Thirty Years? Thirty Years...THIRTY YEARS!

My husband, Tom, and I just celebrated our 30th wedding anniversary. I woke up June 21st, in Cordova, Alaska, and asked myself, "Can it really be 30 years?" Then I looked over at Tom, snoozing away, heavier, grayer, although I know I haven't changed a lick, and I can tell it has been 30 years! Okay, I admit, I have changed. I'm hoping the hair color commerical is correct in saying I'm not older, I'm better, but somehow I get the feeling they just want me to buy their hair dye.


When I asked Tom, "Are you where you thought you would be after thirty years?" he admitted he thought he would be in a different place, both physically and vocationally. He thought we would be living on a farm in Wisconsin, growing other people's children in a foster group home. "Really?" I replied, "I never knew that was your dream!" I'm not sure if he never told meor if I just never listened. Probably the latter. Then he returned the question to me. I of course had already thought about it, had been thinking about it and journaled it out! After all, it was my question. I had always pictured myself living in a lovely home, beautiful children, and grandchildren to adore. Those dreams have come true. Did I expect them to happen in Alaska? No. The thing that I never dreamed was an ordination and call to ministry. I certainly had expected a music ministry as a lay person. Choirs and worship teams were always important to me, but I never dreamed I'd have a longing to teach, preach and speak let alone a calling to do so.

As Tom and I talked, we both agreed we didn't expect marriage to be so difficult. The joining of two totally different opinions of how socks and towels should be folded, what color cars to purchase, with who's family we should celebrate Christmas, and the definition of affection, proves to be challenges we still deal with. For example: he considers me weeding flowers while he mows the lawn a date. I on the other hand expect dinner and movie, I consider a day of reading journaling and blogging (much like day today) a day well spent. He is all about cleaning the garage, building a planter and brushing the dog to make his day off complete. He does not understand the draw of Facebook and I cannot get the hang of banking on line. A lingering kiss and hug for me sets my day and for him, a quick smooch and a patting my backside means he's still interested. After thirty years you'd think we'd have met somewhere in the middle. But, alas we are still at opposite ends on many things.

The really important things we have managed to agree upon. We both felt Christian Education and an active church life to be priority for our children, pets are a must, family comes first right after God, and pizza on Friday nights is a bonding experience (thus the extra pounds, I'm afraid). We both feel birthdays and anniversaries are meant to be celebrated, and the bedroom is sacred. Individual "quiet time" for our own personal relationship with God has developed on it's own and we rarely infringe on each other during these morning sessions of quiet meditation. These are a few of the foundations that have held our relationship together through the tough times.

Speaking of tough times, there have been a few. I remember sitting in a counselor's office, Tom on one end of the couch me on the other and the counselor saying, "Really, I see no hope for this marriage. It would be better if you two just went your own ways." Well, we stuck it out. Are all our issues resolved? No, and they never will be because we are human. We have come to the conclusion that I will always remain a mystery to Tom, and he will always frustrate me with his down to business, cut the frills personality. We have learned to cope and even flourish at times, thanks to Dr. Dobson, the wisdom of children and the book of James.

As I looked through the cards at the grocery store, I chose one for Tom that had a drawing of a man's and woman's underwear on a clothes line with the words, "I'll be brief." The inside just read, "Happy Anniversary, darling." I penned the words, "These last 30 years have gone by so fast, let's take the next a little slower, please!" What does that mean? I'm not sure. To begin with: a quiet celebration walking the harbor of Cordova, being served gummy ice cream by an Irish archaeologist in a quiet burger joint, exchanging new wedding rings while we eat strawberry cheese cake in our jeans, and going to bed at nine. How romantic is that? In my book, very!

The question now is, "Where do I see myself in thirty years?" I hope to be a sweet little old lady ready with a tart come back now and then, a grandma who can spoil a teenager and yet be respected by the most rebellious waif, and the light in my husband's eye who still gives me a quick smooch and a pat on the bottom to show he's still interested.

Happy anniversary to my patient and sometimes astounded husband.

Water and Blood

Sometimes I wish I could remember exactly what it was I was thinking and feeling when I wrote entries such as this one.

Journal Entry: July 21, 2002

This is the One who came by water and blood, Jesus Christ, not with the water only, but with the blood...For there are three that testify: The Spirit and the water and the blood, and the three are in agreement. 1 John 5:6-8

With a gush of water and blood, the infant Jesus was born into the world. The water from Mary's womb was absorbed into the straw and dirt beneath her. She lovingly wiped her own blood from the face of the newborn Christ. Mary's spirit soared as she looked her miracle baby with the blood and water of birth still evident in his hair.

Jesus rose out of the water on the strong arm of His trusted cousin. The water streamed from his face and clothes as John brought Him upright and the Spirit of God descended and lit on Jesus' wet hair. John was a witness to the Father's approval and although he was unaware of the fact, his own spilled blood was soon be the beginning of the end of Jesus' earthly ministry.

Jesus, in unbearable pain, looked to heaven and released His Spirit to His Father. Nearby a soldier lifted his sword, and plunged into Jesus' side. Again, there was a gush of water and blood. The ground beneath the cross absorbed the water of a broken heart and Mary wiped her Son's blood from His face.

The testimony of the Spirit, the water and the blood...And the testimony is this, that God has given us eternal life, and this life is in His Son. 1 John 5:11

Garage Sale Gifts

Mother's Day! What a bouquet of memories and emotions that day brings up for me.

As a child growing up on the edge of a field of Wyoming wild flowers, Mother's Day meant a handpicked bouquet of weeds, roots and all, proudly presented to my mom. She loveingly put them into her best vases and set them in a place of honor. They looked quite exquisite; but oh, the smell! Wyoming wild flowers smell like old swamp water when you bring them indoors. Smell didn't matter though, they were appreciated and I learned that giving is better than receiving, smelly wild flowers, that is.

As a young mother I received numerous handmade object from school and Sunday school classes. I always loved the handmade pop cycle stick projects with macaroni glued precariously in indiscernible patterns, but they only held a close second to the garage sale items wrapped in whatever paper was available, including toilet paper. I've received old jewelry boxes, books, and slightly used beauty aids. I have unwrapped blue plates, rocks and odd kitchen gadgets; all given with the light of expectation in the eyes of a child, purchased with pennies from my own pocket.

Kristen shared the tale of her neighbor boy who had a little garage sale on her curb. Six pilfered items made up his total inventory. Among those items was a Harlequin Romance and a camera. I had to laugh as I imagined one mom frantically looking for her much anticipated novel as her "me time" ticked away; and another mother unwrapping an amazing gift of a digital camera with pictures of someone elses child smiling from the mini screen. Children have little sense of personal or monetary value which is refreshing if not frustrating at times.

This year my Mother's Day will consist of a lovely dinner provided by my husband, beautifully wrapped and well thought out gifts and cards from my children, and purchasing a perfect bouquet of flowers to deliver to the cemetery. I will hug my children, kiss my grand baby and miss my mom, but it will be another memorable Mother's Day, because being a daughter and a mother is a memorable gift from God.

I wish you a Happy and Memorable Mother's Day!

Right Where I Left Me!

Here I am, sitting in my cute little office and enjoying the kind of music I like. I'm burning a candle that smells like tangerines and I'm thinking lunch will be one of my favorite foods. Yes, I have the house all to myself! Lovely. It's always been a special treat for me to have time alone. I used to live for that week in summer when Tom would take the kids camping and I would sew, watch romantic comedies, clean house and have it stay clean for a few days. And now, here I am, alone, and well...alone.

Changes in my life seem to come in bunches, kind of like bananas; and like bananas, if I don't deal with them all at the same time they go bad really fast! Graduations, weddings, funerals and the pesky physical changes of aging have seemed to be ever present for the last few years. The rush of shopping, packing, running and just trying to be everywhere at once has suddenly come to a screeching halt, and I'm finding myself thrown up against the dashboard of the empty nest. Thankfully I have the airbag of all those things I've been wanting to get to for the past twenty years. I've whittled down the "stuff" from my kitchen and all my pots and pans fit in the cupboard, my gadgets all fit in the drawers and I'm finding I don't mind cooking dinner near as much. I also have all those books I've been longing to read and even a few writing projects beginning to surface.

On the radio the other morning during a minute spot on women's issues, the announcer was talking about a woman who had "lost" herself during the years of raising her children and now that they were gone she felt as if she didn't know who she was. In a moment of panic I took a quick innovatory to see if I had "lost" myself. Nope! There I was. Right where I had left me.

Although my children have played an enormous part in my life through the years, I am happy to say I've never lost sight of who I was. The personalities that have filled my home and my heart were never so overbearing that mine got lost in the shuffle of living. I am thankful for Grace Christian School that provided an excellent education for my children when I knew homeschooling was definitely something this mom could not manage, the provision of God that supplied the funds has been miraculous. I am thankful for pastors who encouraged me and provided me with ministry opportunities that enhanced my giftings and let me shine. I am thankful for sisters/friends who wouldn't let me forget my love for a good novel, movie and cup of coffee; who laughed, cried, walked, dieted and binged with me. I am thankful for a job that allowed me to be available for my children and yet challenged me to be the best I can be. And that man of mine! He put up with my longings and yearnings for places unknown and then somehow managed to get me there (Rome is still waiting). What a ride it's been, and we are still traveling strong!

Yesterday I went past TJ's room, saw the empty walls and boxed up books and felt a pang of sorrow. The other day I dreamed Kristen and Jolene were looking down at me from the top of the stairs with little girl glee and woke feeling sad. I delight in sending Rosie boxes of goodies packaged in motherly love and miss her terribly. Jordan's family reminds me of all those times when I felt the frustration of not being enough and yet not wanting it to be any other way; knowing that somehow God would take care of the gaps. There is a measure of sadness in the emptying of the nest, but freedom too. Today I am free to share a few thoughts on my blog, run to my favorite book store and watch Dr. Oz without anyone to mock or ridicule me (TJ). When dinner rolls around I'll pull out the big pot, rethink and grab the smaller one instead. I'll say a prayer for my fledgling sparrows and know the Father is watching over them and enjoy a quiet dinner with my husband. I have found myself to be contented and looking forward to tomorrow.

Yep, that's where I am; right where I left me.

The Ultimate Fake

If people knew how inadequate and inept I am they would be shocked! It's really just the grace of God and "faking" that gets me through. It's like my new Ultimate Christmas Fake Book that has all the Christmas Carols I want to play. It gives me the words, melody line and all the chords. I just sit down at my piano and I can play just about anything in there. I'll choose a Christmas Song like, Merry Christmas, Darling (My all time secular favorite). It goes like this: "Cm, Dm, Gm, Cm,"" I'm doing great! "F7, Bb, Gm, F#+" WHAT?!!! What is an F#+? Oh well, skip that one, and on we go! Every once in a while I'll hit one of those schmaltzy chords right and I sound like I really know what I'm doing, when in actuality it was a total accident.

At times, that's how I tend to live my life. I accidentally read something about a great author and I can chat like I have a literature degree! I stumble on a recipe and the finished product looks like it was prepared by a pro, and I glow with the compliments I receive, when it was really very easy and foolproof. I have learned enough Scripture over the years to hold my own in a debate on predestination and post or pre-tribulation, but don't ask me what I Scripture I read this week, the answer may be embarrassing for me.

Jesus told the woman at the well (who was a pretty good faker herself!), "But an hour is coming, and now is, when the true worshipers shall worship the Father in spirit and truth; for such people the Father seeks to be His worshipers. God is spirit, and those who worship Him must worship in spirit and truth." John 4:23-24 NAS

No matter how you fake it, God is searching for those whose worship is sincere. May He find my heart ever true.

Thanksgiving Weekend

Friday, November 27, 2009

The fuss is over and the quiet begins. My favorite part of Thanksgiving weekend! The fireplace is burning, the snow is falling and I’m sitting in my pjs and slippers listening to the quiet. This is that slot of time that is the eye of the storm. Thanksgiving is done and Christmas season can wait until tomorrow. Nothing is pressing; no one is in desperate need of me. I can sit on my couch and just be.

Part of my tradition of the Friday after Thanksgiving is reading a book from cover to cover. I try to select one that is going to put me into the Christmas spirit and yet has a little depth to it. It doesn’t have to be a major work or on the best seller list, just a book to help me enjoy the peace. I selected the book Christmas List by Richard Paul Evans. He is one of my favorite authors. He has a way of telling a story without being wordy. His books tend to have a spiritual moral to them and a sweet romance although usually tragic, that appeals to my romantic leanings. My selection was perfect for this morning’s retreat.

I can feel the calm of the day slipping away as Tom becomes restless in the stillness. He is outside shoveling the walk and I have a feeling in the next few minutes the snow blower will fire up. This cushion of quiet I have been reveling is even now beginning to disperse. Rosie is home and she and her friend Michelle are watching a movie and the phone is beginning to ring. I can feel the pull of the laundry waiting for me, the call of worship music waiting to be organized and the whining of the dog for a walk in the new fallen snow. However, I believe I can squeeze out another twenty minutes or so from the fire in the fireplace and a moment to write my thoughts and vent my feelings before I need to budge from my couch.

I was telling my sister Carol, yesterday that it really does happen! The kids grow up and take most of their stuff with them. All of a sudden getting ready for company isn’t so panic ridden and the house seems less cluttered. She looked at me with doubt in her eyes and I placed a comforting arm around her shoulders while she leaned on me for a moment. It seems like in the last two weeks or so, this phenomenon has finally occurred at our house. The couch stays free of purses, coats, sweatshirts and Old Navy shopping bags, dishes stay in the cupboard and the washer and dryer are empty when I go to put a load of my laundry in them. The weddings were over months ago, but moving the necessary stuff from one abode to another is process. I am sure I will miss all the stuff that used to haunt the common areas of our residence, but for now I am enjoying the overlying neatness.

In less than a month I will be having yet another birthday. I just read a book by Sue Monk Kidd and her daughter Anne called Traveling With Pomegranates. She talked about turning fifty and facing the fact that her physical fertility had come to an end and she faced the realization that her life needed to take on a new type of fertility. As I read I identified with that feeling. She put so well into words what I have been feeling for the last year. Although I didn’t always agree with her methods of coming to grips with the loss of her “young woman hood” and the accepting of “older woman hood” I felt an affinity with her in this. I too stand at the place of leaving my productive years behind and entering the years that I hope creativity can become born in me. I’m praying it will be more than knitting sweaters, making new recipes and finding new ways to take advantage of the silver in my hair. Not that I will stop doing those things, I just long for more than that.

Someone who was a successful composer of worship music once said, “If you want to be creative, get close to the Creator.” That will be my goal for the next year (and every year to come). I am going to ask Him to be creative through me. What will that mean for me? I’m not sure. I hesitate to put into writing what I hope of doing before I am an old woman, I am just superstitious enough to not want to jinx my dreams. But I do know whatever I put my hand to, with the Creator’s blessing, will be enough.

The fire has died, the book is read and it’s time to begin those little tasks that will let neatness continue to reign. My Thanksgiving weekend has been full of blessings.

Grandma Day

Julian came over yesterday as it was Thursday, Grandma Day! We played in the leaves under our birch trees. Of course Julian doesn’t have any sense of the value of gold, but I always think of gold coins when I see the birch leaves scattered over lawns, and streets. They hang in the autumn sunlight in the nearly bare trees and catch the golden tones of slanted warmth and suddenly the world seems very rich. Before long Jonae arrived and I sat in the sun while her and Julian tossed those “gold coins” into the breeze and caught them in their hair. It was indeed a rich moment, a priceless memory.

I was telling my friend Judy, I never feel like I have to rush when I’m with Julian. I can walk slowly, watch two Sesame Street shows in a row, and linger over milk and cookies and feel absolutely no guilt at all! We did get an awkward look from the man shelving videos when we played “sneak up” on uncle TJ at the Library, but the guy needed loosening up a little! We stopped at the platform set up on the library lawn to do an impromptu clog dance (by the way, Danskos sound great on plywood). It was Uncle TJ’s turn to shoot awkward glances at us, but on such a glorious autumn day, SOMEONE SHOULD BE DANCING! Therefore, we danced! Time well spent.

I know grandmas should have a modicum of dignity and grace about them, mine did, but I just haven’t figured that part out yet. For now I think I’ll just enjoy the moments and hopefully the dignity and grace will come with the gray hair. It is these undignified moments that make me feel rich, bought with the “golden coins” falling from the birch trees in our yard.