Creepies

I hate creepy things, and it seems like lately, I've had my share of them.  I don't like snakes, spiders, beetles (those little kamakaze kind that dive bomb into anything), mice, or bears.  Okay, bears is stretching the "creepy thing" concept, but I don't like them.

The other day my husband and I were working our patooties off cleaning, pressure washing, and staining our decks and porches.  We had taken a break and was sitting on the patio, when I decided that I would go work on my screened porch.  I was walking merrily on my way, and getting ready to pick up some flower pots beside my step, when I saw it....just creeping through the grass like a snake.  Well, it was a snake, thus the creeping.  I'm pretty sure my eyes bugged out as I threw up my hands and screamed, moonwalking back to the patio.  I looked like some crazed woman in the throws of a spiritual attack.  I was expecting my husband to come to my rescue, and he did, once he was able to get his breath from laughing so hard.  He thoroughly enjoyed replaying my spiritual dance to me many times.  Thanks, hon.

A few days ago, I decided to sit on my beautifully stained screened porch.  It was late evening, I was relaxing in my chaise, which was turned with the back toward the field and woods.  I was sitting there reading a book, listening to the crickets chirp, frogs doing whatever it is they do, and heavy breathing.  What?  I could swear that I heard some very loud, heavy breathing behind me.  Creepy.  Just in case I was losing it, I decided to move my furniture around so I could face the woods, and pretend that I didn't just hear heavy breathing.  Okay, I heard it again.  At that point, I yelled at my husband (the mocker) to come out on the porch.  He asked what was wrong and I told him that I thought I heard heavy breathing.  You just have to imagine, here, the look he gave me...like he expected me to say something else...something other than I'm hearing heavy breathing outside on my porch.

So, while I'm trying to mimic what I had just heard (which was entertaining in itself), we heard it.  Not just the heavy breathing, but lots of wood banging, wood breaking noises. I was just waiting for an out of shape Sasquatch to walk out of the woods breathing heavy from the exertion, when we saw a bear walk through the field toward all the noise.  This is when we heard wood hitting wood, branches breaking and something clanking its teeth together...another bear!!  The first bear come shuffling very quickly out of the woods and everytime it would walk back, the noise would start up again. 

We got the binoculars and watched this for quite awhile, but it was almost completely dark, so we could only catch glimpses as the bear would come back out into the field.  Everyone tells me that it was another bear that was making all the noise in the woods, but I'm not completely convinced.  I'm still leaning toward Sasquatch.

So, on my way to church tonight, as I was backing out of the garage a spider landed on my windshield.**shiver**  Anything with more than four legs is just way high on my creep meter.  I couldn't take my eyes off it.  I didn't want to turn on the wipers because I could just imagine smear marks with lots of little legs on my window, so off we go down the driveway.  I thought it would blow off because I was throwing gravels as I sped out, but noooo, it just hung on.  I was afraid to slow down because I was afraid it would make its way to my door and just wait until I opened it, and jump on me, so as I got to the end of my road, I didn't stop, I just slowed enough to see it was clear, then floored it.

Going fifty five down the road and it was still hanging on with all those tiny legs. Ew.  As I neared the interstate, I was gaining confidence I could blow that thing off doing seventy.  At this point, I was talking trash to it.  As I hit the ramp, I could see it move, but it was just getting a better grip.  It's legs were spread almost straight to gain traction, and I believe it had two legs over its eyes, but I'm not sure.  Man, that was a tough little creepy thing. 

I went about five miles, when it disappeared.  Yay, me!!  Oh, wait.  What if it just blew into that little space around my door and was waiting on me to stop.  I'll never know.  I won't know if it is still there, or maybe crawled inside.  I may have to trade my car in.

I hate creepy things.

I Got the Shubble

My husband and I were sight seeing while we were on vacation in Atlantic Beach, North Carolina.  We went to Fort Macon to look around and take some pictures.  It was a beautiful location and such a glimpse into our nation's history.  I always love going to these places where I can walk where people walked decades and decades ago.  I love picturing in my mind the clothes they wore, their speech, and their daily lives.

As I was walking around in triple digit temperatures with humidity hanging around 90%, I was thinking about the soldiers wearing those wool uniforms and how miserable they would have been.  Then I started thinking about the "southern belles" sashaying in pantaloons, hoops, coursets, and long dresses. No wonder they swooned all the time.

Anyway, as we were leaving the fort, there was a family getting out of their truck, toting fishing poles, coolers, tackle boxes and all sorts of paraphenalia.  The fort was right on the beach, so there were many there just to take advantage of the water.  They were hustling around trying to get all their stuff together and we heard them yelling at each other..."hey, John, did you get the tackle box?"...."who got the fishing poles"..."mom, did you get the picnic stuff?"  And then we heard one little voice say, "I got the shubble."

She was standing there in the midst of all the urgency and chaos of grown men, fidgety boys, a haggered mom.  There were little chubby legs protruding from a tiny pink swimsuit, blonde curls touching her shoulders, and a red shovel gripped in dimpled hands.  She was ready.

I kept thinking about that little girl and her "shubble" and thinking how that what is important to some may not be important to others.  Some people need all the bells and whistles and some people just need a "shubble". 

I look back at my Grandma and Papa.  Papa never drove a car.  Grandma didn't wear the latest fashions.  Almost everything they survived on they either raised, grew, or made themselves.  We had to walk outside to use the bathroom, we took a bath in a big tub in the middle of the kitchen, and the kids all slept in one big bed under quilts that grandma made. 

Grandma and Papa weren't wealthy people, but they had something they passed down to each of their kids and each of their grandkids...love and kindness and memories.

I've thought about Grandma and Papa alot in the last week.  Because of the storms, we had no power or water and I felt very inconvenienced, but this is how Grandma and Papa lived each day.  They raised all their children and a few grandchildren this way, but I never, ever heard either one of them grumble or complain.

Yes, they did get plumbing and electricity later on in life, and they even had a phone which was on a party line!  Yet, they still lived simply.  While everyone was hustling and bustling to get new cars, new houses, new clothes, new things, Papa and Grandma lived in the same house, with the same furniture, the same dishes, the same clothes....and it was wonderful.

Jon

It seems we've had lots of tragedies in and around our family for quite awhile.  We've heard all the "quotes" and even have said a few..."time heals all", "what doesn't kill you makes you stronger", "don't get bitter, get better", "I know what you're going through"...and on it goes.

I know people are just trying to help, I've done it myself.  You can't think of anything to say that would help, so you resort to cliches, but then you walk away feeling silly because that's all it is...just a cliche.

Mostly, just be there.  Just listen, and then listen some more.  Just hug.  Cry.  Send a note and say nothing but "thinking of you."  Send a text.  Don't preach.  Don't try to be a psychotherapist.  Just listen, and then listen some more.

My sons have lost one of the closest and dearest, loyal friends they have had since childhood.  It was an unexpected tragedy.  A young man, full of life, gone.  But let me change gears here.  This blog isn't about our pain, but rather about his life.

I got to hear lots of stories since the accident, most of them funny.  Because that's what he was...fun.  As one person put it, "he went through life wide open!" 

My sons played soccer and basketball with him from elementary school all the way through high school, and that's the way he played sports, too....wide open.  We had so many ball trips together, closed up in a small van with three  to four boys, one giggly girl, and two haggered moms. He had a nack of grating on your nerves while you tried to stifle a giggle at his antics.   Sometimes that "wide open" was enough for us to want to throw the doors open and push him out, but if we had, he would have rolled out laughing.

He wasn't the best ball player, but he gave over and above so that the "best" could lead the team to victory.  You never had to worry if he was going to be down one game and up the next, he was always up and heaven help the other team, because "slide tackle" was his favorite play, whether it was soccer or basketball or goofing off.  You never turned your back on him!

He lived hard, played hard and loved hard.  Out of all the boys that have gone through my house during those years, eating all my food, making messes all over the place, he was one that I can say without a shadow of a doubt, that loved my boys. He loved them beyond the classmate comraderie.  He loved them with a love reserved for just brothers.  He was their brother in their hearts, and they were his.  Even after school, when life causes separation, there was no separation in their hearts .  There was only love and respect and so many memories.

I've heard stories of wrestling, fireworks, mud bogging, four wheeling, paint ball guns, football trips and hunting.  And I'm sure there are stories that I never want to hear, but threaded throughout each story was laughter, craziness, and more laughter.

No, he was not an angel.  He could cause the best want to strangle him sometimes, but he had a good heart.  No, he had a great heart.  He gave when no one else even thought about it.  He gave and wanted it kept quiet because he didn't want others to know who gave.  And he gave alot.

So, while I know he's up to some kind of mischief behind those pearly gates, I hope he hears me when I say, "thanks."  Thank you for being so tender hearted.  Thank you for the laughter you gave us.  Thank you for the love you showed to others.  Thank you for being a friend to my sons.

Jon....Caleb....Josh

A man that hath friends must show himself friendly: and there is a friend that sticketh closer than a brother.  Proverbs 18:24

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.