99 and counting

It is New Year's Eve, 2013

This is my 99th blog.

It is not my 99th column - remember I used to write for Jacksonville.com and I think I probably have about 250 in that genre.  Besides if you count all the things I wrote for various and sundry church newsletters, I've been doing a lot of thinking and a lot of writing.

However, this is the 99th Sunshine and Shadows.  Tomorrow I will post 100.  It will be about  - you guessed it - resolutions.

Today's is  more about what happened in 2013.

This is not my year in review.  You can see that by looking at my Facebook page.  It only glazes the surface of what happened to me in 2013 - lots of fun and happy times with family and friends - and probably the highlight of 2013 - my mother's 90th birthday.

If you had told me just one year ago as we started planning the celebration that she would be living in Texas by today, I would have thought you were trying to write the best piece of fantasy fiction imaginable. 

I became my parents caregivers when they left the retirement community in St. Augustine to come back home to Jacksonville.  At first it was more us looking after each other, but as the years passed my role as the caregiver had become "what I did".  They moved in with me in 2005.  I was good with part time work and accepted the income they offered for what I was doing.

By mid 2013 - my mother, who really doesn't like to admit she needs a caregiver - and I, who needed the income - were stuck.

My mother was itching for some new opportunity.  She told me that she really wants to "finish well".  Surely there were more opportunities for her to serve the Lord - somewhere.

And I needed a change

My mother knew it; my siblings and my close friends knew it.  In time, my children knew it.

It really was time.

I made a bold statement.  "I need to  trust God with my finances" 

And my brother, Jonathan, issued an invitation.  Would mother come and live with him and his wife, Tammie?

In Texas.

I remember when my sister, Cindy and her husband, Robert, announced their move to Pensacola and that daddy kept saying "Pensacola?" and when my friend, Woody, told me that he had gotten a job in Cuba that I kept saying "Cuba?".

Three weeks ago tonight I pushed her wheelchair down that long corridor at JIA and sent my mother to live with our brother.

In Texas!

A few weeks before that night when I was volunteering at the front desk at Community Hospice's Hadlow Center when a person came for an interview for a part time temporary job in Community Relations.  I was really nosy.  What did the position entail? HUM.  I could do that job.  Like some sort of bird, I swooped in for the kill and got the job.  I feel only "this much" guilt.

So now every morning I go to work at Hospice and every afternoon I work on the 171st annual convention of the Episcopal Diocese of Florida or I write for Beson4.  This is the first time in what will soon be 13 years that I have only had Paula to think about.  It is very different.

But it is very good and I am grateful. 

"You can be sure that God will  take care of everything you need. . .".   Philippians 4:19 (The Message)

Oh and guess what - you know my friend, Woody, who moved to Cuba?  He's back! And my sister now lives in Sanford - much closer than Pensacola.

It's all good

It was cookie making at grandma's house.  Five of my seven grandchildren gathered in my garage and with the help of their mothers, we rolled and cut Pillsbury "Slice and Bake" cookies, baked and decorated them.  It has become a family tradition.

In the meantime their daddies were rearranging my some of my furniture getting my house ready for what I keep calling my new normal.

I told my children how I feel like I am the heroine in one of the books I love to read.  Books by Dorothea Benton Frank, Karen Kingsbury, Jan Karon.

"It's so exciting", I told them.

And then they all left.

And here I was - by myself.

Oh my.

They are all grown up.

I thought back to our first Christmas as a single mom and three children and felt a tear run down my cheek.  How in the world did we ever survive?

And so I went to bed - sad.

I woke up sad.

I thought I cannot stay sad. I read the Upper Room, still sad;  I looked at Facebook, the newspaper; I made the bed and started to get ready to go to work. Still sad. 

Gotta get on top of this.  I reread the Upper Room, including the suggested Scripture.  At the top of the page were these words: Five Days of Hope by Max Lucado.

Hum I needed some hope. . . not something that is a normal need for me.

Without quoting the whole devotional, I can tell you Lucado told of meeting a young waitress who was very sad.  It was Christmas and her parents had just divorced for the second time.  He said he wished he had spoken words of encouragement to her.  He had not.  But he said that if he had told her what he should have said (that sounds like me) he would have told her that she was going to get through this rough time and he believed God will use this mess for good.  He cited the Biblical story of Joseph.

"In God's hands intended evil becomes eventual good".

Hum

When my first marriage ended in 1982, I was absolutely bereft.  I could not for the life of me see how any of that pain was ever going to be something good. 

However... as I think back over the 31 Christmases since then, I remember the time my children played Santa Claus and put my presents under the tree, a waffle iron, a train, a watch, some pretty sweaters . . ..the announcement of a new grandchild, the joy of three more grandchildren that came in one fell swoop and how I love to see any of them in a program at church or school - singing, dancing, playing the flute.

Let me be clear - I don't for one minute think that my children's father had intentions of evil.  I just think that what was supposed to be a marriage that lasted a lifetime got messed up because of evil.

And I'm pretty sure that if Rebecca, Renee and Tray were adding their thoughts to what I am writing they would all say --

"In God's hands intended evil becomes eventual good".

Thanks be to God -- and Merry Christmas!






 .

The candle of love

This Sunday we light the candle of love, the fourth in our recognition of the season of Advent. And actually that's what Christmas is really all about.   Without making this a "sermon", you already know that I really believe in the truths that are told in Scripture -- you know the part about God so loving the world, that He gave us His only son...etc.etc. etc.

However, on this last weekend before Christmas 2013, that candle of love represents the way I feel about my friends who have been incredibly loving and supportive to me at this time in my life.

From the lighting of Advent candles anticipating the celebration of the coming of Christ to the many aromas that fill my house when the scented candles are lit, candles represent warmth and love.

The day before Thanksgiving my friend, Doris, gave me a candle that has provided a sweet scent in my home for several weeks - the weeks that included getting my mother ready for her big move - and my beginning to adjust to whatever new normal I am about to enjoy.

"It has a strong scent", she said, "but it's a good one".

Everyday from that day to this, I have enjoyed the lovely combination of scents that emanate from that candle - smells that make me think of Christmas - spruce and citrus and warmth all wrapped up in one pretty piece of glassware.

Oops.  You can't smell warmth.

No, but you can be reminded of the warmth of a friend.

As I walked through a department store earlier this week I was drawn to an aisle where many candles were on display.

That's the gift for my friends, I thought.

Because over the past few weeks I have so much experienced the warmth of friendship. Not only has that candle provided a sweet aroma - my friends have provided warmth and encouragement - that have helped to light my way. Of course, I had to see if I could find a scripture reference to this thought and I found a great verse in Proverbs -

"Just as lotions and fragrance give delight, a sweet friendship refreshes the soul" (Proverbs 27:9 - The Message).

At this point, five days before Christmas, that particular candle is almost gone.

But wait.
Last night I got a present from a new friend.  And guess what?  It's a candle.  One that when lit fills my home with cinnamon and spice and everything nice.

And when the holidays are behind us and the Christmas candles once more take their place in storage, the sweet fragrance of the friendship (and love)  that they've reminded me of this season...

. . .will remain.




.

 

 

 

Organized confusion

I often say that organized confusion is my favorite state in which to be.

That's not exactly true.

I should say that as long as I am in control of it ... then I'm okay with it.

For weeks I have helped plan my mother's move to Texas.  The doctor's appointments were taken care of, the meds ordered, she saw all of her friends.  The plane ticket was purchased and several boxes of her things were already delivered to my brother, Jonathan's home in Weatherford.

And my mother is clearly ready to go.
  
Everything was great.

And then an ice storm.

So now we are in the waiting stage.  My mother is living out of her suitcase.  And hour by hour we wait...

I know there's a reason.  I know it's going to be fine.  It's just that I worked so hard to make it happen smoothly.

Do you think I just might have some control issues here?

And really - has it mattered?  No.  I did what I had planned to do yesterday and am on track to do the same today. 

And in the meantime - here's a photo of how my life feels at this moment.

 

If you look closely to what I call my "undecorations", you will see that the second candle of the Advent Wreathe has been lit.

That's the candle of peace.

And I feel fortunate that I have no doubt but that there is peace - in my heart, in spite of the plans that have been interrupted by a storm.  I love that saying "Sometimes God calms the storm -and sometimes God lets the storm rage and calms His child."

As think on the candle of peace - I think of the verse in Philippians - words that are often used in benediction - and the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and minds through Christ Jesus (Phillipians 4:7). 

Or has the Message translates it:  Before you know it, a sense of God’s wholeness, everything coming together for good, will come and settle you down. It’s wonderful what happens when Christ displaces worry at the center of your life.

After all - it's just a little ice storm!

Hope will shine on

Hope is one of my favorite words.  And on the first Sunday of Advent, 2013, We light the candle of hope.

Bob Moore is the director of music ministries at the Episcopal Church of Our Saviour.  He has written Christ is the Day a  new choral work that celebrates the images and themes of Advent.  Our choir has been practicing this for many weeks and we look forward to presenting it on Tuesday, December 3rd at 7:00 PM.  The finale includes these words (written by Richard Leach)

"Hope is a candle once lit by the prophets -  Never consumed though it burns through the years  Dim in the daylight of power and privilege -  When they are gone hope will shine on...". 
 

My first actual printed newspaper story was when I wrote about a mother who has MS for the Hope Fund a joint venture of what was then Volunteer Jacksonville (now Hands on Jacksonville) UNF and the Florida Times Union.  That was a special feeling for me - seeing my name in print - and on the front page. 

When granddaughter #3, Allie Blain, was diagnosed with Idiopathic Thrombocytopenia Purpura (ITP) a life-altering illness that prevents the production of platelets in her blood, my daughter, Renee and her husband Wally Blain created a foundation called Clouds of Hope that was intended to help families in similar situations.  Allie has now been an ITP survivor for 7 years.   In my mind, she's the poster child for "never giving up hope".

And one thing I learned from my Granddaddy Nesmith was the importance of I Peter 3:15.  It says "Be ready always to give a reason for the hope that is within you".  I like the way the Message says it:

"Be ready to speak up and tell anyone who asks why you’re living the way you are, and always with the utmost courtesy."

If you know me – you know that my faith, my family and my friends are of utmost importance.

You know that my faith has carried me through many years of adventure (some have been so wonderful and some I would just as soon forget). 

You also know that I am a communicator.

And I use whatever venue at hand as a means to share something I believe it.

So I am happy to use this blog (and my Facebook page) as an opportunity to share my faith.

I'm speaking up – and I'm telling you (hopefully with a sweet spirit) that I really do believe – in the Christ whose birth we celebrate.

Don't mean to sound trite – but yes – the hope that is within me – is that fact that Jesus is the Reason for this Season.

There's a verse in Colossians 1 that says that Christ is our hope -- and when all else has passed away - "hope will shine on".

Pimiento Cheese and Pumpkin Pie (or not)

It's really about the memories.

Probably our most memorable Thanksgiving is the year that my children's mammaw, Margaret Gentry Parker was about to "go to glory" (as their dad refers to it) and my parents and I (along with my brother and his little boy) took Becca, Renee and Tray to Winston Salem to be with their dad and to say good bye.

We were going to be  en route at lunch time (our family's traditional Thanksgiving feast time) so my mother had prepared traditional meal - ala picnic fare for us to enjoy.  She even had a table cloth and candles and we enjoyed a small turkey breast in a state park somewhere in Georgia.

It is a poignant memory for us all.  We did arrive at the hospital before she passed later that night and then we were able to visit with their papaw and their dad before we headed back to Jacksonville.

They also remember one year when most of our extended family was away so the four of us went to the Hilltop in Orange Park - different but fun.

Actually although traditions are a strong part of my family unit, food has never been that important.

I don't think any of my children can tell you what food I would make for them as their favorite. .

They would tell you they remember that we went to every one of any of their ball games (from T-ball when Tray was 5 to the regionals when Becca was playing high school softball) to performances where Renee was  giving a speech, to the library, to First Baptist choir presentations that Renee and Tray were in to one of the projects that I could always involve them in.  One year, Becca was playing softball at Englewood, Renee was the statistician for the Landon Middle School baseball team and Tray was playing Little League ball.  We literally went from one diamond to another that Spring.

Because of that - they would tell you we had a lot of McDonalds, frozen pizza and that sometime we would go to Shoney's for dessert.  Four cups of coffee, one piece of hot fudge cake and four forks.

It's the memories that count.

And this year we made some more memories.

I planned and prepared for days ahead.  With my mother's upcoming move,  I knew I should look for as many time saving opportunities as possible so I let Publix cook the turkey and I made the casseroles - sweet potato and broccoli, cooked the green beans, made the dressing (bought the gravy) and I did stuff the celery.

I remember now that when I made a pimiento cheese sandwich just after I returned from the grocery store that it tasted a little different.

Renee was anxious to enjoy a some celery.  And I was quick to hear ..."Mom, this doesn't taste right - it has a real kick". 

Of course I had purchased some off brand pimiento cheese rather than Publix brand that I have used for years.

Tray stopped for a quick visit - and to get some stuffed celery and we were having a good laugh over mom's purchase when I said

"I did some things different this year - I bought a pre-cooked turkey and a ready-made pumpkin pie".

Renee said "Mom - you bought a sweet potato pie".

Hum-no wonder it was a lighter color..

And so we are going to call this Thanksgiving the year of the pimiento cheese and sweet potato pie.

At least we made a memory!

Butter Pecan

They were on a fact finding trip, looking for a company that would manufacture a machine that was going to revolutionize the contact lens manufacturing business.  It was going to do it all - from the lens to the packaging process.  The team consisted of some mechanical engineers (Rich Suhey was one) and some research and development engineers (Mary Dolan was one).

They visited a company in Bradenton, Florida and stayed over night at a Holiday Inn near St. Armand's Circle on the Gulf of Mexico. 

And so it was that after dinner, the team went for ice cream.

Rich (who was about 15 years older than Mary) ordered butter pecan.

Mary told him that butter pecan was for "old people".

She remembered that when she worked in an ice cream shop as a teenager that it was always the "old people" who wanted butter pecan.

As it happened, Mary and I became good friends and I married Rich Suhey.

And then he died.

15 years ago yesterday. 

And Mary went to the grocery store and bought some butter pecan ice cream.

November 17 is not just a day that I remember as the day Rich died.  Because it is also the day that my second daughter was born.  So it's a day of mixed blessings for me.

But isn't that really what life is all about?

The smooth, rich taste of butter pecan ice cream -- has a lot of calories.

It's good and it's bad.

My life was forever changed - first when I married Rich Suhey and then when after just 8 months, I became his widow.  In the 15 years since, I have been able to complete my college degree, purchase a home, and work part time while I cared for my parents - something about J and J stock and his pension. 

I'm not one to focus on finances, much too black and white for me.  However, I am one to focus on the way God supplies our need.  And I have no doubt but that my needs are supplied - and partly because of the man who liked butter pecan ice cream.

Who's driving the boat?

He had wanted a boat for a long time.  So when his mother passed away in 1997 and he received some funds from the sale of her New Jersey home, he decided that he would buy a boat.



The Manatee - 1997-1999

It was late October and Rich Suhey and I had a great time shopping - looking - thinking and finally he found the boat he wanted.  I'll never forget the day we came to Julington Creek Marina and picked it up - making our way through Julington Creek to the St. Johns River, under the Buckman, waiting for a train that was crossing at the Acosta and then getting gas at River City before continuing under the Main Street and all the way around to where it would be docked in the Arlington River at Colonial Point where I owned a condo.  Rich knew a lot about cars and motors, but this was a tad different.  We laughed a lot that day.

And we enjoyed the boat.  It was named the Manatee and I kept telling him we should change the name but we never go around to it.  In March of 1998 we stood on the deck and vowed to love and cherish each other for the rest of our lives.  It was such a happy time for both of us.

One lovely Saturday we invited my parents to come with us for an afternoon cruise.  They were in the galley and Rich and I were manning the controls on the upper deck when he decided to go down and check on them.

My mother - so Rich remembered - exclaimed - "who's driving the boat?"

They were a little surprised with his answer - "Paula".

She even had to take a picture.

That was a long time ago.  After Rich died I kept the boat for a few months but soon knew it was time to let it go.  I shared the proceeds with our children and the friend who helped me sell it,  You know that saying - "the best day in a person's life is the day he/she buys a boat and the next best day is the day it is sold".  That is how I felt - but I have never forgotten that boat.

In fact, I often find myself drawn to walk across the Julington Creek Bridge and look at the boats that are moored there.

And the fact that I could drive a boat?  It really wasn't that hard.  Could I have docked it?  Probably not.  But I could steer in open waters.

Sometimes it seems like my life is like a boat.  And I've gotten pretty good at being the captain. Mainly because I know that although I'm using my eyes to see where I am going and my hands are on the wheel - I am depending on God to do the navigating.

In 2001 my parents moved back to Jacksonville from the retirement area they had enjoyed in St. Augustine.  I was alone; my children were grown.  It was easy for us to sort of take care of each other.  That care became more and more me caring for them as the years went by.

A few weeks ago, my brother Jonathan and his wife, Tammie, decided it was time for them to get some of the blessings of having our mother so they invited her to come to live with them and she has accepted.

For the first time in 12 years I'll be captaining the boat - without a crew - or any passengers.

It's exciting - and strange - and curious and maybe a little scary.  I've had a crew (three children) and passengers (my parents) for more 30 years (since I became a single mother in 1982).  It will be interesting to see where my boat ends up.

I'm glad I know Who's driving it.



Fishers of Men Dock

It was our small group's privilege to cook dinner for our friends, John and Diane.  My responsibility was to pick up the bread and dessert from one friend and go to Fisherman's Dock to purchase shrimp for the salad that another friend and I were going to make.

Sounded fun and easy.  I'd never been to the popular San Jose Blvd. store that sells fresh seafood.  Besides I would have my six year old grandson with me.  He would think that was a fun experience.  Right?

Well, if not fun, memorable.

His reaction to the smell of fish - "disgusting".  He even said that it was good I bought shrimp and not fish because he could not ride in the car if we had fish. 

Later he told his parents that he had been to "fishers of men" dock.

We smiled.  He seems to know all about Jesus' suggestion to his disciples that he would make them fishers of men.

I remember that song from my childhood.  I can still see us standing in the Beginners and Primary Departments at Glendale Community Church pretending that we were fishing as we sang it.

I'm really grateful that my parents took me to Sunday School and Church and more than that, they shared the love of God and their faith with me and my siblings.

Many times in my life I have called upon that faith, including the songs and scripture verses I learned as a child to sustain me in a time of confusion, doubt or turmoil.

My life changed drastically in 1982.  I had felt "called" to be a pastor's wife.  That went away when my marriage ended.  No longer being a wife was bad enough.  Not being a pastor's wife was devastating. I read some verses in II Corinthians that said in essence some of the things that were happening to me, were happening so I could know the pain and be able to walk along side someone else who was experiencing hurt or confusion.

Almost without fail, when I have an opportunity to minister to someone in a similar situation I tell about some experience where I've been praying and felt my prayers were bouncing off the ceiling - but the faith that was instilled in me as a child...kept me praying.

It is a blessing to me that my grandchildren are being schooled just as I was, and as there dad and I did with them.  Like our parents did for us, our children take them to Sunday School and teach them about God's love.  I loved it that my grandson thought the name of the store was "fishers of men".

I also love it that I can still rely - on that faith that was instilled in me as a child - to sustain and encourage me.

What - me worry?

My father loved the 23rd Psalm.  In 2008 I asked about a Christmas gift and my mother made a suggestion.  She thought daddy would like something that would remind him of his love for that Psalm and I was delighted to find this on a shelf at a local Christian bookstore.  It sat by his bedside until he took his last breath on September 16, 2009.  He had lived 7 years since he was diagnosed  with myelodysplastic syndrome which was a form of Leukemia.  The day he died, his pastor, the Reverend Kevin Pound had prayed for him personalizing the 23rd Psalm. 

"We know that you are Earl's shepherd, that you have prepared a table for Earl and that Earl will be in the house of the Lord forever."

I'll never forget that afternoon.

Just over four years later, my dear friend, John Gates, a man that I lovingly call my "other" brother, was diagnosed with acute myloid leukemia. This is not John's first experience with that ugly word - cancer.  Because of the care and concern (not to mention the expertise) of his doctor, Alan Marks, M.D., and much prayer, determination and faith, John has fought and overcome its deadly attack twice in the past 15 years. 

While he was undergoing his first round of chemotherapy, a restless John prayed. He says that his prayer was answered when he heard these words clearly as a spoken sentence:

“John, consider the 23^rd Psalm”.    

So he began to recite that Psalm, one that many of us learned as small children and not only did it began to take on a new meaning for him, he took the time to write what he was experiencing. Here are a few of his thoughts.  

"The Psalm begins “The Lord is my shepherd I shall not want”.   A shepherd had the well being of his flock as his main focus.  My well being is important to the Lord.

"...a good shepherd takes his flock to good grazing green pastures and good water.  Sheep know their shepherd’s voice and will follow him, “He maketh me to lie down in green pastures and leads me beside still water”.    This let the sheep graze to their content and grow fat with heavy coats of wool after the season of dry conditions with little grass for grazing where all livestock had it hard.   Thus “He restoreth my soul” has a clear meaning.  Sheep like people can be grumpy and will sometimes bite and fight with one another.  The shepherd would watch and not let this become serious; or, he would go and break up the argumentative sheep and drag them to different places so they would do what was right, “He leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name sake”.

"Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil for thou art with me, thy rod and thy staff they comfort me”. 

"This was one of the main things the Lord wanted me to see and understand.  He was in charge and He was keeping me safe. 

His rod and staff were his main tools.  The staff, a  long stick with the curved end, fits around a sheep’s head or body and it is used to guide the sheep or perhaps pull one up from a ditch.    The rod was a long and strong pole and a shepherd knew how to use it even to the point of killing a wolf or other predator trying to take his sheep.    The sheep never had to worry about their safety, and indeed they did not know how to worry. 

"The Shepherd did all the worrying for them just as the Lord tells us to let him do for us. 

"Shepherds were also known for their simple kindness toward their flock. .  “Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies, thou anointest my head with oil, my cup runneth over”.   I do not believe it is possible to express a more clear picture of God’s love for us in so few and beautiful words as these. 

"I probably pondered this most of the night and was in and out of sleep, but I got my rest and my heart was joyful even in the middle of chemotherapy.   The message was so clear.  The Lord was saying “John, I love you, I have you in my arms, don’t worry I want the best for you.   Now you rest in this knowledge and let me take your worry”.

"During my four week stay in the hospital there were many nights that sleep would not come and I was pretty sick.  But each time I remembered the Psalm  I could see myself as that little lamb being cared for with special sweet grass and cool water,  and I could feel the Lord’s arms around me keeping me safe and sleep would come.

"I am so grateful for the Lord’s Grace and mercy during this hard time.  I do not deserve a bit of it but the Lord saw fit to give me his Grace.    The Psalm ends with “Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life and I will dwell in the house of the Lord for ever”. 

"The Lord works in his ways that we cannot understand.  However, He clearly wants us to understand that He does love us and wants the best for us, wants us to lay our worries on Him.  I am certainly redoubling my efforts to follow His will and not worry what lies ahead about but let the Lord do that."

I've edited what John wrote to some extent, but I believe I have left his message intact.  John Gates truly believes that the Lord is his shepherd - just like my daddy did - which is why I've shared daddy's shepherd  with him for as long as he needs it.  

 

 

Got it

Swish; Bam, Swish

Got it.

What?

The baseball leaves the pitcher's hand; the batter hits the ball; the fielders see it coming and at least two of them watch it as it descends ...

Got it!

Or

Brrrring; Brrring;  and someone says -

Got it

Or

After trying to find the answer to a math problem, pulling up a zipper that is stuck (or the outfit is too tight) or finding something that we thought was lost ...

Got it.

Long introduction to something I am thinking of. Only I'm going to add a word -

God's got it.

Most every morning one of the things I do is read an on line devotional thought that comes from The Upper Room, a United Methodist Church publication.

I read one recently that made me think of where I am today. It was written by a nine year-old boy. He said that as he was playing soccer, a game that he doesn't feel like he is good at, he realized that a good soccer player is willing to pass the ball away to his teammates even when that means he won't get the goal so that the ball is kept away from the opponent.

No doubt the boy had help with the devotional, but here's the sentence that I liked:  "God knows exactly where to direct me to help me to overcome life’s obstacles and reach my goal",

There is always a scripture reference and this time it was about David when he was getting ready to meet Goliath.  The Bible says that he told the giant what he was planning to do - including making a statement that "the battle belongs to God" and then he did it.  Later in the same passage are the words "No sword for David".

This tells me that David knew what I need to learn.

In my quest for discovering the next steps in my life, I have shared, prayed, read and listened.

One person who I listen to is my friend, Virginia Pillsbury -- She tells me "God's got this".

And like the little boy in the Upper Room story, like David who went on to be called a 'man after God's own heart' and like those fielders in a baseball game  -- I can say - "got it" or at least

God's got it!

PS Knowing that God's got it, does not take away my responsibility.  David had to pick up that stone and put it in the sling.





  

How 'bout a little bowl of grits?

What do you do when you are worried, sad, or just feel out of sorts?

When I am worried, I clean.  My children always knew there was a problem when they smelled Wrights Silver Polish.  I could rub that heirloom silver service with such a vengeance that sometimes one might fear I was going to remove the patina.

Or sometimes I bake or write in my journal or meet a friend for coffee.

If you know me - you are probably saying - are you always worried? True, my silver almost always looks shiny, I am often putting some thought on a page or the computer screen and I certainly am known to meet my friends for coffee OFTEN.

And now that it's just me, I don't bake unless it's for some sort of gathering.

And when I am sad?

I eat grits.

Grits are my comfort food.

I have written before about the mixed emotions I felt when my son, Tray and his wife, Kristen, moved to the Washington, DC area in 2002.  I was very happy for the prospects that lay ahead of them.  However, he's my baby and it was really hard to see him leave.  Actually, every time he left it was hard. When he went to college and came home for his first visit, I cried and said "please don't go".  Remembering that afternoon still brings a lump to my throat.

Bless that poor child's heart.

Back to the day they moved to Washington, Tray came to my parents' home to say goodbye to the three of us.

I'll never forget walking back into their apartment and hearing daddy say "how about a little bowl of grits?"

Four years ago today I wrote an I've been thinking that I called "How 'bout a little bowl of grits?"

A Hospice bed was home to my daddy.  He was drifting in and out of sleep.  Our family and friends were coming to say good bye.

I was very sad.

And I imagined that if he could he would be saying to me "how bout a little bowl of grits?"

The next afternoon at around 5:00 PM with some of us (including his pastor, the Rev. Kevin Pound) standing by his bed, daddy took his last breath.  I've often recalled that it seemed like he just sort of wafted out the window.

And when I am out of sorts?

Well, I'm a bit out of sorts these days. The memories of daddy just continue to flood my mind and bring tears to my ears (football season is a major culprit).  Realization that my mother, while healthy, is aging.  I'm not sure what direction my life is really going in.  In some ways I feel like Alice looking down that rabbit hole.

And what am I doing about that out of sorts feeling?

You are reading it!  Stay tuned.

"I have a deam"

I do not remember the now famous "I have a dream" speech. 

If you know me, you know that my saying I don't remember anything is a stretch.   I don't remember it because the plight of people whose skin was a different color than mine didn't seem to be a  consideration in my upbringing.  My siblings and I were taught to be kind to everyone - that was the "Christian thing to do". 

In the fifty years since that time, however, I have heard remarks from my dad that made me think he was a racist.   In fact I have been known to make disparaging remarks about him, saying that he was both a racist and a sexist only to be reminded by my children that "granddaddy was more a part of his generation than he was anything else" so I've learned to give him some slack rather than be critical of a father that I really loved and admired. 

And when I dig deep and remember the depth of love for others that both of my parents had, not to mention the way they believed in serving God, I know that we were taught that we are  all God's children.  

They even took us to Sunday school where we sang "Jesus loves the little children...red and yellow black and white - they are precious in His sight" and I think we meant it when we said it.

And then I read Black Like Me by John Howard Griffin who artificially darkened his skin to pass as a black man.  And I came to understand that some people, people who would be considered to be "good Christians", didn't really think that song we sang in Sunday school was true. 

When I was a junior in high school (shortly after the Walk on Washington when Martin Luther King, Jr. made his now famous "I have a dream" speech),  I wrote a short story about a the daughter of a plantation owner's friendship with with the daughter of one of the family's slaves. My teacher told me I was "dreaming", that would never happen. 

Was he right?  According to what we know about history - probably.

But that concept has never left my creative spirit - or my sense of God loving us all equally either for that matter.  I wrote another short story about a young white mother who had been widowed who fell in love with the black butler...and my idea was far from original.

The concept? We really are all the same.

Hum.

I remember vividly the first Martin Luther King holiday.  My children were in elementary and middle school.  I came home from work to find them saying repeatedly "I have a dream that some day my little black children will walk hand in hand with white children...".

And has that dream come true? I hope so but sometimes I'm not so sure.  I do know that the suggestion made in a song by Swedish pop group, Abba, makes a lot of sense to me.

"I have a dream, a song to sing  - To help me cope with anything
If you see the wonder of a fairy tale - You can take the future even if you fail
I believe in angels - Something good in everything I see
I believe in angels - When I know the time is right for me
I'll cross the stream - I have a dream"

Sometimes dreams come true - but that's another story!

You have to own it

"Each time I write a book", says Maya Angelou, "I think, 'Uh, oh, they're going to find out now.  I've run a game on everybody and they're going to find me out."

I did some research to see exactly how many books Angelou has written and found at least 30.

Guess we haven't discovered anyone running a game when it comes to this renown author, poet, speaker, and who is, according to her website, a Reynolds Professor of American Studies at Wake Forest University (that's big to me; many years ago, a favorite pastime was walking on the campus of Wake Forest in Winston-Salem, North Carolina).

I think she's a writer - don't you?

How about Sarah Ban Breathnach, the author of one of my favorite books, Simple Abundance, A Daybook of Comfort and Joy.  In the pages of that book I read that after she had written her first book, she had a difficult time referring to herself as the writer of the book.

Breathnach was having a heart to heart with her sister, Maureen, who told her that  it was high time for her to own up to her talent.  Breathnach said that she had found comfort in thinking of herself as a wordsmith, not a "real writer".

My aunt, Beth Weitzel gave me this book many years ago.  I put it on the shelf thinking - I"ll read it one of these days.  Later a copy arrived from my friend, Deborah Fairchild Hansen and I thought "Hum - two people I value have thought I should read this...".  Better check it out.

So I did and it's been a daily encouragement to me - after devotional reading.  And sometimes, just like the words from Scripture help me, so do these words.

Especially this week the words  about owning my talent.

My what? Do I have talent?  I must.  At least others (my mother, my siblings, my children and other family members and now my friends, my peers and my editor) seem to think so and they have encouraged me beyond anything I ever dreamed.

I have written before of a writer's conference experience where I said "She's the writer" when talking about Deb Hansen.  She was a bit irritated with me as she said, "so why are you here?"

"Okay", I said, "I'm a writer".

I started saying it, told my children and grandchildren that when asked what their mother/grandmother does for a living to say "she's a writer", and I paid attention to what I was hearing.

So this is a formal acknowledgement .

I'm going to own it - I am a writer!

It's also a note of appreciation.  I would never try to name the people who have encouraged me in my quest to become a "real writer" but I so appreciate their support.  From  Ray to Rich to Coulter (with a couple 'of 'love interests' in between) and so many of  my family members and friends - especially Tamra, Sandy, Diane, Debbie, Virginia...you have me convinced.

So did the check that came from Beson4 publications :) and the contact pages on HealthSource, Mature Matters and North Florida Doctor - the ones that list the names of contributing writers and where I see the name Paula Huffingham-Suhey!

Duct Tape Items for Sale

 

Hi, my name is Allie... one of Paula Suheys AWESOME grandchildren.

I make things out of duct tape. I have a few items I would like to advertise now.




Women's Wallet 8$

Here are a few pictures of what you can buy.

Bi-Fold Wallet 5$


Other Items are:
Expandable Coin Pouch 5$
Woven Wallets: 6$
Quad-Fold Wallets: 6$
Tri-Bi Wallet: 6$
Booklet wallets : 7$
Smallets 5$

ABOUT ALLIE:
Allie has been making duct tape items for 1 1/2 years and loves it. She has a collection of 54 rolls of tape. Duct Tape is not just Allies favorite pass time, It also keeps her quiet for hours. Earlier Allie had a duct tape partner and they were called Duct Tape Diva's, But now she goes alone known as the Duct Tape Girl.
you

If you would like to order one of these creations please put in the comments which one you would like to order. Shipping is FREE. Please give the money to my grandmother. If you have already gave the money to my grandmother please wait 14-28 Days until you have your item. If it is taking longer please contact my grandmother. Thank you for ordering...

Or should I just keep quiet?

My friend, Emily Anne just got a great promotion.  Her husband is the stay at home dad of their two little girls.

"We are going to join the Y; he can work out and the girls can go to the play area with other children," she said.

"That's wonderful", I replied.  "That gives him some time alone and it will be so good for the girls to be able to interact with other children".

And then I thought - oh my -- I'm really getting into their business aren't I?

So I apologized.

And Emily Anne responded.

"Oh, no, I like it when you tell me what you think.  In fact, I think it's a sin to know something and not share it". 

Wow.  I don't think anyone ever told me that.

I was reminded of a verse in the book of James (4:17 to be exact).  If I know something I should say something - right?

Well - in that case, it seemed to work out well.  But not every thought I have about how someone else should be should be shared.  I do not have to confront every situation I am faced with and I really need to be "prayed" up as the old saying goes before I say anything - because one simple statement can easily become a confrontation.  And I really don't want that.

In fact, that's why I sometimes shy away from confronting.  And it's not always because I don't want to hurt someone's feelings.  Many times, it's because I don't want my feelings to be hurt.  If I experience something that is unpleasant with family or friends, my tendency is to keep my mouth shut because I fear rejection.

Obviously, I felt very safe in my relationship with my friend. And I had no motive.  I wasn't looking for acceptance, appreciation or affirmation.

I was merely sharing an opinion, one that was met with acceptance and appreciation and I felt affirmed in our friendship.

So it continues to have me in a quandary - do I share my opinions - or should I just keep quiet?

I'll always remember...

I'll always remember Papa
 (Theodore James Huffingham 4/20/1898 - 2/12/1967) -
especially when I get a headache from eating ice cream.  That's because when I was about four years old,  he taught me that if I get a drink of water when that happens, the pain will go away.  I'll also remember riding with him and his wife (Aunt Grace) to check lights.  He worked for General Outdoor and we had to make sure that the lights that illuminated the billboards throughout Jacksonville were "on".  I remember that he called me Paula Raye and I still have the letter he sent me when I got my engagement ring.  He wanted to know where I was registered.  He died in February before I was married and Aunt Grace made my wedding cake (pound cake with coconut which had been a favorite of his).


And I will always remember - Granddaddy
 (Ellie Wallace Nesmith 5/12/1897-3/23/1994)
especially when I write something.  It was granddaddy who sat me down on a bench in about 1985 and said "sister - when you write something, you need to sign it.  Someday you will have grandchildren who need to read your words and find out what a good writer their grandmother was".  He also told me not to live with someone until I couldn't live without them (he meant get married to someone etc) and he taught us all to love and serve God - he taught us that by example.

And OF COURSE  I will always remember - daddy - 

(Earl Ray Huffingham - 12/18/1921 - 9/16/2009)

 

especially when I realize I am driving too fast (he always told me I didn't have to make Red Gap by sundown when he thought I was putting too much pedal to the medal); when I watch the Gators play (football, basketball, baseball) or a golf tournament (I hope Phil wins the US Open today - daddy would like that) and when the wind chimes on my back porch are saying good morning (daddy repaired them but that's another story).

 

I especially think of my dad when I see my children and know how much he had to do with the persons they all are today.

 

The night before his memorial when his pastor, Rev. Kevin Pound, asked me what I liked best about him, I said "that I am his child".  The way I look at it - much of who daddy and mother were (and are) have made me the woman I think I am today and most of the time - that's pretty good. 

 

I'm grateful for my dad, for his dad (Papa) and my mother's dad (Granddaddy).  I am also grateful for the father of my children.  Our children inherited some of their best characteristics from Ray Parker.

 

I often tell them (Becca, Renee and Tray) that one of the best things I gave them - is the family that they were born to.  We are truly blessed.

 

 

A dad for Tray

Tray is my third child and only son.  He has always been my buddy - even when we are disagreeing about something.  He is now 35 years old and he can still melt my heart.

He was in the 6th grade - and I thought he needed a dad.

Of course, he had a father.  But his father from whom I was divorced and had been since he was six, lived many miles away from us.

And he had a grandfather - actually, he had two grandfathers and a great-grandfather.

And he had three uncles - and I had a couple of close male friends who came round every now and then.

But I thought he needed a dad - someone who would help him grow up, someone who would discipline him with a stern hand.. And how was he ever going to learn to be a father if he didn't have a role model - up close and personal.

At least, that's what I thought.  I don't know what he thought - or if he "thought".

At any rate, I began to pray earnestly that some nice, handsome, caring, athletic man would come into our lives.

It was all about my son.

And then I met Kathy McCalpin.  She was the divorced mom of a darling little girl named Amanda - but really missed not having a little boy - and we became friends.  And Kathy "fell in love" with my 6th grader.  She thought he was the cutest thing, laughed at his jokes, listened to him, watched him play baseball. and really treated him with much special love and care.

My role changed.  I learned that I could be a bit more strict (not a lot, I know).  I could discipline.  I could have a firm hand.

And I realized it was really all about me.

I had not been looking for a dad for Tray, but looking for a man for myself.

Tray would be a freshman in college before a man came into my life.

Today - he is the father of two little girls.  He appears to be a wonderful dad - something that I credit to the genes he inherited from his dad and his papaw, Raymond Parker, Sr., my dad, my brothers, my male friends, and the mother of his children.

Oh yes - and Kathy McCalpin who became the fluff in Tray's life - so I could be the "bad guy"

It's funny how God answers our prayers!

The gardenia has a blossom

I've been watching and watching all week, in hopes that one of the gardenias at my front door would be would be filled with blossoms.  But alas.  No blossoms.

Until this morning - one blossom - small, as it were, but a blossom.

And why was it so important to me that there be blossoms?

Because on May 31, 2000 as I left Jacksonville to go to Tampa for the birth of my first grandchild, a gardenia bush that was along my walkway was filled with blossoms and I have always associated them with the night that Abigail Jane was born.

That was 13 years ago. 

My greatest excitement that night was not that I was about to become a grandmother.  It was all about the fact that my daughter, Renee, who has loved babies ALL her life was about to have one of her own.

Fortunately for me (though probably not for Renee), that baby was slow to come (kind of like those gardenias that I've been watching). My Jacksonville children and I made it to Tampa in time for the delivery.

I'll never forget her words "Look what I've done, mom."

I was so happy that Renee was a mother.  It was slow to dawn on me that I was now a grandmother.

In fact, it took much longer.  Longer even than the time that I've been watching for those gardenias to bloom.

However, once Abbie spent a morning with me about eight months later, it all made sense.  The two of us became pals.  Since that time, we have stayed pals.  We have shared the adventure of getting lost (when her little sister, Allie, was born three years later); we have shared secrets (when I used to sleep in her room and she suggested I should move to Tampa - including the idea that she it all figured out as to where I could work and live) and we share a great love for her mother.

Of course, Abbie is special because she is my first grandchild, but I always tell her she just opened the door to what for me has been the opportunity of a life time.   By now, I am one of the silly old grandmothers with a purse fill of photographs and ALWAYS a new story about one of my seven.

In our birthday visit (via cell phone) earlier today, she told me that she got make up, her first pair of heels and will soon have her ears pierced and that although she thinks boys are "ugly", she did enjoy her first boy / girl party not too long ago.

Oh help.

Okay Abbie.  Here's where the gardenia's going to come in.  When I was a teenager, I heard a missionary talk about how our lives are like a gardenia.  Did you know that one touch of a gardenia and your finger leaves a spot on the pretty flower?  I never really liked that story to be honest but I think it's a good reminder that we should always be aware that we want our lives to count for God and that we should be careful not to do anything that is going to mar our beauty.

Abbie also told me that when she signs her name - she puts a reference to three verses of Scripture that she feels are important.  I think if she always has these verses as a part of her life, she will stay just as beautiful as she is becoming.

"Rejoice always, pray all the time; be thankful for everything that comes into your life"  I Thessalonians 5:16-18 paraphrased by her grandma.

Welcome to the world of being a teenager, my little Abbra Caddabra - and blessings on you (and your mom and dad!)

   

What's my name?

My brother, Lester, reminded me of an old family game recently after he had been in the home of some of my grandchildren.  He said my granddaughter, who knows he is connected to our family, but doesn't know him well, asked him his name...

"Puddin and tane; ask me again and I'll tell you the same".

Lester told me this was met with a quizzical look so he did it again and she still was unsure.  In a few minutes her little brother arrived on the scene and it made perfect sense to him!

A few weeks later that same little boy was choosing the person who would ask the blessing at a family dinner and he suggested that Uncle Lester pray.  One minor detail - Uncle Lester wasn't there, but Mr. Coulter was and he asked the blessing.

Why is a name important?  Well, certainly better to call someone by name rather than just say "Hey you".  And when we were growing up, we were not allowed to refer to anyone (especially our mother) with a pronoun.  Had to use the name.

But what about the surname.

In 1967 when I married Ray Parker, I would have never dreamed of not taking his name. 

Fifteen years into that marriage we divorced.  We had three children whose name is Parker, so I certainly didn't go back to Huffingham, but I have always wished that I had at least kept Huffingham in the legal name.  I married Rich Suhey and although I loved one of my nicknames - P2 (as in P squared), I was happy to go through the steps of changing my name again.

For 15 years my name has been Paula Huffingham Suhey - something I don't see myself giving up.  Except I suddenly realized that it's not the Suhey that I can't give up.  It's the Huffingham.  So I've devised a plan.  I'm going to have a professional name - Paula Huffingham.  I'm going to have a professional banner under which I write - Paula's Pen.

I'm not sure what all this might this entail. I do know I have a new gmail account - Paulaspen2013@gmail.com that I will use for business correspondence henceforth.  That's kind of cool.

And, happily I don't have to give up - Paula, mom, grand or grandma, Aunt P or sweetheart!  After all - a rose by any other name - smells just as sweet!

You look like me

 

Granddaughter #2, Allie, was helping me learn to make better use of my cell phone - including taking photos.  We took this photo  and she suddenly said -

"Grand - you look like me!"

This was funny to us because most of the time we think she looks like her daddy, Wally. 

However, Allie is right.  We do look alike - our smiles, the way our eyes crinkle and much as I hate this part - our noses.

I remembered once watching her older sister, Abbie, walk down the hall and thinking "Abbie walks like my Grandma Lonnie" and as I thought about that, I thought I bet Abbie walks like me...of course I have never seen myself walk.

Oh, this thing called DNA.

As I have been thinking about that fun experience with Allie, I thought well - if I look like her then that's a pretty good deal.  I would also hope that I could act like her.  She is a very energetic, caring, little girl who is smart as a whip (as are all of my grandchildren, of course).

And if I look like her then she must look like me.  But do I want her to act like me?

That makes me want to act all the better, don't you think?

This past Sunday, in addition to celebrating Mother's Day, our family had another special day that we remembered.  My maternal grandfather, Ellie Wallace Nesmith, was born on May 12, 1897.  He would have been 116 years old.

I remember many special things about granddaddy - none the least of which is something he often said to me "Pretty is as pretty does" - or as the prophet Samuel said to Jesse, father of David, when he was in search of the next king of Israel - "Man looks on the outward appearance, but God looks on the heart".

All of my grandchildren look OR act a little like me - because all of them look OR act a little like their parents.  It is my hope that all of them - come to understand that what's important is how we look on the inside.

Who looks like you?

PS This Friday, Allie is doing something that I did as a fourth grader. Do you think I look like her?

Paula and Miss Hall - Fourth Grade trip to St. Augustine - Have fun, Allie!

Fearfully and wonderfully made

It is not a secret.  I like words.  Actually that's a bit of an understatement.  I love words.  Whether they are on a page, a computer screen or if I hear them -- I just enjoy words.

 

A James Michner quote hangs behind my desk - "I love the swirl and the swing of words as that tangle with human emotions".

 

Tangle with human emotions - hum.

 

I was raised in a Bible church.  That means that we believed the Bible, practiced what it said and actually memorized some of the words, verses and even chapters.

One verse I'll always remember is Psalm 119:11.  "Thy word have I hid in my heart, that I might not sin against thee."  Or as it reads in The Message:  "I’ve banked your promises in the vault of my heart so I won’t sin myself bankrupt".

Is memorization the best way to learn?  If one knows that words - but not how to apply them to life - is that helpful? 

When the Von Trapp children were learning to sing and knew all about the scale and the do, re, mi's, one of them told Maria that "doesn't mean anything". 

So - just because I know the words - I also have to know how to put them into practice.  Many times in my life those words that I memorized as a child have been brought to mind when I needed encouragement or yes, even sometimes, discipline.

 

I gave my children the same opportunity that I had had as a child.  They went to church and Sunday School, youth camps and mission trips and they were taught the value of learning Scripture.

When I visited in my daughter, Renee's home recently, I saw once again the many places where a Bible verse has been placed for family members to read, appreciate and apply in their own lives.

 

Some familiar words had been written on the shower door in my granddaughters' bathroom. "I am fearfully and wonderfully made. . .(Psalm 139:14).

 

I thought what a great place for those words . . .especially for we females who constantly battle with self-esteem.  I don't like that but I believe it to be true and when we are totally vulnerable as when we are going to take a shower...how much more! 

 

Self esteem issues, being vulnerable - human emotions.

 

With words from Scripture to help us deal with them.

 

Continuing to reflect on what I read and my reactions I checked out what The Message says -

"You know me inside and out,  you know every bone in my body; You know exactly how I was made, bit by bit,  how I was sculpted from nothing into something."

And I though how good it is to know that even though I may not always like what I see - I really am "something"!  It's like that old cliché "God don't make no junk"!

,

". . .Rain in due season. . .".

I remember it like it was yesterday - rather than 46 years ago.

The preceding summer I had accepted Ray Parker's proposal of marriage.  After the Fall semester of our Sophomore year at Bryan College, I had elected to forgo my education for a while and spend that second semester getting ready to get married.  We were going to be married on my parents' 25th wedding anniversary, August 5, 1967.

However, once I got home to Jacksonville, I began to have doubts.  Doubts that convinced me that I should "break" our engagement and I did.

And then I began to wonder...did I do the right thing?

It was a Sunday morning in the middle of April.  I walked into the church I had been raised in and was handed a bulletin.  On the front was a picture of a darling little girl, with an umbrella over her shoulder and a bouquet of flowers in her arms.  These words were included:  "If ye walk in my statutes, and keep my commandments, and do them; ⁴ Then I will give you rain in due season. . .". (Leviticus 26:3,4a)....

Oh my.

From the time I was 15, I knew God wanted me to be a minister's wife (now in another economy, I know that might have meant I was called to be a minister, but this was the sixties and girls didn't do that).  Ray Parker was called to be a minister. 

Were we different?  Yes.  But maybe that would make our lives together better.

And so a phone call and a trip to see Ray where he was finishing his Sophomore year and the wedding was on again.  August 5th arrived - and there was a beautiful wedding where we said our vows "in the providence of God".

Fifteen years, four states and three children later, that marriage would end.. . much for the same reasons that I had wondered if it should really begin - we were very different.

But . . . I was still glad that I had read that scripture and headed it in 1967.  I had gained many blessings through that marriage, none the least of which would be a little girl named Becca and one named Renee and a son whose name is Tray.

Now here we are.  Who would have ever dreamed that 30 years ago this month, that marriage would end in divorce?  And somehow both of us have survived - and now we share seven grandchildren and we are even Facebook friends.

Life, at its best, is hard.  There can be no denial of that.  However...I still believe if I obey what I believe God is calling me to do...then the blessings are out there for me to appreciate and enjoy.

Reminds me of a verse in I Samuel...to obey is better than to sacrifice...but that's for another day.

"You have a briefcase, for crying out loud"

It's a role I never wanted.  I didn't think I was well-suited for it.  I barely passed typing in high school.

However, in 1982 when I was suddenly catapulted into the world of being a single parent, it's what I had to do. 

I became a secretary.

That role I never wanted helped me take care of my children all the way through their high school and college graduations.

Fortunately, for more than 20 years, I had supervisors that were great, understanding and appreciative of the fact that I liked being a mother much more than I liked being in the workplace and understood the value I placed on being at baseball games, school plays and ensuring that my children could know that I was there for them.

I liked it when the position changed from "secretary" to "administrative professional".  Same exact job - just sounded better.  Technology took over the workplace and we got those wonderful Microsoft Office Products that helped us with our responsibilities.  I began to feel like I was pretty good in my job.

And today I look back on those years fondly.

Even though I always wanted to do something different. I applied for other positions, talked about what I wanted to do.  Once as I shared my dreams of moving on to a position with what I believed to have more clout, my daughter Renee told me that she was not surprised to hear me say that.  She is the person who gets the credit for the name of this post - I did have a briefcase. 

And I was encouraged to do something else...

"Write".  Those were the words of my very first boss, Ben Goldsmith, who was the director of Here's Life Jacksonville where I worked from 1982-1988.

"Finish college", my family and friends told me.

"Do something for others", said Vic Lust, my Vistakon manager.  He echoed the words of TJ Wagner, Debbie McIntyre, Pam Quarles and Bob LaBelle.  They saw how much I loved working on the United Way campaigns.

So in 2003, I left the world of administrative professionals.  I had graduated from UNF in 2002 and  I found a job in the non-profit sector.  And guess what - I used many of the skills that I had learned when I was in all those former positions - which I continue to find very beneficial in my current roles  as an event coordinator or a writer or a caregiver.

Today is Administrative Professionals Day.  I no longer consider myself an ADMIN, but I greatly value those who are - from Tamra Smith who became my friend through the International Association of Administrative Professionals to the great staff at the Episcopal Diocese of Florida who make my job as the Convention Coordinator much easier to my childhood friend, Kathy Darrow Constant who recently retired after many years as an Administrative person.

So with gratitude for what I learned and appreciation for the supervisors who encouraged me, I salute those who remain in that position.  Happy Administrative Professionals Day!

Can I change the color?

My thumbs are black.

Try as I may I cannot get them to be white - like my sister's - or my son's - who I think got that magical touch from our grandma Nesmith.  They can both make bread and Cindy makes a mean pound cake. 

I also don't think I'm going to get them to be green - like my mother's who most likely got that from grandma Nesmith.

Hum - I think all I  got from grandma Nesmith is that I like to entertain.

So what do I mean when I say my thumbs are black?

Printer's ink.

And in reality to I really want to change the color of my thumbs.

No.

I know that God gives us each unique and special gifts. 

We all have a gift.  Did you know that? And it's better for us to use that gift rather than to try to make ourselves fit into a mold where either another gift is necessary OR where we don't get to exercise that God-given gift.

In a recent conversation a friend shared how someone he works with is a great painter.  He described the skill of the person and I could just see this guy on a ladder trimming out the top of the wall.  I could see that clearly because one thing I can never do right is to trim out.  My last effort even included a special pad that I should be able to trim the top of that wall with nary a drip on the ceiling.

Yeah, right.  It took as long to go back and wipe those drops off the ceiling as it did to trim out the wall.

The issue with my friend is that his work includes lots of other hands on skills but no painting.

It made me want to get this person together with my son the contractor.  Surely he needs painters.

Which makes me think of one of my gifts.  I may not know the answer to a question but I always know someone who does.  I think that's because one of my gifts is encouragement.

I did make a pound cake the other day (from a mix).  It was fair.  I do have a flower garden in my front yard.  Some of the plants seem to be thriving.  And the hibiscus that didn't bloom at all last year has a few buds on it. 

So maybe I can use that gift of encouragement and encourage myself.  Just because I may not be the BEST baker, gardener, painter...doesn't mean I shouldn't give it my best shot. 

I think the words of the Apostle Paul in the book of Colossians (paraphrased by Eugene Peterson in The Message) say it best

"Let every detail in your lives - words, actions, whatever - be done in the name of the Master, Jesus, thanking God the Father every step of the way"Whatsoever you do, do it all to the glory of God"