I’ve been thinking about what’s needed to show hospitality. A person in our church small group did not have us into his home, but hosted us at the church building and showed great hospitality. Others volunteered to bring additional food and showed their hospitality in that way. But nothing compares with having someone in your home. When I’ve spent time in someone’s home, I feel that I know them better and it increases how much I care about them. The same is true when I have them in my own home.
My parents demonstrated throughout their lives that hospitality is not based on possessions or surroundings. My earliest memories are when they invited people into their home when we lived in a drafty, rickety house with linoleum floors and a kerosene stove. The warmth of their hospitality overcame the physical obstacles. So when they finally built a house, it was built specifically for hosting lots of people at a time and with enough bedrooms that no homeless person or one in personal difficulty was ever turned away.
When we were first married and invited people to dinner, no one seemed to mind that they could only stand upright in the center of our attic apartment. When we moved to a shotgun half of a small house, guests never complained about the tiny kitchen or the little table we ate on being within two feet of the bathroom door. Now that our children are grown and gone, our home is large enough to accommodate a visiting missionary family with the parents and children having separate rooms. Hosting is a bit easier but the warmth is the same.
When our son and his wife married, their apartment was so small that there was no table at all! Guests ate on their laps on the sofa or sitting on the floor. Fourteen years later, that couple is still using the same sofa, but now in their guest house that shelters those in need of retreat time or temporary housing.
Our daughter and son-in-law host so many people on a regular basis that when they have a party the numbers overflow their modest home. Sometimes they overflow into our house, which is fine with us. They host various groups regularly and welcome the diversity of their friendships.
God will always bless our resources and our examples. He provides what we need so that we can provide for others. I am humbled to see through the generations that “given to hospitality” (Romans 12:13, KJV) is a family trait that God continues to encourage and bless. Blessings upon all who invite and are invited!
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Tuesday, January 26, 2010
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
The Numbers on the Door
I’ve always found it handy to tape significant phone numbers inside the cupboard door nearest the kitchen phone. There you may find current numbers, but also numbers of the girls on Kelsey’s 1994 softball team, of stores no longer in business, of friends or relatives long dead.
“I think all this needs to be thrown away!” Steve says when I go there to get him a list of favorite family entrees.
But I’m not discarding that cluttered mess any time soon. When I open that door, I’m briefly transported to a time when our house was busier, our schedules more hectic, our time not our own. I love the life I have now, but I loved that one, too. All those outdated phone numbers and lists remind me of the days when I was introduced as “Kelsey’s mom” or “Josh’s mom.” Those were good times, worth remembering—worth honoring for a few moments before this life picks up the pace and I’m off again.
“I think all this needs to be thrown away!” Steve says when I go there to get him a list of favorite family entrees.
But I’m not discarding that cluttered mess any time soon. When I open that door, I’m briefly transported to a time when our house was busier, our schedules more hectic, our time not our own. I love the life I have now, but I loved that one, too. All those outdated phone numbers and lists remind me of the days when I was introduced as “Kelsey’s mom” or “Josh’s mom.” Those were good times, worth remembering—worth honoring for a few moments before this life picks up the pace and I’m off again.
Tuesday, January 05, 2010
Happy new year!
“Julie and Julia,” surely by many considered a “chick flick,” is the most recent favorite movie of my brother John, age 55. After seeing it in the fall, he told me he wanted to try Julia Child’s cookbook, so I determined to get it for him for Christmas. When he and his family arrived at our house on January 1 for our “Christmas” together, I gave him Mastering the Art of French Cooking. He was delighted, turning immediately to the recipe for Beef Bourguignon. Then he spotted Hollandaise Sauce, and our course was set for the coming day.
I had on hand the ingredients for Eggs Benedict, so we did that for everyone for brunch. Fabulous! The cookbook is definitely easy to follow—ingredients in the left column and in the right column the instructions for what to do with that ingredient. After an interesting foray to the nearby grocery superstore in which an unflappable butcher cut a prime rump roast into stew meat, we were able to cook Beef Bourguignon for dinner. It was marvelous! We were all pretty impressed with ourselves. It was mainly John and me, but his daughter Katie assisted and wife Liz washed up all the pots and pans—a terrific help. A hint about why it was so good, besides being labor-intensive: it had a bottle of merlot in it!
Cooking together was such fun! I discovered that even though he cooks a lot, there are kitchen basics that he doesn’t know how to do, such as separate egg yolks from the whites. It was a great blessing to work well together, and in between we played games and just talked.
They had not known until the last minute when they were going to be able to come the four hours to visit us. Then when they arrived they didn’t know how long they would stay. Due to their flexibility, I discovered that I don’t have to have a plan when someone visits. When we love each other, the time takes care of itself and may turn out even better than if I’d planned it. I'm hoping to continue my flexibility throughout 2010. Happy new year!
I had on hand the ingredients for Eggs Benedict, so we did that for everyone for brunch. Fabulous! The cookbook is definitely easy to follow—ingredients in the left column and in the right column the instructions for what to do with that ingredient. After an interesting foray to the nearby grocery superstore in which an unflappable butcher cut a prime rump roast into stew meat, we were able to cook Beef Bourguignon for dinner. It was marvelous! We were all pretty impressed with ourselves. It was mainly John and me, but his daughter Katie assisted and wife Liz washed up all the pots and pans—a terrific help. A hint about why it was so good, besides being labor-intensive: it had a bottle of merlot in it!
Cooking together was such fun! I discovered that even though he cooks a lot, there are kitchen basics that he doesn’t know how to do, such as separate egg yolks from the whites. It was a great blessing to work well together, and in between we played games and just talked.
They had not known until the last minute when they were going to be able to come the four hours to visit us. Then when they arrived they didn’t know how long they would stay. Due to their flexibility, I discovered that I don’t have to have a plan when someone visits. When we love each other, the time takes care of itself and may turn out even better than if I’d planned it. I'm hoping to continue my flexibility throughout 2010. Happy new year!
Monday, November 16, 2009
My friend Vicki sent me 45 life lessons written by Regina Brett, 90 years old, of The Plain Dealer, Cleveland, Ohio. Many of hers were similar to my measly 21 given in an earlier post. I'm going to pick up a few of hers that I've learned but obviously overlooked on my earlier list.
22. Life is too short to waste time hating anyone.
23. No matter how you feel, get up, dress up, and show up.
24. It's OK to get angry with God. He can take it.
25. Make peace with your past so it won't mess up the present. [As Nicole Johnson says...So you had a lousy childhood. Get over it.]
26. It's never too late to have a happy childhood. But the second one is up to you and no one else.
27. Don't compare your life to others. You have no idea what their journey is all about.
28. If a relationship has to be a secret, you shouldn't be in it.
29. It's OK to let your children see you cry.
30. Burn the candles, use the nice sheets, and wear the fancy lingerie. Don't save it for a special occasion. Today is special.
31. Over prepare, and then go with the flow.
32. Be eccentric now. Don't wait for old age to wear purple.
33. No one is in charge of your happiness but you.
34. When you are upset, ask yourself, "In five years [or five days], will this matter?"
35. Forgive everyone everything.
36. God loves you because of who God is, not because of anything you did or didn't do.
37. Your children get only one childhood.
38. The best is yet to come.
22. Life is too short to waste time hating anyone.
23. No matter how you feel, get up, dress up, and show up.
24. It's OK to get angry with God. He can take it.
25. Make peace with your past so it won't mess up the present. [As Nicole Johnson says...So you had a lousy childhood. Get over it.]
26. It's never too late to have a happy childhood. But the second one is up to you and no one else.
27. Don't compare your life to others. You have no idea what their journey is all about.
28. If a relationship has to be a secret, you shouldn't be in it.
29. It's OK to let your children see you cry.
30. Burn the candles, use the nice sheets, and wear the fancy lingerie. Don't save it for a special occasion. Today is special.
31. Over prepare, and then go with the flow.
32. Be eccentric now. Don't wait for old age to wear purple.
33. No one is in charge of your happiness but you.
34. When you are upset, ask yourself, "In five years [or five days], will this matter?"
35. Forgive everyone everything.
36. God loves you because of who God is, not because of anything you did or didn't do.
37. Your children get only one childhood.
38. The best is yet to come.
Sunday, November 15, 2009
Doing One More Thing
When I went to a women's spiritual retreat, I forgot to take my Bible. Ironic, I know. I explained to my friend that I thought I had time to do "one more thing," and then I forgot an item central to my purpose.
The "one more thing" was typing a poem for my pen pal, Adrian, who is incarcerated in a Georgia prison. Last week was his 8th anniversary there, so at age 31 he has 22 more years to go. He is a writer, and I started writing him to encourage him in his Christian life and his writing life. It snowballed into requests to type his voluminous output--from 14-line poems to novels.
I can't keep up with his prolific writing. He cannot have access to a word processor, so those of us on the outside are his only way of getting his words in print on the road to publication. He has talent, but talent that needs to be honed and refined as only a good writing teacher or editor can do. Sometimes I give him suggestions, but for the most part I type it as he has written it. His grammar and spelling are excellent; there's no matter of corrections needed. But his metaphors are often mixed, his series not parallel, his description lacking in detail.
I see his struggles with the other inmates, with his family on the outside, with himself. What I do for him is miniscule in comparison to his needs. He has my prayers and encouragement, and occasionally I seize a few minutes to type some of his poems. It's the best I can do in response to Jesus' reply to the sheep on his right, "I was in prison and you visited me" (Matthew 25:36).
So here's Adrian's poem that was the "one more thing" I did on Friday.
The Death Not Seen
Fallen sighs in a darkened cube,
Hands groping for a doorknob, a windowsill, something or some way out.
Darkness is too much for the ones trapped.
Silence is compounded
Every sound is magnified.
Heartbeats become thunderclaps.
And all they can see are two orbs of jaundiced gold,
Staring at them out of the ebony veil.
No sound, just those two orbs
Piercing, probing, penetrating, petrifying.
Suddenly a scream shatters the darkness
And then another scream and another and another.
A new color pierces the black.
Splotches and splashes and spills of viscous crimson.
Shadows of limbs soaring.
The crashing of objects
The wails of the dead.
Then once again silence.
--Adrian English
The "one more thing" was typing a poem for my pen pal, Adrian, who is incarcerated in a Georgia prison. Last week was his 8th anniversary there, so at age 31 he has 22 more years to go. He is a writer, and I started writing him to encourage him in his Christian life and his writing life. It snowballed into requests to type his voluminous output--from 14-line poems to novels.
I can't keep up with his prolific writing. He cannot have access to a word processor, so those of us on the outside are his only way of getting his words in print on the road to publication. He has talent, but talent that needs to be honed and refined as only a good writing teacher or editor can do. Sometimes I give him suggestions, but for the most part I type it as he has written it. His grammar and spelling are excellent; there's no matter of corrections needed. But his metaphors are often mixed, his series not parallel, his description lacking in detail.
I see his struggles with the other inmates, with his family on the outside, with himself. What I do for him is miniscule in comparison to his needs. He has my prayers and encouragement, and occasionally I seize a few minutes to type some of his poems. It's the best I can do in response to Jesus' reply to the sheep on his right, "I was in prison and you visited me" (Matthew 25:36).
So here's Adrian's poem that was the "one more thing" I did on Friday.
The Death Not Seen
Fallen sighs in a darkened cube,
Hands groping for a doorknob, a windowsill, something or some way out.
Darkness is too much for the ones trapped.
Silence is compounded
Every sound is magnified.
Heartbeats become thunderclaps.
And all they can see are two orbs of jaundiced gold,
Staring at them out of the ebony veil.
No sound, just those two orbs
Piercing, probing, penetrating, petrifying.
Suddenly a scream shatters the darkness
And then another scream and another and another.
A new color pierces the black.
Splotches and splashes and spills of viscous crimson.
Shadows of limbs soaring.
The crashing of objects
The wails of the dead.
Then once again silence.
--Adrian English
Monday, November 09, 2009
Fighting the Daily Details
I just watched the garbage men fight with our large, broken plastic chairmat that Steve wore out wheeling his chair between his desk and computer table. My relief at seeing the old one disappear into the mouth of the garbage truck was based on the trials involved in getting the new one in and the old one out.
Wednesday night I told Steve that I'd picked up his new chairmat at the office furniture store from which I'd special-ordered it. I'd left it in my car because after seeing the hefty salesman fight to get it into my car, I knew I couldn't handle it alone.
Thursday morning at 7:15, I heard noises from the garage and then he came stumbling in with that enormous, heavy, studded plastic mat. It's only 5 x 6 feet, but the weight and awkwardness makes it a challenge to handle. We had to use towels to hold onto it because the studs are so sharp. We got it up the stairs and I couldn't help but wonder what prompted him to start this project 15 minutes before leaving for his 8 a.m. class. Fortunately for us both, I didn't verbalize those thoughts.
We had to move his massive desk off the old chairpad--not an easy task. I couldn't budge my end even an inch, but Steve's weight-lifting paid off as he was able to scoot it off. Then I lifted the leg of the computer table so he could pull the old pad the rest of the way out.
Somehow, in getting the old pad out, he managed for the studs to cut his knee without tearing his khakis. How? I have no idea. My own knees were only bruised from the battle. He shot from the room, shouting, "I can't do this! I've hurt my knee and I've got to take care of it before I get blood on my pants!"
He tore through various closets, drawers, and medicine cabinets looking for enough gauze to staunch the blood oozing down his leg. A mere Band-Aid would be like the legendary finger in the hole in the dyke. He finally got it wrapped to his satisfaction, apologetically leaving a trail of clutter behind.
When he returned to the office to get his school bag, I timidly asked if he would lift the computer table so I could slide the mat under it. "Not now!" he said, "Maybe not ever! I can't do ANYTHING like this! We have to remember to hire someone to do every single little thing around here. Hire someone to get the old one out. I'm not touching it again!" With a quick kiss, he was gone, barely in time to make it to class.
So I managed to get it under the computer table, but the desk stayed where it was. At least the mat was flat and in place. And, even more clumsily, I dragged the old one to the window by his computer. Grateful for the tall windows easily cranked open, I dragged it over the sill and let it fall to the ground. Later I dragged it to the side of the house until garbage pickup today.
And Steve repented enough to help me get it to the street last night, though we were laughing so much it was hard to grip it enough to get it propped between the garbage cans. So when I heard the garbage truck, it was with delight that I watched the two muscular men have similar challenges trying to get it in their truck.
Steve is right about our lack of ability on physical household tasks. A few years ago I complimented a workman at our house, grateful for his skills. "My husband can't do any of those things," I said.
I was taken aback by his vehement response. "Your husband can do lots of things I can't!" he answered. "Don't you ever forget that!"
And I haven't. I'm grateful daily for Steve, his many talents, and his loving ways. I'm grateful that his talents provide the means to hire done what we cannot do ourselves. I'm reminded of Romans 12:6: "We have different gifts, according to the grace given us." And one of the gifts Steve and I share is a sense of humor, especially about ourselves.
Wednesday night I told Steve that I'd picked up his new chairmat at the office furniture store from which I'd special-ordered it. I'd left it in my car because after seeing the hefty salesman fight to get it into my car, I knew I couldn't handle it alone.
Thursday morning at 7:15, I heard noises from the garage and then he came stumbling in with that enormous, heavy, studded plastic mat. It's only 5 x 6 feet, but the weight and awkwardness makes it a challenge to handle. We had to use towels to hold onto it because the studs are so sharp. We got it up the stairs and I couldn't help but wonder what prompted him to start this project 15 minutes before leaving for his 8 a.m. class. Fortunately for us both, I didn't verbalize those thoughts.
We had to move his massive desk off the old chairpad--not an easy task. I couldn't budge my end even an inch, but Steve's weight-lifting paid off as he was able to scoot it off. Then I lifted the leg of the computer table so he could pull the old pad the rest of the way out.
Somehow, in getting the old pad out, he managed for the studs to cut his knee without tearing his khakis. How? I have no idea. My own knees were only bruised from the battle. He shot from the room, shouting, "I can't do this! I've hurt my knee and I've got to take care of it before I get blood on my pants!"
He tore through various closets, drawers, and medicine cabinets looking for enough gauze to staunch the blood oozing down his leg. A mere Band-Aid would be like the legendary finger in the hole in the dyke. He finally got it wrapped to his satisfaction, apologetically leaving a trail of clutter behind.
When he returned to the office to get his school bag, I timidly asked if he would lift the computer table so I could slide the mat under it. "Not now!" he said, "Maybe not ever! I can't do ANYTHING like this! We have to remember to hire someone to do every single little thing around here. Hire someone to get the old one out. I'm not touching it again!" With a quick kiss, he was gone, barely in time to make it to class.
So I managed to get it under the computer table, but the desk stayed where it was. At least the mat was flat and in place. And, even more clumsily, I dragged the old one to the window by his computer. Grateful for the tall windows easily cranked open, I dragged it over the sill and let it fall to the ground. Later I dragged it to the side of the house until garbage pickup today.
And Steve repented enough to help me get it to the street last night, though we were laughing so much it was hard to grip it enough to get it propped between the garbage cans. So when I heard the garbage truck, it was with delight that I watched the two muscular men have similar challenges trying to get it in their truck.
Steve is right about our lack of ability on physical household tasks. A few years ago I complimented a workman at our house, grateful for his skills. "My husband can't do any of those things," I said.
I was taken aback by his vehement response. "Your husband can do lots of things I can't!" he answered. "Don't you ever forget that!"
And I haven't. I'm grateful daily for Steve, his many talents, and his loving ways. I'm grateful that his talents provide the means to hire done what we cannot do ourselves. I'm reminded of Romans 12:6: "We have different gifts, according to the grace given us." And one of the gifts Steve and I share is a sense of humor, especially about ourselves.
Tuesday, November 03, 2009
Fun and Feasting
The past weekend was a joyous time of fun and feasting--both physical and spiritual. A Halloween party that had outgrown the host's house was transferred to ours, accompanied by the usual food and frivolity. The theme was "A Family Affair" and everyone came as some family member. I was "Auntie Mame," which was great fun. I enjoyed swooping around in stilettos with my feather boa and cigarette holder.
Our houseguests for the weekend were Andy and Kathryn Miller and their children Sam and Reagan. They are the missionaries we worked with for six weeks in Bangkok over a year ago and it was great to see them again. They are on furlough in America to get more financial support and to recruit other Americans to commit to the Lord's work in Thailand. We relished catching up on the people we'd known in Bangkok and hearing how God is constantly blessing the work there. They immediately were family to Kelsey and Stephen, too, even though they'd just met. They all jumped in to help prepare for the party and were active participants in every bit of it. It was fun the next day to tell them more about the guests, for we could identify them by their costumes: "Family Tree," or "Uncle Fester," "Father Time," "Mother Teresa," "The Godfather," etc.
Best of all were the spiritual discussions. Being in the family of God connects us in ways far deeper than natural family ties. We ate together, played together, and prayed together, and were so sad for them to leave. At the same time, we are happy that we know such warriors for Jesus Christ. Being with them definitely made me want to go back to Bangkok with a Let's Start Talking, www.lst.org, team!
Andy and Kathryn spoke to our combined adult and teen classes on Sunday. I loved it that within their report was also a lesson for us all: work for God wherever you are, whether it's Thailand or Cincinnati. I couldn't help but think that every culture has its idols, whether it's Buddha or football, spirit houses or the World Series. Being with this family that has given up house and jobs to follow God's call to the other side of the world was both humbling and inspiring.
Our houseguests for the weekend were Andy and Kathryn Miller and their children Sam and Reagan. They are the missionaries we worked with for six weeks in Bangkok over a year ago and it was great to see them again. They are on furlough in America to get more financial support and to recruit other Americans to commit to the Lord's work in Thailand. We relished catching up on the people we'd known in Bangkok and hearing how God is constantly blessing the work there. They immediately were family to Kelsey and Stephen, too, even though they'd just met. They all jumped in to help prepare for the party and were active participants in every bit of it. It was fun the next day to tell them more about the guests, for we could identify them by their costumes: "Family Tree," or "Uncle Fester," "Father Time," "Mother Teresa," "The Godfather," etc.
Best of all were the spiritual discussions. Being in the family of God connects us in ways far deeper than natural family ties. We ate together, played together, and prayed together, and were so sad for them to leave. At the same time, we are happy that we know such warriors for Jesus Christ. Being with them definitely made me want to go back to Bangkok with a Let's Start Talking, www.lst.org, team!
Andy and Kathryn spoke to our combined adult and teen classes on Sunday. I loved it that within their report was also a lesson for us all: work for God wherever you are, whether it's Thailand or Cincinnati. I couldn't help but think that every culture has its idols, whether it's Buddha or football, spirit houses or the World Series. Being with this family that has given up house and jobs to follow God's call to the other side of the world was both humbling and inspiring.
Saturday, October 24, 2009
Standing by the Cave
The weekend after the Smokies, Steve and I enjoyed a Fall Foliage weekend in northeast Ohio. We went to our closest national park, Cuyahoga Valley National Park near Akron. The color was fabulous--the perfect weekend to be there. We stayed in the park at the Inn at Brandwine Falls, which I highly recommend.
We had planned to go to New England and I thought I'd bought Delta tickets. But when I tried to get our boarding passes to Boston, behold! We didn't have any tickets listed except to Key West in February. So we went to Ohio instead. But here are some really good things about not having the tickets, showing that God was way ahead of us:
1) It snowed in Boston and around there and it would have been a winter trip rather than a fall one. Also, we might have had trouble getting out on Tuesday.
2) Steve had an all-day program in Indianapolis on Wednesday and this way he had time to prepare instead of burning the midnight oil after we returned Tuesday evening.
3) I realized that the Phoenix tickets I thought I had bought (for a program Steve always does there in January) did not exist either! So I could go online and get those tickets while the flights we needed (and at a good price) were still available. Delta has cut so many flights from Cincinnati that the ones that remain fill quickly.
Isn't God awesome! I felt pretty stupid at first, but it worked out for the best. We were having some computer issues at the time I thought I bought both sets of tickets, but that's straightened out now. And I've learned to be sure the itinerary I print out has a confirmation number on it!
When we were hiking the Ledges Trail in CVNP, we came to a cave-like opening in the wall of rock. Steve approached it and looked inside while I stood back on the trail. After taking a few steps away from the cave, he turned and looked at me, waiting. We each stood there. "Are you OK?" he asked. I assured him I was fine. I couldn't understand why he didn't return to me so we could continue.
Finally he said, "Are you sure you're OK? Are you ready to keep going?" And he gestured on past the cave.
Then I realized that there was also an alternate trail that he was on. The trail split for people to go see the cave and then rejoined after a few feet. I was waiting on him and he was waiting on me. Fortunately, we both thought it was pretty funny, once we figured it out.
As we hiked, I started thinking about how often we rush to judge where another is standing when that person's place is just as good as our own. We simply don't have that person's perspective. Paul's reminder, "So, if you think you are standing firm, be careful that you don't fall," kept coming to mind as well as Jesus's many statements on not judging others. Any time I'm tempted to judge someone else's actions, I need to get more information about their situation. I need to improve communication--listen to them instead of telling them what I expect. Communicating was the key to our figuring out why we were each stuck on our section of the trail. Communicating is also the key to figuring out where other people are and how we can best help and encourage them.
We had planned to go to New England and I thought I'd bought Delta tickets. But when I tried to get our boarding passes to Boston, behold! We didn't have any tickets listed except to Key West in February. So we went to Ohio instead. But here are some really good things about not having the tickets, showing that God was way ahead of us:
1) It snowed in Boston and around there and it would have been a winter trip rather than a fall one. Also, we might have had trouble getting out on Tuesday.
2) Steve had an all-day program in Indianapolis on Wednesday and this way he had time to prepare instead of burning the midnight oil after we returned Tuesday evening.
3) I realized that the Phoenix tickets I thought I had bought (for a program Steve always does there in January) did not exist either! So I could go online and get those tickets while the flights we needed (and at a good price) were still available. Delta has cut so many flights from Cincinnati that the ones that remain fill quickly.
Isn't God awesome! I felt pretty stupid at first, but it worked out for the best. We were having some computer issues at the time I thought I bought both sets of tickets, but that's straightened out now. And I've learned to be sure the itinerary I print out has a confirmation number on it!
When we were hiking the Ledges Trail in CVNP, we came to a cave-like opening in the wall of rock. Steve approached it and looked inside while I stood back on the trail. After taking a few steps away from the cave, he turned and looked at me, waiting. We each stood there. "Are you OK?" he asked. I assured him I was fine. I couldn't understand why he didn't return to me so we could continue.
Finally he said, "Are you sure you're OK? Are you ready to keep going?" And he gestured on past the cave.
Then I realized that there was also an alternate trail that he was on. The trail split for people to go see the cave and then rejoined after a few feet. I was waiting on him and he was waiting on me. Fortunately, we both thought it was pretty funny, once we figured it out.
As we hiked, I started thinking about how often we rush to judge where another is standing when that person's place is just as good as our own. We simply don't have that person's perspective. Paul's reminder, "So, if you think you are standing firm, be careful that you don't fall," kept coming to mind as well as Jesus's many statements on not judging others. Any time I'm tempted to judge someone else's actions, I need to get more information about their situation. I need to improve communication--listen to them instead of telling them what I expect. Communicating was the key to our figuring out why we were each stuck on our section of the trail. Communicating is also the key to figuring out where other people are and how we can best help and encourage them.
Monday, October 12, 2009
Weekend in the Smokies
Our annual family weekend in the Smokies has ended, and new memories now blend with the old. We spent more time at the Ranger Stations this year because Kinley works on her Junior Ranger badges whenever they visit a national park.
Our usual hiking was shortened due to Knox's determination to walk it himself. So we dawdled at a three-year-old pace and enjoyed the woods and water of the Great Smoky Mountains National Park. Our new adventure was to drive to the Cataloochee section of the Park, which entailed driving across the mountains to the Oconoluftee Visitor Center in NC, and then through at least 12 miles of dirt roads to reach the isolated valley where a herd of elk roams through the Cataloochee.
It was misting rain, which made the lush valley and elk seem even more surreal. We picnicked on the porch of the Caldwell house, built in 1903 and eventually purchased as part of the park. We took pictures in the old barn and went into the Palmer Chapel Methodist Church where the church bell still tolled when pulled by eager youngsters and some oldsters as well. We could tell the accoustics were just right, so we had a Boyd family rendition of "Victory in Jesus." Some other people came in as we were singing and seemed to enjoy it almost as much as we did.
I cannot say enough good things about where we always stay--Zoder's Inn on the Parkway in Gatlinburg. We get a Tower Suite with a balcony overlooking the creek, which includes a kitchen, dining room, living room,fireplace, a bedroom with a king bed, bath, and crib, a bedroom with two beds and bath, and a Murphy bed that folds down from the wall into the space between the living room and dining room. This is plenty of room for the 8 of us, especially with Knox in the crib. We get breakfast with many choices of cereal, pastries, juice, and fruit, "wine and cheese" in the late afternoon, and cookies and milk at bedtime. This is the deal of the city because we can get out to the park a couple of back ways and avoid much of the city traffic. The place is clean and neat and the kitchen has microwave, ice maker, dishwasher, as well as stove, coffee pot, etc. And all this in season for $239/night! If you're thinking of visiting the Smokies, I can give you more information. We go back year after year and do not regret it.
We spent quality time in quantity with those we love most in God's magnificent handiwork. What could be better than that?
Our usual hiking was shortened due to Knox's determination to walk it himself. So we dawdled at a three-year-old pace and enjoyed the woods and water of the Great Smoky Mountains National Park. Our new adventure was to drive to the Cataloochee section of the Park, which entailed driving across the mountains to the Oconoluftee Visitor Center in NC, and then through at least 12 miles of dirt roads to reach the isolated valley where a herd of elk roams through the Cataloochee.
It was misting rain, which made the lush valley and elk seem even more surreal. We picnicked on the porch of the Caldwell house, built in 1903 and eventually purchased as part of the park. We took pictures in the old barn and went into the Palmer Chapel Methodist Church where the church bell still tolled when pulled by eager youngsters and some oldsters as well. We could tell the accoustics were just right, so we had a Boyd family rendition of "Victory in Jesus." Some other people came in as we were singing and seemed to enjoy it almost as much as we did.
I cannot say enough good things about where we always stay--Zoder's Inn on the Parkway in Gatlinburg. We get a Tower Suite with a balcony overlooking the creek, which includes a kitchen, dining room, living room,fireplace, a bedroom with a king bed, bath, and crib, a bedroom with two beds and bath, and a Murphy bed that folds down from the wall into the space between the living room and dining room. This is plenty of room for the 8 of us, especially with Knox in the crib. We get breakfast with many choices of cereal, pastries, juice, and fruit, "wine and cheese" in the late afternoon, and cookies and milk at bedtime. This is the deal of the city because we can get out to the park a couple of back ways and avoid much of the city traffic. The place is clean and neat and the kitchen has microwave, ice maker, dishwasher, as well as stove, coffee pot, etc. And all this in season for $239/night! If you're thinking of visiting the Smokies, I can give you more information. We go back year after year and do not regret it.
We spent quality time in quantity with those we love most in God's magnificent handiwork. What could be better than that?
Thursday, October 08, 2009
Heading South
When most people say, "And that's when it headed south," they mean things went terribly wrong. But for me, heading south is heading home. It can be the home in middle Tennessee where my mother lived for 36 years, but it can be other places as well. In this case, it's home to the mountains of Tennessee.
This particular day we are heading south for our annual family visit to the Great Smoky Mountain National Park for hiking, picnicking, and general family togetherness. As well as we can reconstruct, this.. is our 25th year for this trek. We didn't start out to create a family tradition--we just wanted to take advantage of the long fall weekend off from school to head to the peace and color of the Smokies.
At first, Dad Boyd would drive over from his Indiana home to ride down and back with us. We loved having him with us and he seemed to relish it, too. When he could no longer drive over, often Steve's sister Nancy and her husband Flay would meet us there and bring him along. Nancy would make Kelsey a special birthday cake and we'd celebrate two weeks early. We'd go our own ways during the day, but we'd enjoy eating, shopping, and hanging out together in the evenings.
When Josh went away to college in 1990, we wondered if that would be our first Smokies weekend without all of us there, but he didn't want to miss out. Nancy and Flay drove via Nashville to pick him up at his college campus, and we went home that way to drop him off. So coming from college became the routine which Kelsey picked up on all four years.
When Josh and Gina married in 1995 and were living in Bloomington, Indiana, we figured all the heroic measures for getting Josh there from Yankeeland were in the past. But we were soon informed that not only Josh, but Gina didn't want to miss out on this annual event that she'd heard about for years. When they moved two hours further away to Lafayette, we thought that was too far. We were wrong. When Kinley was born in 2001, we thought they surely wouldn't drive so far with a baby. Wrong again. Now at age three, Knox is heading south to the Smokies for the fourth time.
Kelsey and Stephen came first from Nashville and now from Bellevue, Kentucky. Excited about this year, we're all already thinking about next year when they'll bring their baby to the Smokies.
The route is so familiar. As we drive south on I-75, we feel our muscles relaxing and our spirits lifting. We marvel at the neon-colored trees, pointing out one after another. We stop for supper and grin at each other when we feel a nip in the air. Twilight falls as we near the Tennessee state line. We are certainly heading south to a slower pace, softer voices, and silent grandeur.
I had no intention of chronicling so specifically the evolving of this family tradition. I simply wanted to pay tribute to family traditions. It doesn't have to be a six-hour trip; it can be to a nearby park. I analyze what makes a family tradition, and part of it is repeating something the family enjoyed the first time. As years passed, I became hesitant to do any activity for a third time; I'd noticed that the third time pretty much locked it in as a family tradition.
I can't resist mentioning that the same thing is true of things we neglect. As parents, if we skip bedtime prayers, or Sunday class, or visiting a shut-in, it gets easier. I want to encourage young parents to pay attention to their traditions. Be sure that your family traditions are positive ones that will help you to grow closer as a family and closer to God--and not in the opposite direction. Keep pursuing those special family traditions that you and your children will treasure for years to come.
This particular day we are heading south for our annual family visit to the Great Smoky Mountain National Park for hiking, picnicking, and general family togetherness. As well as we can reconstruct, this.. is our 25th year for this trek. We didn't start out to create a family tradition--we just wanted to take advantage of the long fall weekend off from school to head to the peace and color of the Smokies.
At first, Dad Boyd would drive over from his Indiana home to ride down and back with us. We loved having him with us and he seemed to relish it, too. When he could no longer drive over, often Steve's sister Nancy and her husband Flay would meet us there and bring him along. Nancy would make Kelsey a special birthday cake and we'd celebrate two weeks early. We'd go our own ways during the day, but we'd enjoy eating, shopping, and hanging out together in the evenings.
When Josh went away to college in 1990, we wondered if that would be our first Smokies weekend without all of us there, but he didn't want to miss out. Nancy and Flay drove via Nashville to pick him up at his college campus, and we went home that way to drop him off. So coming from college became the routine which Kelsey picked up on all four years.
When Josh and Gina married in 1995 and were living in Bloomington, Indiana, we figured all the heroic measures for getting Josh there from Yankeeland were in the past. But we were soon informed that not only Josh, but Gina didn't want to miss out on this annual event that she'd heard about for years. When they moved two hours further away to Lafayette, we thought that was too far. We were wrong. When Kinley was born in 2001, we thought they surely wouldn't drive so far with a baby. Wrong again. Now at age three, Knox is heading south to the Smokies for the fourth time.
Kelsey and Stephen came first from Nashville and now from Bellevue, Kentucky. Excited about this year, we're all already thinking about next year when they'll bring their baby to the Smokies.
The route is so familiar. As we drive south on I-75, we feel our muscles relaxing and our spirits lifting. We marvel at the neon-colored trees, pointing out one after another. We stop for supper and grin at each other when we feel a nip in the air. Twilight falls as we near the Tennessee state line. We are certainly heading south to a slower pace, softer voices, and silent grandeur.
I had no intention of chronicling so specifically the evolving of this family tradition. I simply wanted to pay tribute to family traditions. It doesn't have to be a six-hour trip; it can be to a nearby park. I analyze what makes a family tradition, and part of it is repeating something the family enjoyed the first time. As years passed, I became hesitant to do any activity for a third time; I'd noticed that the third time pretty much locked it in as a family tradition.
I can't resist mentioning that the same thing is true of things we neglect. As parents, if we skip bedtime prayers, or Sunday class, or visiting a shut-in, it gets easier. I want to encourage young parents to pay attention to their traditions. Be sure that your family traditions are positive ones that will help you to grow closer as a family and closer to God--and not in the opposite direction. Keep pursuing those special family traditions that you and your children will treasure for years to come.
Tuesday, October 06, 2009
100 Things--or maybe 21
I just found a notebook from twelve or fifteen years ago with the impressive title, "Lanita's Lists." The first entry says "100 Things I've Learned in My Life." Wow! I thought when I found it--my life wisdom from years ago.
So it turns out that the list I started so optimistically has only 21 items on it. But they are still lessons I've found to be true, so I'll share them here. (I really want to comment on some of them, but I'll let them stand for now.)
1. Life is not fair.
2. An activity fills the time allotted to it.
3. Other people make the same dumb mistakes I do.
4. My own children are delightful.
5. Childhood passes quickly.
6. Handling people fairly does not mean identically.
7. The more competence you exhibit, the more competence people expect.
8. Don't say anything important to Steve during a basketball game.
9. It pays to keep quiet.
10. It pays to speak up.
11. Personal characteristics become more so with age.
12. Simple pleasures are more enjoyable than extravagant ones.
13. Girls are more challenging to raise than boys.
14. Men and boys are easier to manipulate than females.
15. Children remember best what they've done individually.
16. "Have a good one" is a fake-y thing to say.
17. People are more important than things.
18. Sincere apologies are always appropriate.
19. Teachers make a poor audience.
20. Computers are both wonderful and horrendous.
21. I must give what I want to get.
Who knows? Someday I may actually figure out the other 79 things I've learned. Meanwhile, I may take one item from this list occasionally and comment on it. I'd love to hear from readers on any of these points. Do you agree or disagree? What would you add to the list from your own experiences?
So it turns out that the list I started so optimistically has only 21 items on it. But they are still lessons I've found to be true, so I'll share them here. (I really want to comment on some of them, but I'll let them stand for now.)
1. Life is not fair.
2. An activity fills the time allotted to it.
3. Other people make the same dumb mistakes I do.
4. My own children are delightful.
5. Childhood passes quickly.
6. Handling people fairly does not mean identically.
7. The more competence you exhibit, the more competence people expect.
8. Don't say anything important to Steve during a basketball game.
9. It pays to keep quiet.
10. It pays to speak up.
11. Personal characteristics become more so with age.
12. Simple pleasures are more enjoyable than extravagant ones.
13. Girls are more challenging to raise than boys.
14. Men and boys are easier to manipulate than females.
15. Children remember best what they've done individually.
16. "Have a good one" is a fake-y thing to say.
17. People are more important than things.
18. Sincere apologies are always appropriate.
19. Teachers make a poor audience.
20. Computers are both wonderful and horrendous.
21. I must give what I want to get.
Who knows? Someday I may actually figure out the other 79 things I've learned. Meanwhile, I may take one item from this list occasionally and comment on it. I'd love to hear from readers on any of these points. Do you agree or disagree? What would you add to the list from your own experiences?
Monday, October 05, 2009
Spiritual Peaks
As Christians, we all have spiritual peaks and valleys, and this week so far included two spiritual peaks for me--in addition to the usual joy of worshiping with my Christian family at Central.
The first was last night when over 300 of us gathered at Cincinnati Christian University with members of the Christian Church, Disciples of Christ, and Church of Christ to celebrate the 200th anniversary of Thomas Campbell's Declaration and Address. In this document he called people to go back to the Bible and use the Bible as the sole source of our name and the sole direction for our lives. These three faith traditions all came from the break of the Presbyterian Church with Campbell. See http://greatcommunion.org/ to learn more about it. The Elmwood Church of Christ where son Josh's family worships was also involved in a similar gathering of 700 people at 11 Sunday morning. They began with a powerful video that you can view at http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ppPrZt0SgeI .
In Cincinnati, we had three speakers, one from each strand. One of the university professors dressed as Thomas Campbell read some of his propositions from the document. The congregational singing was marvelous. The person who spoke before we shared communion commented on the great harmonies.
There were over 40 people there from our congregation and probably 70+ from Churches of Christ in the Cincinnati area. I met Everly Rose, wife of another minister, and we hit it off right away. When she said she didn't know if she could remember my name, I said, "It's Anita with an L. That sometimes helps." She laughed and answered, "Mine is Beverly without the B." So we bonded through our unusual names!
The second spiritual highlight of my week was our mothers of preschoolers' Bible study this morning. I adore these young women who come together to share their lives and their love for the Lord. Most Mondays, it's half prayer group, half Bible study. Today it was all prayer group. Sharing praises and problems and praying about them bonds in a way that nothing else does. We are blessed to have our dear Fay, wife of one of our elders, who keeps the children (3-6 children, ages 3 weeks to 4 years) occupied in the basement playroom while we meet around the kitchen table. And we prayed for daughter Kelsey, who doesn't yet qualify as a mother but will in April. We're excited that we can finally tell this good news for our family. Blessings overflow!
The first was last night when over 300 of us gathered at Cincinnati Christian University with members of the Christian Church, Disciples of Christ, and Church of Christ to celebrate the 200th anniversary of Thomas Campbell's Declaration and Address. In this document he called people to go back to the Bible and use the Bible as the sole source of our name and the sole direction for our lives. These three faith traditions all came from the break of the Presbyterian Church with Campbell. See http://greatcommunion.org/ to learn more about it. The Elmwood Church of Christ where son Josh's family worships was also involved in a similar gathering of 700 people at 11 Sunday morning. They began with a powerful video that you can view at http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ppPrZt0SgeI .
In Cincinnati, we had three speakers, one from each strand. One of the university professors dressed as Thomas Campbell read some of his propositions from the document. The congregational singing was marvelous. The person who spoke before we shared communion commented on the great harmonies.
There were over 40 people there from our congregation and probably 70+ from Churches of Christ in the Cincinnati area. I met Everly Rose, wife of another minister, and we hit it off right away. When she said she didn't know if she could remember my name, I said, "It's Anita with an L. That sometimes helps." She laughed and answered, "Mine is Beverly without the B." So we bonded through our unusual names!
The second spiritual highlight of my week was our mothers of preschoolers' Bible study this morning. I adore these young women who come together to share their lives and their love for the Lord. Most Mondays, it's half prayer group, half Bible study. Today it was all prayer group. Sharing praises and problems and praying about them bonds in a way that nothing else does. We are blessed to have our dear Fay, wife of one of our elders, who keeps the children (3-6 children, ages 3 weeks to 4 years) occupied in the basement playroom while we meet around the kitchen table. And we prayed for daughter Kelsey, who doesn't yet qualify as a mother but will in April. We're excited that we can finally tell this good news for our family. Blessings overflow!
Thursday, October 01, 2009
An outstanding author that I admire greatly is Mary DeMuth. She spoke at Write to Publish in June and I was touched by her devotion to God, her family, and the craft of writing. You can follow her blog at http://relevantblog.blogspot.com. What she writes is always honest and thought-provoking, whether it's parenting articles, devotional thoughts, or fiction. Here are my thoughts on her most recent book, A Slow Burn.
How does a mother survive the death of a child? Especially when that mother, in this case Emory Chance, did not have good survival skills even when her daughter Daisy was alive. Mary DeMuth, in her stunning sequel to Daisy Chain, creates characters so memorable that as readers we feel the tug to pray for them, take them food, reach out to comfort them. Then we realize that they are fictional characters, their lives predetermined by a skillful author and see-er of souls.
Even as we become involved in the lives of these fictional characters are we brought to understand more clearly the lives of real people we know. This story of loss, sacrifice, love, and redemption will stay ith me for a very long time. This is not light reading, but the insights it provides are worth the effort. I can't wait for the final book of the Defiance, Texas, trilogy. You can enjoy this book without having read Daisy Chain, but if possible, read Daisy Chain and then A Slow Burn.
How does a mother survive the death of a child? Especially when that mother, in this case Emory Chance, did not have good survival skills even when her daughter Daisy was alive. Mary DeMuth, in her stunning sequel to Daisy Chain, creates characters so memorable that as readers we feel the tug to pray for them, take them food, reach out to comfort them. Then we realize that they are fictional characters, their lives predetermined by a skillful author and see-er of souls.
Even as we become involved in the lives of these fictional characters are we brought to understand more clearly the lives of real people we know. This story of loss, sacrifice, love, and redemption will stay ith me for a very long time. This is not light reading, but the insights it provides are worth the effort. I can't wait for the final book of the Defiance, Texas, trilogy. You can enjoy this book without having read Daisy Chain, but if possible, read Daisy Chain and then A Slow Burn.
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
Let's Start Talking
On Friday and Saturday, I attended Harvest Call in Ft. Worth, Texas, a gathering of people who want to teach God's Word through free English lessons around the world. Let's Start Talking, www.lst.org, is led by Mark and Sherrylee Woodward, who have been sending missionaries "into all the world" for over 30 years.
Having been to Brazil, Thailand twice, and Fiji on LST trips, I was definitely one of the "old-timers" there. But the excitement and enthusiasm of all, from newbies to oldsters, was contagious. I also learned more about FriendSpeak, which offers free English lessons through the local congregation. We have a FriendSpeak program at our church, the Central Church in Cheviot, a suburb of Cincinnati (http://centralchurchofchrist.homestead.com), but we would like to reach a wider audience. We are wondering if any students at the University of Cincinnati or Cincinnati State University would be interested in free English lessons. We have at least ten qualified teachers who can help with reading and especially conversing in English. Thus the name of the organization: Let's Start Talking. It's a way to help our international friends improve their conversational English skills in a free, nonthreatening environment.
Having been to Brazil, Thailand twice, and Fiji on LST trips, I was definitely one of the "old-timers" there. But the excitement and enthusiasm of all, from newbies to oldsters, was contagious. I also learned more about FriendSpeak, which offers free English lessons through the local congregation. We have a FriendSpeak program at our church, the Central Church in Cheviot, a suburb of Cincinnati (http://centralchurchofchrist.homestead.com), but we would like to reach a wider audience. We are wondering if any students at the University of Cincinnati or Cincinnati State University would be interested in free English lessons. We have at least ten qualified teachers who can help with reading and especially conversing in English. Thus the name of the organization: Let's Start Talking. It's a way to help our international friends improve their conversational English skills in a free, nonthreatening environment.
Thursday, September 24, 2009
More Life and Death
Another death, another friend. This one older, but her death unexpected. Her family is in shock. The doctor told them she had only two to four months to live, and they could see her struggle to breathe, even with oxygen. The next day, as they were processing "two to four months to live," she died.
Her husband of 60 years has come undone. Within two days, he gave away his queen-size bed and bought a single. When I heard this, I recalled his wife's story to a small group at a women's retreat for our church. She said that a few weeks before that, she and her husband had lain in bed together and read "Song of Solomon" to each other, bit by bit, night after night. There was a hint of a giggle as she admitted it. As young women, we received an entirely new concept of mature love--the example of these grandparents who loved deeply and were still deeply in love, who included God's word in showing love to each other. What a blessed memory for me!
But of course he can't stand that bed now. Too many beautiful memories turned painful.
He wants no funeral, no flowers, no food. He wants no celebration. He cannot face celebrating a life well-lived in the reality of his loss. He has grudgingly agreed to a brief service at the cemetery chapel, his son speaking. There is no obituary in the newspaper. I think he really doesn't want anyone but family there.
We have been with their extended family through baptisms, weddings, births, unwed pregnancies, divorce, and now death. We have seen their children grow in faith and love, their children and grandchildren become missionaries. We consider ourselves family. We will be there to grieve with them, while privately we will rejoice that our friend is now breathing freely in God's own air.
Her husband of 60 years has come undone. Within two days, he gave away his queen-size bed and bought a single. When I heard this, I recalled his wife's story to a small group at a women's retreat for our church. She said that a few weeks before that, she and her husband had lain in bed together and read "Song of Solomon" to each other, bit by bit, night after night. There was a hint of a giggle as she admitted it. As young women, we received an entirely new concept of mature love--the example of these grandparents who loved deeply and were still deeply in love, who included God's word in showing love to each other. What a blessed memory for me!
But of course he can't stand that bed now. Too many beautiful memories turned painful.
He wants no funeral, no flowers, no food. He wants no celebration. He cannot face celebrating a life well-lived in the reality of his loss. He has grudgingly agreed to a brief service at the cemetery chapel, his son speaking. There is no obituary in the newspaper. I think he really doesn't want anyone but family there.
We have been with their extended family through baptisms, weddings, births, unwed pregnancies, divorce, and now death. We have seen their children grow in faith and love, their children and grandchildren become missionaries. We consider ourselves family. We will be there to grieve with them, while privately we will rejoice that our friend is now breathing freely in God's own air.
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
Back to the Blog
Some days just don't turn out as we expect, do they? This one didn't. I had my day mapped out to write, write, write. I wanted to reestablish this blog that I started in 2005 and have neglected ever since. I have a new *2010 Writers' Market* to peruse; I had a devotional thought during my Bible study time that I wanted to get on paper.
Then the painter called to come give an estimate. Of course I went to my Pilates class. I remembered an errand for a friend that I'd forgotten to do yesterday, and that took some time.
Back at home, I started getting calls about a friend who just died. Her death was not unexpedcted, but still sad for her family and wonderful for her. The last time I sat with her, I said, "Merry, I know you want to go be with Jesus. I hope you can go soon." So now she is there.
But the detritus of her life must be managed by her devastated family. "I always thought I was the strong one," her husband of 40 years admitted. "Now I know she was."
So we started planning the memorial service at the church building for Saturday afternoon, which seemed too easy. It was. There is a wedding scheduled there at 4:30 on Saturday. I called more people, more people called me. We changed to morning, and then I received two calls about the bride having an arch there, decorated well ahead of time. What to do about the arch?
I said, "It has to be moved in. Surely it could be moved aside for the funeral and then moved back." Neither of the bride's champions agreed with that option. I said, "Whatever you think," and hung up.
It is a situation of low-budget wedding meets low-budget funeral. Neither of these parties has even the usual resources for such events. I pray for them both and leave it up to God. He's so much better than I about handling such things. Look at all the experience Jesus had with weddings and funerals.
At least, I thought, I have dinner in the crock pot. But then my sweet husband comes home and wants to take me in his convertible down to the beautiful Ohio River for dinner, since pleasant warm nights are becoming rare and we should take advantage. He's right. I'd rather enjoy my life than just write about it. So I'm out of here.
Then the painter called to come give an estimate. Of course I went to my Pilates class. I remembered an errand for a friend that I'd forgotten to do yesterday, and that took some time.
Back at home, I started getting calls about a friend who just died. Her death was not unexpedcted, but still sad for her family and wonderful for her. The last time I sat with her, I said, "Merry, I know you want to go be with Jesus. I hope you can go soon." So now she is there.
But the detritus of her life must be managed by her devastated family. "I always thought I was the strong one," her husband of 40 years admitted. "Now I know she was."
So we started planning the memorial service at the church building for Saturday afternoon, which seemed too easy. It was. There is a wedding scheduled there at 4:30 on Saturday. I called more people, more people called me. We changed to morning, and then I received two calls about the bride having an arch there, decorated well ahead of time. What to do about the arch?
I said, "It has to be moved in. Surely it could be moved aside for the funeral and then moved back." Neither of the bride's champions agreed with that option. I said, "Whatever you think," and hung up.
It is a situation of low-budget wedding meets low-budget funeral. Neither of these parties has even the usual resources for such events. I pray for them both and leave it up to God. He's so much better than I about handling such things. Look at all the experience Jesus had with weddings and funerals.
At least, I thought, I have dinner in the crock pot. But then my sweet husband comes home and wants to take me in his convertible down to the beautiful Ohio River for dinner, since pleasant warm nights are becoming rare and we should take advantage. He's right. I'd rather enjoy my life than just write about it. So I'm out of here.
Wednesday, September 21, 2005
Our Betty
“Oh, I know just the person for you!” Lois Sutherland, a university colleague, told Steve in her slow, gravelly voice. “Betty’s cleaned for me for years. She’s a hard worker and does a great job. Very dependable. I’d trust her with anything. Here’s her number.” And thus began our employment of Betty--a job she kept for 27 years.
One day a friend came by and I started to introduce Betty. Then I realized that, though she had worked for us for quite a while, I didn’t even know her last name. That was pretty embarrassing. We worked on a “cash only” basis, so I never had any need to know her last name.
It’s hard for me to comprehend that Betty was only 48 when she came to work for us. To me she seemed ageless—kind of like a dependable Maytag washer that never needs anything but just keeps on working. Just think—she was twelve years younger than I am now. We have truly grown old together.
Betty’s first year was a year of changes for our family. Josh started to kindergarten at Johnson School across the street. I started teaching in Fort Thomas at Moyer School after teaching in the county for four years. Betty and I didn’t have much of a chance to get acquainted until the next summer when school was out and I was home when she was working. We discovered that each of us had worked at A. J. Jolly School, but not at the same time. Because of the year I taught there, I had a clear understanding of Betty’s 24-mile ride in to Fort Thomas each time she came to work.
It’s been pretty amazing that she has been so consistent in coming to work for us. No matter what the weather or who was sick or changed jobs, Betty always found a ride in to Fort Thomas where I would pick her up at the Fort, since she never learned to drive a car. When possible, Steve or I would also take her back there to meet her ride. When neither Steve nor I was available, she’d ride the TANK bus back to the Fort to meet her ride. At times, tennagers Josh or Kelsey drove her to the Fort.
She was as surprised as everyone else when we showed up with baby Kelsey one December day. So even though she’s known Josh since kindergarten, she’s known Kelsey all her life, and watched her grow up. Who would ever have thought, when she started to work for us, that she would stay with us until both children were grown and gone to homes of their own?
I remember when her daughter Paula was diagnosed with cancer, but I don’t recall the year. I went to St. Luke Hospital to see her and that’s when I met Betty’s family for the first time. We did a lot of praying for Paula, and look at how bountifully our prayers were answered! We were so fearful that she would not have these years she’s had, plus two healthy children and still going strong.
I remember when Betty’s brother died, because she took off one day from work. That was such a rare event! She also took off for her own surgeries, but would be back quicker than I would ever have thought possible.
There were some tough times for Betty when her mother-in-law was living with them, but she persevered. She was never one to shirk her duty.
For the first seven years, she came to our house on Cliffview Avenue every other week. After we moved to Winston Hill, she came weekly, which we greatly appreciated. Her only question when I told her she’d be cleaning a new house was, “How many bathrooms does it have?” She’s been a trooper with all the stairs in both houses.
Betty and I have talked about just about everything two women can talk about over the years. After all, when someone washes and folds your underwear and your husband’s underwear, every subject is pretty much fair game! We’ve prayed for each other and occasionally with each other.
Occasionally, in recent years, she’s actually taken vacation days. Glenn has been so kind as to take his mom and dad to distant places they never dreamed of seeing. New England, Canada, Hawaii. Hard for me to imagine Betty in her housedress and grizzled husband Glenn walking on the beach.
In December, she came walking in just as that big December snowstorm was starting. I had not expected to see her because of the weather, but her son Glenn had brought her in. That afternoon, as the snow piled deeper and higher, her work was finished and she was watching out the front window for Glenn to come.
“Betty, I think I’m going to have to pray you home today,” I said.
“Yes, I was just sitting here praying for Glenn to get here safely,” she said. Just then Glenn called to see if Steve could meet him. And, just as he’d done many times in good weather, Steve took her to meet her ride. He would have braved that blizzard for very few people.
I’m sure if we totaled the number of times our children saw Betty when they were growing up, it would be far more than any of their grandparents. Over the years she became a treasured and trusted friend and family member.
Often my friends would wish they "had a Betty."
We appreciate so much not only the work she did for us, but also her kind and Christian spirit in all she did. She is a part of our family, and we will miss talking to her every week. We wish her well as she moves on to a less busy time of life.
Betty, “The Lord bless you and keep you. The Lord make his face to shine upon you and be gracious to you; the Lord turn his face toward you and give you peace. “ (Numbers 6:24-26)
We will love you forever.
One day a friend came by and I started to introduce Betty. Then I realized that, though she had worked for us for quite a while, I didn’t even know her last name. That was pretty embarrassing. We worked on a “cash only” basis, so I never had any need to know her last name.
It’s hard for me to comprehend that Betty was only 48 when she came to work for us. To me she seemed ageless—kind of like a dependable Maytag washer that never needs anything but just keeps on working. Just think—she was twelve years younger than I am now. We have truly grown old together.
Betty’s first year was a year of changes for our family. Josh started to kindergarten at Johnson School across the street. I started teaching in Fort Thomas at Moyer School after teaching in the county for four years. Betty and I didn’t have much of a chance to get acquainted until the next summer when school was out and I was home when she was working. We discovered that each of us had worked at A. J. Jolly School, but not at the same time. Because of the year I taught there, I had a clear understanding of Betty’s 24-mile ride in to Fort Thomas each time she came to work.
It’s been pretty amazing that she has been so consistent in coming to work for us. No matter what the weather or who was sick or changed jobs, Betty always found a ride in to Fort Thomas where I would pick her up at the Fort, since she never learned to drive a car. When possible, Steve or I would also take her back there to meet her ride. When neither Steve nor I was available, she’d ride the TANK bus back to the Fort to meet her ride. At times, tennagers Josh or Kelsey drove her to the Fort.
She was as surprised as everyone else when we showed up with baby Kelsey one December day. So even though she’s known Josh since kindergarten, she’s known Kelsey all her life, and watched her grow up. Who would ever have thought, when she started to work for us, that she would stay with us until both children were grown and gone to homes of their own?
I remember when her daughter Paula was diagnosed with cancer, but I don’t recall the year. I went to St. Luke Hospital to see her and that’s when I met Betty’s family for the first time. We did a lot of praying for Paula, and look at how bountifully our prayers were answered! We were so fearful that she would not have these years she’s had, plus two healthy children and still going strong.
I remember when Betty’s brother died, because she took off one day from work. That was such a rare event! She also took off for her own surgeries, but would be back quicker than I would ever have thought possible.
There were some tough times for Betty when her mother-in-law was living with them, but she persevered. She was never one to shirk her duty.
For the first seven years, she came to our house on Cliffview Avenue every other week. After we moved to Winston Hill, she came weekly, which we greatly appreciated. Her only question when I told her she’d be cleaning a new house was, “How many bathrooms does it have?” She’s been a trooper with all the stairs in both houses.
Betty and I have talked about just about everything two women can talk about over the years. After all, when someone washes and folds your underwear and your husband’s underwear, every subject is pretty much fair game! We’ve prayed for each other and occasionally with each other.
Occasionally, in recent years, she’s actually taken vacation days. Glenn has been so kind as to take his mom and dad to distant places they never dreamed of seeing. New England, Canada, Hawaii. Hard for me to imagine Betty in her housedress and grizzled husband Glenn walking on the beach.
In December, she came walking in just as that big December snowstorm was starting. I had not expected to see her because of the weather, but her son Glenn had brought her in. That afternoon, as the snow piled deeper and higher, her work was finished and she was watching out the front window for Glenn to come.
“Betty, I think I’m going to have to pray you home today,” I said.
“Yes, I was just sitting here praying for Glenn to get here safely,” she said. Just then Glenn called to see if Steve could meet him. And, just as he’d done many times in good weather, Steve took her to meet her ride. He would have braved that blizzard for very few people.
I’m sure if we totaled the number of times our children saw Betty when they were growing up, it would be far more than any of their grandparents. Over the years she became a treasured and trusted friend and family member.
Often my friends would wish they "had a Betty."
We appreciate so much not only the work she did for us, but also her kind and Christian spirit in all she did. She is a part of our family, and we will miss talking to her every week. We wish her well as she moves on to a less busy time of life.
Betty, “The Lord bless you and keep you. The Lord make his face to shine upon you and be gracious to you; the Lord turn his face toward you and give you peace. “ (Numbers 6:24-26)
We will love you forever.
Friday, August 26, 2005
Be Mean or Not Be Mean
Since my children have become adults and I’m farther and farther from my role in their childhood, I find myself feeling more lenient toward my grandchild and young children of others. I’m not the generation that has to correct and mold their lives.
I see parents that want to be friends with their children and thus do not take their parenting duties seriously. I hear them say, “I know I shouldn’t let her do that, but I just can’t say ‘no’ to her.” It makes me want to shake that person until her teeth rattle, saying, “Don’t you LOVE your child enough to be firm?” I think James 4:13 applies here: “Anyone, then, who knows the good he ought to do and doesn’t do it, sins.”
At church once, I was guilty of saying to a young mother, “You were more distracting in your reprimands than your children were in what they were doing!” But I admire her greatly for being firm with her children.
I’ve had doubts about all the times I was so harsh with my children. At the time I felt that it was the only thing to do for their good. So I’ll go through some of the memories I’ve had lately.
When Kelsey was two, I read Dr. Dobson’s The Strong-Willed Child. I tried some of his ideas and they worked, so I read the book again. The advice there was invaluable to me. It covers all ages from a Christian perspective. The other one I read and re-read was Haim Ginott’s Between Parent and Child. His practical outlook helped me keep a balance in my parenting.
I especially remember Ginott’s advice about compliments and use it to this day. Not “You are a fantastic person,” for none of us really believes that about ourselves, but “You picked up your toys very quickly. Thanks for responding when I asked you to help,” which is acceptable and believable and enhances the child’s self-image.
I remember requiring my child to return the award that had been acquired due to lying about a score.
I remember spanking over and over until my child was exhausted and so was I, but I would NOT allow my children to go against my will when I was certain what was best for them.
I remember driving my 14-year-old daughter two hours to a youth rally when I knew her real motivation was to meet a boy that would be there. In that kind of thing I seemed to spoil her, because I knew that I would always be within a few yards of where she was.
When she wanted to visit him and his family in a nearby town for the weekend, we were adamant that that would not happen, over her tears and recriminations—“He’s a Christian!” Right. So was she, but they were also hormone-driven teenagers. I am very glad I stuck to my guns and she was never alone with a boy (to my knowledge, of course—I’m realistic as well) until she was over sixteen.
I remember the arguments over clothing—the struggle to buy shorts that came to her fingertips—“But you can’t buy shorts that long!” Yes, you could if you looked hard enough. After such a struggle with shorts, the short skirt issue was already decided. Her dad would give her lectures on what guys really think and feel and spared no detail.
Allowing a group to go together as freshmen to a Homecoming Dance was the biggest concession we’d made up to that point. It wasn’t the beginning of dating, because she knew she wouldn’t date until she was sixteen, a fact loudly bemoaned. We were fortunate that her closest friends’ parents had the same values we had, so she had girls to hang out with when she couldn’t yet date. Her dad teased her that she could date when she was 25, and there were times she feared he meant it.
We never set a curfew for either child, such as “Now that you’re 17, you can stay out past midnight,” for we felt that that was asking for trouble. There might be time to fill, for no one wants to get home before curfew. Instead, we found out before they left all the places they were going, who would be in the car with them, who would be at their destination, and about how long it would last. Then we would tell them the time we expected them home. If they were to be a minute late, they were to call, and of course that was before cell phones.
I remember a flying trip that Steve took to counsel with our college-age son about the seriousness of his romantic relationship and the importance of purity. Knowing his dad had gone to such lengths to talk to him and her about it emphasized our concern that sexual purity be a priority for them.
I think of how closely we monitored our children’s friendships, and how often we would question the wisdom of spending time with certain people. We encouraged them to bring anyone to our home, but were very cautious about where we let them go, being sure there was always a responsible adult—someone we knew, not just any adult—in charge.
Even at church gatherings, from toddlerhood on, we tried to always know where our children were and who they were talking to. With each, at different times, we required that they talk to two adults—extended, not perfunctory, conversations—after each church service before they could talk to their friends. Talk about resentment! But they knew that if they couldn’t report on the conversations on the way home, more privileges would be revoked.
I tried to hide my amusement when the adults raved about how sweet my children were and that the other children never paid any attention to them. (I’d learned that “punishment” from my own parents.)
Once, when our son was about eight years old, he was late being ready to go to church on Sunday morning because he was reading the comics. His father informed him that he could not read the comics before church for a year! It was a long year, but I’m guessing that to this day he hesitates to read the comics on Sunday morning. I know that his childhood punishments—admittedly harsh—for lying have made him into the most honest person I know.
I had a fear that if I showed too much grace and mercy to my children that they would run all over me. I saw the children of my friends and was appalled at what they got by with. I think we need to model grace and mercy in our dealings with others and explain that to our children, but consistent firmness with children is the only way to be a responsible parent.
We rejected wholly the idea of reasoning with a toddler. We believed that a small amount of carefully-delivered pain was the best teacher. I’ve also seen perfectly lovely adults who were never punished physically as a child, so I’m not saying my way is the only way, but that’s what worked for us. We had standards to which our children had to adhere—for their own good.
Shortly before our son’s twelfth birthday, he searched all the closets until he found his gift—a special game he’d yearned for. When I got it out to wrap it, I could tell it had been played with, so I wrapped the empty box with a note: “When you find the contents of this box, you may have it. It doesn’t pay to snoop around about your gifts.”
His room was always a disaster, (one of the battles I chose to fight only occasionally) so I hid it under some clutter I’d asked him several times to clear away. It was weeks later that he discovered his toy, but of course the joy of it was gone. I probably went too far on that one. That was really mean of me. I know Steve feels that way about the comics punishment and some of the times he spanked the children.
One thing we were perfectly clear on was that we weren’t meant to be our children’s pals. We enjoyed playing with them and being together. Steve would have “fun time” each evening after dinner while I cleaned up the kitchen. Then gradually they began taking over that chore and accepting more responsibility and we cut back to “Fun Night,” a designated night of the week with which nothing was allowed to interfere.
So what’s the point of this confession? A few years removed from even having teens, I think about what I did right and wrong as a parent. I’m embarrassed at some of my actions, but they were because I wanted so much to train my children “in the way that they should go so that when they are old they will not depart from it.” We never demeaned our children, but disciplined them to encourage them to be better people. “You’re a better person than this” was our message.
My mother told me recently that she was called to the bedside of one of my childhood friends. Joyce said, “You know when you wouldn’t let Lanita so riding with us, and wouldn’t let her get in the car with boys? We thought you were so mean, but now I wish my own mother had stopped me instead of letting me do anything I wanted to.” Of course we knew her mother. She was a loving mother, but had a weak will when it came to her children.
My children aren’t yet old, but they are mature, responsible adults of whom we are very proud. When I start regretting all the ways in which I demanded and punished, I look at the end product. I am not ashamed of them, nor disappointed in them. They are God-focused in their lives, marrying or married to Christians. Funny thing, too—their friends think they’re being too strict with their daughter. When God is the center of your decisions, I don’t think you can be too strict, because that keeps you from going to far—into abusive behavior. I certainly don’t condone abuse, but discipline. Bobby Brewer used to talk about the true meaning of discipline—helping the person to become a disciple, or follower, of what is good.
Proverbs 13:24 says it very succinctly: “He who spares the rod hates his son, but he who loves him is careful to discipline him.” This is the very reason my children have always known that we love them deeply.
Now that we are adults, we can finally be friends. I don’t have to be mean any more.
I see parents that want to be friends with their children and thus do not take their parenting duties seriously. I hear them say, “I know I shouldn’t let her do that, but I just can’t say ‘no’ to her.” It makes me want to shake that person until her teeth rattle, saying, “Don’t you LOVE your child enough to be firm?” I think James 4:13 applies here: “Anyone, then, who knows the good he ought to do and doesn’t do it, sins.”
At church once, I was guilty of saying to a young mother, “You were more distracting in your reprimands than your children were in what they were doing!” But I admire her greatly for being firm with her children.
I’ve had doubts about all the times I was so harsh with my children. At the time I felt that it was the only thing to do for their good. So I’ll go through some of the memories I’ve had lately.
When Kelsey was two, I read Dr. Dobson’s The Strong-Willed Child. I tried some of his ideas and they worked, so I read the book again. The advice there was invaluable to me. It covers all ages from a Christian perspective. The other one I read and re-read was Haim Ginott’s Between Parent and Child. His practical outlook helped me keep a balance in my parenting.
I especially remember Ginott’s advice about compliments and use it to this day. Not “You are a fantastic person,” for none of us really believes that about ourselves, but “You picked up your toys very quickly. Thanks for responding when I asked you to help,” which is acceptable and believable and enhances the child’s self-image.
I remember requiring my child to return the award that had been acquired due to lying about a score.
I remember spanking over and over until my child was exhausted and so was I, but I would NOT allow my children to go against my will when I was certain what was best for them.
I remember driving my 14-year-old daughter two hours to a youth rally when I knew her real motivation was to meet a boy that would be there. In that kind of thing I seemed to spoil her, because I knew that I would always be within a few yards of where she was.
When she wanted to visit him and his family in a nearby town for the weekend, we were adamant that that would not happen, over her tears and recriminations—“He’s a Christian!” Right. So was she, but they were also hormone-driven teenagers. I am very glad I stuck to my guns and she was never alone with a boy (to my knowledge, of course—I’m realistic as well) until she was over sixteen.
I remember the arguments over clothing—the struggle to buy shorts that came to her fingertips—“But you can’t buy shorts that long!” Yes, you could if you looked hard enough. After such a struggle with shorts, the short skirt issue was already decided. Her dad would give her lectures on what guys really think and feel and spared no detail.
Allowing a group to go together as freshmen to a Homecoming Dance was the biggest concession we’d made up to that point. It wasn’t the beginning of dating, because she knew she wouldn’t date until she was sixteen, a fact loudly bemoaned. We were fortunate that her closest friends’ parents had the same values we had, so she had girls to hang out with when she couldn’t yet date. Her dad teased her that she could date when she was 25, and there were times she feared he meant it.
We never set a curfew for either child, such as “Now that you’re 17, you can stay out past midnight,” for we felt that that was asking for trouble. There might be time to fill, for no one wants to get home before curfew. Instead, we found out before they left all the places they were going, who would be in the car with them, who would be at their destination, and about how long it would last. Then we would tell them the time we expected them home. If they were to be a minute late, they were to call, and of course that was before cell phones.
I remember a flying trip that Steve took to counsel with our college-age son about the seriousness of his romantic relationship and the importance of purity. Knowing his dad had gone to such lengths to talk to him and her about it emphasized our concern that sexual purity be a priority for them.
I think of how closely we monitored our children’s friendships, and how often we would question the wisdom of spending time with certain people. We encouraged them to bring anyone to our home, but were very cautious about where we let them go, being sure there was always a responsible adult—someone we knew, not just any adult—in charge.
Even at church gatherings, from toddlerhood on, we tried to always know where our children were and who they were talking to. With each, at different times, we required that they talk to two adults—extended, not perfunctory, conversations—after each church service before they could talk to their friends. Talk about resentment! But they knew that if they couldn’t report on the conversations on the way home, more privileges would be revoked.
I tried to hide my amusement when the adults raved about how sweet my children were and that the other children never paid any attention to them. (I’d learned that “punishment” from my own parents.)
Once, when our son was about eight years old, he was late being ready to go to church on Sunday morning because he was reading the comics. His father informed him that he could not read the comics before church for a year! It was a long year, but I’m guessing that to this day he hesitates to read the comics on Sunday morning. I know that his childhood punishments—admittedly harsh—for lying have made him into the most honest person I know.
I had a fear that if I showed too much grace and mercy to my children that they would run all over me. I saw the children of my friends and was appalled at what they got by with. I think we need to model grace and mercy in our dealings with others and explain that to our children, but consistent firmness with children is the only way to be a responsible parent.
We rejected wholly the idea of reasoning with a toddler. We believed that a small amount of carefully-delivered pain was the best teacher. I’ve also seen perfectly lovely adults who were never punished physically as a child, so I’m not saying my way is the only way, but that’s what worked for us. We had standards to which our children had to adhere—for their own good.
Shortly before our son’s twelfth birthday, he searched all the closets until he found his gift—a special game he’d yearned for. When I got it out to wrap it, I could tell it had been played with, so I wrapped the empty box with a note: “When you find the contents of this box, you may have it. It doesn’t pay to snoop around about your gifts.”
His room was always a disaster, (one of the battles I chose to fight only occasionally) so I hid it under some clutter I’d asked him several times to clear away. It was weeks later that he discovered his toy, but of course the joy of it was gone. I probably went too far on that one. That was really mean of me. I know Steve feels that way about the comics punishment and some of the times he spanked the children.
One thing we were perfectly clear on was that we weren’t meant to be our children’s pals. We enjoyed playing with them and being together. Steve would have “fun time” each evening after dinner while I cleaned up the kitchen. Then gradually they began taking over that chore and accepting more responsibility and we cut back to “Fun Night,” a designated night of the week with which nothing was allowed to interfere.
So what’s the point of this confession? A few years removed from even having teens, I think about what I did right and wrong as a parent. I’m embarrassed at some of my actions, but they were because I wanted so much to train my children “in the way that they should go so that when they are old they will not depart from it.” We never demeaned our children, but disciplined them to encourage them to be better people. “You’re a better person than this” was our message.
My mother told me recently that she was called to the bedside of one of my childhood friends. Joyce said, “You know when you wouldn’t let Lanita so riding with us, and wouldn’t let her get in the car with boys? We thought you were so mean, but now I wish my own mother had stopped me instead of letting me do anything I wanted to.” Of course we knew her mother. She was a loving mother, but had a weak will when it came to her children.
My children aren’t yet old, but they are mature, responsible adults of whom we are very proud. When I start regretting all the ways in which I demanded and punished, I look at the end product. I am not ashamed of them, nor disappointed in them. They are God-focused in their lives, marrying or married to Christians. Funny thing, too—their friends think they’re being too strict with their daughter. When God is the center of your decisions, I don’t think you can be too strict, because that keeps you from going to far—into abusive behavior. I certainly don’t condone abuse, but discipline. Bobby Brewer used to talk about the true meaning of discipline—helping the person to become a disciple, or follower, of what is good.
Proverbs 13:24 says it very succinctly: “He who spares the rod hates his son, but he who loves him is careful to discipline him.” This is the very reason my children have always known that we love them deeply.
Now that we are adults, we can finally be friends. I don’t have to be mean any more.
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