My inlaws are here visiting this week. Now don't they look like they are having fun? We are having a great visit, I just wish they lived close so we could have fun year round.
Saturday, September 16, 2006
Having Fun
The kids having fun:
My inlaws are here visiting this week. Now don't they look like they are having fun? We are having a great visit, I just wish they lived close so we could have fun year round.
My inlaws are here visiting this week. Now don't they look like they are having fun? We are having a great visit, I just wish they lived close so we could have fun year round.
Tuesday, September 12, 2006
Sunday, September 10, 2006
Adventure Pants
I don't recall exactly when it happened. But sometime during second grade, Sarabeth dubbed her light tan overalls her "Adventure Pants."
I do remember whenever she went on a class field trip, I encouraged her to wear something comfortable. Maybe I suggested a pair of pants with pockets; the overalls had several. She owned 2 pairs of overalls, but the light tan ones were the ones chosen most often for field trips, thus began the term "Adventure Pants."
From the time Sarabeth was young, she was very intense about everything. This meant that if she saw me pack a chocolate cupcake in her lunch in the morning, it was the beginning of "the best day ever." The rest of her day was set to be perfect in spite of anything that might happen. Conversely, if she forgot her homework from the night before, the "worst day of her life" would begin. It didn't matter if her teacher even noticed. Her mind was prepared for everything to come tumbling down. She expected the teacher to stay angry with her all day and nothing could possibly go right.
The day she came home and proclaimed her overalls to be her Adventure Pants was a good day indeed. From there on out, the mornings she put them on became almost magical. It didn't matter that it wasn't a day for a field trip, or that she didn't have a chocolate cupcake in her lunch. Instead, she expected fun. Her mind was set for an interesting day. She had an expectation. She knew something new and delightful was just waiting for her around every corner. She looked for it in everything she did. She returned from school with stories of little blessings that made up her day. It was usually her "best day ever."
That summer, we put the Pants to rest, but pulled them out again in the Fall. It was quite a disappointment when she found they no longer fit. I tried passing them on to her younger sister, Hilary. But she would have none of it. There was no way she was going to wear Sarabeth's Adventure Pants. I think I got teary-eyed when I gave them away. I never told Sarabeth.
Wouldn't it be nice if we all had a pair of Adventure Pants? We could put them on in the morning. This would place us on the road to adventure. We would spend our day in anticipation of blessings. We would watch and wait for the excitement to begin. We would appreciate the smallest of joys we might otherwise have missed? Go put on your Adventure Pants. Have the best day ever!
I do remember whenever she went on a class field trip, I encouraged her to wear something comfortable. Maybe I suggested a pair of pants with pockets; the overalls had several. She owned 2 pairs of overalls, but the light tan ones were the ones chosen most often for field trips, thus began the term "Adventure Pants."
From the time Sarabeth was young, she was very intense about everything. This meant that if she saw me pack a chocolate cupcake in her lunch in the morning, it was the beginning of "the best day ever." The rest of her day was set to be perfect in spite of anything that might happen. Conversely, if she forgot her homework from the night before, the "worst day of her life" would begin. It didn't matter if her teacher even noticed. Her mind was prepared for everything to come tumbling down. She expected the teacher to stay angry with her all day and nothing could possibly go right.
The day she came home and proclaimed her overalls to be her Adventure Pants was a good day indeed. From there on out, the mornings she put them on became almost magical. It didn't matter that it wasn't a day for a field trip, or that she didn't have a chocolate cupcake in her lunch. Instead, she expected fun. Her mind was set for an interesting day. She had an expectation. She knew something new and delightful was just waiting for her around every corner. She looked for it in everything she did. She returned from school with stories of little blessings that made up her day. It was usually her "best day ever."
That summer, we put the Pants to rest, but pulled them out again in the Fall. It was quite a disappointment when she found they no longer fit. I tried passing them on to her younger sister, Hilary. But she would have none of it. There was no way she was going to wear Sarabeth's Adventure Pants. I think I got teary-eyed when I gave them away. I never told Sarabeth.
Wouldn't it be nice if we all had a pair of Adventure Pants? We could put them on in the morning. This would place us on the road to adventure. We would spend our day in anticipation of blessings. We would watch and wait for the excitement to begin. We would appreciate the smallest of joys we might otherwise have missed? Go put on your Adventure Pants. Have the best day ever!
Thursday, September 07, 2006
Lots Of Days
After 20 years, does it get any easier? Well, yes, yes it does. This is my 20th year, as a mom, sending my kids off for the first day of school. This is my 1st year of saying good-bye at the door. I didn't even have to get dressed. No waiting in morning traffic. No one's hair to fix. Nobody's shoes to find or put on their little feet. I only made 2 lunches. This is getting much easier.
Sigh. It won't be long and there will be no more 1st days of school. My children will all be grown and moved out of the house. It will be quiet. Maybe then I will appreciate the Fall. I might look forward to cooler morning temperatures, knowing I don't have to make a mad dash out of the house to get kids to school. It is possible that the changing colors will no longer represent the end of lazy summer days. The crunching of leaves underfoot won't be a reminder of the busy days and nights filled with homework, meetings, buying school supplies, and endless driving back-and-forth.
Instead, I will watch my own children as parents, begin the whole routine of raising their children.
Sigh. It won't be long and there will be no more 1st days of school. My children will all be grown and moved out of the house. It will be quiet. Maybe then I will appreciate the Fall. I might look forward to cooler morning temperatures, knowing I don't have to make a mad dash out of the house to get kids to school. It is possible that the changing colors will no longer represent the end of lazy summer days. The crunching of leaves underfoot won't be a reminder of the busy days and nights filled with homework, meetings, buying school supplies, and endless driving back-and-forth.
Instead, I will watch my own children as parents, begin the whole routine of raising their children.
Saturday, August 26, 2006
A Good Friend
This morning my dear, dear grandson woke up with a terrible diaper rash. He was screaming, my daughter was in tears not sure what to do. We promptly put him in a bath with baking soda. The crying stopped, the tears vanished. At the moment, he is having his 4th bath today. As I pondered the situation as a whole, I became very thankful for little things in life.
Sixteen years ago, a friend and I stood in my kitchen. My baby daughter had a diaper rash and was screaming. I felt so helpless. My friend told me to give her a bath in baking soda. I was doubtful. "Won't baking soda, like salt, sting and burn?"
"No," she replied. She began to make my baby a bath in the kitchen sink, while retrieving the baking soda from my cupboard and mixing it into the warm water. What a relief when I set her in the sink and her screaming immediately stopped.
Many years later, this helpful advice of a friend was soothing yet another baby. How many people have come into my life and deposited wisdom, advice, and so many other things that have made a difference? So many who are no longer in my life, but just passed through, and others who are still so very dear to me. I thought of the lady who taught me to make homemade bread and how to "properly" knead the dough. Recently, I had to borrow my daughter's car to take another one to school. I was so thankful for the person who taught me to drive a stickshift...And let me tell you, I have a much better perspective today. I am so thankful for all of the people the Lord has brought into and out of my life. And I am thankful for all of you who have shared your lives through the internet-bringing a smile, a laugh, a tear, a word of wisdom...so much. I am so blessed. I hope you will take time today and remember how blessed you are by the people who have touched your life.
(I ran across this in my drawer. I wrote it 3 years ago when I was writing out a Christmas card to the friend who mixed up the baking soda bath. So I decided to share it here today.)
Sixteen years ago, a friend and I stood in my kitchen. My baby daughter had a diaper rash and was screaming. I felt so helpless. My friend told me to give her a bath in baking soda. I was doubtful. "Won't baking soda, like salt, sting and burn?"
"No," she replied. She began to make my baby a bath in the kitchen sink, while retrieving the baking soda from my cupboard and mixing it into the warm water. What a relief when I set her in the sink and her screaming immediately stopped.
Many years later, this helpful advice of a friend was soothing yet another baby. How many people have come into my life and deposited wisdom, advice, and so many other things that have made a difference? So many who are no longer in my life, but just passed through, and others who are still so very dear to me. I thought of the lady who taught me to make homemade bread and how to "properly" knead the dough. Recently, I had to borrow my daughter's car to take another one to school. I was so thankful for the person who taught me to drive a stickshift...And let me tell you, I have a much better perspective today. I am so thankful for all of the people the Lord has brought into and out of my life. And I am thankful for all of you who have shared your lives through the internet-bringing a smile, a laugh, a tear, a word of wisdom...so much. I am so blessed. I hope you will take time today and remember how blessed you are by the people who have touched your life.
(I ran across this in my drawer. I wrote it 3 years ago when I was writing out a Christmas card to the friend who mixed up the baking soda bath. So I decided to share it here today.)
Wednesday, August 23, 2006
Scented
As I sit typing on my keyboard, I find myself wanting a big cinnamon bun. MMmmmm...I breathe in and catch a faint scent of that delicious cinnamon. I get back to what I am working on, when it seems that warm cinnamon fragrance wafts by my nostrils igniting my senses and making me hungry again. Where is that enticing odor coming from? Me.
I keep a sugar bowl filled with a mixture of sugar, powdered sugar, and cinnamon. I make big, thick slices of french toast and sprinkle this on top. It tastes better than a freshly baked donut. I was looking for something in the cupboard and moved the sugar bowl to the top shelf. Somehow, it came tumbling out. In my attempt to catch it, I managed to not only miss it causing it to crash and break, but the grainy sugar went down the front of me and down my blouse. Like I mentioned, I can still smell cinnamon, along with feeling an occasional sticky spot. I think I'm going to make cinnamon rolls for breakfast tomorrow.
I keep a sugar bowl filled with a mixture of sugar, powdered sugar, and cinnamon. I make big, thick slices of french toast and sprinkle this on top. It tastes better than a freshly baked donut. I was looking for something in the cupboard and moved the sugar bowl to the top shelf. Somehow, it came tumbling out. In my attempt to catch it, I managed to not only miss it causing it to crash and break, but the grainy sugar went down the front of me and down my blouse. Like I mentioned, I can still smell cinnamon, along with feeling an occasional sticky spot. I think I'm going to make cinnamon rolls for breakfast tomorrow.
Tuesday, August 22, 2006
Bored
I was at the store and one of my kids sent a text message to my phone. This is what it said:
He's bored without you!
Yes, that is Michael, my darling husband. Looks like he fell asleep in the chair. I guess he really did get bored in my absence. See? I told you that we have fun when we are together and he must have missed me terribly to fall asleep.
He's bored without you!
Yes, that is Michael, my darling husband. Looks like he fell asleep in the chair. I guess he really did get bored in my absence. See? I told you that we have fun when we are together and he must have missed me terribly to fall asleep.
Friday, August 18, 2006
Color
I am fascinated by colors. Just like music, colors create mood, ambiance. There just seems to be life in color. Could it be that we were each created with our own special color?
Could it be that:
I am yellow. Michael is red. Together a fiery sunset orange. The colors are so blended, you can no longer tell where the red, yellow, or orange begins.
Do you see where I am going? Yes, we are each a very unique color but were created to blend when we are married. As in the sunset, there are distinct colors, but the end goal is to see the blended color all as one. We are still unique, but in our marriage what God is trying to reveal to the world is the orange. Sometimes I want to be just yellow and I resist. But life is so much better in the blended part.
"For this reason a man shall leave his father and mother and be joined to his wife, and the two shall become one flesh; so then they are no longer two, but one flesh." (Mark 10:7-8)
Could it be that:
I am yellow. Michael is red. Together a fiery sunset orange. The colors are so blended, you can no longer tell where the red, yellow, or orange begins.
Do you see where I am going? Yes, we are each a very unique color but were created to blend when we are married. As in the sunset, there are distinct colors, but the end goal is to see the blended color all as one. We are still unique, but in our marriage what God is trying to reveal to the world is the orange. Sometimes I want to be just yellow and I resist. But life is so much better in the blended part.
"For this reason a man shall leave his father and mother and be joined to his wife, and the two shall become one flesh; so then they are no longer two, but one flesh." (Mark 10:7-8)
Thursday, August 10, 2006
Happy 22nd Birthday
Happy 22nd Birthday to Christopher (a little late)
While in Arizona we celebrated Christopher's birthday. I've been a little slow updating, but still wanted to make a Happy Birthday post.
I figured out the other day, son, that you are exactly half my age. This is the only year that this will be true. I also figured out, that means you are the age I was when I gave birth to you. So happy 22nd!
I remember when you had already mastered the art of teasing your sister before your 2nd birthday. I knew right then and there that boys were wired differently than girls.
I remember when you wanted Nickelodean shoes. They were bright red. The next day you came home from school and said they didn't fit. I took you back to the store and the gentleman rechecked them. Then he turned to you and queried, "you don't really like these do you?" Sheepishly, you admitted it was true. Someone at school had made fun of you and you never wanted to wear them again. I learned how powerful peer pressure was and how early it began.
I remember the first trip to the Emergency Room. You'd found some Advil in my purse you thought were M&M's and decided to munch a few. I should have known then, that as a mother of a son, I'd make many more trips to the emergency room. I learned wound care after stitches, how to keep a cast from getting wet, that broken collar bones look real cool on ex-rays. And I learned to pray quick prayers, with my heart beating wildly in my chest and finding I could be calm in an emergency.
I remember taking our first family photos and in every single picture you were making a face or silly pose. That should have been a clue that you had a gift for humor and we'd find ourselves laughing nearly every day at the dinner table as you regaled us with tales.
I remember the phone calls from girls that I sort of freaked out about. I was more than shocked that 6 and 7 year old girls knew how to flirt. I learned that even boys needed to protect their hearts.
I remember when you were in the 6th grade and I walked into your school. You wanted to die of embarrassment and tried to slide under the table. I was learning that little boys grow up and needed space of their own.
I remember in high school when you'd wrap your arms around me and give me a hug-even out in public. I learned that it was ok to be your mom again.
I remember how appreciative you were about everything, from telling me "you're a good cooker" as a preschooler until...well, it continues. I learned you are very articulate in expressing your gratitude in even the smallest things, but also how important words are to you. I hope you will always have people in your life who value and appreciate you for all that you are and express the same appreciation you so freely give. There is so much more I could say, but since this isn't a book, I'll just say thank-you for being the kind of son any mom would be proud of and yes, you are my favorite son!
While in Arizona we celebrated Christopher's birthday. I've been a little slow updating, but still wanted to make a Happy Birthday post.
I figured out the other day, son, that you are exactly half my age. This is the only year that this will be true. I also figured out, that means you are the age I was when I gave birth to you. So happy 22nd!
I remember when you had already mastered the art of teasing your sister before your 2nd birthday. I knew right then and there that boys were wired differently than girls.
I remember when you wanted Nickelodean shoes. They were bright red. The next day you came home from school and said they didn't fit. I took you back to the store and the gentleman rechecked them. Then he turned to you and queried, "you don't really like these do you?" Sheepishly, you admitted it was true. Someone at school had made fun of you and you never wanted to wear them again. I learned how powerful peer pressure was and how early it began.
I remember the first trip to the Emergency Room. You'd found some Advil in my purse you thought were M&M's and decided to munch a few. I should have known then, that as a mother of a son, I'd make many more trips to the emergency room. I learned wound care after stitches, how to keep a cast from getting wet, that broken collar bones look real cool on ex-rays. And I learned to pray quick prayers, with my heart beating wildly in my chest and finding I could be calm in an emergency.
I remember taking our first family photos and in every single picture you were making a face or silly pose. That should have been a clue that you had a gift for humor and we'd find ourselves laughing nearly every day at the dinner table as you regaled us with tales.
I remember the phone calls from girls that I sort of freaked out about. I was more than shocked that 6 and 7 year old girls knew how to flirt. I learned that even boys needed to protect their hearts.
I remember when you were in the 6th grade and I walked into your school. You wanted to die of embarrassment and tried to slide under the table. I was learning that little boys grow up and needed space of their own.
I remember in high school when you'd wrap your arms around me and give me a hug-even out in public. I learned that it was ok to be your mom again.
I remember how appreciative you were about everything, from telling me "you're a good cooker" as a preschooler until...well, it continues. I learned you are very articulate in expressing your gratitude in even the smallest things, but also how important words are to you. I hope you will always have people in your life who value and appreciate you for all that you are and express the same appreciation you so freely give. There is so much more I could say, but since this isn't a book, I'll just say thank-you for being the kind of son any mom would be proud of and yes, you are my favorite son!
Wednesday, August 09, 2006
Therapy
My grandson, Ethan, has started horseback riding therapy. I am sure there is a more official name, but it is riding a horse. He has been very motivated and within the first few minutes began signing "walk on" to the horse since he can't say it. He doesn't have his glasses this week as he fell and broke them, but doesn't he look so very proud of himself?
I am so thankful for God's creation. Ethan loves animals and the first time he crawled was trying to reach the dog, as were his first steps. The first word he signed was "dog." I'm hoping one day he can get a service dog to be his constant companion. I know that would be heaven for him.
I am so thankful for God's creation. Ethan loves animals and the first time he crawled was trying to reach the dog, as were his first steps. The first word he signed was "dog." I'm hoping one day he can get a service dog to be his constant companion. I know that would be heaven for him.
Sunday, August 06, 2006
True Story
In case anyone was wondering, the previous two posts are true stories that happened 30 years ago. The girl was left wanting to be clean and whole, but also desperate for someone to love her and find worth in her. Unfortunately those two desires seemed to conflict with each other. The more she did to try to obtain love, the more unlovely she felt, the more broken and hurt she became. It created a downward spiral in her life for 8 years. By the time she was 22, she was married to her 2nd husband and expecting her 2nd child.
She'd attempted to pray but found the door to heaven tightly shut. (She didn't realize that in order to open that door she had to go through with Jesus.) She went to her former pastor. He didn't seem to have a clue how to help. His answer was for the girl to think of a book in the bible. (She wished that somewhere along the way she'd memorized the books of the bible, because outside of Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John, she couldn't think of any other books.) She blurted one of them out and picked out a number. Together they read the passage of scripture, but none of it seemed to apply. The pastor was looking in the right direction, but had nothing real to offer her.
She went to see another pastor to confess all of her sins, hoping to find forgiveness. Again, she went away empty. She tried to read her bible, but everything seemed a blur. The girl was losing hope fast. She visited several churches. In one, they pinned a giant ribbon on her dress with the word VISITOR printed on it. She felt like a prize at the county fair. At least she couldn't blend in that day. During the service she blushed when all of the visitors were told to stand so everyone could see them and greet them after the service. When it was all over, she sat in the car with her almost 3 year old. Tears ran down her face. She couldn't believe nobody, not 1 single person had introduced themselves or even said hello. She was ashamed. She knew why they didn't talk to her. They thought she was an unwed mother and pregnant again. They knew her shame and nobody wanted to be around her.
But this story has a happy ending. The girl ventured out one last time. She visited one more church. The people were very friendly. Towards the beginning of the service, the Pastor instructed everyone to greet those around them. Feeling very awkward, the girl just stood there, until she felt a hand on her shoulder. She turned around and a boisterous woman grabbed her and hugged her tightly to her chest. She didn't let go right away. She hugged her longer. Finally she pulled back. "Hi, I'm Carol! I am so happy to meet you. I am so glad you are here, and aren't you the most beautiful pregnant lady I've ever seen." After the service, the two exchanged phone numbers. Carol invited her over for coffee. Within the month, not only were the two good friends, but Carol shared with her the secret to feeling clean again, how much she was loved and the answer to her loneliness. She explained the simplicity of the gospel message and I was born again.
I was given a new identity. The slate was wiped clean. I was no longer bound to the shame of the past or desperate for love. I became a beloved daughter. I am a partner with Jesus and nothing can separate me from His love. Twenty-two years later, He still loves me. He still amazes me beyond words. Our relationship has taken some adventurous twists and turns. I learn new things about God all of the time. The relationship grows the way all relationships do, by spending time with one another. I enjoy sharing the secrets and desires in my heart, my burdens and cares. I've learned to listen to Him share the same. And the funny part? The more I let Him get to know me, He still loves me the same. The more I know about Him, the more I love Him.
She'd attempted to pray but found the door to heaven tightly shut. (She didn't realize that in order to open that door she had to go through with Jesus.) She went to her former pastor. He didn't seem to have a clue how to help. His answer was for the girl to think of a book in the bible. (She wished that somewhere along the way she'd memorized the books of the bible, because outside of Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John, she couldn't think of any other books.) She blurted one of them out and picked out a number. Together they read the passage of scripture, but none of it seemed to apply. The pastor was looking in the right direction, but had nothing real to offer her.
She went to see another pastor to confess all of her sins, hoping to find forgiveness. Again, she went away empty. She tried to read her bible, but everything seemed a blur. The girl was losing hope fast. She visited several churches. In one, they pinned a giant ribbon on her dress with the word VISITOR printed on it. She felt like a prize at the county fair. At least she couldn't blend in that day. During the service she blushed when all of the visitors were told to stand so everyone could see them and greet them after the service. When it was all over, she sat in the car with her almost 3 year old. Tears ran down her face. She couldn't believe nobody, not 1 single person had introduced themselves or even said hello. She was ashamed. She knew why they didn't talk to her. They thought she was an unwed mother and pregnant again. They knew her shame and nobody wanted to be around her.
But this story has a happy ending. The girl ventured out one last time. She visited one more church. The people were very friendly. Towards the beginning of the service, the Pastor instructed everyone to greet those around them. Feeling very awkward, the girl just stood there, until she felt a hand on her shoulder. She turned around and a boisterous woman grabbed her and hugged her tightly to her chest. She didn't let go right away. She hugged her longer. Finally she pulled back. "Hi, I'm Carol! I am so happy to meet you. I am so glad you are here, and aren't you the most beautiful pregnant lady I've ever seen." After the service, the two exchanged phone numbers. Carol invited her over for coffee. Within the month, not only were the two good friends, but Carol shared with her the secret to feeling clean again, how much she was loved and the answer to her loneliness. She explained the simplicity of the gospel message and I was born again.
I was given a new identity. The slate was wiped clean. I was no longer bound to the shame of the past or desperate for love. I became a beloved daughter. I am a partner with Jesus and nothing can separate me from His love. Twenty-two years later, He still loves me. He still amazes me beyond words. Our relationship has taken some adventurous twists and turns. I learn new things about God all of the time. The relationship grows the way all relationships do, by spending time with one another. I enjoy sharing the secrets and desires in my heart, my burdens and cares. I've learned to listen to Him share the same. And the funny part? The more I let Him get to know me, He still loves me the same. The more I know about Him, the more I love Him.
Thursday, August 03, 2006
PART TWO
The summer before high school, Barbara moved to a nearby town. The girl still didn't have a lot of friends. Her parents would sometimes allow her to spend the weekend with Barbara. During one weekend the girls, as usual, hung out at a nearby bowling alley. That was where the girl met Joe and Kevin.
At first the girl did not care for them at all. They were obnoxious and crude and talked awful. But because there wasn't much to do at Barbara's and her parents didn't care what the girls did, they ended up spending quite a bit of time with Joe and Kevin that weekend. When the girls finally decided to go in that night, Joe leaned in and kissed the girl. She went away feeling very strange. Why did he kiss her? Did he like her? And what kind of kiss was that? She'd never had attention like that from any boy. It was sort of exciting, but very scary at the same time. The girl went to sleep with a mix of emotions.
The following week Joe asked her out. She was only 14 and Joe was 17, but she begged her father to let her go. It was just a drive-in movie and Kevin and Barbara were going also. It took some doing, but she convinced her father to let her go.
Joe and Kevin picked her up at the appointed time. As they drove towards the next town the girl was excited. She'd never driven in a car without an adult. The boys were smoking and kept offering it to the girl. She knew they weren't smoking regular cigarettes. She was afraid Joe wouldn't like her anymore if she didn't do it. He would think she was a baby. Joe pulled the car over and switched places with Kevin.
"When are we picking up Barbara?" The girl asked.
"She can't make it. We are stopping by another friend's house." Joe sat next to the girl and began to kiss her. She began to feel loved. But the feelings quickly began to disentigrate into confusion when Joe began to talk about having sex.
Back when she was in confirmation class, the pastor had discussed the ten commandments. They discussed how to say no to someone who wanted to have sex with you, give you drugs and such. But the girl was totally unprepared for this. She'd imagined walking down the street and some hoodlum asking her if she wanted to do drugs. She imagined herself emphatically telling him no. She never thought it would be someone she wanted to like her. She also had no idea she would enjoy kissing a boy when the subject of sex came up and she'd have the same confused feelings.
Finally, when she could manage the pressure no longer, she blurted out, "I can't do those things. It is Saturday night and I'm going to church tomorrow." The boys laughed.
The car stopped on a dark street and the 3 kids went into the house. There was a party going on with no adults in sight. The air was hazy with smoke. The girl knew the smell well enough to know it wasn't just cigarrette smoke. She sat on the couch with the boys. She was made fun of by others there when Joe told them she wouldn't get high with them. Several of them blew smoke in her face, trying to get her to inhale. She was beginning to feel light-headed and was trying her best to figure a way out of the situation. She looked around for a phone. Maybe there was a phone in a bedroom. She could ask to use the restroom and sneak in and call her parents to come get her. But the girl had no idea where she was. She didn't know the address or even the street name or whose house they were at.
She was feeling so disoriented and scared. She envisioned the next day's headlines in the newspaper: Girl dies from smoking pot. Her parents would think she used drugs and would be disgraced even though it wasn't true. The girl excused herself to go to the restroom where she thought she might be sick.
When she came out, the house was quiet. Nobody was there except Joe. "What's going on?" She asked. "They all left for a bit. Come in here, I want to show you something." Joe took her into another room and closed the door. It was then the girl realized his intentions. "Please Joe, I don't want to do this. I want to go home now."
Joe persisted. He ignored her pleas. She tried to hang onto her clothing as he forced it off. The girl wondered if she could escape and run out the door. Where would she go? How could she get help? She knew none of the kids who'd been there would do anything about it. If she only knew the neighborhood, or where someone lived that she could trust. But she still had no idea where she was, except in another town on a dark street. She began to cry feeling totally helpless to break free and also from the physical pain and burning.
After awhile, she knew it was over. Joe got up and left the room. The girl quickly pulled on her clothes. She saw blood on the bed. She'd never felt so dirty and used in all her life. Now who was going to love her? Nobody would want her. She would be destined to marry Joe since he was the one who ruined her.
The house filled with noise again. The girl saw Kevin and asked him if he'd take her home. He did. The girl never told her parents what happened. She was too ashamed. When she'd begged her father to let her go out with Joe, she'd asked, "don't you trust me?" How could he trust her when she let this happen? It didn't matter that she'd had no way to imagine the situation she'd been in, but it was her fault anyway. So the girl began high school feeling like damaged merchandise.
At first the girl did not care for them at all. They were obnoxious and crude and talked awful. But because there wasn't much to do at Barbara's and her parents didn't care what the girls did, they ended up spending quite a bit of time with Joe and Kevin that weekend. When the girls finally decided to go in that night, Joe leaned in and kissed the girl. She went away feeling very strange. Why did he kiss her? Did he like her? And what kind of kiss was that? She'd never had attention like that from any boy. It was sort of exciting, but very scary at the same time. The girl went to sleep with a mix of emotions.
The following week Joe asked her out. She was only 14 and Joe was 17, but she begged her father to let her go. It was just a drive-in movie and Kevin and Barbara were going also. It took some doing, but she convinced her father to let her go.
Joe and Kevin picked her up at the appointed time. As they drove towards the next town the girl was excited. She'd never driven in a car without an adult. The boys were smoking and kept offering it to the girl. She knew they weren't smoking regular cigarettes. She was afraid Joe wouldn't like her anymore if she didn't do it. He would think she was a baby. Joe pulled the car over and switched places with Kevin.
"When are we picking up Barbara?" The girl asked.
"She can't make it. We are stopping by another friend's house." Joe sat next to the girl and began to kiss her. She began to feel loved. But the feelings quickly began to disentigrate into confusion when Joe began to talk about having sex.
Back when she was in confirmation class, the pastor had discussed the ten commandments. They discussed how to say no to someone who wanted to have sex with you, give you drugs and such. But the girl was totally unprepared for this. She'd imagined walking down the street and some hoodlum asking her if she wanted to do drugs. She imagined herself emphatically telling him no. She never thought it would be someone she wanted to like her. She also had no idea she would enjoy kissing a boy when the subject of sex came up and she'd have the same confused feelings.
Finally, when she could manage the pressure no longer, she blurted out, "I can't do those things. It is Saturday night and I'm going to church tomorrow." The boys laughed.
The car stopped on a dark street and the 3 kids went into the house. There was a party going on with no adults in sight. The air was hazy with smoke. The girl knew the smell well enough to know it wasn't just cigarrette smoke. She sat on the couch with the boys. She was made fun of by others there when Joe told them she wouldn't get high with them. Several of them blew smoke in her face, trying to get her to inhale. She was beginning to feel light-headed and was trying her best to figure a way out of the situation. She looked around for a phone. Maybe there was a phone in a bedroom. She could ask to use the restroom and sneak in and call her parents to come get her. But the girl had no idea where she was. She didn't know the address or even the street name or whose house they were at.
She was feeling so disoriented and scared. She envisioned the next day's headlines in the newspaper: Girl dies from smoking pot. Her parents would think she used drugs and would be disgraced even though it wasn't true. The girl excused herself to go to the restroom where she thought she might be sick.
When she came out, the house was quiet. Nobody was there except Joe. "What's going on?" She asked. "They all left for a bit. Come in here, I want to show you something." Joe took her into another room and closed the door. It was then the girl realized his intentions. "Please Joe, I don't want to do this. I want to go home now."
Joe persisted. He ignored her pleas. She tried to hang onto her clothing as he forced it off. The girl wondered if she could escape and run out the door. Where would she go? How could she get help? She knew none of the kids who'd been there would do anything about it. If she only knew the neighborhood, or where someone lived that she could trust. But she still had no idea where she was, except in another town on a dark street. She began to cry feeling totally helpless to break free and also from the physical pain and burning.
After awhile, she knew it was over. Joe got up and left the room. The girl quickly pulled on her clothes. She saw blood on the bed. She'd never felt so dirty and used in all her life. Now who was going to love her? Nobody would want her. She would be destined to marry Joe since he was the one who ruined her.
The house filled with noise again. The girl saw Kevin and asked him if he'd take her home. He did. The girl never told her parents what happened. She was too ashamed. When she'd begged her father to let her go out with Joe, she'd asked, "don't you trust me?" How could he trust her when she let this happen? It didn't matter that she'd had no way to imagine the situation she'd been in, but it was her fault anyway. So the girl began high school feeling like damaged merchandise.
Friday, July 28, 2006
PART ONE
She'd always been the quiet type, very shy, but an excellent student. She was one of those annoying girls that when she did open her mouth, it was usually correct someone's grammar. Her family had moved 3 times in 3 years and she hoped that she would finally make some more friends in Junior High School.
At the end of sixth grade, she'd learned a lot of things. You didn't win popularity contests by pointing out grammar mistakes. In fact, those with the poorest grammar seemed to have lots of friends. Her school was sometimes a scary place. There were some very mean girls who threatened her regularly. How was she ever going to fit in?
That summer a new family moved in just a few doors down. They had a girl who was just 1 year older. Her name was Barb. This family wasn't like any she'd met before. Lots of people of all ages lived at this house. She found out the mom had been married 4 times and most of those living in the house were brothers and sisters from all different dads. Barb's older siblings often had boyfriends of girlfriends spending the night. She wasn't always comfortable at Barb's house, but she was intrigued with the all that went on, especially the parties that they hosted.
She noticed her friend Barb didn't have perfect grammar, but instead of correcting her, she decided to learn from her. She spent the entire summer learning slang and cute deviations of grammar that she knew would make her teachers cringe. And if used correctly, she could enjoy the laughter from other kids when she spoke inappropriately. This would surely win her some friends.
At the same time, the girl was attending a Lutheran Church. She was at the required age for confirmation classes. A new Vicar was teaching the Wednesday night class. One night he just could not take the antics of the kids any longer. He damned them all to hell and walked out on them. The group of seventh graders sat in stunned silence. Some of the rebels snickered. The girl had a hard time believing a grown adult would completely lose his composure and scream something like that at a bunch of kids. Sure the kids had pushed the limits, but weren't adults more mature than that?
She was under the misguided assumption that adults were intelligent, responsible, always did the right things. So this new world she was seeing was very confusing. Barbara's parents had parties, smoked, drank and even smoked pot. The girl began to wonder if her own parents just weren't aware of some things in life. Maybe these things weren't as bad as her parents said they were. Maybe it was just because they'd never tried them. Maybe that was it. Why else would adults party that way, or the Vicar scream at them that they were all damned to hell in a church???
The girl learned a lot in those few short years. She smoked her first cigarette and ditched school. She had her first beer at a church youth group function and got drunk for the first time. A lot happened before she ever started high school.
At the end of sixth grade, she'd learned a lot of things. You didn't win popularity contests by pointing out grammar mistakes. In fact, those with the poorest grammar seemed to have lots of friends. Her school was sometimes a scary place. There were some very mean girls who threatened her regularly. How was she ever going to fit in?
That summer a new family moved in just a few doors down. They had a girl who was just 1 year older. Her name was Barb. This family wasn't like any she'd met before. Lots of people of all ages lived at this house. She found out the mom had been married 4 times and most of those living in the house were brothers and sisters from all different dads. Barb's older siblings often had boyfriends of girlfriends spending the night. She wasn't always comfortable at Barb's house, but she was intrigued with the all that went on, especially the parties that they hosted.
She noticed her friend Barb didn't have perfect grammar, but instead of correcting her, she decided to learn from her. She spent the entire summer learning slang and cute deviations of grammar that she knew would make her teachers cringe. And if used correctly, she could enjoy the laughter from other kids when she spoke inappropriately. This would surely win her some friends.
At the same time, the girl was attending a Lutheran Church. She was at the required age for confirmation classes. A new Vicar was teaching the Wednesday night class. One night he just could not take the antics of the kids any longer. He damned them all to hell and walked out on them. The group of seventh graders sat in stunned silence. Some of the rebels snickered. The girl had a hard time believing a grown adult would completely lose his composure and scream something like that at a bunch of kids. Sure the kids had pushed the limits, but weren't adults more mature than that?
She was under the misguided assumption that adults were intelligent, responsible, always did the right things. So this new world she was seeing was very confusing. Barbara's parents had parties, smoked, drank and even smoked pot. The girl began to wonder if her own parents just weren't aware of some things in life. Maybe these things weren't as bad as her parents said they were. Maybe it was just because they'd never tried them. Maybe that was it. Why else would adults party that way, or the Vicar scream at them that they were all damned to hell in a church???
The girl learned a lot in those few short years. She smoked her first cigarette and ditched school. She had her first beer at a church youth group function and got drunk for the first time. A lot happened before she ever started high school.
Thursday, July 20, 2006
Christmas In July
Growing up I looked forward to Christmas with great anticipation. By the time my parents were 24 and 25 years old, they had 4 children. It wasn't that they started any younger than others in their generation, but they did have 4 children in 4 1/2 years. (My mom likes to say 5.) Consequently, money was tight. I don't know how they managed, but Christmas at our house was magical.
Back then we didn't have gadgets and electronics to fill our time. We played with and enjoyed simple things. One of my favorite things was listening to music-especially while my dad played along on his steel guitar. It wasn't often, but sometimes he took me in his arms and we danced. I was not one of those little girls like my sister, who desired to take ballet and tap dances. No, I enjoyed dancing with a partner. One particular occasion my dad attempted to show me the foot moves of a dance. I'm sure being so young, I wasn't getting it at all. So he told me to just place my feet atop his black leather shoes so he could better show me. I placed my chubby bare feet atop his warm shoes and we glided and swung around the room. It was glorious!
After that, all I wanted to do was dance. For Christmas I asked for a big doll. Since I loved baby dolls my mom asked if that was what I wanted. No. I wanted a life-size doll, one as big as me so I could dance with her. Mom told me big dolls were very expensive and she doubted they actually made them that big. That didn't stop me from dreaming.
Christmas morning, as always, we were up before the sun. I think this was part of the magic. Walking out a bit bleary-eyed to where the Christmas tree lights sparkled and shined their glowing lights onto beautifully wrapped packages. There were always a few things left unwrapped that made it even more exciting. That morning as I rubbed my sleepy eyes I could hardly believe what I saw. Not only was there a stroller I'd long coveted, but sitting inside was a huge doll. I never thought that this gift might not be mine. I pulled the life-size doll from her chair and hugged her to my chest. My mom had lovingly made a doll nearly my size. She had blonde curls like mine made from brightly colored yarn. She wore a beautiful dress that I later found had a matching one made just for me. But the best part was that under her fabric shoes, my mom had sewn in loops of elastic.
I didn't wait to get dressed. I put my shoes on while wearing my pajamas, then slipped the elastic bands around them. My dolls feet rested perfectly atop my shoes the way mine had on my dad's. I wrapped my arms around her and we danced.
Back then we didn't have gadgets and electronics to fill our time. We played with and enjoyed simple things. One of my favorite things was listening to music-especially while my dad played along on his steel guitar. It wasn't often, but sometimes he took me in his arms and we danced. I was not one of those little girls like my sister, who desired to take ballet and tap dances. No, I enjoyed dancing with a partner. One particular occasion my dad attempted to show me the foot moves of a dance. I'm sure being so young, I wasn't getting it at all. So he told me to just place my feet atop his black leather shoes so he could better show me. I placed my chubby bare feet atop his warm shoes and we glided and swung around the room. It was glorious!
After that, all I wanted to do was dance. For Christmas I asked for a big doll. Since I loved baby dolls my mom asked if that was what I wanted. No. I wanted a life-size doll, one as big as me so I could dance with her. Mom told me big dolls were very expensive and she doubted they actually made them that big. That didn't stop me from dreaming.
Christmas morning, as always, we were up before the sun. I think this was part of the magic. Walking out a bit bleary-eyed to where the Christmas tree lights sparkled and shined their glowing lights onto beautifully wrapped packages. There were always a few things left unwrapped that made it even more exciting. That morning as I rubbed my sleepy eyes I could hardly believe what I saw. Not only was there a stroller I'd long coveted, but sitting inside was a huge doll. I never thought that this gift might not be mine. I pulled the life-size doll from her chair and hugged her to my chest. My mom had lovingly made a doll nearly my size. She had blonde curls like mine made from brightly colored yarn. She wore a beautiful dress that I later found had a matching one made just for me. But the best part was that under her fabric shoes, my mom had sewn in loops of elastic.
I didn't wait to get dressed. I put my shoes on while wearing my pajamas, then slipped the elastic bands around them. My dolls feet rested perfectly atop my shoes the way mine had on my dad's. I wrapped my arms around her and we danced.
Sunday, July 16, 2006
Attitude
I'm trying to have a good attitude, really I am. We arrived home late last night after an exhausting week in the Arizona Desert. Ok, we weren't camping out or anything, but I found it quite unpleasant driving across town in the middle of the day when it was 117 degrees. There was no such thing as sleeping in as it just gets too warm in the morning. I was so happy to crawl into my own bed last night.
I was awakened by an expected commotion. I tried to open my heavy eyelids, but no luck. The light was too bright. I lay quiet, hoping it would be dark again and the rustling around would be stilled. My darling husband finally informed me of the misfortune of my first morning home. Our bedroom shower was leaking. He had completely emptied the closet behind it, cut open the wall to get at the leak only to find it was a bigger problem. My ever-efficient man had already phoned a plumber that would be here within the hour. Not only did I have to get out of bed and dress before showering, I have yet to brush my teeth. I've been sitting here several hours feeling completely undone. The water is shut off so I can't even flush a toilet. It is Sunday and without water there is no way I can make myself presentable to attend church. (Sigh) This is one day I'm glad my girls are not awake yet. It was difficult enough on vacation for 5 females to share a small bathroom, but to have no bathroom to share is worse. If there wasn't a strange man in my bedroom, I'd crawl back in bed.
I was awakened by an expected commotion. I tried to open my heavy eyelids, but no luck. The light was too bright. I lay quiet, hoping it would be dark again and the rustling around would be stilled. My darling husband finally informed me of the misfortune of my first morning home. Our bedroom shower was leaking. He had completely emptied the closet behind it, cut open the wall to get at the leak only to find it was a bigger problem. My ever-efficient man had already phoned a plumber that would be here within the hour. Not only did I have to get out of bed and dress before showering, I have yet to brush my teeth. I've been sitting here several hours feeling completely undone. The water is shut off so I can't even flush a toilet. It is Sunday and without water there is no way I can make myself presentable to attend church. (Sigh) This is one day I'm glad my girls are not awake yet. It was difficult enough on vacation for 5 females to share a small bathroom, but to have no bathroom to share is worse. If there wasn't a strange man in my bedroom, I'd crawl back in bed.
Saturday, July 08, 2006
Adventure
Off for an Adventure. We must be crazy. We are taking a week's "vacation" to the desert of Arizona. Yes, it is July and insanely hot. But I have a son turning 22, (taking my grandson who will turn 4,) parents and inlaws to see, sisters, brother, nieces & nephews to visit. It is just easier for us to pack up and go there as much as I'd love to have them all here. I think they'd love Colorado too.
Friday, July 07, 2006
Scents
I can't figure out how humidity in the air can change the way things smell. I awoke this morning earlier than usual. My coffee wasn't set to brew for another hour so I manually turned it on and went downstairs to put in a load of laundry. When I walked back into the kitchen it smelled like Gramma's home. I make coffee every morning, so how does a bit of extra moisture in the air change the way it smells?
Growing up in the hot desert of Arizona, I loved the times we'd go to California to visit Gramma. She would also say, "don't forget to bring your sweater" before we left, but we never did. (When it is 100 degrees at 10 o'clock at night, one cannot imagine needing a jacket anywhere within a days drive.)
Mom and Dad would load the car on a Friday night and we'd wake up early Saturday morning at Gramma's. The air felt so much cooler and I was told it was because of the humidity and breeze from the ocean. Aroused from my slumber by the thick aroma of coffee, I'd sneak out of bed to be the first to greet Gramma. I'd shiver after pulling the covers off, and want to hop back under the blanket. But the scent of coffee was too enticing. Gramma was in the next room.
Long before I ever thought about drinking coffee, it made an impression on me. Getting that first hug, sitting at the table watching as she sipped from delicate china cups, there was something so warm and inviting in that kitchen. The air seemed thick and heavy with that dark aroma, it surrounded you as if it you were wrapped in a blanket. The sunlight would stream in through the glass doors, creating added warmth. I loved being at Gramma's.
When I awoke this morning after last night's thunderstorms, the air was cool and had that same thickness about it. The coffee hung heavily in the cool, misty air as I walked through my kitchen. I was drawn in and melted into memories of Gramma's house. I sure do miss her.
Growing up in the hot desert of Arizona, I loved the times we'd go to California to visit Gramma. She would also say, "don't forget to bring your sweater" before we left, but we never did. (When it is 100 degrees at 10 o'clock at night, one cannot imagine needing a jacket anywhere within a days drive.)
Mom and Dad would load the car on a Friday night and we'd wake up early Saturday morning at Gramma's. The air felt so much cooler and I was told it was because of the humidity and breeze from the ocean. Aroused from my slumber by the thick aroma of coffee, I'd sneak out of bed to be the first to greet Gramma. I'd shiver after pulling the covers off, and want to hop back under the blanket. But the scent of coffee was too enticing. Gramma was in the next room.
Long before I ever thought about drinking coffee, it made an impression on me. Getting that first hug, sitting at the table watching as she sipped from delicate china cups, there was something so warm and inviting in that kitchen. The air seemed thick and heavy with that dark aroma, it surrounded you as if it you were wrapped in a blanket. The sunlight would stream in through the glass doors, creating added warmth. I loved being at Gramma's.
When I awoke this morning after last night's thunderstorms, the air was cool and had that same thickness about it. The coffee hung heavily in the cool, misty air as I walked through my kitchen. I was drawn in and melted into memories of Gramma's house. I sure do miss her.
Tuesday, July 04, 2006
God Bless America
God bless America,
Land that I love,
Stand beside her and guide her
Thru the night with a light from above;
From the mountains, to the prairies,
To the oceans white with foam,
God bless America,
My home, sweet home.
God bless America,
My home, sweet home
by Irving Berlin
I remember growing up and actually singing this song in school. (gasp) Yes, it was public school. But my favorite patriotic song was Battle Hymn of the Republic, or Mine Eyes Have Seen The Glory. This one I learned in Kindergarten. I didn't understand most of the words, but when it came to the chorus I clearly remember standing a little taller. I would sing a little louder. My feet would begin to take steps in place. I envisioned soldiers marching from battle singing praises to God. I felt strong. It was how I imagined David feeling after his battle with Goliath. I understood we lived in a free country, but it had been at a great price.
"Glory! Glory! Hallelujah! Glory! Glory! Hallelujah!
Glory! Glory! Hallelujah! Since God is marching on."
(If you want to see the complete lyrics and a bit of history, you can find them here.)
Land that I love,
Stand beside her and guide her
Thru the night with a light from above;
From the mountains, to the prairies,
To the oceans white with foam,
God bless America,
My home, sweet home.
God bless America,
My home, sweet home
by Irving Berlin
I remember growing up and actually singing this song in school. (gasp) Yes, it was public school. But my favorite patriotic song was Battle Hymn of the Republic, or Mine Eyes Have Seen The Glory. This one I learned in Kindergarten. I didn't understand most of the words, but when it came to the chorus I clearly remember standing a little taller. I would sing a little louder. My feet would begin to take steps in place. I envisioned soldiers marching from battle singing praises to God. I felt strong. It was how I imagined David feeling after his battle with Goliath. I understood we lived in a free country, but it had been at a great price.
"Glory! Glory! Hallelujah! Glory! Glory! Hallelujah!
Glory! Glory! Hallelujah! Since God is marching on."
(If you want to see the complete lyrics and a bit of history, you can find them here.)
Sunday, July 02, 2006
Another email I received from my oldest daughter:
I have a boy.
For sure.
E was outside playing. He came "running" inside and was jabbering away. He was showing me some dirt pinched between his thumb and forefinger.
I was like "oh wow!" then I carried on about my business.
After a minute E set the dirt on the counter. The dirt then began to squirm its mangled insect body across my countertop.
EEEEEEEW!
I squished what was left of the bug in a paper towel and threw it in the trash.
I started to walk away but then E started yelling so I turned around to see him pulling everything out of the trash, looking for his bug.
I have a boy.
For sure.
E was outside playing. He came "running" inside and was jabbering away. He was showing me some dirt pinched between his thumb and forefinger.
I was like "oh wow!" then I carried on about my business.
After a minute E set the dirt on the counter. The dirt then began to squirm its mangled insect body across my countertop.
EEEEEEEW!
I squished what was left of the bug in a paper towel and threw it in the trash.
I started to walk away but then E started yelling so I turned around to see him pulling everything out of the trash, looking for his bug.
Saturday, July 01, 2006
Love
After I wrote Sarabeth's Happy 17th Birthday post, I received this email:
I don't know what led me to read your blog, I was bored, sitting here, nothing else to do. I smiled when I saw my picture there and "Happy 17th Birthday Sarabeth!" Then I got to reading. I've heard all of that before, that I was the velcro baby and everybody tried to help you. But something struck me differently this time, it actually made me cry. I'm thanking God as much as you, right now, for giving me to you because I don't think anybody else in this world would have treated me the same way, with the same loving patience as you did, and you still do. I hope, one day, I can be like you, with enough faith and perseverance to keep moving forward and overcome any task set ahead of me. I've been told that I'm a good writer and should keep that up, but I hope that I can write like you do, with the ability to touch people so strongly that it changes their life forever. And thank you for always being there for me and giving me the courage to press on. Without your unconditional love I know I wouldn't be half the person I am today. Thank you so much. I love you.
-Sarabeth
It is an expression like this that makes the tough years all worthwhile, the long sleepless nights, the tears, the prayers, and the stress. So if you are a parent to young children, or even young teens and wonder if you are making a difference at all, you are.
(P.S. Took Sarabeth to the airport this morning. At the moment she is on a plane flying towards her destination for the next 3.5 weeks. I will miss her but am thankful for today's technology and the ability to keep in close contact.)
I don't know what led me to read your blog, I was bored, sitting here, nothing else to do. I smiled when I saw my picture there and "Happy 17th Birthday Sarabeth!" Then I got to reading. I've heard all of that before, that I was the velcro baby and everybody tried to help you. But something struck me differently this time, it actually made me cry. I'm thanking God as much as you, right now, for giving me to you because I don't think anybody else in this world would have treated me the same way, with the same loving patience as you did, and you still do. I hope, one day, I can be like you, with enough faith and perseverance to keep moving forward and overcome any task set ahead of me. I've been told that I'm a good writer and should keep that up, but I hope that I can write like you do, with the ability to touch people so strongly that it changes their life forever. And thank you for always being there for me and giving me the courage to press on. Without your unconditional love I know I wouldn't be half the person I am today. Thank you so much. I love you.
-Sarabeth
It is an expression like this that makes the tough years all worthwhile, the long sleepless nights, the tears, the prayers, and the stress. So if you are a parent to young children, or even young teens and wonder if you are making a difference at all, you are.
(P.S. Took Sarabeth to the airport this morning. At the moment she is on a plane flying towards her destination for the next 3.5 weeks. I will miss her but am thankful for today's technology and the ability to keep in close contact.)
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