Christmas in May

So, I'm sure you've all heard about "Christmas in July" when car salesman, and department stores, and a variety of other shops offer a cool reminder of winter to distract us from the blistering heat of summer. I have a confession to make that may surprise some of you. Are you ready for it? Here goes . . . I've been listening to Christmas Music in my car for about a month now. My husband isn't even remotely interested in hearing Christmas Music until December. I'm sure he appreciates the fact that I don't' play it at home, and, that mostly, we listen to it in the car.

The real culprit in all of this is my four-year-old. One day while she was browsing through my CD collection she spotted a Christmas CD. Not knowing what it was, she asked if she could listen to it. I thought to myself, 'Why not? It can't do any harm.' Unfortunately for me, when she heard the first phrase of 'Jingle Bell Rock' she was hooked. In total bliss, she danced and swayed to the music. Then she pulled me in and asked me to dance with her. Once again I thought, 'Why not?' So I picked her up and started twirling her around. She was in love. And about two dozen times later, I'm glad to say she's moved on to other things. Now, she wants to listen to the WHOLE Christmas CD. At present, I keep it in my car so that when she asks to listen to it I can say, "It's out in the car, sweetie. We can't listen to it until we drive somewhere." And trust me; we listen to it every time we get in the car.

As for me, at first I thought I would just humor her. Let her listen to Jingle Bell Rock and dance to the music. It was cute. And as long as I limited it to three times a day, it wasn't unbearable. Then something unexpected happened. As I listened to the CD over and over again I began to think that we (all of us who celebrate Christmas) may have things backwards. Sound strange? Humor me for a moment. When everything is dead and gloomy and gray outside, Christmas music has a way of uplifting us. Giving us hope during a bleak time of the year. But in spring, oh in spring, Christmas Music takes on a whole new meaning. Not only does the music uplift, but it does something else; it shines and glows right along with the coming of spring. Don't believe me? Try it yourself. Pick a beautiful spring day, roll down those windows and pop in your favorite Christmas CD. You'll smile. You'll laugh. Most importantly you'll love it. There is something about the hope of the music and the hope of spring that, when combined, gives a joy that Christmas music in the dead of winter never could. Yup, all it takes is a good CD, a beautiful blue sky, and rolling down road with the windows wide open. I guarantee you'll love it. Love it. If you don't, I'll send you a Christmas Song, "Jingle Bell Rock", and see if it doesn't get you up and dancing.

Song of Songs 2:10-13 My lover spoke and said to me, "Arise, my darling, my beautiful one, and come with me. See! The winter is past; the rains are over and gone. Flowers appear on the earth; the
season of singing has come, the cooing of doves is heard in our land. The fig tree forms its early fruit; the blossoming vines spread their fragrance. Arise, come, my darling, my beautiful one, come with me.

a bittersweet trip

As we pulled on to the interstate at mile marker 426, I anticipated the trip – what was to come.  Unexpectedly, I felt a growing sense of sorrow - wave upon wave washing over me as we traveled further north.  As we passed each mile marker, the vivid memories of time spent with Mom became bittersweet reminders of all that we had, and all that we had lost.  From the beginning to the end a wave of emotions -laughter, tears, sorrow, joy intermingled in my heart.  We drove down the road towards the place I’d always called home; the place where she would no longer be. 

Mile Marker 426 – Nebraska

 The kids were loaded, snacks bought, the van filled up with gas.  We were on our way, a trip to South Dakota to participate in the first ever kidney walk in memory of Mom.  Even before we pulled onto the interstate bittersweet thoughts filled my heart.  Bitter because I was giving up seven and a half years of teaching memories; from bulletin borders, to curriculum books, to arts and crafts supplies, we were bringing it all so I could give it away.  The sweetness?  It was a gift to my niece who graduates in a few weeks with her teaching degree.  Even as I felt the sorrow of letting go – knowing who I was giving it to made it easier.  ‘It will help her get started on her own teaching journey,’ I thought and the knowledge of that made me smile. 

Mile Marker 156– Iowa

My thoughts turned towards home, what I’d always called home -  Mom’s house.  I recalled the memories of familiar sights and sounds there to greet us when we walked in the door.  The smell of fresh baked cookies, banana bread, trail mix or any other assortment of goodies that she’d made.  Giving her a big hug and holding on tight.  The kids were going to miss the candy drawer.  I was going to miss spending time with her - catching her snoozing in her favorite chair while watching TV.  Hugging her good night and telling her, ‘I love you.’ Dozens of these memories filled my mind as the van rolled down the road closer to the place I’d always loved – the place I’d grown up in, my childhood home.

 Mile Marker 18 – South Dakota

This is when the tears started to flow.  Unexpected, out of the blue, crocodile tears.  An ordinary mile marker -  the same as every other one we’d passed brought them on.  A small town – Elk Point with a restaurant we’d frequented over the years, Cody’s - one of Mom’s favorite places to eat when we were on the road.  So strange that such a simple memory could carry such a breathtaking punch aimed directly at my heart.  My tears were silent ones, the kind I didn’t want to share.  They hung hot and heavy as they slid down my cheeks. 

Then, an unexpected surprise, my four-year-old daughter asking to hold my hand.  Her precious little hands stroking mine, softly and gently as if she sensed that what her mama needed most was this touch of love.

Mile Marker 77 – South Dakota

Sioux Falls - a favorite destination from my childhood.  Visiting the Empire Mall to go shopping for school clothes, sipping on Orange Julius’s in the mall’s food court, sampling candy and fudge.  Heading home exhausted, yet thrilled with all of the new purchases made – ready to start a new school year.

Mile Marker 101 – South Dakota

Our kids whine and repeat the never ending phrase – Are we there yet?   Five minutes later - Are we there yet?  Every parent’s dreaded nightmare reminded me of the vacations I took as a child.  Crossing the plains, my siblings and I roamed freely in the car, fighting for territory and back-seat privileges.  All of those sweet times when we were “stuck” in a car together and bonded even as we suffered what we thought were the worst experiences of our lives – family vacations.

Mile marker 132 – South Dakota

As we roll ever closer to our destination, a sign catches my eye, an advertisement for Applebees – a restaurant  Mom and I frequented.  So many times we’d met for lunch there.  We’d order our favorites.  As I gobbled down my food, I’d watch poor Mom struggle to eat even a few bites of what she’d ordered -  eating like a bird because her stomach wouldn’t allow her to eat too much at once. 

Mile marker 156  - South Dakota

Our destination lies near, the anticipation of driving into Watertown without her being there makes me crazy.  My husband sensing that this trip has been hard shares his earphones -  unexpectedly choosing music only he could love making me laugh at the strange beats, rhythms, crazy lyrics of his favorites.  Then, finally, choosing one song he knows I’ll like  - The Dancing Queen – lryics that I can belt out with the best of them.  I laugh and sway to the music, breaking the solemn moment with a smile.

Mile marker 177 – South Dakota

Finally, we pull off of the interstate and drive down the ramp towards town.  All those car trips, my family took, vacations, shopping, heading out to our lake cabin.  All of them rolled into one - a cinema of movies playing across the screen of my heart.  Will I be able to survive this?

We reach my brother’s house.  Climbing out of the car we head inside. It is my son’s birthday, and they have surprises waiting.  Jack’s eyes open wide when he spots the clown cake made just for him.  He eagerly opens the present they give him.  No, this isn’t home.  But it is right.  It is a good place to be.  Over the weekend we bond.  We share memories.  We laugh.  Mom would have loved it – loved all of it.  As we prepare to leave on Sunday, my sister-in-law gives me a hug and speaks a benediction of sorts, “Come back soon.  This will always be home.”  A sweet ending to a bittersweet trip. 

 

Guilt vs. Grace

             Growing up, I remember struggling with guilt a lot.  This could have been the good Lutheran girl coming out in me.  Returning home from church, I would feel this peace in my heart, but as soon as the car drove into the garage and we all piled into our house, the good feelings disappeared and I’d be back to square one.   Amazing Grace how sweet the sound for everyone except me.  Never felt good enough, or that I deserved God’s love.  All I knew was that God was somewhere up in the sky and I was just little old me down here on earth.  How could I be significant to him? 

And, I don’t know why, but there is a big part of me today that still struggles with guilt.  I would say that nine times out of ten, I am more motivated by guilt  than grace.  Kind of a sad commentary on how much I don’t get about God’s love for me.  Furthermore, I am convinced that what God wants most for me is to have me be set perfectly free in his love.  There’s a verse that I love which reminds me of how things are supposed to be. 

I run in the path of your commands for you have set my heart free.  (Psalm 119:32)

Isn’t that a beautiful thought?  Not laboriously walking, or striving, or even jogging.  No, this verse talks about a full-throttled run.  Running in the path of his commands.  That idea intrigues me.  That verse makes me want to shout for joy.  No more guilt, only grace.  So how do I get there?

Well, God’s Spirit alone can move me to understand and actively believe in this kind of love.  This was Paul’s prayer for the believers at Ephesus: 

I pray to the Father, the Creator of everything in heaven and on earth.  I pray that from his glorious, unlimited resources he will give you mighty inner strength through his Holy Spirit.  And I pray that Christ will be more and more at home in your hearts as you trust in him.  May your roots go down deep into the soil of God’s marvelous love.  And may you have the power to understand, as all God’s people should, how wide, how long, how high and how deep his love really is.  (Ephesians 3:14-18 NLT)

I LOVE this verse – LOVE it.  It’s one I think of often when I’m praying for myself or others.  After all, who doesn’t want that?  Who doesn’t want to understand how great God’s love is for them.  Well, I can think of one shall we call him “being” who fights like heck to make sure we don’t let our roots sink down and rest in the love of Christ.  Yup, you got it.  Our old friend, the Devil. 

I have a little story to share that might make things a little more clear.  Today, I dug up some day lilies, because I wanted to transplant them in our back yard.  After I finished this morning they were all nice and perky looking - as good as they looked in our front garden.  But at this moment, I’m staring out the window and noticing - those flowers aren’t looking too hot.  Yup, my pretty little day lilies are wilting away in the scorching sun.  Granted, I have yet to water them so that may be part of the problem, and I suppose in a little while, I will need to go out and do just that.  But as I type this, I envision those plants, how I want them to look, and I know that what I want most for them is to thrive.  Not just survive or even live, but to thrive.   And I think that’s what God wants for us.  Not just to survive, not even just to live, but to thrive.  In Jesus own words, “that we may have life and have it to the full”. (John 10:10b)

Okay, I promise I’m gonna tie this up into a neat little package before I’m done, so here are some final thoughts;  Maybe guilt is the only way to get me going in the right direction.  But if guilt is my only motivator, then I’m probably going to struggle through life just trying to survive.  But, if, by God’s Spirit, I begin to get it, to really get how great God’s love is for me, to let my roots grow down deep into the “soil of God’s marvelous love,” then I don’t think it will be guilt that motivates me anymore but, rather, grace.  Enough grace to set me free.  Enough grace to set me free to “run in the path of God’s Commands.”  A grace, a love that leads me to live a free life, a full life.  And unlike my poor wilted lilies, a grace that allows me to thrive in the midst of whatever comes my way.

What about you?  Don’t you think that God wants this for all of us?  By God’s Spirit, learn to do more than survive, or even just to live.  Let your roots go down deep into the soil of God’s marvelous love and start thriving!

that's crazy talk

Hey all, how's it going?  I am taking an introduction course online - Introduction to Microsoft Word  2010 - so not having too much time to write.  But here are some thoughts for today. 

Psalm 14:1  The fool says in his heart, "There is no God."

Kind of a touchy topic to write about today, huh?  But I've been thinking about creation versus evolution for awhile now.  Main thoughts go something like this . . . I really, really believe in my heart that it takes more faith to believe in evolution than creation.  Seriously, look at the world around us.  How is it that this all came from a big bang?  Really?  I don't want to get into an argument with anyone, but I just don't get it.  I really don't.  As I type this it is a beautiful, sunny day.  Big, white, puffy clouds float across a brilliant blue sky.  The birds are chirping in the trees.  Plants are growing.  Grass is green.  It's beautiful, a beautiful day - and all of this just came out of nothing?  Things just happened to fall into place on their own?  That's crazy talk.

Next to me, stands my little girl waiting impatiently for me to finish my work so we can play ponies together.  Every night after she goes to bed, I sneak into her room and stand over her bed in awe of the beautiful one-of-a-kind girl she is; her own little personality intact, her face unique only to her.  What an awesome miracle.  And every day I look at my little boy as he walks bravely to school even on the days he doesn't want to.  I think about all the information and knowledge he's gained in ONE year of school - kindergarten, no less, and I am in awe, simply and utterly in awe.  They are miracles and no one's going to convince me that they just "happened" to turn out to be the beautiful, special, amazing kids that I love. They evolved from apes?  C'mon people, really?

As for me, I sit here typing this and thinking about the systems in my body all working together in a beautiful symphony; my heart pounding away, the lungs that fill with oxygen everytime I breath, my muscles, making it possible to even write this, my brain, responding to the signals from the rest of my body - all of this without me even having to think about it.  I ponder the unique, special ways that God has made me, my personality, my thoughts, my ideas - and all of it just came out of nothing?  No, I can't accept that.  You could talk to me 'til you were blue in the face, and I'm sorry, but I could not for one minute take the leap of faith that is a belief in evolution.

I don't even begin to grasp creation, and, if I had all the time in the world to list how this planet and all its inhabitants are amazing, one-of-a-kind, complex in their own way, there wouldn't be enough time nor  pages to even scratch the surface of all that God's done.  Even in a fallen state, the world is beautiful, and, if we stop and think about it, we are beautiful too - beautiful creatures meant to spend an eternity soaking in the love of God, loving him back, and walking with him each and everyday of our lives. 

We are special for many reasons.  But the most important reason is because we were handmade by God - miracles of epic proportion.  Even when we were in our mother's wombs, we were meant to play a special role in this miracle of life.  We were made for better things.  We were made to be smarter than the apes.  I'll finish off with this closing thought - two verses that sum up all I've been trying to say in four paragraphs. 

Psalm 139: 13-14.  For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother's womb.  I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that full well.

Value yourself more highly than a good majority of people on earth do.  Who wants to believe that they evolved from an ape anyway?

that crazy hair

An excerpt from Pools of Blessing

When I was a child my mother kept my hair short.  I don’t think she liked to mess with either my sister’s or my hair.  Consequently,  I never had those beautiful girlhood tresses hanging down my back like so many of my friends did.  Not only was our hair kept short, but it was also permed every three months. The outcome was anything but desirable.   Because my hair looked eerily similar to the character, Estelle’s, from the TV show, “The Golden Girls”, my husband, when he sees pictures of me from back then, refers to me as Stella.  And I have to say that minus the gray hair, he’s pretty much right.  The eighties were not good to me hair-wise. 

Mom not only kept our hair short, but she wore hers short as well.  Having thin, fine, hair Mom always seemed to struggle with how to fix it.  Every morning she painstakingly dried, curled, and combed her hair until it was, in her mind, at least presentable.  Sometimes I would watch her getting ready and think to myself, ‘Why is Mom so obsessed with how her hair looks?  Why can’t she just go out without all of the fuss?  Does she really think she’ll be judged if it’s not perfect?’

But sometimes the words you say, or in this case, think, have a way of coming back to bite you.  Because, ironically enough, I’ve always hated my hair, too.  Whether it’s cut short, or hangs long around my shoulders, worn up, or curled down, it never seems to be quite good enough.  Still I try.  I get my haircut and think, ‘Oh they fixed it so nicely, I can’t wait to get home and play with it.’  But inevitably, no matter how good the cut is, I can never make my hair look good enough.  Someone else always does it better. 

I never really understood all this drama over hair until, one day, Mom shared a story about her own mother.  Mom’s grandma, my great-grandma, Ella Pokorney, tended to be a stern, rigid person.  If something was done, then it needed to be done well.  Consequently, the year my grandma turned fourteen, Ella, her mother, began to take her to the beauty shop once a week to have her hair done.  Up to that point, Grandma had been an avid and enthusiastic swimmer, but from then on she was forbidden to swim or participate in any “sweaty activities”. 

After that my grandmother never washed or “did up” her own hair.  As an adult, she would visit her favorite beautician, Jewel Chappell, once a week on Fridays with an appointment scheduled for 4:00pm. 

Mind you now, this is all a theory, but doesn’t it seem a little crazy to you that we all, my great-grandmother, grandmother, mother and I have been so obsessed with our hair?   It’s like the “I hate my hair gene” has been passed down through the generations.  And, sad to say, this gene lives on brilliantly in me.   My hair hangs down to my shoulders, but even now I am considering cutting it short.  It just doesn’t look good enough.  It’s not perfectly perfect. 

Sadder still, I keep my little girl’s hair short too.  I don’t want to have to fix long hair because I feel so inept at fixing my own.   Yes, the “I hate my hair” gene is alive and well in me. 

But, as I write this it occurs to me that someone needs to stop the madness.   Maybe that somebody needs to be me.  There is a sane part of me that’s learned  this; sometimes you need to do things for the pure pleasure of trying.  Failure isn’t something to be avoided at all costs, it’s a stepping stone to learning how to do things well.  If perfection isn’t achieved, that’s ok.  The process is more important than the outcome.  

So, for my daughter’s sake, and the sake of my granddaughters and great-granddaughters to come, I will bring an end to this vicious cycle.  I will let my daughter grow her hair long if she wishes.  Even now, while her hair is chin length, I practice by putting bows and ribbons in it.  Perfect or not, I have to try.  I have to learn to let my hair down a bit.  No pun intended.

so long, farewell

Hey all!

Just a quick note to let you know that I'm not going to be writing entries for a few weeks.  I am going to meet with an agent at the Nebraska Writer's Guild spring conference.  I'll be sharing the book I'm working on.  It is still pretty raw and I have a lot of work to do to get it ready.  Anyway, I love writing the blog entries so I will keep doing them eventually.  Thanks to those of you who are faithful followers and to all for the positive feedback, encouragement, and support from the beginnings of my blogging journey til now! 

that crazy plank

Let me just say that I hate being judged.  Do you know what I mean?  The kind of judgment you feel boring a hole into your heart when you do something in public that seems out of the ordinary, unconventional, or just plain wrong.  Prime example:  My three-year-old, who shall remain nameless, threw a tantrum in the store the other day.  She played ‘wet noodle’ when I went to pick her up, and all the way out the door I felt the humiliation of it.  People stared at me condemningly.  I can just imagine what they were thinking, ‘What a bad mother she must be.  She has such poor control over her own child.’

Jesus once said, “Do not judge or you too will be judged.  For in the same way you judge others, you will be judged, and with the measure you use, it will be measured to you.” (Matthew 7:1 –NIV)

Such great wisdom.   I know because I used to be so judgmental myself.  I may have never said anything out loud, but I could condemn others with the best of them.   Oh, how I used to judge – for what I perceived to be poor parenting, or lack of self-control, or  weight,  or clothes worn.  If someone didn’t act like I thought they should, or walk, or talk, or be what I thought they should be, I judged them.  And let me just say, I was pretty harsh in my judgments.  No one, I mean no one, got a perfect ten from me.  But there were plenty who received subpar scores.  Now I just have to sit back and laugh.  Who did I think I was back then sitting on my throne judging any and everyone based on my principles, my standards?

I guess what I’m learning is the old adage,” You never know what another person’s life is like until you walk in their shoes for a bit.”  I like to call it ‘Seeing the Big Picture’.   It’s no fun when one of my little ones acts like a terror and leaves me humiliated in front of a family member, friend, or stranger.  But lately I’ve been dealing with it this way reminding myself that those judging me don’t see the whole picture.  They’re only catching a glimpse or a snapshot at the moment.

Seeing the bigger picture is important.  Remembering that you don’t know the person’s story, or circumstances, or situations is a good starting point.  After all you don’t want other people judging you , do you?   Remember what Jesus said, ‘With the measure you use, it will be measured back to you. ‘

It’s funny how we can point out others weaknesses and shortcomings more than we catch those things in ourselves.  In fact, many times, the thing I’m critical about in another is just as glaringly obvious in my own life.   Just because I don’t see it doesn’t mean it’s not there.  This reminds me of a teaching that Jesus once shared:

Why do you look at the speck in your brother’s eye and pay no attention to the plank in your own eye?  How can you say to your brother, ‘Brother, let me take the speck out of your eye,’ when you yourself fail to see the plank in your own eye?  You hypocrite, first take the plank out of your eye, and then you will see clearly to remove the speck from your brother’s eye. ‘  (Luke 6:41-NIV)

So the next time you feel like ‘getting up into someone else’s business’ take a good long look in the mirror.  If you find a plank there, you’ll probably want to remove it.  After all, you don’t want to poke your friend’s eye out.