Something to think about...

The holidays are over and things are getting back to normal, if you have a “normal”.  We do not.  But the holidays bring out a very fun “abnormal” for our family.  Mine started about two days prior to Thanksgiving and went on for a few days after New Years.  We had family, family and more family and that equates with fun, fun and more fun.  Of course, there is work in there somewhere but it is overshadowed by great amounts of pure unadulterated merriment and once it started we were on a roll.

There were parties, late night rounds of Dominos, Compatibility, Chess and other games.  Movies and munchies, lots and lots of presents, “I love you” was said repeatedly and our hearts were filled with merriment and devotion to each other and the One who the “Holy Day” commemorated. 

Just this past weekend, my husband and I found ourselves preparing to indulge in our final Christmas gift.  It was the last present to be opened Christmas morning; a weekend in Denver with our oldest son and his wife.  An anticipated event of almost surreal measure; something David and I could never afford ourselves but often hoped for and ashamedly coveted.  It was a gift we will never forget.  A beautiful hotel, fantastic restaurants and we were accompanied by two of our favorite people.  What more could we ask for?  What more could we want?  What more…..

It was as we were exiting the hotel that reality encroached and I saw him.  I had just opened the trunk of the car to replace my nicer leather coat for a double-duty ski jacket because, to quote myself, “I can’t stand the cold!” and we were going to jump on the trolley and ride for a few blocks.  There he was asleep on the sidewalk, a man somewhere between my age and my son’s.  He had a knit hat and tattered coat, no gloves, no blanket and no pillow.  His arms were wrapped around himself and his belongings were all in a small red bag which lay on the sidewalk beside him.  He slept on the cold Denver sidewalk as the snow spat on him in small insulting flakes of cruelty. 

And then I had a vision.  It was of a freshly painted cottage.  The sun reflected off of the perfectly polished windows.  Delicate lace covered those panes and gently blew in the breeze as a pie cooled on the window’s ledge.  On the door hung a wreath with a sign that said, “Welcome”.   Blue, yellow, pink and white flowers grew all around the garden in lovely pots of clay and a rose covered lattice arched a pathway that led to the front door.  “What a welcoming sight,” I thought. 

A gentle nudge; and I was beckoned closer.  I felt impelled to look into the window.  I thought I could nearly predict the cozy dwellings I would see inside but was astonished to find it was not at all what I had deliberated.  The room was dusty and ill kept.  The pantries were full of molded food and the front door had a padlock on the inside to keep out what was not welcome at all.  Books of self-help piled high on the bookshelves along with a multitude of dusty Bibles and study helps.  There was a strange daunting familiarity about the house as discernment was granted to me.

Sometimes in the late of the evening, as I sit in my warm home, such as I am now, I look outside at the cold and shudder.  I really do hate the cold.  What am I to do with the homeless man who sleeps in the cold, in the snow on the concrete sidewalk in downtown Denver, or…downtown Broomfield?   How do I remove the lock from my heart, my mind, my space?   How can I make the compassion I feel in my heart more than a passing emotion?  Such are the questions for which we are all liable. 

What good is it, my brothers, if a man claims to have faith but has no deeds?  Can such faith save him?  Suppose a brother or sister is without clothes and daily food.  If one of you says to him, “Go, I wish you well; keep warm and well fed.: but does nothing about his physical needs, what good is it?  In the same way, faith by itself, if it is not accompanied by action, is dead.  James 2:14-17

Forwards!!

Whereas I wouldn’t say I hate email forwards, I could say that I very much resent them.  I even dislike the little “FW:” that appears on entirely too many lines of my inbox. It isn’t so much the forward itself, it is that the persons sending the forwards are people who I care about very much but who will not take the time to write a single, “Hey, how are you?  I am fine, love you!” and they won’t answer any real message except to send a forward.  Does that bug anyone else?

I know, I know, I have the reputation of being a somewhat critical person and this sounds critical. I have debated how to handle the topic.  Enough said I suppose.  But then…

Another thing I really dislike about forwards is there is always some sort of guilt trip included if you don’t pass it on to the usual a ten person requirement.  I usually delete those.  Truthfully, I always delete those.  Always.   They anger me to a ridiculous measure.  I think to myself, “Wasn’t this sent from (go ahead place a name here, it may even be yours) and don’t they think I know how to click on “forward” and then send it to everyone on my mailing list?  I refuse.  Why? Because surely there are other people out there who hate, I mean dislike those stupid things as much as I.

While I am at it…once in a while I receive a really good, well written forward.  I am reading along and tears actually form in my eyes.  I think to myself, “This is miraculously a great ‘forward’ and just as I am thinking of someone who might enjoy it…yeah, you know…the old, “send this on to ten people and good luck will come to you in a certain amount of hours.” Good Luck????  Most of the people who are on my mailing list are Christians.  What’s that about???  Why would any Christian send someone something like this?  I then click “delete”.

There is one group of people who occasionally send me a forward that I always read and acknowledge the kind gesture.  They are those people who allow me the dignity of actually writing personal notes once in a while and/or call me and talk to me, or drop by my home.  New Rule: I delete forwards from anyone outside that group of people from now on. Yes…I do feel better.

Most of you haven’t heard a peep from my blog in a long series of months.  I have been writing, just not blogging.  It all sort of came to an end when I moved to the Denver area.  Mind you, it is beautiful here but I suffered a bit of depression.  You may say, “April, you are writing that as if it were past tense and this blog sounds a bit depressed in itself.”  Well, I am no longer depressed.  I am feeling again.  And today I “feel” like writing about forwards and how much I would love to actually have a meaningful email from a friend that said what they are feeling and what is happening in their life instead of someone else’s feelings and cutsie crap from a long line of forwarding madness. 

This is my war on forwards.  Next blog I will try and be positive and reassuring and maybe add a tidbit of insight or muster up some wisdom, but today I feel like telling it like it is.  You have all thought it; I am just woman enough to say it.

Something I Can Count On

One thing I know I can count on: the dishes waiting for me to be washed.  They are steadfast and sure, always waiting for me like a puppy lavishing its owner with wet kisses.  All encompassing, completely covering me with their devotion; they know that I am not afraid to dig in there and get my hands wet, water logged and dirty and scrub the daylights out of them. 

Many, many times I have begun a meal at 4:30pm not to finish preparation of the feast until nearly six o’clock.  Tired and worn, I sit down in utter fatigue.  Compliments from around the table brighten my spirits as I indulge in the fare.  I watch as one by one my family finishes and each excuse themselves.  I am once more alone. 

It is at this particular point I have a choice.  I can decide to put away any remaining food and leave the dishes for later, or I can burrow right in.  In the end it doesn’t matter.  If I choose to complete the task that lies ahead I have a sick since of accomplishment…for at least one moment.  There, then appears before me the stray cup, or spoon, or group of glasses from some other room.  These magically appear on the countertop next to the sink.  (Dishes are a typical lot, they totally dread the act of diving into the sink and being washed, but totally shine once they are clean, dried and put away) 

This…I hear is not an uncommon phenomenon.  My own personal research shows in various homes, that dishes most often prefer to be washed by one person in a household rather than by many.  I have often observed members of my family try to wash the dishes, even proclaiming to have accomplished the feat. Upon closer observation, however, I find that the pots and pans have deliberately eluded their pursuers of cleanliness and reappear when I walk into the kitchen screaming out in desperation for salvation from the grimy world of dried and cooked on food multiplied by time. And so I rescue them. 

Were it not for the love of my family I would tire of this.  But they are so content to believe they have actually conquered the kitchen, and so proud of their triumph…I make yet another choice: I will allow them this counterfeit success.  It is so little to grant really.

Oh, I am not perfect.  I have had those times when I have drawn to an individual’s attention that once again the pots and pans have eluded them.  I have shown them the particles of food crumbs on the counters and table.  I have prodded them to look closer and seek out the dishes that shun them. But to my dismay and theirs, heartache is all that is brought about. 

So now you may empathize, but do not understand.  Perhaps you are one of those to whom the dishes shy away.  Could it be that in your haste one day you cracked or broke a dish and thus the dishes no longer trust you?  I dare say if they avoid you this is probably the case.

I have no suggestion, but maybe a consolation.  If you are one to whom the dishes do not shy away, rejoice. Most likely small children are drawn to you and actual puppy dogs.  People probably feel safe and welcome in your home and much more importantly...others can depend on you.  Though at times you may become tired of washing the dishes you will have a much happier and more welcoming kitchen and it will be a place of contentment for you and for others.  This may not be much in the way of solace, but it is a start!

The lover of silence draws close to God. He talks to Him in secret and God enlightens him. --John Climacus

My Little Girls

   I have about 30 minutes here and so I write.  Today is easy usually it is not. 

   As a young mother I kept giving birth to sons.  After the first two I really wasn’t disappointed any longer; I liked boys and I found them interestingly brilliant. 

   But…at times…my heart yearned for a daughter.  A friend I could talk to about anything, a person I could do “girl” things with.  After many years I learned to do some guy stuff, like fishing and hiking. (I never got into hunting too much, mostly because I resented it a lot, but that is another story).

   There were times I no longer felt like a girl in my world of men.  And I truly wanted a daughter.  Then God gave us a tiny little daughter who came into this world with demands, mood swings out of this world, and four big brothers and a father who knew she could do no wrong.  She became somewhat undisciplined if you will.  Not a bad child, but even when the guys knew she had done wrong  they would cover it up and make excuses for her.  She played football at age two hanging onto and biting the ankles of her brothers who would complain and ask,  “Does she HAVE to play with us?” but always ending up allowing it no matter what my answer. 

  Today that daughter is, at times, a wonderful friend to me and at other times, to be honest, I think she hates me.  She isn’t the “girly girl” I had hoped for but she is honest, talented, and loves the Lord which are much more important things than the “girly” things I had prayed for.  I love her with all my heart, but I honestly think I may not have survived four daughters.  I am surely proud of making it through the raising of the one I was given.

   A miracle happens when you are the mother of sons.  They grow up, break your heart by leaving, make you prouder than you think you could ever be and then… if you are very blessed, they marry.  And that is what this blog is about.  I am not going to name my daughter-in-laws, I am going to describe them one at a time and see if they can guess which one I am talking about.   I know their husbands can.

Tiny in stature yet strong of heart

Baring much with dignity and grace

A soft open hand, tiny and warm

A listening ear and a gently touch

There is so much more to who she is

Than we will ever know

Excited always about the tiniest blessings

Her strength comes from outside of herself and from down deep

Her laughter is medicine to the soul

Her encouragement and wisdom are far beyond her years

Ability to withstand distance and meagerness is astounding

I love you sweet daughter, precious child of God.

Her spiritual gift is service

Her eyes portray her heart

Only one other human truly knows her

And she shares only with him and God

Laughing at her mistakes is normal and gracious

Seeing someone else unhappy brings a gentle hug and a concerned heart

Growing, growing…

Listening, listening…

Her honesty phrase, “I don’t want to, I have to…God said so.”

Driven is a word for her that those around her often can’t understand

Listening and understanding, she hears the hearts of others

She seems to understand that Heart and Hear are more or less synonyms

I love you my daughter, passionate one, God’s child.

Mirth, fun, fellowship

Captures the heart of all who meet her

She draws the spotlight when she wishes she wouldn’t

Spunk and determination

When you are with her you feel safe, as if she will always have things under control

Energy turned into laughter

Righteous with no judgment placed on those who know not

Eager to please those she loves but uncompromising in her faith

For a true friend she will endure much, but has wisdom enough to know who her true friends are.

Maternal, tender, encouraging and honest.

I love you my daughter, unwavering one, God’s child.

   My daughters.  I received them after they were grown and when all of the mood swings and the hating me would have already passed.  Thus, they grew up without my demented parenting and are always there when the daughter I raised can no longer tolerate my irritability.  I am so proud of them all I could burst.  And I love them with all my heart.  Mom

My Little Girls

   I have about 30 minutes here and so I write.  Today is easy usually it is not. 

   As a young mother I kept giving birth to sons.  After the first two I really wasn’t disappointed any longer; I liked boys and I found them interestingly brilliant. 

   But…at times…my heart yearned for a daughter.  A friend I could talk to about anything, a person I could do “girl” things with.  After many years I learned to do some guy stuff, like fishing and hiking. (I never got into hunting too much, mostly because I resented it a lot, but that is another story).

   There were times I no longer felt like a girl in my world of men.  And I truly wanted a daughter.  Then God gave us a tiny little daughter who came into this world with demands, mood swings out of this world, and four big brothers and a father who knew she could do no wrong.  She became somewhat undisciplined if you will.  Not a bad child, but even when the guys knew she had done wrong  they would cover it up and make excuses for her.  She played football at age two hanging onto and biting the ankles of her brothers who would complain and ask,  “Does she HAVE to play with us?” but always ending up allowing it no matter what my answer. 

  Today that daughter is, at times, a wonderful friend to me and at other times, to be honest, I think she hates me.  She isn’t the “girly girl” I had hoped for but she is honest, talented, and loves the Lord which are much more important things than the “girly” things I had prayed for.  I love her with all my heart, but I honestly think I may not have survived four daughters.  I am surely proud of making it through the raising of the one I was given.

   A miracle happens when you are the mother of sons.  They grow up, break your heart by leaving, make you prouder than you think you could ever be and then… if you are very blessed, they marry.  And that is what this blog is about.  I am not going to name my daughter-in-laws, I am going to describe them one at a time and see if they can guess which one I am talking about.   I know their husbands can.

Tiny in stature yet strong of heart

Baring much with dignity and grace

A soft open hand, tiny and warm

A listening ear and a gently touch

There is so much more to who she is

Than we will ever know

Excited always about the tiniest blessings

Her strength comes from outside of herself and from down deep

Her laughter is medicine to the soul

Her encouragement and wisdom are far beyond her years

Ability to withstand distance and meagerness is astounding

I love you sweet daughter, precious child of God.

Her spiritual gift is service

Her eyes portray her heart

Only one other human truly knows her

And she shares only with him and God

Laughing at her mistakes is normal and gracious

Seeing someone else unhappy brings a gentle hug and a concerned heart

Growing, growing…

Listening, listening…

Her honesty phrase, “I don’t want to, I have to…God said so.”

Driven is a word for her that those around her often can’t understand

Listening and understanding, she hears the hearts of others

She seems to understand that Heart and Hear are more or less synonyms

I love you my daughter, passionate one, God’s child.

Mirth, fun, fellowship

Captures the heart of all who meet her

She draws the spotlight when she wishes she wouldn’t

Spunk and determination

When you are with her you feel safe, as if she will always have things under control

Energy turned into laughter

Righteous with no judgment placed on those who know not

Eager to please those she loves but uncompromising in her faith

For a true friend she will endure much, but has wisdom enough to know who her true friends are.

Maternal, tender, encouraging and honest.

I love you my daughter, unwavering one, God’s child.

   My daughters.  I received them after they were grown and when all of the mood swings and the hating me would have already passed.  Thus, they grew up without my demented parenting and are always there when the daughter I raised can no longer tolerate my irritability.  I am so proud of them all I could burst.  And I love them with all my heart.  Mom