The Ghosts of Christmas Past

I packed my Christmas stuff up today. I swear I just got the stuff out of the closet a week ago. Kind of makes me feel bad for trash talking all those crazy Christmas loving friends of mine that break out the decorations a week or two before Thanksgiving.

Anyway... It made me feel sad. 

1985 - I was the curly red head cheesing in the top left.

I remember waking up everyday and knowing exactly how many more sleeps til Christmas morning. I remember making my list and then rethinking my list and making a new list.  I remember my Granny telling me how she saw santa when she was sick on her couch as a little girl. I remember me and my brother hearing the jingle bells. I remember sitting in my daddy's chair and staring at the loads of gifts that santa had brought and wondering how in the world he got all those gifts down the chimney. 

I remember getting a little less excited after I finally realized the truth about Santa. I remember being excited about knowing something my brother didn't. I remember realizing later that my brother knew how to milk the "Last kid that doesn't know about Santa" status so that we all treated him extra special. I remember KNOWING that he knew but being too scared to tell him for sure. 

After my brother found out Christmas became a blur. Years passed and we didn't rush to the tree on Christmas morning anymore. We slept in. We got our presents on Christmas eve instead. Christmas lost it's excitement.

Then my kids came along. Even with the first one, Santa came. My son was 8 months old and I remember panicking because I had fallen asleep after feeding him and had to rush to put the toys out.  Two or three years later and it really started getting fun... I had two kids that totally believed that Santa would put them on the naughty list in an instant. I had the North Pole on speed dial. The kids were petrified and mesmerized at the same time. It was fun to be an elf.

Two little boys kept Santa (me) busy. I loved the tonka trucks and thomas trains and hot wheels tracks that came every year. It was just me and my two boys for a few  Christmasses and those were especially sweet. But slowly the tank engines and tonka trucks turned into Mp3 players and BB guns... shortly after that stuff started to change and Christmas got fast again.

2009 - The Last Year They All Believed

My oldest found out that there wasn't a Santa in 2010. He's such a good brother that he never let his younger brother know. We had two or three more exciting years of AirSoft guns and AirHog Flyers before we had to break it to the middle child. The tooth fairy forgot to come... two nights in a row. The kid was getting a complex. I had to tell him. "So... there's no Easter Bunny either?" was his response.  And then "What about Snoopy? (our elf)" It was rough for the poor middle child.

At least we still had the youngest--Our very own Cindy Lou Who. She is babied by all the family. We've had baby dolls and strollers, play kitchens and play houses, barbie dolls with dream houses, and all the fun girly stuff in between. She's the last believer on her daddy's side of the family. Every adult dotes on her and rubs her curls and asks what Santa's bringing. She gets embarrassed and shrugs and says "I don't know." It makes my heart smile. It also makes me sad.

What happened to those years that her older brothers shrugged and got embarrassed and told the grown-ups that they didn't know what Santa was bringing? What happened to hand written letters to Santa that are now replaced with a digital list? What happened to my babies?

On the same note... What happened to the little curly red head that stayed up as long as she could on Christmas eve listening out for sleigh bells? What happened to the days when me and my brother rushed into our sister's rooms and begged them to get up and open presents? How in the world have the minutes and hours gotten shorter?? Why can't I stop these memories and rewind? When did my world filled with firsts (first steps, first christmas, first tooth) become a world filled with lasts (last baby, last diaper, last kid who believes)?

I pondered these things as I packed it all away again... I carefully placed all the ornaments back in their boxes, tissue in between, so that I can remember Christmas past again next year. I hope I remember to slow down next year. I hope I remember to lay down with my head under the tree and look up at the lights and make my wishes to Santa. I hope I remember to make my kids participate in the "cheezy" family traditions that they act like they hate. I hope I get more pictures. I hope that our minutes don't get any shorter. Or at least that I can remember every second of every minute with these precious souls that God has given me.

2014 They rolled their eyes and fought and complained and giggled and I wouldn't trade this moment for the world!!

***NOTE: Before the hate thoughts... please rest assured that I do teach my kids about Jesus. They know Luke 2 by heart. They also know to believe in things unseen and to have faith and to enjoy the magic of the celebration of Christmas. So... there.... 

Whales Matter... Words Matter Too

A couple of weeks ago I was reading a news article about Sea World's killer whale problem and I made a comment on the Facebook feed stating my opinion on the matter. Now, understand, I am not a whale expert. I watched a documentary about killer whales and I based most of my argument on that. I'm not a Sea World expert either. I haven't ever been. The animals may be treated like kings trapped in giant fish bowls. I don't know. Honestly, I don't really care about it that much. I know I'm supposed to be outraged. The documentary told me I was supposed to be outraged, but, truthfully, my life is full of more important stuff (sorry whales). 

So anyway, I made a comment on a news story. It got 54 responses. Some of them were supportive. Some were intellectually debating my comment (from whale experts I'm certain). Some were downright rude. They insulted me personally. They made comments about my profile picture. These strangers from all across the country clicked my picture, read the small part of my Facebook bio that is public and formed an opinion of me based on that tiny insight into my life. Some didn't even go that far. They just read my comment and hated me for no reason other than my opinion. 

I laughed it off. I don't care what those people think of me. But it took a minute of prayer and self reflection to get to the laughing. I had to realize that I had put myself out there. I left a comment that sparked anger on some sides and support on others. There are people out there that never leave their homes and they sit and wait to pounce on what people put out there. I feel bad for these people but I guess I set myself up for their enjoyment.

Social media has changed our lives more than we ever thought that it could. I remember building my MySpace profile. It was new and exciting. I had been out of high school for about 5 years and hadn't seen some of my old friends in that time. MySpace brought them back into my life. I could see what they were up to. It wasn't really that detailed, just a small insight into their lives.  A couple years later I finally converted to the Facebook world and Facebook shoved these friends down my throat.

Think about how it has changed us. Why should I go to a reunion when I know what you had for lunch yesterday. Why do I need to send you a Christmas card when you can see pics of my kids every other day, every single time you pick up your phone? Letters??? -- forget it. Phonecalls? -- most definitely not. I love a lot about it, too. I keep up with friends and family that I do truly miss and care about. I have developed online friendships that have turned into true real-life friendships. The good kind of balances the bad for now. 

It's the opinions that bother me. I think we are more likely to be opinionated and downright rude to people because a screen and a few hundred miles separate us. I mean I wouldn't sit in a room at a party with a thousand people I kind of know and state my opinion on a polarizing subject and sit back and watch the chaos. I wouldn't tear someone down for stating their opinion in person-- why should I feel like I have that right via the internet?

I love a good intellectual debate. I can argue with the best of them. I don't like it when I'm proven wrong, but that's part of it too. I love politics and religion and all sorts of other stuff and I love that I can connect with people that I wouldn't normally hear from, and get their opinions and even be educated by them on subjects that I might not know that much about (eg. whales). The thing that I have to remember is that I value those friendships more than I value being right. I can step down from an argument in order to save a friendship. 

And boy have I gotten into downright arguments with people that I used to be friends with because of some political, religious, or whale-like issue on Facebook. They state their opinion - fine. I state mine - fine. We go back and forth like civil adults - fine. We start insulting each other personally because we can't agree -- wrong. Words matter. Even typed words matter (and typed words are harder to take back). (Again, thank you for the block button.)

I know I've been rambling this morning but I think that we need to step back and remember that there's a person on the other side of the world looking at her computer. She's probably a wonderful person and she probably doesn't know that much about whales. She's probably just up late and bored. You don't know her; or maybe you knew her 15 years ago, but she's probably a whole different person now. She doesn't know you either.

"Hatred stirs up conflicts, but love covers all offenses."

Proverbs 10:12

First day of school...

We started a new school year today. I'm sure most of you have already gone through this. If you haven't I'm sure you are going to go through it soon. The excitement level varies, I'm sure, with every child, but I was struck at how my own children have changed through the years.

I called up to wake up my oldest child first. His room is closest to mine and I called him on my way to wake up the others. He's 14 now. He's a Freshman in high school. It's a big year for him. He mumbled something after I called him a couple of times and I thought he might be awake. I moved on.

Middle child isn't that difficult. I call to him and he answers. He sits up in bed. I'm pretty sure I see him lay back down out of the corner of my eye before I walk by, but I'm re-insured by his exuberance (compared to the other one) and I move on to the next child.

Youngest child is easy. I gently say her name. I whisper "first day of school" into her sweet tiny ear and she gasps before she opens her eyes. As her eyes pop open she smiles and says "I can't believe it's time for first grade!" She continues as she stands up on the bed, "I'm so excited about the first day of school! I love school! I can't wait to see my teacher!" She hops on the bed. "Mama, get my stripey dress and my pink flip flops! You have to spray my hair. Mama, I can't believe school starts to day. Mama, I'm soooo excited about first grade!" She follows me back down to the kitchen and never stops her monologue.

On the way we call to the Middle Child. "I'm up." is the reply and he seems to be in the process. His legs are on the side of his bed and he is contemplating his shorts.

Next stop is the Oldest... "Wake up!" No answer. "Wake UPPPP!" Nothing. "Mama, do you need me to go jump on him? I'll get him up. I can't believe he's not excited. I'm excited. I can't wait to see my teacher. I can't wait to see my friends. Are you sure you don't want me to--" I interrupt, "WAKE UP! DON'T MAKE ME COME UP THERE! DON'T YOU MAKE US LATE ON THE FIRST DAY BACK!"

Youngest is quiet long enough after my outburst that I hear a thud-a -thump-thud-thump from the upstairs room. This usually means he has emerged from bed or he has fallen out one or the other. I hear him trudge down the stairs to brush his teeth and I am reassured that, whatever the case, he will survive.

We make it to school on time; earlier than I had imagined possible. They all leave me to go to their class rooms. One more year off to a typical start. I have my pictures to prove it to all my friends. I got all three there and they even smiled for a picture.

On the way home I got to thinking about their individual reactions today. It occurred to me that the oldest, the one that had been doing it the longest, was the hardest to get excited this morning. My middle child was reluctant, but he didn't take much prodding to get up and dressed. The youngest was excited. She was ready. She was eager. She hadn't discovered that it isn't cool to be excited about school. She still posed for pictures and hugged her teachers. She was on fire for school. Summer vacation didn't steal her joy. It didn't lure her away from her excitement about school.

Well, this got me to thinking about my own spiritual life (and other peoples spiritual lives). When I got saved I was ON FIRE for Jesus. Much like my youngest was excited about school. I read my Bible every day. I bought a Teen Devos book and read that every day. I studied my Sunday School lesson. I spent time with God in prayer every night and most mornings. I was excited about my new life as a Child of Christ.

Years have passed and as I look back I can see years that I have spent that I was less enthusiastic. Christianity seemed to me like the upper grades seem to my older kids. I wasn't bouncing out of bed on Sunday morning. I went from attending every other Sunday to not attending at all. I went on a spiritual summer vacation...I lost my enthusiasm for Jesus. I was still saved but I had let the world steal my excitement during my break from my church. It was the same with my kids. They all love school but they had let the summer break steal their excitement too. 

It took years for me to get back into a church family after I lost the excitement. Thankfully I have found my way back. The thing is, with the church comes the excitement. Just like when my kids got to school today and they saw all their friends, they came home with stories of their day and what everyone had been up to. I leave church and I am on fire again; just like I was when I was younger. The people encourage me. The people nurture my faith. The pastor leads me. God speaks to me when I am there. I feel his presence. 

Sure, I feel Him in my life other times, but I'm more in tune with Him when I have surrounded myself with people that know Him and crave His presence. I'm more confident to share His good news with people when I have been reaffirmed and reassured in a regular meeting with other believers. 

I guess what I'm saying is don't grow tired of your education in Christ. Remember that first grade feeling, remember that new believer feeling. Remember how you wanted to shout to the rooftops that you were a saved believer in the one true Christ. Keep going to regular meetings with other believers to reaffirm your faith. Keep the joy in your heart. Jesus loves you.... What do you have to be sad about?

 "Let no one despise you for your youth, but set the believers an example in speech, in conduct, in love, in faith, in purity."

1 Timothy 4:12

21 Years...

21 years... A fraction of a lifetime...a blip on the timeline of a life.

11 years... Even smaller... it passes in a blink of an eye... such a small window of time.

8 years.... Minuscule... so small an amount of time that it might get overlooked in the story of a life... it's the time between graduation and marriage... it's the blip on the radar between the first day at a new job and getting a big promotion ...

All these years mean something to me.

21 years ago I was innocent. 21 years ago I didn't have any fears in my world. 21 years ago my mama and daddy could defeat anything that gave me nightmares. 21 years ago I was a little girl.

21 years ago a guy drank a bottle of whiskey (or a bottle of vodka, or a case of beer) and decided to go for a drive. 21 years ago he thought that he was untouchable. 21 years ago he probably thought that he wasn't that drunk, thought he'd only had a couple. 21 years ago he thought he was fine. 21 years ago he destroyed a community. 21 years ago he killed a girl and a boy. 21 years ago he sent 2 grieving parents to an emergency room. 21 years ago I stopped being a little girl. 

I was 11 years old. It was a Sunday. I had bought all my school supplies. I had a new back pack and a new binder. I can still close my eyes and smell that new binder smell. I sniff a binder today and I am not taken back to a happy childhood memory. New binder smell takes me back to that Sunday evening that changed my life forever. I hate the way that new binders smell.

I had a 3-D binder that year. It was 1993 and 3-D stuff was all the rage. It was pink and it looked like it had bubbles all over it. The bubbles were an optical illusion. Mead really out did themselves in 1993. 

I sat in my living room and tore my new pens and pencils out of their paper and plastic wrappings. I placed them carefully in the slots in my new JanSport back pack. I put the paper in my binder and separated it with subject dividers. I was ready for sixth grade.

It was going to be our big year. We had talked about it all summer. We had hoped and prayed that we would get the same home room. We were ready to start changing classes but we really didn't want to have to do it alone. We were sure that we could tackle anything together. We were going to open house on Monday.

21 years ago I went to my room and played with my Barbie's. We didn't attend church regularly on Sunday nights back then. I happily surrounded myself in my Barbie fantasy land. I was almost too old to enjoy Barbie's. I would have never played with them with my friends around. Never would have played with them around most of my friends. My best friend still liked to play with Barbie's. She and I would comb their hair and change their clothes all the while talking about which boys we liked or which girls had made us mad the week before. 21 years ago we both stopped playing with Barbie Dolls. 

I was playing with Barbie and Mississippi Burning was on Channel 11 that night. The grown up part of my 11 year old self wanted to watch Mississippi Burning. The child part wanted to brush Barbie's hair so I did both. It's weird the things you remember.

There was a knock at my door. I always kept it locked to keep my brother out. I figured it was him. He was the only on that ever knocked. I put Barbie down and stomped to my door. I was surprised when I opened it to see my Daddy.

He was crying. My daddy was crying. I don't think I had ever seen my daddy cry before this night. My mother ushered my brother into my daddy's arms. I looked down the hallway and I see my grandmother crying. I assume that my Papaw is dead. I sniffle and prepare myself for the worst possible news that an 11 year old girl could imagine.

It's not Papaw.... that was the thought that had me relieved and devastated in all of a second.

.....

I don't remember how he said it. I remember him being honest. I remember him crying.... a lot. I remember him saying there had been an accident. I remember him saying that Crystal and CJ were dead. My best friend and her little brother were dead. 

The rest of the night was kind of a blur. I remember someone put Grease 2 on the TV. I laid on the couch, in a fog and saw parts of it. I cried a lot. A few of my friends called, but what sympathy can another 11 year old share? How were any of us expected to cope with this?

I went to my room again eventually. I shut the closet doors on my Barbie's. I never played with them again. I sat on my bed and I looked at the guardian angel portrait that hung above my bed and I asked God "Why?" 

11 years and 8 years.... Hard to imagine that as I look at my own children. 11 years and 8 years and they were gone from this Earth. They were on their way to church. Less than a five mile drive from their home. The drunk driver that killed them was less than a half a mile from his home. LESS than a half a mile... And you know, as angry as I still am, I can't help but think that he was a young life, too. Younger than I am now... I don't know him, but I can't fathom that he could ever forget about the lives he extinguished. The community he ravaged.

It took a while but I eventually accepted that God's ways are not our own. God has a plan for every life. I wish I could have a Jimmy Stewart moment and see how different my own would be had it not been for Crystal. Had she lived it would have been so different. Had she never existed it would have been even more different. Her 11 years and her brother's 8 years meant something to me.

21 years and I still tear up thinking about them. 21 years and I still look back and wonder what might have been. 21 years and I believe, firmly, that they are waiting on me. They are in the arms of my Savior and they are waiting to greet me on the other side. I thank God for the 11 years that Crystal was in my life, including every slumber party and pizza hut trip and whispered secret in the dark of my room...and for the 8 years that CJ pestered us and begged us to play Nintendo baseball with him... even for that time that he whopped me in the head with a golf club when we were building forts in the woods. For every memory, I am truly grateful.

August 8 will be 21 years. 

Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves receive from God.

1 Corinthians 1:3-4

Author's Note:

Last week a 10 year old girl and her 8 year old brother were killed along with their grandmother in a car accident near Tallahassee. They were from Thomasville, AL, which is just a hop over from where I live now. They were buried this weekend. Their father buried his children and his mother. The city of Thomasville was devastated by this tragedy. 

Alas, life goes on...the Thomasville schools started back today. I have thought about them all day. I am praying for the children as they adjust to life without their friends. I am praying for that father and his wife as they learn to live without their children. It took our little community years to repair our hearts from our tragic loss. I know what they are going through and so I pray even harder for their comfort.

Thanks to VBS

We start Vacation Bible School tomorrow night. It's a big deal. Maybe it's just a big deal in the south, but since that's all I've ever known, it's a BIG deal. I'm teaching the 4,5, and 6 year olds. I'm positive that they are going to have questions that stump me. I'm sure that they're probably going to teach me a lot more than I can teach them. They're still in that innocent, almost untouched, child of God stage. They're sweet but they are extremely curious.

Bible schools, like just about everything else, have gotten much more extravagant than they used to be. It's all fun. It brings in more kids. The more extravagant that your VBS is the more children that will attend. "Did you hear that (fill in the blank) Church is having a bouncy slide on Tuesday? Did you hear that every kid gets a free toy and a t-shirt?" 

Some of the bigger churches are even more extravagant... if that's possible. And that's fine. If it brings children to God I am all for it. I can't help but worry that the message of God gets lost in all of the extravagance. Are the children really seeing the saving grace of God beneath the Bouncy House and the Pizza Hut nights? I truly pray that they are.

We didn't have anything like that when I was little. I guess it doesn't matter if it's extravagant or simple. If the church members that lead it are like minded in the teachings of Christ then God is going to show up and He will move those children in the way He wants them to be. 

I was pondering all of this tonight. I was hanging my paper parrots and lanterns and stapling palm trees to the wall tonight and I couldn't help but to reflect back to the Bible schools of my youth. They were simple but they were effective. We had fun and we learned about Jesus.

We didn't go on many big trips when I was little. We had a big family and vacations were expensive. Most of my summer days were spent outside. It was hot outside. We rode bikes, built forts, worked in the gardens. Two or three days a week (on a good week) we drove 20 minutes to the pool that we were members at and we swam. Vacation Bible School was a break in the summer monotony. I looked forward to it. It was always in the morning, 8 or 8:30. It lasted until just before lunch. It was the break in my summer where I saw a lot of my school friends. It was exciting.

The schedule was always the same for all the years I was a part of Bible School. We had group assembly. We lined up outside the church. If you were lucky you got picked to hold one of the flags or the Bible. If not, you followed behind the lucky ones and marched into your class's designated pew. We pledged the American Flag, the Christian flag, and the Bible. We prayed together. We sang songs. We had a mission story. We prayed again. We were dismissed to our classrooms. 

Our teachers taught us memory verses, gave us gold stars for bringing our bibles, taught us bible stories, and let us do crafts. We went to the fellowship hall for cheap cream filled cookies and red or purple kool-aid. The older ladies of the church always served the snack and you could always convince one of them to give you extra cookies or Cheetos. We had outside time and, there, we played "Duck Duck Goose" and "Drop the Handkerchief" and the ever popular "Red Rover". It was simple, but it was fun (it was also insanely competitive).

When our parents picked us up we were hot, tired, and hungry. We had to practice our memory verses so that we could get a star the next day for reciting it back to our teacher. Five stars meant we got a prize on Friday. Friday was our fun day, we had games and usually balloons, sometimes water guns. It was fun. It wasn't fancy or high tech. It was full of love and dedicated Christian adults (mostly women) who gave up their time and money to teach children about Jesus.

The VBS that I'm privileged to teach this year is also simple. It's just like the ones I grew up going to. There are a few dedicated teachers that put time and effort into teaching children about the love of Jesus. We don't have huge light and sound shows, we don't have bouncy house fun night. We have fun, fellowship, and we will teach your child about Jesus. 

I was saved at Vacation Bible School when I was 9 years old. I will never forget how happy I was that day. Those wonderful teachers and the pastor at Beulah Baptist Church led me to Christ. Bible school is important. As I prayed for our week with other workers tonight I couldn't help but remember that day that I walked down to my pastor at Bible school. I was so excited to tell my parents when they picked me up. I wanted to tell the world about my new salvation. I was a new person, a saved person, thanks to Bible School.

Now, as I strive to teach the children that are in my class this week, I will remember every sweet lady that taught me as a child. I appreciate your sacrifice now. I know you had a hundred things to do, but, you put it all aside to come to the church and teach me about Jesus. Thank you. Thank you.... And thank God for Vacation Bible School.

"Then Jesus said, "Leave the children alone and don't keep them from coming to Me, because the Kingdom of Heaven is made up of people like this."

Matthew 19:14 HCSB 

 

Til August, Peanut Place.

We went shopping yesterday. My mother, my sister, and I have been making these shopping trips for about 7 years now. We always shop a little bit, eat lunch together, shop a little bit more and then we go home. We've always had at least one child with us. 

Yesterday was bitter sweet. It was the last trip that we'll have til probably next summer with a kid in tow. My sister's youngest starts school this year and she was the last one. But yesterday we had three, because it's summertime. It was our first trip with more than one child in several months. My mother made several comments about how sad it was that all of our kids would be in school next year.

See the Halos?

It started out great. The kids were so happy to see each other. They all went to the playground in the mall and I got a lot of shopping done. Then as I'm checking out my phone starts ringing. Not wanting to be rude I silence it and carry on my conversation with the clerk that's checking my purchases. It rings again. It's my mother. I apologize and answer and before I can get a hello out I hear..."Nikki get her!!! Heather?! Where are you??" It was a panic filled question like I had dropped my daughter off with her and high tailed it to another state. I reassured her I was almost finished and that I would meet her at the car. 

Bags in hand, I got to the car and the kids are all strapped in. They're playing gadgets and watching a cartoon...you can almost see their halos. My sister and mother looked a little worn around the edges. They had survived. At this point I kinda hate I missed all of the fun. We discuss our lunch choices and majority wins so we go to "The Peanut Restaurant."

The Peanut Restaurant has been a popular choice with the youngest females in our party for a couple of years now. My nephew has been in school so he didn't grow to love it as the younger two have. We pull into the parking lot and a look of panic hits his face. "I hate this place. I hate peanuts. I hate country!" It was the worst thing that has happened to him in a while. The girls try to persuade him but he has none of it. Finally with a stern threat from his mother he gets out of the car, but he's not happy.... and he definitely isn't eating a peanut.

We get them all pinned one of those big long booths. Drinks and menus and crayons are distributed. We're just about settled when the one on the very back (mine of course) has to go to the bathroom. Of course she does. What is it about kids and public restrooms? My sweet daughter always has to see every bathroom in every restaurant we patron. She's also a stiff critic. I swear she's gonna be a health inspector one day. She walks in and says "Oooh this one's nice." Or "ewww they need to clean this one." So I should expect this sudden urge to go but it sneaks up on me every time. 

My wonderful sister volunteers to go, so we all get up, let them out and then back in and finally we get settled to eat. The waitress brings our food, she forgets my mother's honey mustard (which also happens every single time... she needs a bottle for her purse). The kids are sucking down sprites like they haven't had drinks in months. My sister and mother and I eat as fast as we can, like animals at a feeding trough because we know that one of the children is going to lose it eventually and we want to at least eat half of the meal that we have to pay for. 

We get done. We get boxes for the chicken strips that none of the children ate and we wait patiently for our check. Patiently we wait for a minute. Then we panic. Where is she? Why hasn't she brought our check? These kids aren't going to make it much longer. What in the world is she doing?? My mother gives her the stare. It's an old teacher look. I honestly don't even think that my mother realizes that she's doing it. It is highly effective though. Server sees the stare and hurries back with the tickets. We pay and we get the heck out of dodge. 

We try a couple more stores but at this point we have lost all control of the children. They're climbing on clothes racks; Making faces in the dressing room mirrors; Bouncing on the little couches that they put out in front of the dressing rooms. We have three choices: punish them and risk being reported to DCS, ignore them and let them run wild and risk getting asked to leave the store, or call it a day and herd them all back to the car. We go with option 3 and pack them in for the last time.

On the way back to my car, (as one kid screams because her shoe fell off) my sister looks at me and I know exactly what she's thinking. This is our last trip with kids. Only it's not bittersweet anymore. It's hard earned and well fought for. We have earned this. See you in August shopping mall!!!

The Princess and the Splinter

We're having fun tonight. The kids are in the pool. The parents and grandparents are watching from the porch. The kids are planning on spending the night with said grandparents, giving the parents a much needed night on their own. Everything was going perfectly..... until.... Emily got a splinter. (DUM DUM DOOOOMMMMM) 

Let me start at the beginning.....Emily got up at 7:30 this morning and she had to clean her room. After she cleaned her room she had to help empty the dishwasher, after she emptied the dishwasher she ate lunch; after lunch she went swimming; after swimming for 3 hours she stayed at Gran's and played with her cousins. After playing with her cousins for 3 hours she ate supper. After eating she decided to swim again. After swimming for another 2 hours she.........got..........a.........splinter.

This was no simple splinter. It was the worst splinter of every splinter ever imaginable. This splinter couldn't have entered her delicate foot at a more inopportune time. See? Princess Emily was EXHAUSTED! It had been a most harrowing day for a six-year-old girl. There was no caffeine and there was no nap. There was only a long day and a  ginormous (not really) splinter.

She lost it. I don't blame her. She begged for a grown up to remove the splinter but it was SOOO ENORMOUS that whenever we got a good look at it, it just disappeared. Grownups couldn't ever catch it. It was a really sneaky splinter. 

So now she sits... in her daddy's recliner. She couldn't stay at Gran's. The pain was too much to bear. She's watching Frozen and waiting to fall asleep. She has the affected limb propped up to minimize pain/swelling. She's agreed to let me catch the sneaky splinter when she snoozes. She's super cute about it all. Even if I do wish that she would have spent the night at her grandmother's house. Basically, a teeny, microscopic, piece of wood or glass just ruined my sassy girl's day.

This splinter got me to thinking. How many days have I, or my husband, made it through a hard day at work or taking care of kids only to stumble on a splinter? How many days to I let a dirty dish left on the table (when the sink is a mere six feet further) or something, become my splinter? How many days is my better half just happy to walk into his loving home only to find a big ole splinter waiting for him (me)? I don't want to be his splinter. I'm pretty sure he doesn't want to be mine either. 

I know there are some days that we're not going to be able to control getting on each others nerves. It happens in every family. But I'm going to think about little miss priss and the splinter that stopped the world next time I am fuming about some little thing that really doesn't matter. I'm going to try not to let life's splinters ruin my day. 

They Taught Me About Jesus

I haven't written in a while. Truthfully, I've been woefully uninspired. Each time I start to write on this site, and back out because of a lack of inspiration, the blogger saves that post as a draft. Sometimes my drafts are a few words-- sometimes a few good paragraphs-- but each time they don't amount to enough to please me, much less my rag tag audience.

I've always been an over-achiever. I've always wanted to please. I guess being #3 girl before the #1 boy in the family line-up makes you want to always shine. I did shine, very much so (in my opinion) in my youth. I was in plays, honor choirs, had straight a's, was gifted, had a very high ACT score, was a class officer and on the student council. I shined so stinking bright.... but none of that mattered. Yes my parents appreciated it. They were proud. They loved me. They hoped to see great things for me. They will tell you that they have seen great things from me. They just didn't see them in the way they believed that they would when they looked at their #3 bundle of  joy.

They never expected me to become pregnant out of wedlock, to marry at 17, to deliver their first grandchild at 18, their second at 20, and divorce at 21. They never expected me to find love in a different state and remarry at 24, move to Alabama, and have their third grandchild at 26. They never looked at their sweet little third daughter and expected any of that.  They didn't sit through my performances and expect anything out of me. 

They taught me. They taught me to be good. They taught me to be smart. They taught me to think for myself. They taught me to fight for what I loved. They taught me to realize when it was time to walk away. They taught me that I needed to be able to provide for myself. They taught me that education was important. They are the reason that I had a career to fall back on after my first marriage fell apart. They taught me to think for myself. They taught me about Jesus. They took me to church and they taught me how to worship. Of all the things that my parents taught me, and they were great teachers, this was the most important.

Without Jesus I wouldn't have made it past 17. If I hadn't had Jesus then, I would probably have aborted my baby or given him up for adoption. I would have broken up with his father. I would NEVER have forgiven myself. In my attempts for self preservation I would have taken a life. I would have put myself above all else. I would have disappointed myself. I would have turned to drugs and alcohol and I would have hit rock bottom. But, thankfully,  my parents taught me about Jesus. 

Without Jesus, and if I had married and had those babies, I would have tried to save my first marriage.... but i wouldn't have tried as hard. I wouldn't have been as hard pressed to make it work had I not had anyone holding me to the vows we took that day. I would have looked forward to the day that I could have dissolved our union. I would have looked forward to a life of multiple partners and a life of freedom from society's boundaries. I would have never hit rock bottom after my many attempts to avoid divorce, and have asked Jesus to lead me to a man that would follow Him with me. I would have never have found Jason.  Thankfully, my parents taught me about Jesus.

My parents took me to church. My parents made me sit up straight and pay attention. My parents made me wear scratchy dresses and uncomfortable shoes. My parents fought with me and three other children and still got us there on time on Sunday mornings. My parents made me go to Sunday school and Bible School and made me memorize my assigned verses. My parents led me to Jesus. 

So many things come up on Sundays. Seems to me like more and more things happen on the weekend nowadays than when i was a kid. Maybe it's the same amount; maybe I just didn't notice. Or, Maybe I would have had plenty of other things to do-- had my Mama and Daddy not seen fit to have me in church. I thank God every day that they saw fit. I thank God for Christian parents.

Train up a child in the way he should go, 

And when he is old he will not depart from it.

 - Proverbs 22:6 -

I Would Think of a Great Title, If It Wasn't For My Mixed Up Brain...

Since I've started organizing and jotting down my thoughts on this page I have noticed that I pick up on little things in my day to day life and think, "oooh! I can write about that." I'll start the first paragraph off in my head and then by the time I sit down at the keyboard I can't remember what the inspiration was or where I was going to go with it. My six year old tells me my brain is "mixed up." 

I suppose she's right. I once read in a parenting magazine that after you become a mother, a quarter of your brain function is always focused on that child whether you realize it or not. Like mothers are always subconsciously aware of where their child is, whether or not they are hungry, whether they need a bath, whether or not they are safe. It's a constant replay in the back of our maternal brains. This may be absolute hooey but I tend to agree, based on my own mental decline since the births of my three.

I even wonder sometimes if the amount of brain function dedicated to children increases along with each child you have. My mother had four. If you "lose" a quarter for each child that you have... well, you do the math. So I guess, considering we all were raised to adulthood and she's not in an institution (yet) that you retain a little bit of your brain no matter how many children you have. I will say this, I see some mothers of five or six that seem to have it more together than those with one, or me, with three, so maybe it's just a myth. Regardless, I will continue to use it as my excuse when a six year old tells me that I'm losing it.

Which brings me back to what I sat down to write about in the first place. With parenting there are lots of times when you can take the lazy approach and use the "Do as I say, Not as I do."- approach. Any seasoned parent will tell you that this won't work in the long run. It really, always, comes back to haunt you. Our pastor talked about spiritual parents last night and there's a verse in Corinthians that really hit home with me. 

Paul was writing to the church at Corinth and was getting around (in that eloquent way that Paul had) to jerking them up by the collar. They were really heading down the wrong path. Since Paul had led most of these people to Jesus he felt responsible for them in their spiritual walk. He was their spiritual father. So when he heard that they were doing wrong he reached out. He corrected them. But before he got around to the individual offenses he told them to imitate him (1 Cor 4:16). 

I'm sitting there and Pastor John is moving on with our Bible study and all I can think is "Wow!" How many of us are so self assured in our own walk with Jesus that we can ask other believers to watch us and do as we do. I'm sure Paul was. He wrote a lot about his change and his new life. He was so sure that he was doing what God intended for his life that he encouraged his pupils to imitate him. He was also sure that Timothy, the young protege, would be a good example to them as well. Sure enough, that he sent Timothy in his stead.

Now, I'm no Paul. I'm no pastor. I'm still a work in progress, but this one simple verse has inspired me to hold my life to a higher standard. I want to be a Christian that my children can imitate. I pray that other Christians will hold me accountable and lead me in the right direction. We have to look out for each other, we have to make sure that there are no dark corners in our lives. We have to lead lives filled with grace and free of sin. We need to be pure enough that our own spiritual children, the ones that we lead to Christ, can imitate us on their own journey with God. 

It's a HUGE responsibility. It's a day by day commitment. It's not going to be easy for me. Especially since my brain is mixed up and all, but I'm going to do it. I'm going to do it for Sam, and Nolan, and Emily, and I'm going to do it for Heather. No matter how much of my brain is occupied else where, I can rest assured that God is working on part of it too. He will teach me until I am ready, and he won't give up until I am blameless.

"I always thank my God for you because of his grace given you in Christ Jesus. For in Him you have been enriched in every way - with all kinds of speech and with all knowledge-- God thus confirming our testimony about Christ among you. Therefore you do not lack any spiritual gift as you eagerly wait for our Lord Jesus Christ to be revealed. He will also keep you firm to the end. So that you will be blameless on the day of our Lord Jesus Christ." 
1 Corinthians 1:4-8

 


 

Don't Fake It Til You Make It!

Fake it 'til you make it. 

These were the battle cries of my nursing education. In many cases they worked. I could convince people that I was equally convinced of certain patients' diagnoses. I could often say I was efficient in IV Initiaton and then "try three times and out." It worked up until I was successful in starting one. Honestly, IV's didn't take that long. I was trained and prepared for those.

Unfortunately, the "fake it til you make it" philosophy would only get you so far. Eventually, you HAD to make it. There was NO more faking it after a certain point. I assume this point was different for each nurse. I remember well when mine was.

I had a fifty something female surgical patient. I had been nursing on the med surge floor for about a year at this point and I felt completely sure of my self. My patient was ordered a foley catheter as part of her AM surgical prep. I confidently secured the catheter kit from the supply room. I took it to the patients bedside.
 at 5am I woke the patient and confidently explained what was about to happen to her. I walked out feeling 100% sure that I could accomplish my goal. I was a registered nurse now. School was in my past. So what if I had never started a catheter on a female. It was something a nurse should know how to do. No need to be nervous.

I went into my patients room and brought a CNA with me. I told her what we were there to do and I confidently swept her bedsheets back. She spread her legs as instructed and I opened my catheter kit as i was trained. I prepared her sterile field and I froze. I took the catheter out of the box and contemplated where I could put it. The patient tried to help, she really did but I was too proud to accept any help. I insisted that I knew what I was doing. I was determined to fake it until I made it.

Unfortunately for the patient, my stubbornness ended up in a couple of unsuccessful catheter attempts. I had to eat crow and ask the oncoming day-shift nurse for assistance. She was a seasoned nurse and after one look at the patients' chart she looked at me and said, "come on then, I'm not doing this on my own." We went in and this seasoned nurse explained to me, step by step, what she was doing, and why she was doing it, and where she was putting things. I watched, amazed, and saw my first ever female urinary catherization.

"Fake it til you make it" is a phrase that's widely used in many technical college programs. I'm sure that, as it was proved with me, eventually you will have to MAKE it. The phrase says you will. I was unprepared in my moment of making it. I don't blame it on poor teaching, I had some of the best in the state. I blame it on my own lack of preparedness. I wasn't ready to make it. 

More importantly, I wasn't ready to admit that I needed help. I needed to admit that I wasn't able to "fake" it anymore. It was the worst thing that any graduate nurse had to do. I had to humble myself to the mercy of the seasoned older nurse. I had to let her teach me. After that incident I never had to ask anyone to help me cath again. In fact, I became the nurse people called to help out when they couldn't cath a patient.

So this got me to thinking about a couple of things.....

1) "Fake it till you make it doesn't work with God" It didn't work with my senior nurse, It's not gonna work with God. He knows what our works mean. No matter how many good works we do, If we aren't doing it because we trust in Jesus then our works don't matter. There is no such thing as faking it til you make it for salvation. Faking it means an eternity in hell. We all know you don't want that. Please contact me to find out how to find salvation.

2) Don't be afraid to ask for help! I'm sure that my patient would have loved me a whole lot more had I stopped prodding her with that 14fr foley and asked a more competent nurse for help!! Instead of putting her care first, I put my pride first and refused to ask for help until the absolute last minute. I even blamed my failure on the patient and pretended that it was somehow her fault that I couldn't get the cath. If I had asked for help from the beginning I would have learned to trust my mentors on my own shift. I would have learned that I was not the only one that didn't know EVERYthing from the get-go. I would have learned the importance of asking for help before my patient suffered. Same thing in my Christian life. If I had asked for help when I knew I was failing, instead of relying on my own merits to get me out of trouble; I would have come to understand God's unfailing forgiveness and his own sacrifice through His son Jesus. I would have known, sooner, that I could learn from my mistakes, and even better, I could be forgiven for my failures...... and that was the greatest lesson of all.
   

My iPhone is only a NanoSecond Old in the Cosmic Year... whatever that means...

So, I ordered a new phone today. It's only been a couple of years since my last phone. My phone still works fine. But for some strange reason i HAD to have the new phone. My husband got his phone (we are iphone people and i still have a 4s to clear things up) and it's so much faster than mine. He gets his weather radar to pull up a whole second before mine does. His texts come through faster. His safari pages load way faster than mine. When we ask, "Who's that guy? I know he's been in something else...", his IMDB finds the answer before mine even loads the home page.

Two years ago, I had the hot phone. Two years ago no one knew who siri was. Two years ago people asked me to look stuff up to settle arguments. Two years ago my phone was cool.

This got me to thinking.... out of the last two years of my life, the only thing that has stayed true, that has stayed constant, that has not changed, faltered, or failed me, is the Gospel of Jesus Christ. I've even got an app on that old iPhone for the Bible. Technology is a rapidly changing monster. I love it because I'm a technogeek, but I still know that God is the greatest creator. 

We tuned in to the new show Cosmos the other night. It's a really interesting science show. It's broadcast on network television which is unique because of the barrage of "reality" shows. Tuning in I understood that the show was about the universe: it's infinite reach, it's origin, the earth's place in it. The show did a good job explaining the Big Bang Theory. It also made a jab at Darwin's Theory of Evolution. It never mentioned Creationism, but I've learned that scientists almost NEVER mention Creationism. I watched this and let it go. I can debate a scientist another day. 

They focused a lot on the "Cosmic Timeline." The fact that humans have only inhabited the earth less than a minute of the "Cosmic Year." The idea is that the Earth is aged at 6 billion years and humans are aged at less than 10k. We are but a blip on the "cosmic" radar. I understand this from a scientific standpoint, but does it shake my beliefs in God? NO! I'm sure God has answers to these questions and if I am worried about these questions when I meet Him I am sure he will answer for me. (I doubt I'll be worried though!)

The show then moved on to Giordano Bruno, the Italian Astrologer, from the late 1500's. He was burned at the stake for heresy by the Roman Catholic Church. He preached plurality of worlds, that extraterrestrial life exists beyond our solar system. He was way before his time in his beliefs. He knew that the earth rotated the sun and that the moon orbited the earth. He was a smart guy. The church at this time was super suspicious of anything different. You have to remember that the Protestant Reformation was happening almost simultaneously. The old church was burning almost anyone that so much as snickered at the stake; much less, a man who preached that there may be life outside this earthly plane.

I fail to see why Mr. Bruno is relevant to the story. The television series made it out like the priests were evil and sinister. They brandished animated crucifixes on the screen in front of poor innocent Bruno's animated character. They depicted an animated Bruno rising out of his cell, arms stretched out (reminiscent of Jesus on the cross) into the heavens to see the planets as they orbited and solar systems beyond ours. The producer's intent was not lost on me. They wanted Christianity and Creationism, to be depicted as foolishness. They want us to appear to be the bad guys. They want our arguments to seem ridiculous to anyone that considers themselves "educated."

I am educated. I am smart. I was taught about the Big Bang and Darwinism and all the other theories in classroom after classroom. I still believe only one theory holds true; NOT because I'm smart, not because I'm educated. I believe in an almighty Creator because HE makes me BRAVE. I believe because I have FAITH. I believe because I have HOPE in a life after this one. I believe because my life has been CHANGED because I trusted in a SAVIOR who died to set me free. I'm no less smart because I believe. I think I'm smarter because I have something to believe in. If you haven't experienced this hope please contact me and we will talk about it. It's so easy to trust and let God take over. I encourage you to do the same. 

"Now faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen. For by it the people of old received their commendation. By faith we understand that the universe was created by the word of God, so that what is seen was not made out of things that are visible." Hebrews 11:1-3

This is a great blog, for an amateur.....

I sang a special in church this morning. Another lady sang with me. She's an alto usually but for this special she sang the lead soprano and I harmonized in a higher note. I haven't heard a recording, but it sounded pretty good to me. I left the front of the church feeling pretty good about what we had done. Several church members stopped me on the way to my car and told me that they really enjoyed it and that we did great. In a rural southern baptist church, that's as good as a standing ovation. There was one "compliment" that got me to thinking though. Because I know the person that said it, I know that what he said was good as "Way to GO! You were fantastic! I was brought to tears by your voice!" Basically, what he said was as good as I'd ever get from him. He said, "You sounded like you were struggling, but you pulled it off. It was good. I didn't think it would be good but it was. "

"You sounded like you were struggling..." In all my years of singing in public this is a first. And to follow it up with a "...but you pulled it off." What does that even mean???? If you loved it say you loved it. If you hated it, SAY NOTHING!!! I don't mean to be a prima donna but this one small statement has stayed on my mind all day! I don't think I was struggling. It was well within my range. The lady singing with me sounded wonderful and I think our voices blended really well. So, why does this backhanded compliment bother me so much?

It bothers me because it is from someone that I love. It is from someone that I care about greatly. It is from someone whose opinion matters to me. That halfway compliment (or halfway insult depending on how optimistic you are) matters more to me than all the positive affirmations that I can think of. 

So, this got me to thinking about other half-hearted, back-handed, passive aggressive compliments I have heard about lately. My sister scrapbooks digitally... she submitted a two page layout to a traditionally paper scrapbook forum and was awarded with "This is really good, for a digital layout." Like, because her layout was done on a computer it is automatically substandard, "But it's still great!"??? Whatever lady. How about, "She looks great, for her age!" or my favorite, "She's got such a pretty face for a fat girl." Or "She's so sweet, it's a shame she's fat." A guy I went on a date with once said, "You are really pretty, I don't care if you are a little big boned" (might I add that I weighed around 130 pounds at the time..... JERK.)

The old southern "get out of jail free phrase" comes to mind... "Bless her heart." It doesn't matter how hateful or brutal you are about someone; follow it with those three little words and suddenly everything is ok. You blessed their heart. You are free from all fall out from the harsh, hateful thing you said. 

WRONG.

If you don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything at all. I don't know when I heard that first. Maybe it was on a Disney movie.... Maybe it was from a gradeschool teacher. Either way it rings true. Some situations just go better if you don't say a thing. Empathize for a little bit. Imagine if you were the one that worked hard on a project or performance. Imagine if you were the one that was happy to be done and was proud of how it turned out. Imagine how you would feel to hear criticism from the one person you wanted to please.

This morning our Sunday school lesson touched on doing work that is pleasing to God. So it dawned on me this afternoon that my performance wasn't for that person that was negative. My performance was for God's Glory. My performance and all the worship music and instrumentals were for worship. They were for glorifying God. My appearance, my attitude, my work, is all for God's glory. As long as I put my whole heart and soul into what I do, I have no worries. God will be pleased as long as what I do glorifies Him. He's not gonna hand out one of those backhanded compliments. He's gonna say, "well, done Heather, my good and faithful servant." That's all in the world that I need. That's the one affirmation or compliment that I long for.

 "For those that live according to the flesh think about things of the flesh, but those that live according to the Spirit, about things of the Spirit." Romans 8:5 HCSB

I'm guilty of those backhanded compliments too. But the Lord put it on me this week and I'm gonna strive to be positive and uplifting to people from now on. Starting this week I'm gonna pledge to stop the backhanded, passive aggressiveness that I have become accustomed to speaking and hearing. I challenge you to try too. What's your favorite backhanded compliment? I'd love to read them and laugh at how audacious they are with you. 

We are all perfect in our salvation. God looks at his believers and sees the face of Jesus. What an awesome God we serve!
 
 

Old Pink Bibles

Emily couldn't find her Bible this morning. This is not a scarce occurrence, what with my housekeeping skills and her six year old short term memory. She can remember exactly what I mumbled as I left the Dollar General three weeks ago, but where she put her bible last Sunday is a conundrum.

Anyway, this week, since she couldn't find hers (and that was the END of the WORLD), I dug my old grade school Bible out of the closet. I retired this bible when I received a bible for my high school graduation. I have been using my "graduation" bible ever since (thanks again Beulah Baptist Church). So, I dug out the pink bible that my grandparents gave me when I was little and handed it to Emily. I wish I could say that it was a magical moment, and all the wisdom from that book was immediately imparted on my daughter; but, alas, no. She said, "It's too heavy!" and "I don't ever have to really use mine anyway." Now, granted she is six, and she can't technically can't read so I assume this is a rational response.

On the other hand, whatever her refusal meant, it got me to flipping through my old Bible. This is the Bible that I studied when I accepted Christ as my Savior. This is the Bible that I read the night that my best friend was killed in a car wreck. I vividly remember locking myself in my bedroom the night that she died and reading Psalm 23 and Psalm 102. I remember finding comfort in Joshua and Timothy. I fell on this old Bible when I was heartbroken and grieving.The words in it's pages gave me comfort and answered my questions during that terrible time.

I flipped through the pages this afternoon and looked at all the sideline notations and highlights of my youth. These are the scriptures that I clung to during my teenage years. Granny taught me how she notated her own Bible and I made similar marks in mine. I read this Bible the night I found out I was pregnant with my first child. I knew that I hadn't pleased God. I knew that I had disappointed my parents. I wanted to find an easy way out. I read scripture after scripture and realized that God doesn't make mistakes. I continued to study and make notations (there are notes with dates next to the scriptures that I clung to at that point in my life). I realize, looking back, that God never left me through those times. I didn't know where my life would take me at that point, but I always felt God near me. That pink Bible was with me too. It wasn't easy being a teenage mother in small-town Mississippi, I read that Bible (even after I got married) and craved it's comfort during those hard times.

When I opened my old Bible tonight the page it fell on was Ephesians 6:11, "Put on the whole armour of God, that ye may be able to stand against the wiles of the devil." There were many other notations, but this highlighted passage reminded me of that teenage girl that was new in faith and tried so hard to live up to the "perfect" Christian standards. The spirit of God got me through those thoughts of failure. God accepted my repentance and nurtured me and stayed with me throughout the hardship of a teenage pregnancy. God was with me years later when the father of my children decided that he didn't love me anymore. He was with me when this man that I had mistakenly put my faith in failed me. That taught me that nothing on this earth is worthy of my faith. ONLY God is worthy of my faith. He will never leave me, He will never forsake me. His love is forever.

Years have passed and my faith has been aged just like my old pink Bible. It may be worn around the edges, the cover is scuffed, the pages are brittle; but those highlighted passages continue to comfort me. The words are still there and they still minister to me. God never left me, even though I despaired and begged him for a different path. He showed me that His path is the right path. His way is the right way. My way is futile. He led me here. He gave me Sam, and Nolan, and Jason, and Emily. He has richly blessed my life. I am not worthy of a single blessing. He blesses me anyway. Psalm 105:4 is underlined in my old pink Bible. It says "Seek the Lord and his strength: seek His face evermore." No matter which Bible I turn to, I hope I remember to seek Him.

Emily woke up today and, before her feet even hit the floor, she told me, "God loves me, Mama. And I'm so glad that He gave us Jesus so that we can be with Him in heaven." My six year old daughter told me that. She said that without any coaching, or prompting by me. She already "gets" this raggedy Bible and she can't read a word of it. I know because of my children, that after all the hardships and disappointments, I'm doing something right. Thank you God for reassurances and for old pink Bibles.

Concerning the Author

I'm torn.

Life as a "Mommy Blogger" might be "just fine." But somehow I want more.... I'm drawn to be the political blogger, the religious blogger, the family blogger and the comedic blogger. I just don't know which blogger I want to be right now.

So I choose to be ALL bloggers. You don't know what you will get with me. I'm like that in real life too for those of you that know me.

Which brings to mind the fact that, not all of you know me. Not all of you know me. I'm a stranger. So let me tell you a thing or two about me.... (see below)

I'm Heddy (aka Heather). I've had that nickname as long as I can remember. When I was a little girl I stayed with my Granny a lot. Granny was my mother's mother. She lived in an apartment adjacent to our house. I could tap on my bedroom wall and she would tap back anytime I needed her. We had our own form of Morse Code.

When I wasn't tapping on my wall I was at her house. She kept her fridge stocked with soda's and candy bars. She kept her bread box stocked with bacon cheddar fries, cheeze-n-crackers and more candy bars. We never wanted for junk-food when we were at granny's house. This is probably the reason I can be a Curvy Girl Blogger as well.

Am  I still confused about my identity? You would think that by now I would know who I am. Maybe I'm a healthcare blogger.... no.... I've been out of that for a while. I don't feel like i should alienate my self with the 'mommy blog' title. I just don't know yet what describes me.

I am an almost 32 year old mother of three blogger. You can do the math. My oldest is almost 14 years old. He's an angel. Maybe I could be the teenage mother success story blogger. I had my second  child two years later... Maybe that makes me the "I'm on the fast track to life blogger." My third child is a feisty curly headed product of my second marriage. She keeps me on my toes and she WILL be the cause of ALL my gray hairs. Maybe that makes me a mommy daughter blogger, or try for second love blogger. I could also review netflix selections for a blog, or maybe just write about how I longed for a vacation home.

But that doesn't really tell who I am either. That tells the mommy blog followers who I am. I am also a registered nurse. I worked hard for that title despite the fact that my marriage was falling apart at the time. I'm a stay at home mom now. I worked hard for that title too. It's an achievement in my opinion. I found a husband who could support my ambitions to be able to stay at home and raise my kids. I know at any moment I can go back to work. I also know that, if the opportunity presents itself I can run for office. I can go back to school, I can teach school, I can do WHATEVER I want to do right now. I graciously thank my husband for that and I'm not ashamed of being grateful.

First and Foremost I am a Christian, I'm opinionated, talented, creative, honest, intelligent, hard working, faithful, fair.  All of that is by the grace of God. I'm also a civil rights advocate living in the middle of a civil rights battleground. I hope that I am fair minded and thoughtful when it comes to political issues. I am staunchly Libertarian as long as being Libertarian doesn't mean that I have to staunchly be anything. I am strongly opinionated in my beliefs whether you like them or not. I will agree with you as long as you successfully prove to me that you are right. I am not afraid to admit when I am wrong as long as I have been proven to be wrong.

I'm new to the blog-o-sphere but I can guarantee you that I will talk about my family. I will talk about my religion. I promise to talk about my political beliefs. I also promise to talk about any social/ethical/economic issues that come to mind. I'm not promising to be your favorite blog, but i promise that I will try.

I am me and only me and I hope that's enough for you.

Bad Weather and Granny

I originally penned this back in the days of MySpace. It was written as a MySpace note, if ya'll remember those.... My Mom had saved it (to my good luck) and I, thanks to her, am gonna share it once more in honor of  "Severe Weather Awareness" week. I have some good/bad memories regarding severe weather. Lots of people in my family are really anxious about these NWS warnings that we so frequently get down south. So in honor of them and my dearly departed grandmother, I give you this. It's dedicated entirely to Mary George Chaney Boyd; may she look on me and smile.



It's supposed to be bad weather tonight... most people don't even mind. They go on with their lives as if nothing is any different. I, however, always think back to my childhood.........

My grandmother (Granny) lived in my mother's house from about a year after I was born until the day she died. She convinced my poor unsuspecting daddy to build her an apartment (adjacent, but not with open entrance to his living quarters) attached to his house. Poor daddy didn't know what was coming. On the plus side, in Daddy's court, she kept me and my brother a lot when we were little. Anytime the wind blew wrong, she threw my brother and me in the hallway.  If it was especially windy, she would throw the couch cushions on top of us.

The worst nights were when we had a bad storm and the power would go out. Remember Daddy has tolerated Granny's presence in his home since he was in his thirties. He has also learned to keep his mouth shut and deal with it. On stormy nights she would always sit at the end of the kitchen table usually smoking a Kool (she quit when I was seven). She had several rules for the four grandchildren and their parents.....

1) Stay away from the front door... you'll get hit by a flying limb.

2) Stay away from the sink and don't go to the bathroom (apparently aunt somebody got struck by lightning washing dishes)

3) Don't sit under the ceiling fan (if the house blows away the last thing you want to hit you is the ceiling fan)

4) Turn the TV off and unplug it (even though it is our best way to get the weather). We don't want to buy a new TV if lightning strikes.

5) Don't go outside... even three hours after it passed. Some man was standing on his deck three hours after a storm, one time, and lightning struck him and he hasn't been the same since.

6) Forget the rest of you... "I'm (Granny) getting in the hallway... get off the couch so i can have the cushions."

We always heard the same rules. But i digress, when the power went off (inevitable in rural Mississippi) we would sit around for hours and figure out how to entertain each other. My sisters were way too good to play with my brother and I; they usually sat on the couch and ignored us. My dad would look for batteries for what seemed like hours, and, if he was lucky, he would locate enough for a radio and at least we could listen to country music. My mama lit candles and my great grandmother's oil lamp. This "Lamp" was a fixture in our house. It was your typical hurricane lamp. But... according to Mama it was "a hundred years old" and "it will set the whole house on fire if you touch it." Many a time I was informed that "That Lamp will blow you to New Jersey". 

Granny's job during all of this chaos, was to try not to get on Daddy's nerves and to entertain me and Gabe (my little brother). In that spirit we played games. Not board games, no, we were way to creative for those. We played "My Ship Goes Sailing", "I Spy", and, my all time favorite, "The Quiet Game". We always fought, I always lost the quiet game. Nikki and Lisa ended up playing with us despite their "I'm too cool to play with little kids because I am a teenager" attitudes. Gabe would spy nothing so that he could be "it" all night long. Mama would guess occasionally and Daddy would grumble for us to be quiet (from his perch on the recliner) every now and then, although we never complied. 

Hours would pass until, inevitably, we heard that familiar "hum" and every light in the house would come on. At that point, we would all say "The power's on! YaY!" (in unison) and we would go back to our corners. Granny would go back to her house (an apartment on the end of ours) unless there was another line of storms on the way. In that case she would sleep on the couch, just in case her end of the house were to blow away and ours didn't. It never did. 

It's weird though... I never had a scary experience with thunderstorms/tornadoes. Yet, no matter how many storms move through I find myself warning my kids, just like my Granny warned us. "Get away from the windows. Get out from under that ceiling fan. Don't you dare take a shower, or wash dishes." I repeat those warnings because, once upon a time, I had an aunt, and she got struck by lightening while washing dishes." I still don't know if she recovered. 

The Big Stuff

Over the course of our marriage, which has been admittedly short, Jason and I have learned that it is best not to bring up certain politically charged topics. The reason for this is that we don't agree about everything. What???? you may ask. How can two people commit to each other when they don't agree completely on every political agenda?!? I'm gonna tell you... we agree to disagree. Yes... We AGREE to DISAGREE. You probably find it easy to scoff at that, but it's the truth. This doesn't mean we don't occasionally (or as often as the news cycles roll) argue about certain topics. We watch the news together frequently. The nightly news segment often ends with one or both of us saying "Time Out!". At that point we change the subject.... no questions asked.... we just change the subject to something else that we can agree on.

Now don't get me wrong. Jason and I are not political opposites by any means. We are both Conservative Christians. We agree on all the big big party defining stuff that conservatives pride themselves on. We both believe in the Bible first and foremost and above all else. Besides that, I label myself a Libertarian and he labels himself a Republican. On the majority of issues we tend to fall on the same side. If he would only agree with me, we would agree on ALL of the issues and be the perfect couple. But alas, he is too stubborn (aka wrong) to agree with me and i have to concede that, although I love him with all my heart, he just can't be right ALL of the time (ha!ha!).

We agree to disagree on these "big" issues in order to preserve our marriage. We step back from our arguments, we calm down, and we decide to love each other anyway (despite our stance on gun control or the death penalty). It took a LONG time and a WHOLE lot of prayer for us to get to this point. We used to stay up all night long and argue about this stuff. We finally realized, through prayer and meditation, that the big stuff didn't really matter. Now, before you close the webpage and dismiss my ideas, I ask you give me a minute to explain myself. I promise it won't take too much longer.

The big stuff doesn't matter. (exhale) What do we think is the big stuff??? All the stuff that makes national headlines outside of our personal relation ship is the BIG STUFF. It's the stuff that philosophers have debated for centuries. It's the stuff that you hear every time you tune into Fox News or CNN. In my opinion it's the stuff that doesn't affect my marriage at all.

So tonight, after only a little fussing about the Big Stuff, I got to thinking about the Little Stuff. I got to thinking about how he always leaves his shoes and pants next to his chair in the living room. I got to thinking about how he puts his wet towel on the floor next to his dresser instead of in the hamper. I also got to thinking about all the times he has had a smart comment about me leaving every cabinet door open in the kitchen, or me not putting the ketchup back in the fridge. He has just as many little things to get mad about as I do. And when we get mad about the big stuff those little things have a way of bubbling out too. That's what makes us really mad. That's the stuff that we throw in the argument that really hits under the belt. It's personal stuff. It's stuff that festers and lingers and turns into big stuff over time. We can be arguing for hours about whether or not guns should have longer waiting periods but the moment it gets personal, the moment he insults my housekeeping, or the moment I insult his work ethic, then it gets serious.

We talked about this with each other over the weekend. It actually came up because we were laughing over a facebook post that we saw that started out trivial but quickly got personal. How easy is it to get in arguments with people we haven't seen in four or five years? It's so easy to tell them what we think and either forget about it and move on, or cut them our of our lives (via internet) altogether. Jason and I have been discussing this a lot lately. How easy the "little things" get to us when we don't have to confront our 'friends' face to face, but how we let them slide when it's a friend that we do interact with.

We've been working on it in our own marriage as well.  We've realized that we have gotten so good at looking over the big stuff that we have forgotten to overlook the little stuff. See, I believe that the little stuff is the stuff that destroys relationships. Irreconcilable differences are common. It takes irrevocable commitments to overcome those differences. The commitment to love one another, no matter what the other says or does, is the most holy and the most coveted commitment. Satan wants to make thos little things become big things. That's his job. He puts those little things under your pillow so that you think about them after your partner is asleep. Those little things destroy our marriages. Not many marriages have failed because of a debate on which political candidate to back. Marriages fail because of one spouse not emptying the dishwasher and because of another not calling to explain why he was late. It's the little stuff that destroys our marriages. I'm working on not letting the little stuff destroy my relationship. I'm trying to deploy our big stuff tactic on the little stuff... I'm gonna take a deep breath, love him, and move on... little stuff or big stuff. There's a million reasons I love him. Those reasons are way more important than those few things that get on my nerves.  Little or Big, He's mine and I am his. We love each other first. And that's the really Big Stuff.

"Above all, love each other deeply, because love covers a multitude of sins." 1 Peter 4:8