Here is a portion of a devotional from my book, Heaven Help Mom.
In the story, Ed is a preschooler and has just lost his dog. Enjoy the
story fragment.
"Together, we went to church in our grieving mood without the Merry in Christmas. After sharing his grief with others and appearing as a sad angel, Ed found enough peace to involuntarily fall asleep. I viewed his peaceful and sad portrayal of an angel much the same as our lives. Sometimes it is sad, sometimes merry, but through it all God is there to provide us some peace. That little angel asleep in the pew reminded me of the gift that we were given with the birth and death of the Prince of Peace.
Ed woke up early Christmas morning and was particularly thrilled with receiving a calculator that looked like a brown dog. I hesitated including it under the tree because I feared it would start the tears flowing and the sadness would resurface. Ed said, "I was given this so that I can play with it and remember all the fun times I played with Brownie." It seems Ed was given peace by receiving a gift that reminded him of love. Peace and love; the message for any Christmas to become Merry."
Monday, December 17, 2007
Wednesday, October 31, 2007
A Picture Tells a Thousand Words
Our family is planning a wedding for December. Stacks of family photos are being reviewed for possible inclusion in a video for the reception. The photos tell the story of life without the use of words. Most could fall into the category of a “Kodak Moment.” One photo that has been selected seems to be one of those moments captured on film that falls into the category, “oops, why did you take that photo of me looking like that?”
It is photo of Dad in a worn green terry cloth holey bathrobe while his young daughter
anticipates his opening her gift.
The robe was a regular part of his every morning and evening wear, including his attire for every Christmas morning. I’m not sure that if Dad were still alive he’d be thrilled to appear on screen in his less- than- luxurious robe to be viewed by the fancy dressed wedding attendees. Still, it is a chosen photo. This attire was as dependable as the love he gave his family. It was as comfortable and reassuring as the hugs he gave. The holes were mostly overlooked. They were mended and reappeared, much like family member flaws. Sometimes they were joked about, just as we used laughter to patch up complex moments. Perhaps the photos will bring additional laughs at the reception. Most likely it will be viewed with the understanding of the comforts of family.
It is photo of Dad in a worn green terry cloth holey bathrobe while his young daughter
anticipates his opening her gift.
The robe was a regular part of his every morning and evening wear, including his attire for every Christmas morning. I’m not sure that if Dad were still alive he’d be thrilled to appear on screen in his less- than- luxurious robe to be viewed by the fancy dressed wedding attendees. Still, it is a chosen photo. This attire was as dependable as the love he gave his family. It was as comfortable and reassuring as the hugs he gave. The holes were mostly overlooked. They were mended and reappeared, much like family member flaws. Sometimes they were joked about, just as we used laughter to patch up complex moments. Perhaps the photos will bring additional laughs at the reception. Most likely it will be viewed with the understanding of the comforts of family.
Tuesday, September 18, 2007
Color My World
I'd like to share an excerpt from my new book, Heaven Help Mom and Maybe the Kids Will Help. Previous to this excerpt, the story recounts my son's first day of kindergarten. All the children were given a page with the outline of a bear and were told to color it as they wished. Here is the ending to that story:
To my surprise, he handed me a picture of a bear that was colored every available color from the crayon box. I wasn't sure what to say other than it was beautiful. To myself I was thinking, "What was he thinking? Bears are not rainbows."
Before I could get too deep into analyzing his or my thought processes he came close to me and whispered in my ear, "Isn't it beautiful? All the other kids colored theirs a boring brown or black. No creativity! Mine was the most beautiful. It's a patchwork bear!"
As I sat staring at the bear and tossing glances at his proud face, I could only think that God had some creative future in store for this little person.
What some could perceive as unusual, he perceived as beautiful. Imagine if God made only one beautiful creation. Roses and violets would look the same and DaVinci and Picasso would paint the same bear the same way. It is a gift to see beauty in differing ways.
To my surprise, he handed me a picture of a bear that was colored every available color from the crayon box. I wasn't sure what to say other than it was beautiful. To myself I was thinking, "What was he thinking? Bears are not rainbows."
Before I could get too deep into analyzing his or my thought processes he came close to me and whispered in my ear, "Isn't it beautiful? All the other kids colored theirs a boring brown or black. No creativity! Mine was the most beautiful. It's a patchwork bear!"
As I sat staring at the bear and tossing glances at his proud face, I could only think that God had some creative future in store for this little person.
What some could perceive as unusual, he perceived as beautiful. Imagine if God made only one beautiful creation. Roses and violets would look the same and DaVinci and Picasso would paint the same bear the same way. It is a gift to see beauty in differing ways.
Tuesday, August 28, 2007
Taking Care of Business
The phone company and I have always had an adversarial relationship. For years, if it rained, the chances that I would be without a phone were the odds that any betting person would like. When I called to report the outage it was always the same. They would tell me that they would send someone out to check the inside lines and if there wasn’t a problem someone would come out to check the outside lines. The problem was that it was always the outside lines and always when it rained. Sending someone out to explore the inside lines, just delayed resolving the problem. This repetitive, unproductive exchange and resolution to the problem always left me frustrated. Just thinking about calling the phone company made my blood pressure rise.
When we moved, I left the problem behind, but I have always carried with the frustrations of dealing with company policies regardless of whether they make sense or not. I have carried with me the memories of dealing with people who sound like they are reading from a script.
After years of not having to deal with the phone company, I again found myself dreading the call I needed to make to address my cell phone problem. I anticipated similar unpleasant experiences of the past. Instead, I found myself talking to someone who genuinely wanted to help me solve my phone issues. He even went beyond what I called about, to make sure that a similar problem wouldn’t happen in the future. I commented on his helpfulness and he said he was raised in a small town where everyone new everyone and no one could get away with actions without the whole town knowing. It left him with the philosophy that you should treat others the way you want to be treated. If you don’t, you’ll know it, but there’s a good likelihood others will as well. Life just is a lot simpler if you treat others with kindness and respect. There are many commercials that enhance the “stay connected” aspect of phone and internet services. It seems this representative has a more effective motto. “Courtesy is the shortest distance between two people.”
When we moved, I left the problem behind, but I have always carried with the frustrations of dealing with company policies regardless of whether they make sense or not. I have carried with me the memories of dealing with people who sound like they are reading from a script.
After years of not having to deal with the phone company, I again found myself dreading the call I needed to make to address my cell phone problem. I anticipated similar unpleasant experiences of the past. Instead, I found myself talking to someone who genuinely wanted to help me solve my phone issues. He even went beyond what I called about, to make sure that a similar problem wouldn’t happen in the future. I commented on his helpfulness and he said he was raised in a small town where everyone new everyone and no one could get away with actions without the whole town knowing. It left him with the philosophy that you should treat others the way you want to be treated. If you don’t, you’ll know it, but there’s a good likelihood others will as well. Life just is a lot simpler if you treat others with kindness and respect. There are many commercials that enhance the “stay connected” aspect of phone and internet services. It seems this representative has a more effective motto. “Courtesy is the shortest distance between two people.”
Saturday, July 14, 2007
Superstitions
If this Friday the Thirteenth lived up to its dreaded reputation, here are some hints to impove your day the next time this calendar date appears.
- Don't sing before breakfast, or you will cry before the night.
- Don't kill any spiders; it brings bad luck
- Carry a rabbit's foot with you.
- Find a four-leaf clover
- Make a wish while crossing a bridge
- Cross your fingers and wish for a good day. It should come true.
- Find a pin or a penny and pick it up.
- Find bubbles in your coffee for needed luck. To insure success, drink a lot of coffee.
If, after all these suggestions, you are still fearful of the next Friday the Thirteenth, my advise is to relax. I got married on the Thirteenth. It's true that my husband-to-be got out of the hospital two hours before the wedding and the honeymoon hotel over booked leaving us without a room, but our marriage lasted thirty-two years. I call that luck.
Saturday, June 16, 2007
His Hands were Huge
I remember looking at my Dad when I was young and thinking how big he was. I remember the warm and vast secure grip of his hand in mine as we walked to the town park. He towered above me and his strong arms and hands soon pushed me on the swing to heights I’d never experienced. Those same hands later balanced me on my two wheel bike and guided me down the sidewalk, releasing me to perfect balance and success on the path. His strong arms guided me down the aisle on my wedding day. Just as he released me on the swing to new heights, he released me to new choices and new experiences as a married woman.
Now, when I see a dad and his child walking together, I wonder if the child thinks of Dad as one of the biggest people he or she knows. In reality, my dad wasn’t all that big, but I will always think of him as bigger than life-size. It was his loving grip on my life that made him seem like a warm loving giant in a fairytale that cared and protected. I hope the children, I see, will be as fortunate as I and experience a warm, large, and secure grip on their life as they grow.
Now, when I see a dad and his child walking together, I wonder if the child thinks of Dad as one of the biggest people he or she knows. In reality, my dad wasn’t all that big, but I will always think of him as bigger than life-size. It was his loving grip on my life that made him seem like a warm loving giant in a fairytale that cared and protected. I hope the children, I see, will be as fortunate as I and experience a warm, large, and secure grip on their life as they grow.
Thursday, May 31, 2007
Define Beauty
Having a baby girl was no less or more of a blessing than having a son eight years prior. It was just different. How much fun it would be to dress a little girl in pink and frills. Having a delicate little girl would be different.
I suppose the kicking, while carrying her, should have been the first indication that a lack of delicacy existed. This girl could be a place kicker for a major football team. A fact further confirmed when at two months old she kicked so hard that a stray string in her sleeper wound so tight around her toe that only a doctor could remove it. It was one of those times when, as a mother, one feels totally inadequate for the job. In my defense, I did all the appropriate things when her not so tiny and not so delicate crying persisted. I tried feeding her, checked her diaper, and a myriad of other tactics. Who would think that her crying had to do with the pains of fashion. It was the last time she wore a sleeper, but not the last time that she dictated what she would wear.
At two years old her favorite shoes were cowboy boots. Her favorite top; a sweatshirt. Daily I chose a feminine outfit for her to wear. Daily, she would raid the laundry basket for yesterday’s sweatshirt. I left her in frills, only to have her appear moments later in a comfortable not so feminine shirt that needed washing. Already suffering from motherhood inadequacy, I determined that it was better to have the world know that I occasionally did laundry and I soon gave up on frills, lace and flowers. Pink? Forget it. Pink wasn’t a color according to her. It seems that I had a preconceived idea of what a little girl should be that didn’t exist.
Today we went shopping. By now, I know her adversity to lace, ribbons, and flourishings and yet I still have visions of delicacy and beauty in today’s purchase. Some ideas seem to persist despite all logical reasoning. I still have that preconceived idea of the delicate, soft, feminine look in girls’ fashion. As she walks out of the dressing room, I am happy that I never gave up hope. Until today I never noticed how much her white sweatshirts complimented her dark complexion and hair. While she isn’t wearing a lot of lace and embellishments, she is feminine and dazzling. The bagginess of the sweatshirt is gone, revealing simple curves. The dress is sleek, plain and eloquent. I guess, sometimes a mother just has to hang tight to see her visions materialize. What a stunning bride she will make. Sometimes a mother just knows.
I suppose the kicking, while carrying her, should have been the first indication that a lack of delicacy existed. This girl could be a place kicker for a major football team. A fact further confirmed when at two months old she kicked so hard that a stray string in her sleeper wound so tight around her toe that only a doctor could remove it. It was one of those times when, as a mother, one feels totally inadequate for the job. In my defense, I did all the appropriate things when her not so tiny and not so delicate crying persisted. I tried feeding her, checked her diaper, and a myriad of other tactics. Who would think that her crying had to do with the pains of fashion. It was the last time she wore a sleeper, but not the last time that she dictated what she would wear.
At two years old her favorite shoes were cowboy boots. Her favorite top; a sweatshirt. Daily I chose a feminine outfit for her to wear. Daily, she would raid the laundry basket for yesterday’s sweatshirt. I left her in frills, only to have her appear moments later in a comfortable not so feminine shirt that needed washing. Already suffering from motherhood inadequacy, I determined that it was better to have the world know that I occasionally did laundry and I soon gave up on frills, lace and flowers. Pink? Forget it. Pink wasn’t a color according to her. It seems that I had a preconceived idea of what a little girl should be that didn’t exist.
Today we went shopping. By now, I know her adversity to lace, ribbons, and flourishings and yet I still have visions of delicacy and beauty in today’s purchase. Some ideas seem to persist despite all logical reasoning. I still have that preconceived idea of the delicate, soft, feminine look in girls’ fashion. As she walks out of the dressing room, I am happy that I never gave up hope. Until today I never noticed how much her white sweatshirts complimented her dark complexion and hair. While she isn’t wearing a lot of lace and embellishments, she is feminine and dazzling. The bagginess of the sweatshirt is gone, revealing simple curves. The dress is sleek, plain and eloquent. I guess, sometimes a mother just has to hang tight to see her visions materialize. What a stunning bride she will make. Sometimes a mother just knows.
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