Going Home

Going home.  I don't know what it is about going home that gets us so excited.  I can remember, as a young child, how we went to Grandma's and Papa's house on Sundays.  My brother and I would get hyped up and energetic because there would be dozens of cousins there as hyped up and energetic as we were. 

We would run through the kitchen, grab one of Grandma's everpresent biscuits off the stove,  run out the back with a bang of the screen door and head straight to Papa's barn where we'd play in the loft until dinner time.  My teenage sister would be looking forward to going off and sitting with other teenage cousins, whispering, giggling and talking about all the things teenagers talk about.

Going home.  Now my house is the place that the family goes home to.  My sons sit in the living room watching ballgames on tv, laughing at each other and , generally, just enjoying each other's company.  My husband is going back and forth between the living room and the kitchen taking it all in while helping me prepare a meal.  Now, I have daughters in law sitting around the table with my daughter enjoying lots of high voiced laughter and conversation as they chop and  peel vegetables.  And through all this confusion, we now have toddlers bobbling through the house with shrieks of excitement and a trail of cookie crumbs behind them.  The only thing that makes it better is when we have sisters, brothers, nephews and nieces sharing in all the fun.  Ahh....the noise....the chaos....the fun of it all.

Going home.  The one that we, as Christians, look forward to is our final home.  Heaven.  I can't comprehend the event.  I can't even begin to comprehend the reunions, the sights, the Saviour.  I can't imagine the emotions of seeing those little children that parents have lost before they could even hold them.  I can't imagine holding the hands of grandparents that held us as a child.   I can't imagine holding and hugging those brothers and sisters that we have longed to see again.  I can't imagine looking into the eyes of parents that looked on us for the first time.  I can't imagine the sights, the beauty, the complete joy.  I can't imagine seeing the Saviour that loved me before I was formed, that loved me through all my ugliness and sin, that loved me enough to spread his arms in complete surrender to all the brutalities placed on him so that, one day, I could .... go home.

I Corinthians 2:9  But as it is written, Eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, neither have entered into the heart of man the things which God hath prepared for them that love him. 
 

My Sister's Love Letter to Me

My sister passed away yesterday in her sleep. These are the hardest words I have ever written or said.

My sister has been the one constant thing in my life. You see, there are sisters that love each other, but  may go weeks without talking. They love each other but go months without seeing each other.   This is not the case with my sister and me.

 We have always been a part of each other's lives....births, parties, holidays, graduations, showers, vacations...always together, always there for each other.  Even though we've lived hundreds of miles apart, we made a way.

More than fifteen years ago, I wrote a small book of memories of my sister and me. I gave it to her for Christmas to keep, to reminisce, to encourage. Today, one day after her death, her youngest son, gave me back the book. He said they had gotten it out a while back and read through it together and that she wanted me to have it back if she passed.

So, I began to read through some of the pages and I came upon the one that spoke of the day she got married so many years ago, when I was still just a young girl of about 8 or 9.....

"After the wedding day, we all went back to our house at Woodlawn. You had to finish picking up your things. You had an old pillow that I loved and you were taking it with you. I was teasing and playing, holding onto the pillow, saying you couldn't take it, trying to keep the tears back by covering up with giggles. Your 'newly acquired husband' scolded me about it and told me to quit.

Little did he know, it wasn't the pillow I wanted to keep at all--it was my part time mom, my sister, my best friend."

Underneath this story was my sister' handwriting...

"You asked me if I didn't love you as much now. I said I would never stop loving you in a million years. And I won't."

My sister surpassed death, time, and galaxies and left me this love letter just when I needed it most.

ITS A BOY!

The birth of a baby is such an exciting time!

We were privileged to be present at the birth of all our grandbabies, and what a time it was. (Well, for us anyway, maybe not so much for the mothers)

When everyone is sitting in the waiting room....well, waiting, and then, finally, someone comes out and yells "It's a girl! or It's a boy!"  There's pandamonium for a little while.

Wouldn't you just love to have that job?  Being the announcer! The one where you run out and tell the waiting family if it's a girl or a boy.  "Can I go now?  Can I tell them, now?  Is it time?"  I think that would be the neatest job!

I've been thinking alot lately about the event that took place over two thousand years ago and it's still talked about today.  We all have stories about the birth of our children, but when I talk about mine, my boys just roll their eyes and say, "Mom, we've heard this before."

However, the birth that took place in Bethlehem still causes excitement.  It causes arguments.  It changes lives.

The ride to the hospital is always a fun story, too...yelling at road workers that have stopped traffic, to get out of the way, we're coming through; having to get a police to find the husband, who is taking classes, and tell him he's about to become a father...there's always a story, and those are a couple of mine.

But Mary's story isn't filled with fun antics, or fast trips.  It's a story of a woman, who could become a mother at any minute.  It's a story of wearisome travel through mountains and rough terrain on the back of a mule.  It's a story of cold temperatures and sleeping on rough, frozen ground.  It's a heartbreaking story of a woman in labor who can't even find a bed to lay on.

But, then, there's "the announcer." Just imagine the anticipation.  "Can I go now?  Can I tell them now?  When is it time?  Is it time yet?"  "It's time?!"  And then there's lots of ruffling of angel wings, lots of clearing throats and getting ready to sing.

Now, imagine, on a hillside somewhere outside of Bethlehem, sits some young boys.  As was the custom in that time, the youngest of the sons were made to be the shepherds, while the older brothers helped with the tilling of the land, sowing and reaping, building the barns and houses.  So, the youngest held the responsibility of caring for the sheep.

It's so cold outside, they can see their breath as they talk to their sheep and to one another. The air is so crisp that it hurts their skin, so they try to snuggle down into their clothing. They build a fire and then they build a sleeping place surrounding the fire by putting large, oblong stones in a circle and then fill the inside with soft limbs from trees, covered in grasses for bedding.  As they settle down for a long night in the cold, one of them will sit watch over the sheep.  He has his staff that has nails driven in one end to use as a defender of his sheep from predators.  So, he's ready.  He's taken his position on one of the stones for a better view of the sheep and surrounding area while his friends burrough into their warm beds for some rest.

 

As he sits there with thoughts springing through his mind, maybe singing to himself and watching his breath escape into the cold, night air, he thinks he hears something...some sort of stirring...and he prepares himself for protecting his flock. He wakes his friends and tells them to get ready, but before they can even grab their staffs for battle, there's an enormous explosion of light that fills the sky and a being, far too beautiful and far too menacing, stops them in their movements.  They are so afraid, they cannot move, they cannot speak, they cannot think.

This being, this person, this angel that is so frightening, yet so calming, tells them not to fear. And they listen.  They listen as the angel tells them about a birth!  It tells them it's a Boy!  But it's not just any boy, it's their Saviour.

As they're taking all this in, something else is stirring in the sky, some sort of movement and suddenly, behind the announcer, they see a choir!  It has completely filled the sky and the song is like none they've ever heard. And as quickly as it all happened, it was over...just stillness....just stars.
What a night!  What a story!  What a Saviour!

Luke 2:8-17, 20  And there were in the same country shepherds abiding in the field, keeping watch over their flock by night.  And, lo, the angel of the Lord came upon them, and the glory of the Lord shone round about them: and they were sore afraid.  And the angel said unto them, Fear not: for, behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people.  For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Saviour, which is Christ the Lord.  And this shall be a sign unto you; Ye shall find the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger.  And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God, and saying, Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men.  And it came to pass, as the angels were gone away from them into heaven, the shepherds said one to another, Let us now go even unto Bethlehem, and see this thing which is come to pass, which the Lord hath made known unto us.  And they came with haste, and found Mary, and Joseph, and the babe lying in a manger.  And when they had seen it, they made known abroad the saying which was told them concerning this child.  And the shepherds returned, glorifying and praising God for all the things that they had heard and seen, as it was told unto them.

My Sister's Sons

Day 26 is a bittersweet day of thankfulness.  I smile as I reminisce about my nephews as young boys and I cry for the decisions they are making today.  When they were born, I wondered if I could possibly love my own children that I would have one day as much as I loved them.

My sister is the closest person I have on this earth apart from my husband and my love for her is carried down to her sons.  When her first son was born, he became my living baby doll.  I cuddled him, carried him and played with him.  He became my little shadow.

He loved to watch Lassie and would cry broken hearted when it was over.  He loved his cowboy hat and blanket, he loved looking at books, and he was afraid of car washes.  We sang "Smokie the Bear" together, read books and played cars.  He was mine.

Along came little brother who had red hair and had enormous brown eyes.  He was mine too because us redheads had like a private club that only redheads were a part of.  It seemed he arrived talking.  That little boy could talk the warts off a frog.  I remember babysitting one time when he was about 4 or 5 and there was a little stream behind the house.  The last words his mom said was, "don't let them near the creek."  Well, before she was hardly out of the driveway I heard big brother screaming at me to come around the house, and there was my little redhead, dripping wet.  He had fallen in the creek and proceeded to tell us all he saw sharks and alligators while he was down there. 

They used to come and stay with me during the summer when I was a teenager.  So many memories.  How aggravating they could be and at the same time so much fun.  I was on a women's softball team, so they'd go to practices and games with me and have the time of their lives.

Then I started my own family.  I had one son when my third nephew was born.  I had never seen anything so tiny.  He was mine, too, because he became an extension of my own family.  He was the middle child between my first two sons.  He was best friends with my second son and they couldn't get enough of each other.  They'd sit face to face and whisper and giggle for hours.  I've never seen a child that hated going to bed more than him.  I can still see him coming in the living room when he was supposed to be in bed with a grin on his face, asking for water, or something to eat, or what were we going to be doing the next day, or....on and on it would go. 

Now, they're grown men with their own families.  They lost their dad a couple of years ago and now are facing terminal illness with their mom, but have faced the adversities like real men.  They've stepped up to the plate.  They've made difficult decisions.  And I am proud to call them my nephews. 

They are my blood and they are my heart.  I love them so and am so thankful that God chose me to be their aunt.

I'm Thankful for Tarzan, aka Big Brother

Day 25, and I skipped a couple of days.  Not that I wasn't thankful, but that I had a houseful of kids and grandkids and no time to get by myself, even if I had wanted to.

I've been thinking alot about my brother for the past couple of days.  When we were kids, you didn't see one without the other. Some of our favorite things were playing in Papa's barn with our cousins, playing army, and playing Tarzan.

We played in the loft of Papa's barn, moving the bales of hay to create forts, ships, or mountain cabins.  Our imaginations had no end.  My brother, my cousins, and I started the "Barnyard Club" and began to save our pennies.  My brother was the president, because he was the only boy.  One of my cousins was the vice president because she was the oldest, and the other cousin was the treasurer.  I was just the "member" because I was the littlest and the youngest.  We saved our pennies until we had enough to buy our grandma a little wind-up alarm clock.  Grandma kept this little clock until she passed away and now I think the Vice President owns it.

I never had the luxury of playing dolls or house with my brother because...well...he was a boy and boys play army and fighting stuff.  He and I went through one of Papa's dried up cornfields annihilating the whole entire field of "enemy soldiers" in one afternoon.  The whole field lay flat after our victorious battle.  Unknown to us, our uncle had driven down the road, parked and watched the whole battle take place.  Uncle Houston chuckled constantly as he recounted the complete story to Papa.

And, of course, Tarzan was one of our favorites since we watched him kill giant crocodiles with a little knife, underwater, on our black and white tv.  Tarzan could swing through the trees on the vines, call a whole herd of elephants and lions with his yell, and wipeout a tribe of maneating cannibals in an afternoon.  He had a monkey, Cheetah, and a girlfriend, Jane.  Well, I couldn't very well be Jane since we were brother and sister, so he called me Sally.  I could never pick out my own name.  I always wanted a pretty name like Michelle, or Cindy, but no, I was Sally.  No exotic names like Jasmine...just Sally.

On and on we would play.  We did get into some mischief occasionally.  It seems I spent half of my childhood hearing him yell, "Run, Joy, run!"  It was always interesting.

When my hero brother came home one day with a different look on his face, I began to worry about him.  He just wanted to talk about some girl named Judy, whose eyes were as blue as the sky.  Yuck.  I didn't know her, but I definitely didn't like her.  But to my satisfaction, the next day he was back to the same brother I remembered.

I got my love of books when I was just a young girl.  Every Saturday morning, my brother and I pulled out the skateboards and skated about a mile to the library, just off Chapman Highway, looked around for awhile, checked out a few books, and read to our hearts content until the next Saturday.  Then we went through our routine again.

We were very poor growing up, so we ended up with people's hand me downs of everything from toys to clothes to bicycles, or rather, just one bicycle.  But that didn't slow us down.  I was either on the seat while he stood and peddled, or I was perched on the handle bars.  There we'd go...speeding down the hill, while the neighborhood dog was nipping at our heels, me squealing with my legs up in the air. 

We've been lost together, we've been in trouble together, and we've loved each other through it all.  We were still close all through school and high school.  He was the nosy, protective big brother and I was still his little sister he needed to protect.  As far as I can remember, we only had two arguments in our lifetime, and the only reason I can remember those is because we never fought with each other. 

We don't talk everyday now.  We don't see each other real often, but he'll always be my Tarzan, and I'll always be his Sally.

I love my brother with all my heart and am so thankful he's always been my buddy.

My Life

Day 22 is Thanksgiving Day.  Right now it's all still and quiet in my home.  There's the song, "I'll Be Home For Christmas" playing softly in the background, the sun is starting to peep through the trees in our woods, and my dogs are running around in the yard protecting us from all the birds and squirrels that may dare to enter their domain.

I've started preparing for the meal that we'll gather round the table and share this evening.  Soon the house will be filled with the spicy smells of pumpkin pies, the mouth watering aroma of a stuffed turkey in the oven, and the vegetables' odor mixing together as they simmer on the stove.

Soon, my husband will stir out of his warm nest of blankets and shuffle into the kitchen to help me in all the preparations, my son will stagger down the steps to plop on the couch until his eyes can focus.

After awhile we'll hear the dogs barking as the cars begin to approach the house.  My children will be coming with their children to visit Gram and Papa.  There'll be hugs, kisses and coats piling on the bed.  Marilyn will be saying, "Papa, Papa, Papa" and smiling that little shy smile of hers.  Aubrey will come in with her whole face a smile with her one big tooth shining brightly.

We'll drag out the toys for the babies and my clean house will become a clutter of baby dolls, toy dishes and rattles.  My grown sons will laze around in the living room, legs thrown over the arms of the chairs and couches watching football.  I will hear the conversations and laughter in their deep voices but it will be a replica of their silliness in their youth.  And I'll smile.

My daughters in law will join me in the kitchen to help, but usually we spend as much time talking and sampling the food as we do working.

I'll get calls from family and make calls to loved ones wishing everyone a happy Thanksgiving.

Finally, when the last dish is placed, we'll gather at the table, we'll bow our heads and thank God for his bountiful blessings, and we'll reminisce about the ones who used to sit at our table, but now their seats are empty.  We'll smile at the new little faces that fill those empty spots.  And life goes on.

I am so blessed and so thankful for how God has blessed us.  He has blessed us with a beautiful home, plenty of food, warmth, and with a family of individuals whose hearts beat as one.

Psalms 95:2  Let us come before his presence with thanksgiving, and make a joyful noise unto him with psalms.

Mom and Dad

Day 21 has me thinking of Mom and Daddy.  As dysfunctional as we were, I still love them and am thankful for them.

Mom and Daddy got divorced when I was three, so life was hard for Mom.  She worked to provide for us.  We didn't have much in the line of material things, but she provided us a warm home, clothes and food to eat.  I didn't know we were poor.  I was just a happy, carefree little girl who's days were filled with giggles and fun with my brother.

Mom worked hard at a wool mill so I didn't get to spend much time with her because of that, but mom always kept a clean house and always had us something to eat at dinner time.

When Mom remarried, things got easier for her and she was able to quit working.  She sent us off to school every morning with a hot breakfast in our tummies.  And mom always made sure we were good kids.  She was a disciplinarian.  I remember some switchings I would rather forget!

Mom took us to church every Sunday and that's where I got my foundation for my belief in my God and Saviour.  She sang beautifully and sang with a group in our little church.  She always dressed so pretty and I thought she was beautiful. 

Mom is in a nursing home now, and suffers from dementia, but when I'm able to go visit her, we always talk of the people I grew up with and the people that went to our church.  She loves to reminisce of that time in our lives, and even though she suffers from dementia, she remembers those happy days.  We talk and laugh at some of the things she remembers about our friends, and we get quiet and sad when we talk of the ones who have passed.  And I love to guide her into conversations about her childhood and what it was like to grow up in that day and time with my grandparents.  I could listen to those stories for hours.

Mom's had a rough life, as far as her happiness goes, because she has always suffered from depression, but that made her laughter and her gorgeous smile that much more special.  My mom, truly was, and still is, a  lovely woman.  Her hair has turned silver, and her smooth olive skin has some wrinkles now, but the beauty of her youth is still seen in her face.

My dad wasn't around much at all when we were growing up, so I didn't spend much time with him.  He always worked on construction sites running the large equipment, like bulldozers and huge trucks, so mom would take me and my brother to see him at these sites, occasionally.  It's funny how things impress on our young minds, but the smell of freshly dug dirt always made me think of my daddy.  I can still see him sitting on top of one of those large machines, grinning down at me.

One summer, as a teenager, I stayed with him and my stepmom for awhile.  We spent the whole time camping with my uncle and his family.  I got acquainted with one of my cousins during that time and I still think of her and the fun we had that summer.

When Daddy got older, my brother who lived with him and cared for him, decided Daddy should spend some time with me, so Daddy came to my house for the first time ever.  Daddy was starting to lose his sight, but he still loved the outdoors, so I would take him driving up in the woods and mountains.  He kept wanting to see some deer, so I began to pray to myself that God would let him get a glimpse of just one buck while he was here.  We were driving on one of the backroads, when all of a sudden, I had to stop the car.  The reason was that the biggest buck I've ever seen in my life, slowly walked out of the woods right in front of my truck.  It casually strolled across the road, and, as light as a feather, jumped the fence on Daddy's side of the road.  It walked up the hill and out of sight.  As I sat there with my jaw dropped open, I glanced over at Daddy and he had a big smile on his face.  Because of his vision, I wasn't sure if he saw it or not, so I asked him if he did.  Still grinning, he just said, "yea."

Daddy would sit on the end of my couch by the window everyday and just sit there looking out, until one day I asked him what he was thinking.  He said he would like to see it snow while he was there at my house. 

Well, West Virginians know that you don't ask for snow, because it doesn't just snow here, it comes blizzards!  He got what he asked for.  It snowed so hard it knocked the power out for three days.  Thanks, Dad.

When Daddy was nearing the end of his life, I had a sudden urge that I needed to go visit him at the hospital, so I called mom, who was living in WV at the time, and told her I was going to see Daddy the next morning.  Me and Mom left at six o clock the next morning and was on our way to Tennessee.

When we arrived in the ICU, my sister was there and Daddy wasn't looking good.  I called my brother and told him that he needed to get there as soon as possible.  A few minutes later  when my brother arrived, we all gathered around Daddy.  There we were.  A dysfuntional family that had survived it all.  We were together once more.

Even though they said Daddy wasn't conscious, my brother leaned over to Daddy's ear and quietly said, "It's okay, Daddy.  We're all here now and you can go."  And within just a few minutes, we all watched as Daddy crossed over into life hereafter. 

No, we didn't have the normal "Leave it to Beaver" kind of household.  We were spread out and living our own lives, but in the end, when it counts, we were together.

I thank God for my mom and my dad and for all the traits they instilled in me.  It made me, me.  I love them both, and am so thankful for them.