REMNANTS

Grandma's cry over the silliest things. This morning it was a red balloon and a piece of blue string. Remnants. Left over from a water balloon fight and a party popper from the Fourth of July.

I stood in the yard and cried. Not because the yard was littered with such reminders, but that it was no longer filled with the chatter and giggles that accompanied the debris. 

Silly grandma!!

Bunkroom

It took me three days to paint one tiny room, but it was worth it.

I've posted the picture before--it is my daddy and my brother. The photograph was taken by my uncle, who was a professional photographer with Eastman Kodak Company.  It was titled Boy and Cowboy and won many awards in various photography contests.  It's only fitting that it would go in the bunkroom!

Tiny little room, but the grands love it!

Big Boys and Their Toys

Fire Pump on it's own special trailer, ready to play! 

Don't know who's having the most fun!!

Perks of Retirement

When you retire, you have time to play!! 

Firetruck, made by Bob 

Made from walnut

Grands not allowed to play with this one

Shoes

Grands here for the weekend

And—

It matters!!

Graduation Day!

L-R

Rachel, Kirsten, Leah, Seth

Leah's graduation day

Leah and sisters

Leah, Rachel, Amy

I dare anyone to call this mundane!!

LAST RUN

Too Soon. Too Young.

Retired Fire Captain, Ed Phares

It's never easy to say goodbye. 

RETIRED FIRE PLUGS

Old, but not forgotten, they grace our seawall. 

Look Alike?

What Say Ye?

Several years ago I purchased this cement figurine for my hubby because I thought it looked like him!!

What Say Ye?

Mundane Matters

Milestones

I'm so blessed!

No Greater Love...

And Then There Are Days.......

Grandma's Awful, Terrible, Horrible, Very Bad Day
(actually, the week hasn't gone so well, either.)

I finally made a long-overdue appointment (for Tuesday morning) to have a lesion on my arm removed. It was growing…fast…and while I was pretty sure what it was, it had become bothersome enough to be…well…bothersome.

We still doctor 1.5 hours away. I know, I know—you're wondering why we don't go local.  Change is hard. We are old. There, you have it.

Tuesday morning—hubby left before I did, to drive 3 hours in the opposite direction to watch granddaughter #2 play volleyball, so would be gone until late night. That's fine. Son #2 lives six miles this side of where we doctor. Although he was on duty at the fire department, I was going to spend the afternoon and evening with DIL, granddaughter #2, and grandsons #1 and #2.  What fun!!

I get in car to leave...and battery is dead. It wouldn't even crank. Really, really dead. Guess who forgot to turn the key to 'off' when she checked the mileage a day after returning home from a conference?  

Rescheduled appointment for Thursday morning, 10:15. Called DIL and sulked. Hubby didn't get home until after 11:00

Thursday morning, 8:00 and all is well. Tried to get hubs to go with me, but he assured me the battery was charged and I'd have no trouble. It was foggy when I left, but I had no trouble. Car purred like a kitten all the way.

Arrived early, got in early, had three lesions removed, and was back in the car ready to head home by shortly after 10:30. UNTIL I turned the key and…nothing. 

At this point, my brain decides to join the battery. Son #2 is off duty today, but has gone with wife and granddaughter #3 for a college visit.  I text him anyway--with the whole story!  Misery loves company. 

I call hubby, and he reminds me we have AAA. However, he will start my direction and I should let him know if AAA can get there sooner than he is able to make the journey.

Now—I text, I tweet, I send emojis and emoticons. I check my emails, face book, and instagram.  I can do a lot of things with that little hand-held device—but do you think I can call AAA?  It's all automated. Oh, the lady is nice enough, but by the time I listen to the instructions, find the keyboard, and punch in  numbers all I hear is "I'm, sorry—I didn't get that. Would you please re-enter your 16 digit identification number again" I tried, lady, really I did.

At 12:10, son #2 calls me. He'd just checked his phone—college visit—but they were eating lunch. He knew someone he could call to come give me a jump start. Where was Dad? I checked with Dad. He was two miles away. Might as well let him come to the rescue. 

My dear husband is SO very patient. Of course, I wanted to remind him that had he come along with me…but I didn't. And when it was all said and done, I was rather pleased that I'd refrained.

He hooked up the charger...and it still wouldn't start.  He stepped back…he always steps back and looks at a problem. It's a part of him. You can almost see the wheels turning and most generally he finds a solution.

This time was no exception. There wasn't a frown, or even a hint of annoyance either on his demeanor nor in his voice when he asked me to 'turn off your lights and see if that helps.'.

Did I mention it had been foggy when I left home? 

He even bought me lunch and said I didn't need to worry about supper. 

However, I'll not be surprised if he takes my keys.

Tuesday's Tale

Wall of nozzles

I suppose every man has something that identifies them

that goes beyond how tall, how wide, or how handsome they are.

For my Bob--

it's fire department memorabilia. 

On our excursions to antique stores, flea markets, garage sales, he's always on the lookout for nozzles, bells, anything fire department related.

WALL OF  NOZZLES

HIS OFFICE WALL ABOVE DESK

OFFICE WALL BELLS

When the grandkids were younger, it was tradition that before they left our house to go home, they could ring a bell!! When they were really small, their dads would hold them up to reach and tug on the chains. 

Mundane Matters

The Week Before—

   

So much to do.

So many little details to remember.

So many last minute, couldn't be done sooner, errands.

So many things that can go wrong.

You know the feeling.

That last week before: your scheduled c-section; wedding; graduation and party; leaving home; saying goodbye to that son or daughter who's being deployed; the conference for which you are chairman; etc., etc. etc.

Always nagging questions and what ifs.

Especially the what ifs.  

EXCEPT FOR THIS WEEK

This isn't the blog I intended to write. It's not even the subject I promised someone I would address. 

Because yesterday began the countdown to Easter. 

That day we celebrate as Christ's resurrection.

That day life triumphed death.

That day when all that was promised was delivered.

Was anything forgotten?

Ah, yes. Forgotten and forgiven. 

My sins.

And

          Oh!

                  How!

                             That!

                                        Matters!  

Mundane Matters

CHANGE

I don't do it well

But it's inevitable

So I must greet it as one greets a new acquaintance

And perhaps it will become a friend.

Another grand leaves the nest

Change

I don't do it well

Yet

It matters!

Tuesday's Tale

Springtime In The Hills

FIRST THE SMOKE

THEN THE FIRE

There's a beauty to this yearly ritual. If you've never driven through the pasture lands of Kansas, in the springtime—at night—then you've possibly missed this rite of passage. 

Pasture burning season, they call it. 

A time to get rid of the old, dried, foliage that has provided its own kind of beauty during the long winter months, to allow the nutrition-rich grasses to emerge. The only thing more beautiful than the long lines of fire glowing in the night, is the sight of emerald green, grass covered hills in the early morning sun. 

While I would never suggest you follow a fire truck, I will gladly challenge you to follow the smoke you witness rising from the horizon. Take a camera. Throw away all other impressions you might have of 'old, flat Kansas', and experience...well, you'll have to see it to put your own title on this story of springtime in the hills. 

Mundane Matters

You Can't Put A Price Tag On…

220 miles round trip

X four days

16 basketball games

Hearing granddaughter's name announced

Watching granddaughter's team 

REPEAT STATE WIN!!

Believe Me!!

IT MATTERED

Wordless Wednesday

Tuesday's Tale

Too Soon Old

At Vince's funeral last week there was a special place designated for the retirees and their spouses to sit. Wives smiled at one another. The guys shook hands, clapped shoulders, and began to question (in whispers, of course)…"What are you up to now? What do you do to stay busy? You still live in…" 

And most would agree they no longer knew most of the now active, much younger firefighters from the department who filled the rows ahead of us. 

Even during the dinner afterwards, the retirees stretched along both sides of a long table. Wives played the 'remember when' game, while the men shook hands again, laughed at the same old stories, and grieved the loss of one so young. All wondering who among them would be missing the next time they had the opportunity to be together. 

To witness the changing of the honor guard, to hear the bagpipes, and to listen to the 'last alarm', tears the hearts of these men to pieces, with both extreme pride and deep, deep sorrow. 

Those rows of retirees represented a time when their jobs meant much more than a paycheck. It was even more than a career choice. 

Those wrinkled faces, and slower footsteps represented a commitment to one another, a pride for and loyalty to their jobs, and a way of life…
                              that is still evident in their lives today.











  

Mundane Matters

Where Did She Go?  What Did We Do?

She was an organized, get-er-done,whip-you-into-shape kind of gal. She was the one who insisted our Lori not leave to go shopping without some kind of identification. And she was one who came to stay with us—to help in any way she could—after our Lori was home from the hospital after her wreck. 

Thus began many years of relationship with her. I'll not give her name. There's no need. Those who know us will know, and for those who don't it really doesn't matter. 

This special person became a part of our family. She came for holidays. She called us mom and dad. Our sons looked to her as an older sister. She was with our Lori when she died so far from home. And to our Tammy she became the sister she lost. 

At one point, she lamented "Why can't you just adopt me?"

So we did. Figuratively. We even had a special plaque made confirming the relationship. As far as we were concerned, she was a Hiebert. She's even in the family pictures for both our boys' weddings.

Then after our Tammy died, this very special person left, too. And I don't suppose we'll ever know why. She just stopped coming 'home'. She didn't acknowledge the birth of our sons' children, and it finally reached the point we could no longer find her by phone. 

The last time we saw her was after 9/11. She called. She said she was married. They were on their way to NYC because he had a daughter they believed had been in the towers.

They came. They stayed. They even were recipients of an offering from our church to help them on their journey. And when they left, it was with a promise to keep in touch. Never to leave us again. 

So many things I wish I could tell her. Every time I think of what our daughters have missed, because of their deaths — nieces and nephews in all their growing stages, brothers advancing in their careers, etc., sisters-in-laws—I'm angry.  Angry that she CHOSE to leave us. Angry that for a few years she made us believe she wanted to be a part of us. Angry that we were so taken in.

And at the same time, I miss her. 

A mother's heart has nothing to do with actual birthing. 

And I'm certainly not the first mom to have a prodigal, am I? 

Other parents are asking the same questions: Where are they? What did we do? Why?

Many words describe FAMILY.  

Mundane isn't one of them.

If only she knew how much it matters. 

Words Are Not Enough

Vince Garcia

Rosary, March 3, 7:00 pm. St. Mary's Catholic Church

Newton, Kansas

Mundane Matters

WORDS~~~

BUILD UP/TEAR DOWN

HEAL/HURT

BRING JOY/BRING DESPAIR

I COULD GO ON AND ON AND ON. 


A MAN (WOMAN'S) WORD DEFINES HIS (HER) CHARACTER


WORDS MATTER

Wordless Wednesday

Tuesday's Tale

Who Says They Have To Be Red?

In some parts of the country, volunteer fire departments are the rule rather than the exception. These firefighters are highly trained, and they take great pride in their commitment to their communities. 

But competition among them is serious, and it's best depicted in the engines bearing their insignias. 

In some ways, I think we could learn a lesson from their pride. While the outside appearance of their engines distinguish them among their peers, what CAN'T be seen, all the 'stuff' that makes that piece of apparatus work from the inside is basically the same. And the men making it work all have the same goal~rescue what is in danger, save all they can and the bottom line~put out the d*** fire. And when the smoke is to heavy to see through, and the heat becomes unbearable, it no longer matters what color the the quint, or pumper, or ladder, or rescue—the men charging the lines, setting the pressures, handling the hoses or working the nozzle all work together and are willing to risk their lives for one another. 

All colors represented, and all work together for the good of their communities, and if you look closely you will see a flag represented~~no matter the color. 

AMERICA~~WAKE UP

Mundane Matters

It was certainly not a large gathering—13 kids and 9 adults, to be exact.

And the lunch was not all that exciting—hotdogs, mac 'n cheese, chips and dip and dessert. 

But by what means do you measure hope?

How many warm bodies does it take to represent encouragement? 

Numbers are fickle. Rarely do they tell the …rest of the story. 

Thirteen kiddos represent numbers. But—

Catherine, Jenna, Hunter, Josh, Charity, Eden, Abby, Scarlett, Rosalie, Jillian, Courtney, Gabby and Ethan are NOT mere numbers. 

They are each individual. And they each have a story.  

And they EACH represent a God-planned future. 

Mundane lunch after church?

Not mundane at all. 

Truth is—

It mattered.  

   

Wordless Wednesday

Tuesday's Tale

The Power of Siren

In the tiny town of my childhood, the fire siren blew every day.  

We called it the noon whistle. 

And if it sounded at any other time it was a really big deal. People stopped whatever they were doing, came out of the stores, or homes, stood in small groups in the middle of the street or gathered around fences to determine what was happening. And if all else failed, someone would call 'central', and the high school girl working the switchboard would know who, what and where. 

It was small-town curiosity. But it was also a call to arms. A neighbor needed help. And whether it was a fire, or some other type of alarm, the community was there to help: provide meals, take care of children, do chores, etc..

Recently I was in a small town that still had that familiar call to lunch. 

Just one crescendo. 

Time to eat. 

All's well. 

If it were only so.

Mundane Matters

Hi! My name is…

September 1956: First day of school for my junior year in high school. 

New school. 

And I hated it. 

Until this year, I'd attended school with the children of my parents' friends. Small town. Very small town. But everyone knew everyone. And it was safe. 

Now, I was definitely the new kid. I wasn't alone. I just didn't know the difference between the new ones and the others who'd known one another since kindergarten. 

Then I met Bonita. Her locker was next to mine. She was new. And our miserableness (that must be a word, there's no red squiggly line under it) was evident. We latched to one another like velcro. 

It would take a larger word-count than my editor would allow to pen our relationship since that day. We made new friends in our new school. We met and married guys who were also best friends. We raised kids together. We've laughed and cried. Miles have distanced us. Life has taken us down different paths. But through it all we've stayed in touch. 

Yesterday hubby and I joined a myriad of other friends to celebrate Bonita's birthday. The joy of hugging her kids again brought tears. To visit with friends we've shared—friends we'd never known had our parents not made the move we thought was the end of our lives—added another chapter to our saga; a chapter I will read over and over again in my heart.

It was Bonita who, when I was pregnant with our third child, led me to the assurance of my salvation. 

It was Bonita who would encourage me to "practice the presence of God." 

It IS Bonita who always has a sweet smile and word of encouragement. 

The term 'old friends' has no real correlation with age. Well, maybe age does come in there somewhere. But it's also a reflection of life experiences that no matter what—can't pull the velcro apart. 

And the sweetest part?

Not even the grave will separate us. 

And that matters!!

Be My...What?

I don't normally post on Saturday. But today is Valentine's Day. When I announced that fact to hubby this morning his response was:   VALENTINE'S DAY ON SATURDAY?  

If you read the title of this post, I hope you raised your voice to a high-pitched squeal as you said "my what?"  Feel it slide up there. WHAAATTTT?

That was how he said Saturday?  Like how could a loving God ever allow February 14 to fall on a Saturday (slide upward again, please)

Yep. I married a true romantic.  And the picture accompanying this post proves it. 

Now, we've been married 56 years, and I'm sure that I've forgotten a LOT of fine details. You know—love doesn't keep track of wrong doings! You do realize that is a biblical statement, don't you?

SO, that being said, I must share one of the most tender moments--the Valentine's Day that needed no prompting. No subtle reminder at all.  Nope. This was indeed a surprise.  

The gift box was HUGE. 

And HEAVY.

VERY, VERY, heavy.  

Anticipation nearing the squealing stage, I tried to guess what it might be. I mean, it was definitely heavier than the usual spatula I got for Christmas. And he already gave me the last two Laura Ingalls Wilder books—that we needed to round out our set—when our boys were born. 

I carefully—don't ask me why—removed the duck tape bow, and tore away the newspaper wrapping. And what that box revealed brought tears to my eyes. Of course, I was laughing.

There was the biggest cast iron skillet I had ever seen (although, since then I have seen bigger ones at Silver Dollar City). We could have put a whole side of bacon in the thing. Well, at least I think we could have. We first had to get a crane to lift the lid before I could actually witness the width, and height, and depth of this man's love. 

"For camping," he said. 

I'm not sure if we were supposed to sleep in the thing, or pull it behind us. However, even after all these years I can still count on one hand—actually, with one finger—the times we've gone camping.

But you know what? It was one of those times when you knew that no matter what the years would bring, that skillet would be there. We've had oh-so-may laughs with the retelling of this story. 

As I write this, hubby is building a fire in the fire pit down in our timber. During the day he will keep it going by feeding it deadfall branches. Around that fire pit he's made benches from logs, and there are a couple of old metal lawn chairs. Even a silly little table he's rigged up so he'd have a place to set his every-present stainless steel coffee cup. 

I'll not get flowers, or candy or a card. And I probably won't get taken out for supper. 

But I know, just as surely as Valentines Day is on Saturday this year, that every time he comes into the house he'll be singing "will you be my valentine".  

And I'll offer to take HIM out. And afterward he'll tell me I fixed him a right nice little Valentines supper. 

How do I know? Because even when he fixes his own bologna sandwich to give me more time to write, he'll tell me I fixed him a right-nice little meal. 

He's romantic, like that. 

And that's perfectly perfect for me. 

Tailboard Tales + Wordless Wednesday

Many of you know Vince Garcia. Many of you don't, but I wish you could.

Vince is a Newton, Kansas firefighter. I say IS, because once you're a FF, you're always a FF.  And though he is no longer able to check in, he is still very much a part of that brotherhood that defines a firehouse.

Vince has ALS. There's no easy way to say it, and there's not a day that goes by that his brothers don't think of him, pray for him, wish there were some way they could all wake up from this very bad dream and things would be all better. 

Recently the department acquired a new fire truck. And a new engine is like a brand new toy. 

Yesterday, some of his brothers made sure he got to play with this new rig. And I'm not sure who had the most fun—Vince or his playmates.

P.S.  PLEASE click on these pics so you can get the full picture. Look at the faces of each of those men. And please pray for Vince and his family, and his brothers at the firehouse. 

The hardest thing a FF ever has to do…is leave one behind.

Vince Garcia…You Are Loved

Mundane Matters

It DOES matter, folks~~

John 13:35  By this shall all men know that ye are my disciples, that ye ALSO LOVE ONE ANOTHER.   KJV

In a world that is already so divided, why do we—who call ourselves Christian—split ourselves into such factions?  

On any given day, on social media that ranges the gamut, we condemn the actions of those who are not Christ followers—yet band into groups to pump and pomp our own agendas: homeschool versus public school; praise music versus the old hymns; vaccinations versus non-vaccine; King James version of the Bible versus any other; what vitamins to take, or food to eat; etc., etc., etc.

We believe in grace, but act under the law (our own law) and are ready to fight to prove our stand. But are we willing to go to battle so that we might be united? Are we as ready to fight to show the world our love, Christ's love, as we are to sway people to think as we think on other issues? Are we willing to DIE to self, to DIE to our own agendas so that others might see Christ in us? 

How many sheep have we lost for the Shepherd because we argue over the RIGHT rescue procedure. The shepherds staff was not used to beat the sheep—it was a way to protect against the enemy, and to bring to safety those who had fallen over the edge or become entangled in the briars. 

The Word of God is sharper than a two-edged sword—and we use it as such. Not to defeat the enemy, but to cut and divide our sisters and brothers in Christ into camps of right or wrong.

We do not clothe ourselves in grace OR righteousness because our agendas once again divide us as to how righteousness looks, acts, says; we are more ready to write dissertations on issues than to give to every man an answer for what GOD says; the words we utter are not cloaked in our love, nor HIS. 

I've watched mothers grieve over children who no longer speak to one another, who refuse to sit at the same table or be in the same room because of something petty that may or may not even be remembered. Only the anger remains. Only the "I'm right and you're wrong" matters now.

How we must grieve our Heavenly Father.

John 13:35  By this shall ALL MEN KNOW…

Our LOVE FOR ON ANOTHER matters. 

Divided we FALL—divided we FAIL.


It really does matter. 

Ever Have One Of Those Days?

Tuesday's Tale From The Tailboard

Some days I could very well be billed as the world's worst granny. Such was the case last week, when I forgot our oldest grandson's birthday. 

I didn't actually forget. I KNEW we were celebrating Saturday night so wasn't thinking that Wednesday was his actual birthday.

Poor kid had to remind me with a text!!  

So to make up for it.  I'm posting a picture of his daddy, and also one of him. The picture of his dad was taken 20 years ago.  The picture of Seth is his school picture from this year. 

ROB

SETH

UH--THINK ROB COULD EVER DENY THIS KID? 



HAPPY  late 15TH BIRTHDAY, SETH 

Mundane Matters

Women's Ministory--To Have, or To Be


I could start a firestorm, I suppose. But that's never the intention of this blog.

However !! In the past several days I've read numerous articles on the good, the bad and the ugly of women's ministry. Each have made a well studied observation. Each have pointed out the pros and cons. Most have decided they are all fluff, and dangerous, and something our husbands may not like.

This is my take. And I'll take full responsibility for any fallout. 

Women need one another.  Period. 

And if that is best accomplished, for YOUR individual church, locale, culture, whether by teas or deep Bible studies then go for it. (and who's to say it can't be both?)  

And who is to judge the depth or width or height of the spiritual impact it makes. Is a girl/single woman/single mom/ wife/grandmother, etc. who comes to know Jesus, and crave to follow him, less His child if that knowledge comes with a cup of tea in her hand and an arm around her shoulders, than the sister who is made aware of her need through a verse-by-verse exposition of the book of John? 

Do I believe in husband-bashing? NO. Do I believe in women encouraging other women to step aside from their roles? NO. Do I believe we should not have deep Bible studies as women? NO, NO. NO.

Not every woman in my church is a mother, or a wife. But they are all daughters. And regardless of what role their own mothers might have had in their life, MY role as another woman in the congregation, is to reach out, affirm them, love them, cry with them, laugh with them and yes--if necessary--put a doily on the table and serve them tea. And whether I'm pouring tea, or leading a Bible study, Jesus MUST be seen in me. 

It's not WHAT we do nearly so much as FOR WHOM it is done.

Colossians 3:17 And whatsoever ye do in word or deed, do all in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God and the Father by  him.

Colossians: 3:23-24 And whatsoever ye do, do it heartily, as to the Lord, and not unto men; knowing that of the Lord ye shall receive the reward of the inheritance: for ye serve the Lord Christ.

Perhaps I'm wrong, and I'll stand corrected if that is the case. But my personal interpretation of these verses comes down to this: If I serve, in Jesus' name, it is NEVER mundane.

Indeed,

It matters!!

Wordless Wednesday

While I usually post only a picture on Wednesday, I feel this one needs some explanation.   

This is my Bob, cutting willow TREES out of our very, very dry cove. So you understand just how dry we are, Bob is 6'1", and the willows are taller than he is. At this point, even if we were to get enough rain to get water again, we could never get a boat through the trees.  This will be the third summer without water. 

We love our wee cottage, but it's becoming harder and harder to say we live on the lake.  And it's near impossible to sell a waterfront home when there is no water.

Tuesday's Tale From theTailboard

Who's in Charge?

One of the hardest transitions for me, as a fireman's wife, was the change in roles that occurred every-other-day. When Bob first started on the fire department we had a 5-year-old and a 3-year-old. I never wanted to be the kind of mother that threatened "you just wait until your daddy gets home".  And at five and three there weren't any huge battles to be decided.

However, with the passing of years and the addition of two boys, dynamics changed. Add to that, two daughters diagnosed with an incurable neuromuscular disease and all that entails, and there were times when it got really heavy. 

Attempting to balance what I could control and what I couldn't became very much a tightrope performance. Even harder was knowing WHEN I was in control, and when I wasn't.

It wasn't hard for me to be in charge on Bob's duty days. And while the rules didn't change when he was home, the roles did. 

Those who know us, are also very aware that we are on opposite ends of the personality poles. Bob is, and was, very much the 'walk and speak softly and carry a big stick'.  On the other hand, I carried a big stick, stomped a bigger foot and was never accused of speaking softly. 

Parenting is hard no matter the occupation. 

While I've never intended for these posts about being a firefighter's wife to be devotionals, or short sermons. Allow me this one rant!!

There are a whole lot of single parents out there struggling to be both mom and dad. Whether they've chosen that role or not doesn't lessen the struggle.

There are also two parent homes where the roles are so blurred the kids have no idea who is in charge, so take on the role themselves. And a child should never have to be the parent.


The next time you are annoyed by screaming kids in a restaurant, or crying kids in church, or trantrum-throwing little ones in the aisle of the grocery store…before you pass judgment too quickly, stop and consider that maybe, just maybe there's been a major disruption in their lives, too.

Yes, there are disobedient kids. Yes, there are loud and obnoxious kids. There are times when you might think to yourself that "what that kid needs is a good spanking." (please don't call Child Protection Services)

And yes, there are loud and obnoxious parents. And more than once I've wanted to 'smack' them, too. 

But there are also times when a child just is that—a child. And we've all been embarrassed by behavior that in no way reflected the training our child received. 

We had a child wipe his snotty nose on a neighbors newly-starched white muslin curtains. 

We had a kid (same one, in fact) who blew the paper off the end of their straw only to have it go down the BACK of a lady's dress three tables over. 

We had a daughter who went potty in a paper cup in the front yard. 

We had a child who hid himself in a roll-around display of dresses and thought it was funny to roll away from me when I attempted to catch him, and had other shoppers dodging the action. 

We had a child who pardoned himself for 'tooting' in the restaurant and when we ignored it he announced it a second time, both the toot AND the apology.

It is in THOSE moments when I could switch roles very quickly: i.e. "that's YOUR child." 


Who's in charge?

Well, God and I have had many, many, many conversations regarding this very subject.

Guess what?

It isn't, and never was—me.

And it isn't, nor ever will be—you.

Never before in history have young families needed prayer more than this very day, this very moment. 

Just do it!!

Mundane Matters

NO FUN--BUT IT MATTERS !!

Because I like to share, this time it was Bob's turn.

It started yesterday afternoon--at 4:00 o'clock to be exact.

The directions said 4 FOUR tablets of laxative

Followed by cocktails.  Recipe follows:
 238 gram bottle of powdered laxative mixed with 64 ounces of Gatorade that was to be consumed 8 ounces at a time, every 10-15 minutes (required to be done within a two-hour period.)

Arrive at hospital surgery center at 6:00 a.m. (which meant we left our home at 4:00.

Procedure at 7:30 a.m. 

Then home again, home again, jiggity jig !!

There is absolutely nothing mundane about a colonoscopy. 

But I URGE you—if you are over 50, and have never had one, DO IT !!

And if you have a family history of colon cancer—ask your doctor when to start having this procedure done.

It's no fun!! 

BUT IT MATTERS !!

Wordless Wednesday

Tuesday's Tale from the Tailboard

To the Rescue—Again

It was one of those days. Our Lori was slowly, very slowly, improving after being in a coma, the result of a car wreck. (Lori would never allow us to call it an ACCIDENT.  Over and over again, when she was able to communicate, she reminded us that there were NO ACCIDENTS with Jesus.)

And though she was improving, she still required a respirator to breathe. Even before her wreck her incurable neomuscular disease made it necessary to use the respirator at night. Now, because of her head trauma, she needed it during the day, too. 

We were tired. All of us. But we were encouraged that at least she was out of the coma and making some progress. 

The down side to this day—there was freezing rain. While we didn't need to be out in it, we did need the electricity to stay on for the respirator. There was an emergency battery backup, but there was only a short window of 'help' we could expect. 

Peering from window to window didn't still the storm. 

Opening the door and hearing the crackle of the frozen branches did nothing for our anxious hearts. 

When the lights flickered, we felt so very, very vulnerable. 

And you guessed it!! The electricity went off. 

Alarms buzzed. 

Our hearts pounded.  

We were on an emergency call list for the electric company, but the outage was so widespread, and weather becoming worse by the hour, that there was no way they could get to us any faster than to any of the others whose lives depended on electric power.

That's when we called for HELP. One phone call, and the Fire Department was there with their generator. 

These were the same fellas who made it possible for us get Lori home by ambulance plane from Indiana after her wreck. 

These were the same fellas who worked extra shifts so that Bob wouldn't have to lose his sick days. 

These were the same fellas who came to our door with money they'd collected to help. 

And the same fellas who sat with Bob, on more than one occasion, when the days seemed never to end and the mornings brought no visible relief.

Oh, how blessed we were to have them. What comfort those yellow coats brought us. Their slipping and sliding on the ice to hook up the generator. Their smiles, hugs and assurance that all we had to do was call if we needed anything else. Their tender greetings to Lori. 

Help!  

Much needed, and greatly appreciated help

…again.