#1 Son

Day 2 of giving thanks has me pondering on what should be next on the list.  Heaven knows that I have so much to be thankful for that it can't be narrowed down to just a few days, but I'm gonna try and just hit the high spots.

I'm so thankful for my children.  Growing up, my plans were always to be a wife and a mom.  That's it.  I felt so peculiar that I didn't want to have a "career".  All my friends had things they wanted to do and I wanted to be mom.  I'm definitely not the best mom, but I think I did okay.  My whole life has been dedicated to my husband and to my kids only.  I think that because this was my desire, God blessed us and I was able to be a stay at home mom through most of our family's life. 

So...since I have a houseful of kids, I'm going to take a day for each one of them and I'll start with my firstborn son.  He used to wear this little t-shirt that said #1 Son.  He was such a cutie patootie (sorry son, I'm sure you just cringed here).  He had the roundest blue eyes, the chubbiest cheeks ever, and a very grown up, serious disposition.  Even as a baby, he didn't want to be hugged and kissed on very much, just a hug when he had accomplished something fantastic, and some snuggling right before bedtime.

As an infant, his dad and I prayed that God would bless our little boy and help us to be good parents to him.  We knew then that all children are truly a gift from God, so with the responsibility of being caretakers of this little gift, we gave him to God and asked God's blessing on him.  His dad had the privilege, during the nightly tucking in and prayers, to show him how that Christ could be his dearest friend and Saviour.  Our little boy prayed one night and told his dad that he asked Jesus into his heart.

When he was just a young boy, we moved and his dad had to be gone alot of the time during medical school for his medical rotations.  My son stepped in and became my little man.  He truly made it easier for me during these times.  He played hard, loved his younger brothers, and helped me take care of things.

I watched this little man being picked on by the bigger boys in our apartment complex, but he didn't run home crying or even complain about it.  He just handled it the best he could.  (Although I wanted to go ring their little necks and put a hurtin' on them) Later he ran into one of the "big" boys and my son's growth had surpassed the little runt, and  so had his character.  He could have given the boy a pounding, but instead showed great maturity, and was friendly with him and went on his way. 

When my son entered Jr. High, he bloomed.  He grew taller and his shoulders grew broader.  He seemed to always be laughing and having the time of his life.  I loved watching him enjoy life, playing ball, and flirting with girls (well, maybe not the girl thing).  Because of his disposition, his intelligence, and his abilities, he became a leader and an example.  He never tried to become these things, he never tried to make people like him, it was just a natural thing. 

Whoever said that raising teenagers is awful, was terribly wrong.  It was the funnest time of my life.  It was awesome watching my boy become a man.  I loved when he came in every day and told me what went on in his little world that day.  I loved when he came in almost every night, layed down beside me in my bed, and talked and talked and talked.  I loved having 15 - 20 boys staying at my house, playing, horsing around, and eating all my food. I loved my teenager.

Since then, he's gone through some struggles, we've gone through some struggles, and, in spite of it all, my love for him is stronger and than ever.  I've watched him make some good choices in his life, go on to pharmacy school, get engaged to a good girl, and make life long friends.

Our son has gone from our little boy to a man that I'm very proud of.  Things have almost gone full circle and now our son takes care of us.  He makes sure the driveway is plowed, makes sure we have wood for our fireplace, and generally just makes sure we're okay.

We don't have the long talks like we used to.  He has someone else to tell his secrets to, and no, I'm not upset over that, I'm thankful that God put a girl in his life that is glad to listen and be there for him.  But, occasionally, he'll tiptoe into my room and we'll talk.  When he leaves, I smile and think of those times not so long ago, that we layed in my room and whispered over silly girls, ballgames, and dreams of the future.

I love you, son, and I'm so thankful that God gave you to me, and that I get the privilege of hearing you call me Mom.

Psalms 127:3-5  Lo, children are a heritage of the Lord: and the fruit of the womb is his reward.  As arrows are in the hands of a mighty man; so are children of the youth.  Happy is the man that hath his quiver full of them: 

Thankful for My Best Friend

This is Thanksgiving month, so therefore, I'm gonna try to blog each day for something that I have to be thankful for and today I will give thanks for my best friend.

We met in high school.  I was a cheerleader...he was a basketball player.  I was the all out, fun times, laugh at everything, flirty teenage girl.  He was the quite, doesn't care what others think, smart, "I will succeed" type of boy.  Opposite in so many ways, but so much alike.

I could tell him anything and he listened to everything.  He made jokes and silly faces and I giggled incessantly.  He came from a solid family and mine was fractured.  But we fit.  From the first date, we were inseparable. 

He put up with alot and I gave him alot of grief.  He was focused and I was flighty.  But through it all, he loved me like no one ever had and I knew I had found a jewel.

We dated for five years, got married and have been married for thirty six years.  His family took me in and loved me, just as he did, in spite of all my faults and I loved them back with all my heart. 

Yep, there were times when I didn't know if we'd make it, but we started together, and because we didn't put divorce into the equation, we will end up together.  Because we have put God and family above all else, we have been blessed beyond anything I could have dreamed as a young, directionless girl. Yep, there are times I don't like him and he doesn't like me, but our love and commitment stand in the gap. And, yep, we both have many faults, especially me, but decided a long time ago not to dwell on them.

We still have silly moments where we chase each other around the house (when we don't have back pain, joint pain, or general listlessness).  Our favorite times are when all the kids and grandkids are in the house, making noises, watching ball games, yelling, eating and causing chaos, and the times when no one is there but us, our feet propped up, watching tv, and talking about the kids, the grandkids, and all the chaos. 

He likes to pick at me, laugh at my southern accent and ways, and tell me how pretty I am. (You have to understand, he still sees me as the cute, giggly teenage girl he fell in love with, so don't tell him otherwise!) 

He's never been a laugher...never just rared back and guffawed, he's more of a smiler with a twinkle in his eye, so I've always thought it my responsibility to make that twinkle show up.  I love to do something that makes him grin, and even, occasionally laugh out loud.  I feel such an accomplishment that I can do that when no one else can.  And, yes, I'll do just about anything goofy to see that smile appear.

He knows all my secrets and I know all his...I think? hmm.  Better check into that.  He knows what buttons to push and I'm not sure, but I don't think he has buttons.  He's always calm, well almost always, but generally calm. 

He's been my rock during emotional upheavals, the death of our daughter, trials, and I've been his crutch during financial problems, long separations because of work, and the death of his parents. 

I don't know what's ahead for us, but I do know that we'll face it together.  I know that whatever it is, I'll have my best friend by my side.  Of that, I'm very thankful.

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.