FIND A WORD

                                                                          
                                                            

                                                            

It's so good to have men that mimick the attributes and character of God, enabling their little darlings to

get just a glimpse of our Heavenly Father.

What words pop into your mind when you hear the word "Dad"?  Maybe, protection.  A good dad will make his child feel safe.  Crawling into his lap during a thunderstorm; having him check under the bed for monsters;  looking mean at the scrawny boy who's taking his daughter on her first date;  securing his daughter's arm as she walks down the aisle to marry that scrawny boy.

I will both lay me down in peace, and sleep: for thou, Lord, only makest me dwell in safety.  Ps. 4:8

How about hard working?  Having dad walk in from a long and hard day's work, being exhausted but still getting down in the floor to wrestle;  after eight to ten hours on the job, then mowing and weedeating the yard; going to ballgames and events even though he's bone weary.

But my God shall supply all your need according to his riches in glory by Christ Jesus.  Philippians 4:19.

There's always the dreaded word....discipline.  This word has a love/hate thing going on.  We love to know there's structure, but we hate having to accomodate that structure.  It's nice to know everything's orderly, but not fun having to create order.  I think of bedrooms.  There were lots and lots of "discussions" over bedrooms in our house.  I wanted order.  No one wanted to create that order.  Bedrooms were a thorn in my flesh, but for others it was a place of pretend, giggles, and wrestling. However, when the disorder became unbearable, to the point of pulling out my hair and my face being a weird shade of red, dad would step in.  There would be romping, loud noises, and flashes of little boys running around, until a large shadow would fill the door....DAD!  Romping stopped, noises ceased, and all you could see of little boys were big eyes staring at DAD in anticipation. A stern voice, a glaring look, and all of a sudden there was lots of action in creating order once again.  I don't get it.  I guess it's hard to take serious, a high pitched, southern accented voice, and my glaring look always got giggles, so thank goodness for Dad.

If ye endure chastening, God dealeth with you as with sons;for what son is he whom the father chasteneth not?  Hebrews 12:7

How about the word, fun or laughter.  There has to be a sense of humor in being a dad.  If you didn't laugh at some of the things going on in the house, there surely would be tears and nervous breakdowns on a daily basis.  This past weekend, there was a dvd of an old game my son played in showing on the tv.  My son and husband were watching it, and I was watching them.  You see, my husband was the coach of my son at that time, so they were reliving the moment.  The team would do something, and Tim would be talking to the tv, coaching them again. My son would sit there and laugh because Tim was getting so engrossed in the game again.  While I was sitting there watching them interact that way, I couldn't help but laugh. We were having fun over the fun that we'd already had! How funny.
Tim could make the boys laugh when they were young, and now, get togethers are filled with laughter and stories of fun times.  Laughter and sense of humor is a way of forgetting the humdrum of every day
existence, it helps cope with all the struggles we have day in and day out. I look around at people that
never smile or laugh, and just see someone existing, not living life.

I'm so glad that God had a sense of humor, I mean, look at a giraffe with that long neck; or a hippo with
those tiny little ears and that enormous grin that goes from little ear to little ear; or the time our teens
went to Costa Rica and we were stranded in the airport for over eight hours, only to accidently pass by a pile of suitcases sitting in the hallway...wait a minute!  Those were our suitcases!  They hadn't been put on the plane and if we'd boarded, we would have been in Costa Rica for ten days with no clothes!  We laughed and laughed about how God was probably sitting in heaven, just shaking his head because it took us so long to figure out the situation.
So, yea, I think God has a sense of humor...silly looking animals, crazy situations, and my ears (we'll not go there).

A merry heart doeth good like a medicine: but a broken spirit drieth the bones. Proverbs 17:22

And then, there's the word everpresent...always there.  Dad is there when he sees his little precious breath their first breath of life.  Dad is there for first steps, first words, and first dates.  He's there for the victories in sports events and he's there when a heart has been crushed.  Yea, a good dad takes care to just be there.

Whither shall I go from thy spirit? or whither shall I flee from thy presence?  If I ascend up into heaven,
thou art there: if I make my bed in hell, behold, thou art there.  If I take the wings of the morning, and
dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea; Even there shall thy hand lead me, and they right hand shall hold
me.  If I say, Surely the darkness shall cover me; even the night shall be light about me.  Yea, the
darkness hideth not from thee; but the night shineth as the day:  Psalms 139:7-12

So, young dads, if you're out there scratching your heads, trying to figure this "dad" thing out...just read
the Bible.  You'll get lots of clues on what to do, where to go, and how to act.  And if that doesn't work,
find an older dad out there that's lost his hair, has a few scars, but still has a smile on his face.  He
knows how it works...he's already been there, done that.

I Love You Biggerest

I Love You Biggerest

We have no idea of the love of God. We say to Him, I love you, and he probably looks at us with a smile of tolerance. God's love for us is on such a different level that the words don't even mean the same thing. His love is so much more, so much different, so much bigger.

I love you biggerest. That's what we always said to each other, my little boy and I.

It was sort of a game...who loved who the biggerest, but our love to each other was so different, it's hard to tell who won.

When he looked out of those big, blue eyes with a child's innocence written across his face, he had no idea what mommy's love was made of.

My love consisted of something bigger, something greater than his little child's mind could comprehend. My love existed before he was ever born. When he was safely enclosed in my body, I loved him. When his movements reminded me that a life grew within me, I loved him. And, when I travailed to the point of death, I loved him.

The love that we give and receive, as mommies, is just so much more. We begin our process of showing love after the birth of our little cherubims. I mean, who else but a mother will stumble through the first six months of a baby's life in pure exhaustion, remembering those long forgotten days of sleeping until you actually just woke up? They say that a form of torture that is used to weaken prisoners is sleep depravation, but I say to you, it's not torture, it's motherhood.

We go through infantry (the life of an infant) smelling like milk, spit up, and other odors of unnamed sources, smiling at our husbands with smears of baby food on our faces. Our hair doesn't see a comb unless it's an absolute emergency and sweats become the infantry uniform. No, it's not pretty, but we survive, and now we are introduced to the life of a toddler.

We usually get more sleep during this phase, but we are wakened with the sounds of things breaking, someone screaming, or by that weird feeling of someone looking at you and you open your eyes to a little person staring at you, standing there with a stuffed animal that has lost it's eyes and most it's stuffing, long ago. There's lots of story books, changing clothes, and mud during this phase. There's new goals...no more binky, no more bottle, and no more diapers. There's lots of peekaboo, grandparents acting goofy, and parties around the potty chair.

We've spent all our time and energy making little independent replicas of ourselves only to be heartbroken as they take their first step onto the schoolbus, in the next phase. We have crayon works of art on our walls and refrigerator, we have dried bouquets of dandelions drooping in a glass because we can't bring ourselves to throw it out, and we have our first moment of outrage that our perfect angel gets a check mark beside of "talks too much" on their report card.

Preteen and teen years are the funnest and most exciting years of all. However, from about 12 years old to graduation, it goes so fast that our heads are still spinning until its time to send them off on their own, and we yell, "Hey, wait a minute! I'm not ready! Come back here!" And then, they're gone.

So, yea, I think I won the game. I think I can probably say, "I love you biggerest" and know its the truth.

Now,....where's that grand baby? Grammy has something to tell her....I love you biggerest!

Jeremiah 1:5a. Before I formed thee in the belly I knew thee;
 Psalms 139:14,17-18. I will praise thee; for I am fearfully and wonderfully made: marvelous are thy works; and that my soul knoweth right well.
How precious also are thy thoughts unto me, O God! How great is the sum of them! If I should count them, they are more in number than the sand: when I awake I am still with thee.

What a Beautiful Song

I don't know how I went from being "mom" to being a funny talking, always gushing, there's nobody like my grandbabies "grammy", but I'm definitely there.  I can whip out my iphone faster than any quick draw gunslinger and have those grandbaby pictures in your face before you can say "I've already seen them a thousand times!"

I had the chance to hang out with one of the prettiest, smartest, absolute most adorable little babies I've ever seen.  Oh, and did I mention that she is my granddaughter?

Okay, okay, I am exaggerating a little...I think.  I'm not sure anymore because becoming a grandparent does something to the brain cells.  I don't think rationally anymore.  Like the time my oldest granddaughter was in a beauty pageant and grammy bought her a "casual" outfit that cost more than my first tv. (I think....again, the brain cells)  Or the time I kept one of my grandbabies for a few days when she was an infant and I slept with her bed in my bed.  How else could I make sure she would be okay?  It was a little bed anyway, so it made sense at the time. (brain cells)

Well, back to the story of spending a few days with grandbaby #4.  She's a doll.  All my grandbabies have something special about them.  #1 loves gardening and has his own garden every summer.  He also likes to tell grammy what she's doing wrong in her garden. 

#2 loves to read.  We spent hours swinging outside on the bench swing not saying anything, just reading.  She loves to read, just like grammy.  She's a cheerleader, just like grammy (approximately 150 years ago).  And she loves bling, just like grammy.

#3 loves...well....just about anything, except loud noises.  She's got some kind of inner rythm that comes out to any kind of music, but her favorite song is "You are my Sunshine" reworded to "You are my Bugaboo."   She loves smiling and grammy's jewelry.

Back to the story of grandbaby #4.  I spent several days with her, and each day I loved hearing her sing.  Yes, she's only 5 months old, but I'm telling you she can sing.  It's so beautiful and I loved hearing it everyday.  Well, of course it didn't have words!  She can't talk, she's only 5 months old!   Do you think I'm nuts?!  (don't answer that)  But it was music.  At least to my ears it was. 

Every morning, I'd go say hi to her.  She'd smile.  I'd smile.  She would try to get to grammy's arms, I couldn't wait to feel her soft body snuggled in my arms.   Then it would begin....the most beautiful song I've ever heard.  Sometimes it would go really high, sometimes low, sometimes very loud, and sometimes just a whisper, but beautiful all the same. 

I'm back home, now, and I sure wish I could hear that song.

Mom

"Mommy."  What a sweet word.  We go over and over it with our little, toothless cherubs.  While we're feeding them, we say, "say mommy", while we're bathing them, "say, ma ma", changing diapers, "say mom mom," and holding them, "say mommy."

And then, one day, they look at us and say, "mleh" and we gush and call everyone we know and tell them that our little genius just said mommy.

In just a few years, it seems that is the only word we hear.  We have a houseful of kids that constantly want mom.  We go in the laundry room and hope to drown out the incessant yell for mom.  We go in the bathroom and lock the door while little miniature people bang on it pleading for mom.  And as soon as we get on the telephone, they gather round with a chorus of "mom".

I saw a cartoon clip where this poor mother was laying on her bed with a glazed look in her eyes while her little boy stood beside the bed saying, "mom mom mom mommy mommy mommy mum mum mum mummy mom mom mom mom."  She finally comes out of her daze and yells, "WHAT!" He says, "hi", turns around and runs away giggling.

At the time, it wasn't much to laugh at, but now I look back on those days with a smile.

From the first glance of our little wrinkled person, we are already beginning to make plans.  We immediately start trying to make them independent.  We try to get them to sleep all night.  It's all we think about.  It's our goal in life.

Then, a little later, we begin to let them hold the bottle, then the cup, then the spoon.  And, eventually, they begin to want to dress themselves. ( I have memories of shorts, cowboy boots, no shirt, and a baseball cap.)

They hold the pencil in their hand, tongue pressed out in concentration, a small frown between their eyes, and then a look of ecstasy crosses their face when they make their first "A".  And pretty soon there are nonstop papers to hang on the refrigerator with scribbled crayon marks, stick figures and smiling suns.

Before you know it, we're not allowed to rush up and hug them in front of classmates.  You start hearing some girl's (or boy's) name over and over in conversations.  And then.....a date!

You start thinking, wait a minute....slow down....not yet!  It's all going too fast, it's getting out of our control....STOP!  But it doesn't.  It just continues on, and they're doing exactly what we've taught them from our first introduction to each other.  Independence.

When they are small, we're too busy raising them to see what's going on right before our eyes, and suddenly, we turn around, and in place of that chubby little person is a young man or young woman.

Sad?  Yea, at first.  Lonely?  For awhile.  Then, there comes the pride.  Not a sinful pride of anything we've done, but a pride that comes with accomplishing a goal.  The goal was to make productive, God fearing adults.  It was to make a person that will be okay, a person that can make it on their own, a person who is independent. 

Goal accomplished.

The days of hearing the word "mom" for the ten thousandth time in one day, grating on frazzled nerves will be over soon enough.  It's replaced with "mom" and hearing a lifetime of I love you's, as being introduced as "my mom" and being a title of honor, and knowing that my independent adult children will do anything to take care of "mom."


Proverbs 23:24,25  The father of the righteous shall greatly rejoice: and he that begetteth a wise child shall have joy of him.  Thy father and thy mother shall be glad, and she that bear thee shall rejoice.

I Am So Blessed

It's been a rough few months. Well, actually, it's been a rough few years. Not to dwell too much on the details, I'll just hit the highlights. It started when my sister had to have shoulder surgery and they found out she had lung disease. Shortly after, my mom moved away and I went through some sad times. My sister's husband was diagnosed with brain cancer and we watched as his life faded away. We lost both my mother in law and father in law within six months. My grandson, who is autistic, had to be sent to a home because of his violent aggression, one of our darling, sweet nieces died of cancer, we had to put my mother in a nursing home and now my sister is in the hospital with heart failure.

Sometimes I wonder how people make it through hard times and then I look around and I'm one of those people.

I was thinking about my sister this morning and was feeling a little down, so I decided to get out the pictures of my grand kids. That's it! That's what I do. I have to take a break from all the sadness and look at how I've been blessed. It's not some rocket science answer, it's just a simple solution...there truly is always some kind of "good" in our lives. Even if it's just looking out and seeing sunshine, its something.

I mean, really, how can we stay defeated when we look into the little, chubby faces of grand babies, and how can we not be lifted when we see our own smiles reflected in our grand kids faces?

If we can't see God's blessings and God's grace in these faces, then, undoubtedly, we're blind.  "And of his fullness have all we received, and grace for grace." John 1:16

They will always bring a smile, no matter what circumstances I face, and I will always feel blessed to be a part of their lives. 

"Behold, chldren are a heritage from the Lord, the fruit of the womb is his reward. Psalms 127:3

                                                       

That Beautiful Smile

I hope my dear friends will bear with me one more time as I try to honor our niece.  All my friends know that we've seen our dear niece, Ashley, go from living life to it's fullest to passing on in death.  It's been a horrible experience.  It's been horrible to see her weaken in sickness.  It's been horrible to see her husband struggling through the experience, and it's been horrible seeing her little boys cry from being heartbroken and not understanding where mommy is.  Oh, Lord, my heart is grieving.

But in spite of it all, there is one thing that God gives in the midst of all our misery, and that is memories.  Ashley was a cute little pixie of a girl who loved pickles more than candy.  She giggled at everything and was always ready for some fun.  She was beautiful inside and out, and the center of all that beauty was her smile.  I wrote a poem for her and about her, and (thank God for his strength) was able to read it at her memorial service today.  I hope you can catch a little glimpse of our Ashley.

                                               THAT BEAUTIFUL SMILE

She arrived in town, on a warm summer day,

  after nine months being snuggled safely away.

She was all pink and girly, with a soft, white downy head

  and as they cuddled together in that hospital bed,
Her mother looked down and told her, "I've been waiting awhile"
  and in her mind, she already knew that beautiful smile.

She toddled through life those first few years,
  falling, laughing, giggling, and shedding very few tears.
She became her cousin's best little friend
  they ran, played, and rode big wheels until each day's end.
Her hair was snow white, her face usually dirty, but all the while
  she captured our hearts with that beautiful smile.

Her days were full of friends and family and Curious George, too
  while most kids ate popsicles, she had a pickle or two.
All of the community was her back yard
  and staying away from Mamaw and Papaw's was awfully hard.
Running through their house like a little juvenile
  they didn't care as long as they saw that beautiful smile.

She grew to be a girl full of action and fun
  How can you be daddy's little girl, a diva, and a tomboy, all in one?
School was easy with science, literature, mathmatics and fractions
  Until one day, way too soon, boys became main attractions.
But she captured one boy's heart, and to resist was futile
  It was too late because he saw that beautiful smile!

She and the cousin, who was her best friend
  came full circle and were together again.
In college, new friends made, old acquaintances renewed
  still playing games, still being silly, just with a new attitude.
These games included water balloons in a stockpile
  but she could get away with anything with that beautiful smile.

She became a professional, a wife and a mother
  she worked hard and loved hard, like no other.
There were days of exhaustion, no makeup, bad hair,
  toys underfoot, kids crying, despair.
Even in disarry, her husband saw the girl who walked down the aisle
  and captured his heart with that beautiful smile.

When sickness took over and no hope was in sight
  her faith wasn't shaken, on and on she would fight.
But finally, when she closed her eyes here for the very last time
  she opened them in heaven with it's beauty, sublime.

Her cousin, her sister, her grandparents await
  they're laughing and waving to her at the gate.
They grab her and hug her and show her around
  never has such beauty in her life been found.
They tell her all pain is over, and never another trial
  and they are amazed at that beautiful smile!

They tell her they have someone they want her to meet
  They take her by the hand to sit at His feet.
She wants to thank Him, and how she tries
  But she's never, ever seen such love as shown in His eyes.
He leans down to touch her, and it's all worthwhile
  when He says He's the One that gave her that beautiful smile.

Just a Little Overwhelmed

I don't know.  Is it just me or does everyone else feel overwhelmed sometimes. 

I'm a fix it person.  I don't like whining or complaining about something if you're not going to fix it.  Just get over whatever it is, pull yourself up by the bootstraps and fix it.  But right now, I can't fix it.

I've got a dear mom who fell and broke her leg.  I can't fix it.  She's dealing with some dementia.  I can't fix that either.  My darling neice is dying a little more each day with cancer.  I can't do a thing.  My  grandson is autistic and is dealing with more things than a little boy should ever have to, and grammy can't fix anything.

So what use am I??  What good is it to see them everyday going through all these trials and I can't do a blessed thing???

I know I'm usually the silly one, the goofy grandma, the one cracking jokes, but today I just can't laugh.  I'm overwhelmed.  However.......

....I have a great big God, who is the beginning and the end; the Almighty God, who is never overwhelmed; the Prince of Peace, who gives comfort when there is no other comfort; He's a father to the fatherless, and watched over me through all the careless years I had without a father;  the Creator of the universe, from the peaks of Mt. Everest, to the little tiny crickets in my backyard, and He knows my name.  He knows how many hairs are on my head and how many freckles are on my face (and that's quite a few!)  He knows the thoughts inside my head, and he even knows when there's absolutely nothing going on in there (which is quite often).  He knows my name. 

 I just can't get over that.  In spite of the bazillions of other things that are so important, and the bazillions of other people, He still knows me.  He knows where I am, He knows my heart is breaking, and He knows that I am a "fix it" person and that I feel helpless right now...and He loves me.

No, nothing is fixed.  Everything is still bleak.  Yet, here I sit with tears in my eyes and a hug to my heart.  No one else can do that.  No one other than my Father. 

But now saith the LORD that created thee; O Jacob, and he that formed thee, O Israel, Fear not: for I have redeemed thee, I have called thee by thy name; thou art mine.  When thou passest through the waters, I will be with thee: when thou walkest through the fire, thou shalt not be burned; neither shall the flame kindle upon thee.