Happy Birthday, Jesus

     For the first time in many years, I  sent Christmas cards.  My plan was to send cards  to the people who are on our church’s “needs pastoral care” list.  However, when I  was looking at the boxed cards, this message spoke to me:

During this Christmas Season—May you be blessed -

With the spirit of the season—which is peace

The gladness of the season—which is hope

And the heart of the season—which is love

     And except for JOY those words were the basis for my Advent musings this year.  So I purchased a couple of boxes and as I began to address them I thought of these words  - Christmas makes you feel emotional; It may bring parties or thoughts devotional, Whatever happens or what may be, Here is what Christmas time means to me.    
     Silver Bells goes on to list all the fun activities of Christmas, but what I think is that Christmas means peace, hope and love.  The peace that passes understanding, the hope of the world, God’s love for the world—

     As I continued to address the cards, the list grew and I made my way back to the store only to find that the cards I really liked were gone.  I hurriedly chose another box with a pretty church on the front.  I didn’t take time to read what the printed words inside the card said.  I was appalled.  Happy Holidays??? And then I remembered that the etymology of the word holiday is Holy Day.  And what more Holy Day than the day that we celebrate the birth of Jesus.
     Sometimes that birth is celebrated in song - which may be my favorite part of the Christmas season.

     This year I have heard musical offerings at four different churches and I especially enjoyed the orchestral presentation before our traditional Christmas Eve service at the Episcopal Church of Our Saviour.
     All of it has been lovely, but my favorite was when a little girl, dressed as an angel, stepped to a microphone and began to sing "Happy Birthday, Jesus, I'm so glad it's Christmas, All the tinsel and lights and the presents are nice but the real gift is You" (origination unknown).
     Most of the time, that little girl is bubbly, joyful  and effervescent.  In fact that is my nickname for my fifth grandchild. But this time she was most serious and intentional.
     At the end of the program I made my way to give her a hug and asked "Where did you get that pretty voice?"

     She put her hand on her chest and said "from my heart".

     Which in my mind let me know that that she knows what this holiday - a holy day - is really  about. 
     We have made our way through Advent - recognized hope, prayed for peace, experienced joy and shared love. 
     And now the center candle in the Advent wreath has been lit. That candle represents what this is really all about.  Because no matter the greeting - Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays - or even - oh help "Merry Xmas", the reason we have this Holy Day at all - is because that's when we recognize His birth.
      Happy Birthday, Jesus.

 

 

Until you give it away

Today is the fourth Sunday of Advent.  Traditionally, we light the candle of LOVE on this day.

For more than 50 years I have been a Sound of Music fanatic.  I frequently reference songs from both the Broadway and screen version of the VonTrapp family's life.  From a determined attitude that proclaims "I've got Confidence" to understanding that "when God closes a door, He opens a window", and being willing to "Climb every mountain – till I find my dream."

I love the part when Maria and the Captain have returned from their honeymoon to find Liesl heartbroken because Rolf has become far more interested in the Third Reich than in her. Maria shares these words of advice:  "“A bell's not a bell 'til you ring it - A song's not a song 'til you sing it - Love in your heart wasn't put there to stay - Love isn't love 'til you give it away!”

Of course when we think of Christmas and love, it's God's love and the gift of His son to become our Saviour.

That was the emphasis in our family when I was growing up.  It was all about the birth of Jesus.  Santa Claus represented the spirit of Giving.  We did not believe in the man in a red suit and a beard.

My sister, Cindy, and I do however remember that we often left Cheezits and a coca cola for Santa Claus because our daddy liked that better than milk and cookies.  And I sometimes sprinkle Cheezits on our daddy's grave at this time of the year -'just a way of remembering.

Now just because we didn't really believe in Santa Claus, we did really believe in presents.  And I have many precious memories of the presents received and given.

And it truly was all about love.

Bible teacher, Chuck Swindoll suggests that we should not wait until Christmas for gift giving.  He suggests the gift of a complement, words of encouragement and even something as simple as the gift of a smile.  I thought of some of those intangible gifts I have received in 2014 and been very grateful

I recently learned about an organization called The Giving Keys (http://www.thegivingkeys.com). According to the tag line on the website, "When you get this key, you must give it away".  The purchaser chooses a word (faith, hope, love, encourage, strength for example) which is inscribed on the key.

It then becomes the recipient's responsibility to give the key to someone else.  The founder of The Giving Keys is actress and songwriter, Caitlin Crosby who saw that we are like old keys – "unique, flawed, scarred…and at the risk of being discarded".  She wanted the keys to their purpose renewed. 

In Little Women, Jo is quoted as saying that it won't be Christmas without presents.  Who am I to think I should change the words of an author of Louisa May Alcott's stature?  However -
 "It won't be Christmas without the giving!"
 

One of the goals of the Giving Keys organization is helping the homeless. If you are interested in helping the homeless in Jacksonville, check out Church without Walls, a ministry of the Episcopal Diocese of Florida. 

J O Y

"I bring you good news of great joy"

Yeah right.

No, really.

Not only did the angels tell the shepherds they had tidings of great joy (because a Saviour had been born in Bethlehem), I can also tell you things that are joyful.  No I can tell you how to be joyful.

And I am sorry if it seems like I am boasting...but well here are the words of a song I learned when I was a little girl:

Jesus and Others and You - What a wonderful way to spell JOY

Jesus and Others and You - In the heart of each girl and each boy

J is for Jesus, let Him have first place

O is for Others you meet face to face

Y is for you in whatever you do

So put yourself last and spell JOY.

The third candle of Advent is JOY

Even when it seems you don't have anything to be joyful about.

Like the first Christmas that my children and I were learning to be a single parent family.

And (both good and bad) we were plopped right down in the middle of friends and family where there were both a mom and a dad and where (or so it seemed to us) there was lots more Santa Claus.

I was probably way too honest with my children.  They really believed that there was going to be NO Santa Claus.  At least that's what Renee and Tray portrayed to the Sunday school teachers.

I don't know which one of them was the actual voice during prayer request time.
I do know that somehow - early in the afternoon of Christmas Eve, 1982,  two bicycles appeared on the side porch and on Christmas morning in addition to the gifts from this Santa Claus, Renee and Tray both had new bikes (though used)..

All these years later that memory still makes me smile.  And remembering that time comforts me even when I am sad today.  No need to list the things I am sad about - just know 2014 has included circumstances that left me searching for - JOY

"Sing praise to the Lord, you saints of His, and give thanks at the remembrance of His holy name for His anger is but for a moment, His favor is for life;
Weeping may endure for a night, But joy comes in the morning" (Psalm 30:4-6)


Which being said makes these words more about HOPE.

Sleep in heavenly peace

Heavenly peace???What is that?
     What is peace anyway?Is it the absence of war?  In addition to being the second Sunday of Advent, today is the 73rd anniversary of  what President Franklin Roosevelt called "a day that will live on in infamy", the bombing of Pearl Harbor.
     Pearl Harbor signaled the beginning of one  the most deadly conflicts that our country has ever experienced - World War II.
    That's it...peace is the absence of conflict.  I am not a fan of conflict.
     I've been known to leave the conversation when there is conflict.  Sometimes I've been known to leave the room in haste (not some of my finest moments, I must admit).
     While I know and appreciate the fact that God made us all different and I really don't think everyone should think "just like me", I get nervous when there's a disagreement.  And it doesn't matter what the disagreement centers on.
     I have found, however, that sometimes conflict is necessary.  It certainly was necessary when our ships were destroyed and lives lost at Pearl Harbor.  But is it necessary when we are attacked personally?
     Recently I heard a very strong word used in describing how I had treated someone in a meeting. I was shocked.   Talk about not wanting to be a part of conflict.  I wanted to run out of the room, but I knew that wouldn't be professional.
     I really didn't think I was guilty as charged.  It took me a while, but in time, I avoided conflict.  I asked for forgiveness. I chose peace.
     Henry Wadsworth Longfellow had to choose peace as well.  In the midst of the Civil War, he had lost his wife in a fire and his son had been severely wounded as a Union soldier.  On Christmas Day in 1863, Wadsworth heard the Christmas bells ringing.  As you read the words he wrote, I think you will see that he had to "work through" making a choice - and that he too chose peace:


"I heard the bells on Christmas Day;  Their old, familiar carols play, and wild and sweet, The words repeat Of peace on earth, good-will to men!
And thought how, as the day had come, The belfries of all Christendom Had rolled along The unbroken song Of peace on earth, good-will to men!
Till ringing, singing on its way, The world revolved from night to day, A voice, a chime, A chant sublime Of peace on earth, good-will to men!
Then from each black, accursed mouth  The cannon thundered in the South,
And with the sound The carols drowned Of peace on earth, good-will to men!
It was as if an earthquake rent  The hearth-stones of a continent,  And made forlorn The households born Of peace on earth, good-will to men!
And in despair I bowed my head;  "There is no peace on earth," I said; "For hate is strong, And mocks the song Of peace on earth, good-will to men!"
Then pealed the bells more loud and deep:  "God is not dead, nor doth He sleep;
The Wrong shall fail, The Right prevail,  With peace on earth, good-will to men".


He chose, I choose - peace! I hope you do too.


" And the peace of God, which passeth all understanding, shall keep your hearts and minds through Christ Jesus" (Philippians 4:7).

Hope Floats? ? ?

Today is the first Sunday of Advent. 

While I grew up in a family that honored Christian and patriotic traditions, I did not grow up in a Liturgical church so Advent (or Lent or Pentecost) is not something that we recognized or celebrated. However, from my first observance of lighting an Advent candle in 1989 when worshipping at The University Blvd. Church of the Nazarene I have been a strong proponent of the value of this.

In the event that you are like I was and didn't know what a Liturgical church is, here's a little explanation.

The word liturgy means "the work of the people".   When Protestants broke from the roots of the Catholic Church, some of them brought the importance of the traditional, ritualized, formally structured way of worshiping.  Some things are repetitive throughout the service, particularly Eucharist (which means a time of Thanksgiving for what God has done for us by sending us Jesus to be our Saviour). And the people are very involved in the worship.  We stand when we sing, kneel when we pray, and sit while we listen (except when the Gospel is read).

I have found liturgical worship to resonate with me in a powerful, deeply inspiring way.

And I celebrate Advent by placing a wreath with a white candle in the center surrounded by four purple candles - representing Hope, Peace, Love and Joy on my dining room table.  This morning, I lit the candle of Hope.  For the next three Sundays that precede Christmas Day, I will light a second, third and fourth candle.  And on Christmas Day, I'll light the center or Christ candle.

And each week I will write a blog with a theme connected to that week's "candle".

Advent One – the candle of Hope.

Did you see the movie "Hope Floats" starring Sandra Bulloch and Harry Connick, Jr.?  It's the typical wife gets scorned, leaves husband, brings child to live with her parents, child cannot adjust to her mother's new life, is just sure her daddy really wants her and devastated when he doesn't scenario.  It's all about adjusting. 

And when I remembered that movie today, I wondered why in the world was the title "Hope Floats".

Actually HOPE can be a very positive word.  It's a feeling of expectation.  Webster lists 11 synonyms that are positive words - optimism, expectation, confidence, trust, belief, conviction, assurance, promise.

Hence the reason for the title in the Sandra Bullock movie.

Life is filled with uncertainty.  That's why it's good that hope floats.

I remember when I was learning to swim.  First I had to learn to float.

That involved relaxing my body in the water.

That's what we do with hope.

We trust that we will not sink.  We have faith to believe that although it's a frightening situation, we will survive.  We have assurance, confidence, a conviction that when we relax and let ourselves float we will be okay.

As a Christian my hope is in Jesus Christ – Who doesn't float – but is the source of mine.

"Happy is he whose hope is in the Lord his God."  

Psalm 146:5

The wind chimes

There was a gentle breeze that rustled the trees as I was waking up.

And then I heard - ever so gently - a ringing sound.

The wind chimes.

Rich and I had purchased them on a family trip to Myrtle Beach the summer between our wedding and his death.

It had taken him a while to choose just the right set and then it took him "forever" to hang them on the patio of our home.

He was the king of methodical.  I know there's no such honor.  Maybe another way to describe him is that he was an engineer.  If you have an engineer in your life you get it.  If not.  Then trust me.  They take great pains to ensure that everything is right - at least in their eyes.

That was in 1998.

After he died I bought the house I live in.  I was still getting settled on this day 15 years ago.

The wind chimes came with me to my new home.  I was not as careful with the hanging as Rich would have been.  They got wet.  One day I heard them crashing ...  I'm not sure when this happened...but my sweet daddy retrieved and repaired them.  He didn't tell me.

So I was most surprised to hear them ringing.

Especially since it was November 27, 1999.  It would have been Rich's 50th birthday.

All these years later, many mornings I hear them softly tinkling as the wind blows.  I always think of Rich and also of my daddy.

And those wind chimes are a reminder to me that sometimes what seems to be destroyed can be repaired ... maybe a friendship, maybe a life.


None of us are immune.  Disappointment, disillusion, and even death can break us - but God can make something as refreshing as the sweet sound of wind chimes ringing in the early morning.

"The Lord is close to the brokenhearted - 

and saves those who are crushed in spirit."
Psalm 34.18

But I don't like roller coasters...

According to Yahoo News, the world's tallest roller coaster is set to open in 2017.  It will have a track that wraps around a 535-foot-tall towers and "will send riders twisting up, down, and around for about four minutes with no downtime".


I can hardly wait.


Surely you jest.


I have no idea why.  But I do know that I have always been scared of roller coasters.


I do like those rides that are sort of like roller coasters that go through water.  I remember one many years ago at Six Flags over Georgia.  I think it was called a plume or something like that.


In 1982 I yielded to the pressure of three children and a daddy and I went on Space Mountain at Disney World.


Again - I do not like roller coasters.


So - here's my question - if I don't like roller coasters why does it sometimes feel like my life is one.


Well - at least my life is filled with twists and turns (aka yes and no's).


Without details, I can tell you that this week has been one of yes and no - enough to 'bout drive me crazy.


Except it didn't.


Because somewhere deep in the recesses of my soul are some scripture verses that I have known since I was a little girl.  Words like - "Be still and know that I am God"; "Wait on the Lord", and this one has been close to my heart - "Thou wilt keep him in perfect peace, whose mind is stayed on Thee".


Those words  PLUS memories of many times that what I thought I wanted and that I was going to get - didn't come to pass and knowing that what happened was so much better - have made what seemed like a roller coaster week - tolerable. 


No more than tolerable - I think maybe even peaceful.


Except I keep dwelling on the twists and turns so maybe I haven't really taken advantage of what I know.


Hum

 

The Lost Plate

I remember Thanksgiving when I was a little girl.

Our Interdenominational Church sometimes had a service with the Baptists and the Methodists (Hogan and Spring Glen).  I remember that we always sang Come Ye Thankful People Come and We gather together.   And I remember that we always went to my maternal grandparents for Thanksgiving dinner.  I can almost smell the yeast rolls my grandma Nesmith was famous for and I know that she worked for days to prepare a feast.

I think I was in the first grade when I first learned this song "Over the river and through the woods to Grandmother's house we go…".  We always lived in the same neighborhood; no river, no woods, no snow and certainly not in a horse drawn sleigh.

And we lived in Florida.

That was no deterrent for us.  We sang the song with great gusto.

I remember when I was a young bride and we went to my husband's family home because he was the only child and my parents had three children still at home. Even though I missed my family, I loved Thanksgiving with my in laws.   My mother in law was a wonderful cook and I loved her dressing and green beans and corn. 

Three children later, we moved to North Carolina where my in-laws lived.  We saw them often.  We planned a trip.  We would come to Florida for Thanksgiving.

I was really excited.

But that trip was not to be.  An over anxious toddler pulled the cup of hot chocolate from where I thought he couldn't reach.  He and I would spend Thanksgiving at Lexington Memorial Hospital.

So my parents packed up my siblings and the food they had already purchased and brought Thanksgiving to us.

Many Thanksgivings came and went.  Twenty years of Thanksgiving at my parents' home which now was  Grandmother's house.

And then a very strange Thanksgiving Day.  The plan had been for my husband, Rich and I to enjoy a trip to San Francisco during Thanksgiving week.   That was not to be.  Ten days before Thanksgiving, Rich suddenly died. 

How could it be thanksgiving?

That was 16 years ago.  Some of my children and I went to Cracker Barrel for lunch and then shared dessert with family friends.

And now it's my house that's over the river and through the woods.

Except…

We (grandmother, great grandmother and the aunts, uncles and cousins) are going over the river and through the woods to the home of my son and his family.

How fun.

Three very different memories. But the one common factor is this – we are sharing in a time of being thankful.

I think I was in about the sixth grade when a friend gave my mother a beautiful wooden plate that hung in our kitchen for a long long time. These words were on the plate:  "In everything give thanks"

I'm disappointed that we don't know what happened to that plate. 

I am grateful however that the truth that was on that plate has stayed with me.

It's so foggy

The year was 1967.  


I was the "breadwinner" while my preacher boy husband was in college.  I can't remember how this all came to pass, but somehow I got a job teaching Bible in 7 schools in McMinn County, Tennessee. Five days a week I would drive from Dayton to the schools.  The route I took included crossing the Tennessee River.  I would leave very early in the morning and go across the river on a ferry - really just a barge.  I loved the part of the trip that included chatting with the old man I called the ferry man and his wife.


I did not love the fact that almost without exception I was driving in a thick, murky, vision prohibitive FOG.




There never was a problem driving on or off the ferry.  I did however miss a stop sign and end up in a corn field once - because of the fog.


I was reminded of those foggy mornings recently when my cousin, Keith, made a comment about how life and what we do with it is like a fog.

We can see as only far as we can see - we can only do what we can do - we have this day, this hour, this moment.


And sometimes when life seems a bit overwhelming - even murky - and we are not sure what tomorrow is going to bring. . .well to continue with the fog metaphor - Just as I had to drive to McMinn County on a route that included crossing the Tennessee River, I had to drive back to Dayton at day's end. And - the fog was never a problem in the afternoon.  It's funny how that happens.


It's like that old saying - "this too will pass".

The sweet fragrance of friendship

     This is a bowl. You can't see it can you.  That's because this blog format is being rather "touchy" this morning and won't add the photo that I want to add. If you could see it, you would see a cream colored bowl with a bunch of flowers in the center.
     It looks like a plate - but I promise you, it's a bowl.  And it is made of wax.  And it has a wonderful aroma.
     I love the way it smells.
     And I love it that the smell reminds me of a lovely person.
     I first met Doreen Egeln at a Girls Night Out, the annual Advent Celebration at the Episcopal Church of Our Saviour.  She was with my sister in law, Jennifer, and I later learned that they were in a reunion group that is a part of the Cursillo movement.  Some years after that initial meeting I became more acquainted with Doreen when she came to our Singles ministry activities.
     Toward the end of 2013 I began to see Doreen's name on the prayer list in our weekly bulletin and then I saw a note from the chair of our pastoral care team.  Doreen has cancer and is requesting a pastoral visitor.
     I could do that.
     Little did I know what the next 9 months was going to hold for me.
     My first visit was in mid January.
     That very first day I noticed a wonderful aroma.
     Each visit would include conversation about her three children - Anthony, MariAnne and Bill and the eight grandchildren who were truly her joy.  One of them was about to be married, another to graduate from college and another from high school.  They were athletes, good students and loved their grandma.
     As her illness progressed, I learned about her life with her husband, Bill and the churches they had been a part of.  I heard about her growing up days and I heard about her love for golf.
     Sometimes I would get to her home during a golf tournament and we enjoyed watching a few holes together.
     And through it all I learned about her faith.  It was deep.
     At the end of each visit, I would pray for Doreen and one day, much to my surprise and delight - just as I said AMEN I heard Doreen's voice - and realized that she was praying...thanking God for her family, praying for her healing (she always believed that was possible) and thanking God for me.
     One day I arrived at her home and she handed me a beautiful gift bag.
      I don't know if I had ever noticed the pretty wax bowl that sat on the table in her living room.  But when I opened it, I knew.  She had given me one of those pretty wax bowls.
Now my house could smell like Doreen's.
     After many more weeks of chemo, the time came that the chemo was no longer working.  I met Doreen's son in the emergency room as she was about to be admitted.  I held her hand and prayed for her - and guess what - even in the emergency room, weak and exhausted - short but sweet - Doreen once more - prayed for me.
I've said many times since that Doreen Egeln is just one of  reasons that I am "called" to be a pastoral visitor.  What a blessing!


"Mary then took a pound of very costly perfume of pure nard, and anointed the feet of Jesus and wiped His feet with her hair;and the house was filled with the fragrance of the perfume" John 12:3.

Something Good

 
Hopeless.


I am a hopeless romantic.


No surprise.


I love the musical, The Sound of Music.  That's no surprise either, is it?  I love it when the movie opens with Maria singing about the hills being alive with music, when she is on her way to her new assignment as a nanny "has confidence" and I really get it when the Mother Superior tells Maria that when God closes a door, He opens a window.


But I think my very favorite part of the movie is when Maria and Captain Von Trapp sing Something Good.


I recently read a pamphlet by Jay Adams, How to Handle Trouble. Published more than 30 years ago, it has been a reminder to me of a truth that I have known for many years – God is in the trouble.


A very simple synopsis of the story of Joseph as recounted in the book of Genesis tells us how   Joseph who was sold into slavery by his brothers and spent all those years away from home (including some time in prison for something he didn't do) was promoted to a position of responsibility where he was charged with distribution of grain when Egypt had plenty and Canaan was experiencing a famine.  Those same brothers came to him (not knowing it was their brother) because they needed grain.  Joseph recognized them but they had not a clue that it was their long lost brother - the one they sold.


While they were fearful, Joseph was kind.  "You meant it for evil but God meant it for good".


Hum.


One of the chapters of the pamphlet is entitled God is up to something good.  The truth in this is that when we are in the midst of trouble, God is there.


Today I sit in my cute little house, I appreciate the fact that I have three grown children who love and serve God and are teaching their children to do the same.  I enjoy my life - from the ministry opportunities as a lay person to the time I spend in the workplace to the confidence I feel when I call myself a writer.  .


That said, this didn't come without lots of heartache or experiences that I considered to be EVIL.


And – full disclosure here - I didn't always view those trials and tribulations (at least they seemed to be tribulations to me) with the attitude that God is in the trouble.


I have a couple of friends who are in the midst of some very trying times.  My words to them that 'God is in the midst of your trouble' may seem ethereal to them.  And for me to say "God is up to something good" probably sounds like I have lost my mind.


However, it is my testimony and I can look back over my life and tell you unequivocally -


God is ALWAYS up to something good.

It's all about HOPE

Jim Campbell was all about Hope.

The 68 year old, husband, father, grandfather and brother was most of all a friend and mentor. He died in September after a valiant fight with cancer.  He had been married to my cousin, Evalyn Nesmith for 46 years.

This is not an obituary.  Nor is it a eulogy.

It is a tribute to a man who loved history and the outdoors and journeyed through life and all across America with the joyful Christ by his side and took every step with passion and love, "Keepin' the Faith".

Jim Campbell was the teacher that parents wanted for their children. He shared his love of life with them and made them want to love it as well.

At his memorial, a group of thirty-something's stood and told of the hikes he had taken them on, of the laughter, of the adventure and most of all of the caring spirit that he had for his students.

And if you think he loved his students, how much more, his family.

As Jim neared the end of his life on earth, warm words of tribute poured in to his family.

One letter came to him just days before his passing. Hope's words were those of gratitude and appreciation for a friendship that began when she was in the ninth grade – 20 years ago.  She thanked him for teaching her that it's not good to always play it safe or have a plan but to be willing to experience the moment – to look for the good in people – and to share in the beauty of God's creation.

Evalyn, said that he could always see beyond the outside of a person to their inner potential, something he channeled into the act of becoming a wonderful teacher..

Those who knew him well saw him continue to be steadfast, believing that life is meant to be enjoyed.

A few months before his passing, Jim and Evalyn were traveling in North Carolina and found a bumper sticker that they claimed as their mantra for the rest of the time that they would share.  It read "don't postpone joy".

Which according to Hope, Jim Campbell personified. 

He was certainly a wonderful example of faith and inspiration and his legacy will live on – through the lives of his children, his grandchildren and his students.

 

I found it...

So - for weeks I had lost this connection -- and finally this morning -- I found it.


I cannot tell you how glad I am to tell you that I found it.


Why - because when I lost it I made a switch that as it turned out was not very popular with many of my readers.


And what does any writer want?


That's a silly question isn't it?


We want to get paid for what we write.


But that's not really what we want = we just want people to read what we write.


On my recent, maiden voyage to the Bahamas I thought about what I would want to take with me should I end up on one of those sparsely inhibited islands.


Paper and pen.


I took a journal - and more than one pen on my cruise and I journaled.


About - the mass of humanity that greets you outside the market places especially in Nassau.  I didn't see that as much in Freeport.  Some ladies I  met told me that those people frightened them.  I was not at all frightened.  I was sad.


The way I saw it - how sad to have that kind of life.


My friend, Deborah reminded me that if they have never had a different kind of life, then they have no way to learn what that have missed.


Hum - that's worth thinking about...stay tuned.

'til it happened to me

Our choir is working on some great music for a Gospel Arts Festival.  We are singing some old time "gospel" songs that most of us grew up singing - i.e - an arrangement of I'll Fly Away that includes When the Roll is Called Up Yonder.


I've loved it. 


Sometimes I get called down a bit because sometimes I sing too loud.  I remember that one of my brothers said to my mother once -"mom, if you didn't sing so loud no one could hear you" and she has always taken that teasing in stride.  She tells us that once she had a beautiful voice and I know that she was the president of the Glee Club on High School.  She also has always said that she stopped being able to sing when daddy was in the Pacific and "if you don't use it, you lose it" - or so she said.


But I digress.


One of the songs we are singing features our soprano choral scholar, Brianna.  The choir is her back up group as she belts out '' I didn't know it was true, until it happened to me".  The song references that once we turn out lives over to God, there is a change.


Anyway


Just a few days after Mother's Day in 1971 I paid a visit to a local physician - who confirmed what I suspected.


I was pregnant.


I remember I said "Is it fun to have a baby?"


I know - weird question.


But I've always remembered his reply.


"It's exciting."


Who knew?  Not me.


I didn't know that it's true - until it happened to me.


With the birth of each of my children I became more convinced that yes, it was exciting and yes, it was fun and ye,s it was painful.


And then Renee gave me a list of things to purchase from the Johnson & Johnson company store - baby powder, baby shampoo, baby wipes -- a name for your first grandchild to call you.


I had heard - it's great to be a grandmother.


But guess what - I know it's true - because it happened to me.


7 times - but who's counting?

And they're off...

I was in the third grade and I had a bad case of strep throat.


Funny that I remember that.


Actually more important than my grade or my throat is that it's the day that my daddy and I began a tradition.


We watched the Kentucky Derby.


From that day to this - every year on the first Saturday in May - that tradition has continued.


Oh - we didn't always watch it together.


We just both watched it...for seventeen years I watched in in another city; another state. But in 1983 we started watching it together again and we continued that until his death in 2009.


One year I even lived in Louisville.  Renee remembers going to a parade that week and I remember I thought it was so interesting that there were other races going on that day.  Who knew?  Everything in Louisville, Kentucky during that week that ends with the first Saturday in May is about those horses.


Betting on the horses had nothing to do with it. 


"It's the hats", my mother would say - although she loved the shiny sleek horses.


"No it's the color", daddy would say.  He loved the commentary.


And for me, it was "the tradition".


And now it is another first Saturday in May.  I've gotten used to watching without daddy here.


Sort of.


This week my sister, Cindy, asked if the pain of losing her precious granddaughter would ever go away.  I loved my sister in law, Tammie's response, "no, but the big crack will seal some".


For me - some of the pain of losing our daddy - is lessened a little anyway when I do things that we used to do together.


Which is why this afternoon between 5:30 and 6:15 or so -- I'll be watching and listening to hear...


"And they're off . . .".

"Safely Thro Another Week"

I can almost hear his voice.  His name was Lloyd Minnich and he led the singing at Glendale Community Church when I was a little girl.


"Safely thro' another week, God has bro’t us on our way;
Let us now a blessing seek, Waiting in His courts today:
Day of all the week the best, Soon will come eternal rest;
Day of all the week the best, Soon will come eternal rest."  (John Newton Safely Thro' Another Week; verse one)


This is the day my mother was due to arrive at JIA for a month long visit.  I had it all planned - today I was going to catch my breath from the hectic weeks that have preceded this weekend which included the Caregiver Expo at UNF - the whole reason I've had a part time/temporary job at Community Hospice - and get ready for her arrival.


You know however, that last Monday that all changed when our precious little Blakelie Foster Beck,  daughter of my niece, Leslie, died.


That last sentence will stick in my throat for a long time.


However. . .

The outpouring support that our family received has been incredible.  Words of comfort and sympathy; encouragement and understanding and acts of  love have blessed us beyond words.


This was a very busy week for me - all the final preparations for the Caregiver Expo.  My friends stepped in to help - grocery shopping for me personally as my mother was coming home four days ahead of schedule; picking up door prizes for the event; helping with a last minute project at Community Hospice. Not to mention - the Communications and Marketing staff at Hospice and the Bereavement Support team were wonderful.


My heart was heavy as we made our way to a visitation in Orlando.  Some of that was lifted for a while as I saw so many friends and family members.  I knew I couldn't go to Augusta for the interment.  I didn't think my mother could either.
However, my daughter, Becca had another thought.  She would take her grandma.


I cannot begin to tell you how much easier that made it for me to be at the Caregiver Expo yesterday. All day long as I was so involved - every now and then there would be a swell of sorrow that would sweep over me.  And I would just walk away from the crowd and take a moment to be sad and then be glad - for the blessings that have been poured out on us this past week.


When I remembered that song from my childhood, I googled it and found all four verses.  The last verse says:


"May Thy gospel’s joyful sound Conquer sinners, comfort saints;
May the fruits of grace abound, Bring relief to all complaints;"


That is what is happening.  We are being comforted.  God's grace is abounding.


Does it still hurt?  Rich Suhey has been gone for 16 years; my daddy has been gone for  more than four -- they still hurt.


So, yes.


And yet there is a peace that passes all understanding, something my parents taught us - at the same time that they were taking us to church every Sunday - that same church where we sang

"Safely thro' another week, God has bro’t us on our way...".

 .

When worlds collide

I had it all planned...


Since early December, I've been working on the Caregiver Expo that Community Hospice and the Caregivers Coalition of Northeast Florida will present on Saturday, April 26.


In late March, I received a writing assignment for Beson4 publications. I was to profile nine people who have had a strong association with the First Coast American Heart Association and write the introduction.  As the editor wrote, "this is a big 'assignment'".


That's okay I thought.  I can do it.  I just have to plan my time.


Oh and I forgot.  My mother was coming for a visit on April 27.


That was great.  My writing assignment would be done; the Caregiver Expo would be over.


I would have Sunday, April 27 to finish getting ready for my mother's arrival and be ready to meet her plane - relaxed and excited to have her here for the month of May.


And then on Monday, April 21 - something unimaginable happened.


I read these words on Facebook - "Pray for Blakelie - having emergency surgery to remove her spleen".  Blakelie, the adorable 4 year old child of my very special niece, Leslie.


And then a text from my sister, Cindy - "she is with Jesus".


Suddenly all the plans I had made were thrown to the wind.  I wanted to get in my car and drive to Orlando. 


And yet the responsibilities were still looming.


Writing, planning, preparing for my mother's arrival - four days ahead of schedule


I felt like my worlds were colliding


Wait - my worlds didn't collide.  They combined. 


How? Through family and friends who have responded - with words of comfort, acts of love, hugs of encouragement.


The writing assignment is complete; the Caregiver Expo will happen, my mother is here.


All is right in my world?  Nah


But I do have assurance that whether worlds collide or combine - it will ALL get done.


And although I'm not sure any one in our family or the circle of friends who are being there for us really believes this - at some point -like our daddy would say if he were here "everything's gonna be alright".


I'd just like to know when.

It's just not fair

How many times have I heard it?  It's not fair.


I don't remember hearing this but I have been told that when I went off with one of my friends and didn't take my little sister, Cindy, she would say - It's not fair.


When Becca was chosen to go to the football game with granddaddy when she was a little girl, I heard it from her siblings - it's just not fair,


And when I got that call from a physician in Sanford, Florida telling me that my husband of eight months, the man who loved me with abandon, had not survived a heart attack, there's no doubt in my mind but that I thought..."not fair".


This was not my first experience with the fact that life is not always fair.  Nor was it my last. Because in reality - life is not fair.


When Rich died, people asked me if I were angry and I said no, I was just disappointed.


Then one day I realized that disappointment is a form of anger and to be perfectly honest sometimes I am still a little bit angry - all these years down the pike.


And then I remember what one of my daughters said - "you have a great opportunity, mom.  Look at all the things you get to do with your life".


It took me a while to realize that to be true, but now I do.


I "get" to enjoy my grown children, those three bundles of joy and the spice that they have brought into our family (my nickname for my children and their spouses); not to mention the seven adorable people who call me grandma.


I get to spend time with a plethora of friends - from those who have been a part of my life for my whole life to those I met as late as yesterday (no matter when you are reading this, I probably just met someone who I'm having coffee with soon).


I didn't "get" to continue in the process of ordination, but I do "get" to serve at the rail, take communion to those who can't get to church and help with events that are aimed at encouraging and enriching the lives of  others.


And I get to write...a blog like this one.


With this entry, I am welcoming some other readers.


Several weeks ago I met Trudy Pascucci who is the publisher of Shades of Pink magazine.  My friend, Virginia Pillsbury and I have met with Trudy several times and we are delighted that we are going to be a part of the magazine which reaches many in the Northeast Florida area and has the potential to reach beyond our borders.  This and other blogs (including one Virginia will write about the joy of being the daughter of a woman who has dementia - I said that right - she considers it a joy) will be showing up on the Shades of Pink magazine website and we welcome others who want to post so watch for more information on that.


You might say I've found another way to act out that oft used axiom - "when life hands you lemons - you make lemonade".

Listen...

     One of my favorite Sunday night activities is the 7 p.m. service at the Episcopal Church of Our Saviour.  Held in the chapel, a small group of regulars come each week to worship. As a Chalice Bearer/Reader, it is my privilege to read the scripture, assist the clergy and lead in the prayers of the people.
     That's my favorite part.  Rather than responding verbally to what is read the, people sing...
     "Listen God is calling, to the world inviting - Offering forgiveness, comfort and joy"
     Probably one of the most difficult things for me to do is listen.
     I would much rather talk.
     However, as we heard in the sermon this past Sunday - Lent is a season to listen.
     Actually what the priest said is that it is a season of discernment and I remember being in discernment regarding a "Call to ministry" when I read a book called "Listening Hearts"
     Must have something to do with listening - don't you think?
     And what do you think I am trying to say, anyway?
     Well I am asking myself a question.  Because I have realized that I am once more at a crossroad in my life and once more I am changing roles.
     I've done this before - change roles I mean.
     All of us have.. .
     Most of the times I have done this willingly.  Once I did it "going down kicking and screaming".  That was when I was no longer a pastor's wife.  I really liked that role.  In fact, in many ways I felt that God had specifically called me to be a pastor's wife.  I have later said that had I not been a child of the 50's, I might have become a pastor - but we all know that girls didn't grew up to be pastors way back then.
     However, with God's help, I survived that role change and now more than 30 years later, I can recall with gratitude the opportunities I have been given to serve in some sort of ministerial capacity.
     And as I have said many times, I wouldn't change one thing about my life - even that very difficult  "single mom with children" period.  I know I'm bragging - but have you met my children?
     In 2001, I took on a new role when I became my parents' caregiver.  It was not a full time job then, but over the years, it took more of my time, talent and energy.
     Fortunately when I became a part-time employee (not really by choice) in 2008, that freed me up to have more time for the role of caregiver which by then was defining me exponentially.
     After my dad died in 2009, the care of my mother - as independent as she was - in her mind anyway, was paramount.
     I am still a bit surprised that I gave up that role as willingly as I did when our Texas family invited mother to come and live with them at the end of 2013.
     And now who am I?  What am I doing?
     Some of my friends who are retired really like the more relaxed easy life that they live.
     That's not going to work for me.
     But what?
     I have a couple of ideas...they involve ministry...but I'm not quite ready to post what I am thinking.
     Besides...I'm still listening,,,

My bad

Today is Ash Wednesday.

In a word it is a day for accepting responsibility for our own actions.

Or as the Reverend Dean Taylor said in his Ash Wednesday message it's the beginning of us saying "my bad".

We have four choral scholars who join our choir for practice and worship each week.  They are a real blessing and boost to us - not to mention they add a touch of humor.

When one of them misses a note (a rare occasion to be sure)  we see a hand go up - an acknowledgement - "my bad".  Most of us don't have a clue when we sing the wrong note, don't count correctly or "sing too loud". 


However, it's something that we all should do.  When we make a mistake we should first of all claim it, say we are sorry or as Scripture puts is "repent", then move on - "forgetting that which is behind".

As Father Dean pointed out this morning, the word for this is "confess". And when we repeat that prayer before we take the bread and wine that are offered, we "confess" our sins - some things we have done and some things we have not done and we ask God to have mercy on us and forgive us.

Father Dean reminded us that this is the time that we recognize our mortality, repent of our sins, and return to our loving God. We recognize life as a precious gift from God, and return our lives towards Jesus Christ. The point of the matter is that it is the time for us to commit to change our lives so that we might be more like Christ.


When that's the case we'll have fewer times that we have to say - "My bad".

And fortunately no matter how many times we have to say that - the answer will always be - "You are forgiven".

 

I think I can, I think I can

You remember him don't you...the little blue engine huffing and puffing as he pulled the train up that hill.


The Little Engine That Could has been a favorite of mine since I was a little girl.  I loved it and I loved reading it to my children.


Who knew that I would think of that book so many years later.


After eight years of sharing my home, it was now going to be "just me" and I started dreaming about what changes I might like to see.


And so I called my friend, Konnie, who is an interior decorator.  The name of her company fit my dreams perfectly - Upscale by Konnie. 


Some people are downsizing.  I wanted to upscale.


And so we began the process of making some changes.


One change requires painting three rooms and two bathrooms.  At first I was going to hire a painter...and then I thought ...I've painted before...I can do this.


I thought that until it was time to paint.


The pre-painting activities went very well.  First trip to the paint department - check; wall accessories down, furniture moved away from the walls or out of the room, spackling done, taping, sanding; drop cloths on the floor - check them all off the list.


It was time to start.


You won't believe all the things I found to do before I actually opened that can of paint and poured it into the tray.


I've painted before. I can do this. And then it hit me.  When I've done this before -- on my own I mean - that sweet man I called daddy was here to help.  He loved to paint.


And - despite his frail body - he always found a way to help me.  I'll never forget when I was painting a bathroom that he climbed up on the toilet seat to reach the top of the wall because it was hard for me to maneuver the ladder.  I remember standing there, holding my breath and his legs...but he was so determined.


So determined.


Two hours into this part of the project, I stood back and looked at a wall.  The pale green was now more of a smokey blue green - looks like the ocean - that's what I wanted...That was three days ago.


I've taken my time, painted one wall at a time and today it's ready for Konnie to come and start doing what she does best -


Because - like my daddy, I was so determined and like that little engine who could - I found out that I can!

Did Daddy tell you?

I've been searching for some lamps for the soon to be newly decorated master suite in my home.

As I walk through store after store (from Dillards to the Hospice Thrift Store) I find that no pair of lamps want to jump off the shelf and into my arms.  You might say I'm being just a tad particular about this.

However, as often is the case, my shopping trips also take me down memory lane.

Like the time my mother took me into an antique store and remembers that the proprietor was so nervous that I was going to pick something up and alas - break it.

I've been in many antique stores and I have never broken anything.


Okay I've never broken anything in an antique store...

I was six and my sister Cindy was two when we lived in a small apartment behind my grandparents home.  If my memory serves me correctly, the house my parents had owned in Bridgewater had sold faster than they ever dreamed and we lived in the apartment while they were determining our next move.

At any rate, mother was gone to church one Sunday night and daddy kept us at home.  No doubt he made us a chocolate milkshake and the three of us had a grand time.  At some point, Cindy and I decided it would be great fun to play a little game of chase - up and over a chair in the living room.

Cindy found this cartoon and we thought it fit

A lamp on a table was next to the chair and on one of our up and overs -

You guessed it ... one of us (and I really think it was Cindy) hit the table and the lamp came crashing to the floor.  I am not sure but I think that lamp might have come from that antique store my mother had taken me to.

Daddy cleaned up the mess and put Cindy and me to bed.


I was still snubbing when my mother took me to the bathroom at some point in the night.


"Did daddy tell you what Cindy did?"


"Daddy told me what you and Cindy did," my mother said.


But see I always thought she did it - she's the one the hit the table.


That's kind of the way life is, don't you think?  It's always easier to blame someone else - rather than accept responsibility for our own actions - or at least a part of the responsibility.


Cindy and I have always remembered that night and the many Sunday nights that daddy stayed home with us while mother went to church.  We were not punished for our carelessness - but to this day I am always a little nervous when I walk through the section of a store that sells lamps. . .


See - I'm still blaming it on something (not just someone) else/

Bah Cupid

I have been wrestling with this thought all day long.


If you have known me for more than five minutes, you know that I am a romantic.


However, if you have known me for more than 10 minutes, you know that I am also a realist.


Somewhere down the road I finally learned that life is not just about hearts, flowers, candy and other special gifts that are symbolically given on the 14th day of February. . .even though my house is decorated with hearts, flowers and some of the special gifts that I have received on this day - and kept for the sake of sentimentality.


I have learned that while loving someone (and being loved) is wonderful, it is of extreme importance that we love ourselves - because we really cannot love others until we love ourselves.  We pray a prayer of contrition and ask for mercy -- we have not loved others as we love ourselves -- so we better get the loving ourselves taken care of or we aren't going to do a very good job or loving someone else.


And yet this is contradicting to what I have been taught and what I believe.  Jesus first, others second, you last...that's how one has JOY.


How do I reconcile this?


It's a constant struggle.


Except as I just read in one of my encouragement books that I read every day - Simple Abundance A Daybook of Comfort and Joy by Sarah Ban Breathneck - "Love yourself first and everything else will fall into place" or as comedienne Lucille Ball said "You really have to love yourself to get anything done is this world".


And besides that -  even Jesus took time for himself - we read more than once that he went aside...


I think that's where I am on this Valentine's Day 2014. 


 
 

Part of the reason...is the 'raisin'

I have a friend,  the mother of two darling little girls, who is in the throes of disappointment as her marriage is ending.


I'm fairly familiar with that situation.


Nah.  I am very familiar with that situation.


I've watched her as she bravely moves through her life, the care of her children and her vocation with a sense of dedication and the realization that everything is going to be all right.


When I am met with this scenario I can't help but go back to my own life, at a time that I felt so lost and alone and unsure about the future.


And as I look back over the more than 30 years now, I can see God's hand again and again in my life and in the lives of my children.


So it's easy for me to tell my friend - it really is going to be all right.


But wait, what was it that helped me the most?


For me, it was the fact that I had been taught, as long as I could remember, to trust God with all things.  I have often recounted more than one time in my life that I prayed feeling like my prayers were bouncing off the ceiling only to rely on the "faith that had been instilled in me as a child" and to just keep trusting.


Which brings me back to my friend.


Her mother, whom I have met only once, sent me a nice note to tell me that she enjoys my blog.  I was happy to have an opportunity to respond to my new friend (I know I make friends so easily) and tell her how proud I am of her daughter. 


And then I told her - part of the reason is in the 'raisin'.  There is little doubt in my mind but that from a child my friend has known that God has a plan...and she is trusting in the Lord with all her heart (Proverbs 3:5).  And as we all know - you can't get a peach from a persimmon tree.


Something else that helped me was remembering an experience I had in college with my children's dad.  One day I was in a snit over something and he suggested that we should go to church that evening.  As I sat in the congregation a sense of calm came over me and I heard "Be still and know that I am God...".   I also knew that verse from my youth. 


I suppose that if there is anything I would like to hear about my children is that part of the reason that they are where they are today - is because -- you guessed it "of their raisin'."

Coffee time

It's one of my fondest memories of my growing up years.   

     My parents were major tee-totalers (meaning they didn't care if it was 5 o'clock ANYWHERE).   Daddy was known to enjoy a beer every now and then and mother will often say that she would like a thimble full of wine (which it's been a rare person who knew what in the world she was talking about).

      So obviously, the cocktail hour meant nothing to them. 

     The time of the day did however.  For them it was coffee time.  And every day (in the cold of the winter and the heat of the summer) at around 4:00, they shared a cup of coffee.  This was similar to the coffee they shared the first thing every morning. 

     The operative here is probably that they shared.  And for me - I have found that coffee sometimes brings back warm memories...of my parents (and their coffee time - a time that I often participated in) and of my freshman and sophomore year of college when Ray Parker and I often went to a little café called Mansfield's in Dayton, Tennessee before we went to church on Sunday morning.

     That restaurant had the very best coffee I've ever had. Until last Wednesday when after some routine blood work that required fasting, I went to Famous Amos for breakfast and had coffee that tasted almost most the same.

     At a Caring for the Caregiver Workshop this past weekend I heard one of the speakers say that it's good that the senses bring us to a memory. 

     It wasn't just the sense of smell that did it for me last week.  It was the sense of hearing. I heard a name - "Doug Dickey"

     Doug Dickey was a graduate of the University of Florida who went on to become the coach at Tennessee then at Florida and then became the AD at Tennessee. 

     And my daddy always liked him.

     So when I heard Doug Dickey (I know he lives in this area and actually is a member at Mandarin United Methodist Church - years ago my parents and I went to hear him speak), I thought... 

     Oh wow - I need to tell daddy.  And I promise you I thought that more than once over the next couple of days,

     Some other little irritants popped into my life on Tuesday and Wednesday - and finally in choir when we were singing Fairest Lord Jesus, I started to weep... 

     I finally realized I was weeping because I miss my daddy. 

     One thing is certain about my personality.  It most always takes a long time for me to really get out the emotions that I have inside of me.  Why did it take four and a half years - who knows?  Other than the fact that I've been rather preoccupied with the care of our mother and if I got "upset" that would make her upset - so I just buried my sadness. 

     To be honest, I continue to be a bit sad.  My friend, the Reverend Ronnie Willerer would say that I am unpacking my emotions - kind of like the idea of peeling back the layers of an onion - which brings me to smell - and tears - oh well you know what my grandma Lonnie used to say about tears....