hoped I would look like her when I was her age.   

My 75th birthday was a week away.  So remembering that and the fact that Rich died just eight moths after our wedding, I said

"Mother, when you get to Heaven, after you see daddy - would you find Rich and tell him - I do look like you." 

 That was my goodbye.  

I'm okay with the fact that I never said goodbye to Louisville. My life is full. My children are strong, their children are amazing, and although I am not a Pastor's wife, I have many opportunities to reach out and minister to others.

I'm also good with my goodbye to my mother.  

The afternoon and evening of her passing will remain among the dearest of my life. My children and I told the Hospice nurse stories of their lives with their grandparents. The nurse was so well trained that she made us think we were telling her the best stories she had ever heard.  

My daughter, Renee, leaned into her grandma's ear and told her it was time to go - she had lived a wonderful life and was leaving an unbelievable heritage. And with that, my mother took her last breath.

I think that day proved to me that although I didn't say goodbye to Lousivlle = my disappointment and sorrow that I lost the life I thought I was supposed to have -- was precisely as it was supposed to be.

I am truly grateful.

May you have enough sunshine in your life,  to make you appreciate the shadows 

.

Why I love where I live

 This week, I am celebrating.

25 years ago, the day after Payne Stewart won the exciting US Open (beating another golfer I liked, Phil Michelson, and telling him how great it is to be a father), Reatlor, Dottie Wilson, called me.

I had been "house=hunting" in Mandarin for several months.  I was still in a grief mode.  Rich Suhey had suddenly died just over six months before.  Soon after his death, maybe even the night he died, my children had said, "Mom, you need to move to Mandarin."  

Some patios and townhomes were being built, and my sister, Cindy, had driven through the area. This would be a perfect place.

Except they were all "taken".

Dottie said, "The woman who was having one of the patio homes built no longer wants it."

My daughter, Becca, and I came to see it.  In time, the rest of my family saw it, and by the end of July 1999,  I had signed the papers!

I recently "floated" the idea that I might sell and move to a retirement community.

I walked through my house and looked at what I enjoy - and treasure - and cannot take with me.

In 2008, my son, Tray, had just started his contracting business and needed to give his employee some work. This is what I got. 

I don't want to leave it - or my backyard, which slopes down toward a small stream. I love to mow it. I have a heritage room and a noisy neighbor, and I live less than five miles from my siblings and two of my children.

Between my birth and my 52nd birthday, I had lived in four states and many different houses. We moved a lot when I was growing up, but I never had to change schools or churches or make new friends. The four states, Tennessee, Georgia, North Carolina, and Kentucky, were all good places to live, and I still have friends there.  

When I was reflecting on that time, now a quarter of a century ago, I realized once more that I love where I live.  And that reminded me of this.  It was the first time I was paid ($50) for something I had written.  It was published in the Florida Times-Union in November 1982.

I feel really good about the fact that what I said 42 years ago about the house that was a homeplace for the Nesmith/ Huffingham families for so many years - is true to what I feel today. In 1982, I felt that my life was in shambles, and I wrote that where I lived was offering a nest - a place of peace and security for me and my children.  When I found this house, I found a place where I hoped to find peace and security.  I believe that happened.

With a group of friends, I read a selection from Simple Abundance by Sara Ban Breathnach each day. The goal is to reflect and respond. The book invites the reader to learn to relax and appreciate the simple things of life.  Each month has a central theme with words of encouragement for each date of that month.  The focus in June is on the home. There are suggestions of things to change, add, or sometimes remove. It's been a thought-provoking experience.

In the book of II Samuel, when the shepherd/king David was settling into a palace, he prayed that God would bless his house.

That has been my prayer as well, and I believe that God has done just that!

May you have enough sunshine in your life,  to make you appreciate the shadows

"Everything's gonna be all right"

 Does one still celebrate Father's Day when the father has passed???

 Well,

 Yes.

 I can celebrate the memory of a daddy who loved me – and cared for me and remember the fun times we shared. I once wrote daddy a poem. It recalled some of my memories

" Remember when you made the fudge and placed it on a platter?                                                         And I insisted that I serve and how that glass did splatter."                                                            

Those words were based on an early childhood memory. Daddy loved to make fudge. He had made a fresh batch for our Sunday afternoon company. I insisted that I be the one to serve it. Of course, I dropped the plate. So well into my adulthood, I wrote a poem that included that experience. I thought it was a good example of the fact that so many times in my life, I bit off more than I could chew, and yet I never once thought he loved me any less as he often found a way to fix what seemed to be a splattered mess. 

 I penned those words in a Father's Day greeting in June 1982. By July 15 of that same year, I was sobbing my heart out on my parents' back porch. My life was shattered. And daddy's response was "everything's gonna be all right".

For the next 27 years, he told me many, many times that everything was going to be all right!

As the end of daddy's life drew near I was bold when I announced I did not want to be home when he passed. I thought I would not know how to handle it. I feared it would be just mother and me. She would be a wreck, and I would not know how to handle that. However, the Hospice nurse had worked with me, and I determined I would be okay. I didn't tell daddy that I had come to that conclusion.

We were not aware of this, however, within hours of daddy's passing, he kept asking me when I was leaving for work. I have since determined that he was trying to protect me. He thought I didn't want to be there when he took his last breath. He thought that because I never told him any different. I was there, however, and have always been glad that I was.  Everything was gonna be all right!

I can also celebrate the father of my children. My life with him did not turn out the way I hoped. However, as I often say, "Have you met my children?" And then I say, "They got so much of who they are because they are Parkers." And I understand that no matter how good a mother I was, I was not their father. 

Tray was playing all-star baseball when his dad was finally at a game. (He lived in Indiana; we lived in Jacksonville). Our team was behind. Tray got a hit that tied up the game. He stole second, and the batter hit a double...Tray crossed the plate, and our team won the game. He came running off the field with these words:

 "Where's my dad?"

 I think Tray is a better father because of the absent father he grew up with. I believe that it is because of the influence of my daddy, my brothers, and some of my male friends. Tray and his brothers-in-law, Dale and Wally, are all excellent dads to my seven grandchildren. I am so very grateful, and I joyfully celebrate the three of them. 

And I celebrate those extra fathers, especially Lester and Robert.

Because church has always been a part of my life, I understand it when discussing God as our Heavenly Father. I can recite the Apostles Creed with no hesitation: "I believe in one God, the Father almighty. . .". I remember granddaddy Nesmith opening the morning worship services with these words "Our Loving Father". I learned early on that God loves me more than my father...and grandfathers. I felt very loved by them - and I feel very loved by God the Father.

 My thought is this. Daddy is not here for me to give him a present or write him a poem.

 I can still celebrate him - and the other fathers in my children's lives (including their fathers-in-law, Jim England, Larry Blain, and Roger Park).  And I do - with an attitude of gratitude, love, and respect.

 And, of course, I give thanks for God our Father - who loves me even more! 

May you have enough sunshine in your life,  to make you appreciate the shadows