I need to know what comes after exhausted. I was tired. Then I was exhausted. Now, I'm . . .? I'm not quite dead, but I'm close.
It has been a day. We've been without a night cook for over twelve weeks. Finally hired someone. He worked two days, then called in sick. Sous chef hasn't had a day off in weeks, so today she told us in advance she would be unavailable.
The day started with with a 6:00 am phone call from the Executive Chef informing us that he was now sick, followed closely by a phone call from one of the kitchen helpers. It gets worse from there, but to cut a long story short, I was the Butterfield Place Chef today.
I managed to get through breakfast, got help from several others to prepare lunch, and resorted to ordering pizza for supper. Not only did I do breakfast by myself, I washed all the supper dishes. And I am so tired that I would cry, but I don't have the energy.
My legs hurt. My back hurts. My feet hurt. And I have completely lost my sense of humor about the situation.
I'm sure that after a good night's sleep, I'll be better tomorrow. But I already know that tomorrow's going to be a repeat of today, because everyone is still sick. I am dreading it. But I'll get through it.
Sorry, no words of wisdom tonight. No witticisms or funny stories. Just a plea for prayers and strength.
Good night
Tuesday, October 12, 2010
Saturday, October 2, 2010
Sweet and Salty
I love things that are sweet and salty all at the same time. Popcorn mixed with M&Ms. Peanut brittle. Potato chips dipped in chocolate. (Don't knock it, till you've tried it!)
Today was a sweet, but salty day. My brother is getting married and today was the bridal shower. I really like his fiance'. She a really sweet woman and they seem incredibly happy and terribly in love. His daughters like her and seem pleased that their dad is adding her and her young son to their lives together.
The shower was in Neosho and the women of our family all piled into a couple of cars and traveled together. We talked and laughed on the way down. The shower was lovely and we enjoyed meeting Amanda's family. All in all, a very sweet time. But so incredibly salty because of who wasn't there.
You see, we lost my mom two years ago this month. Thyroid cancer. Not as bad as it sounds because she didn't live like someone who had cancer. No chemo, no radiation - just her first airplane ride, a trip to the East Coast, picnics and card games and, when her world became limited to a room and a bed, lots of love and laughter and sweet moments. (Someday, when I'm really, really strong - I'm going to write about that time. Just not ready yet.)
And today was sweet. Precious, and lovely and a time for celebration. And on the way home we wept. Mom would have loved to have been there today. She waited a long, long time for my brother to find a worthy woman. She never even met Amanda. But I'm pretty sure she would have liked her. And she would have loved Isaac, Amanda's son. See, mom always had a big soft spot for onery little boys with a twinkle in their eye. That's why my brother always got away with everything that he did! And she would have loved seeing her granddaughters, beautiful young women, doing all the things that women in this family do - together.
You were missed so much today, momma. And I'm not really sure how we'll get through the wedding without you. But Kelly and I will put on a rehearsal dinner that would make you proud. We'll be doing it for Bill and Amanda, but it will be in honor of you. You could always throw the best parties. And you could make anything into an event.
We'll do right by you on this one. But you will definitely be missed. Good thing I like my sweets with a little salty because I think this is definitely going to be one of those. Love you, momma.
Today was a sweet, but salty day. My brother is getting married and today was the bridal shower. I really like his fiance'. She a really sweet woman and they seem incredibly happy and terribly in love. His daughters like her and seem pleased that their dad is adding her and her young son to their lives together.
The shower was in Neosho and the women of our family all piled into a couple of cars and traveled together. We talked and laughed on the way down. The shower was lovely and we enjoyed meeting Amanda's family. All in all, a very sweet time. But so incredibly salty because of who wasn't there.
You see, we lost my mom two years ago this month. Thyroid cancer. Not as bad as it sounds because she didn't live like someone who had cancer. No chemo, no radiation - just her first airplane ride, a trip to the East Coast, picnics and card games and, when her world became limited to a room and a bed, lots of love and laughter and sweet moments. (Someday, when I'm really, really strong - I'm going to write about that time. Just not ready yet.)
And today was sweet. Precious, and lovely and a time for celebration. And on the way home we wept. Mom would have loved to have been there today. She waited a long, long time for my brother to find a worthy woman. She never even met Amanda. But I'm pretty sure she would have liked her. And she would have loved Isaac, Amanda's son. See, mom always had a big soft spot for onery little boys with a twinkle in their eye. That's why my brother always got away with everything that he did! And she would have loved seeing her granddaughters, beautiful young women, doing all the things that women in this family do - together.
You were missed so much today, momma. And I'm not really sure how we'll get through the wedding without you. But Kelly and I will put on a rehearsal dinner that would make you proud. We'll be doing it for Bill and Amanda, but it will be in honor of you. You could always throw the best parties. And you could make anything into an event.
Friday, September 10, 2010
Late Summer, Early Fall
This is absolutely, hands-down, 100% my favorite time of year. It feels like summer throughout the day and fall in the early mornings and late evenings. We are at the farm. Went to bed to the sounds of coyotes howling and woke up to a breeze coming through the trees that brings that most delightful smell of earth, and grass and trees and sun. It doesn't get any better than this.
It's funny. We call our place "the farm". But there's actually no farming of any kind that takes place out here. It was a farm - years ago, when my Uncle Earl owned it. And we'd love for it to be a farm again someday. We have really big dreams for this place. We'd love to live here full time. If only we were independently wealthy! Sigh.
Ken would grow a crop of blueberries or some other hard-to-obtain item. We'd have a big kitchen garden with tomatoes and corn and potatoes, herbs and other vegetables. I'd write for a living and have time to bake bread and make wonderful fresh organic meals. We'd both throw pottery for fun and we'd raise a whole herd of St. Bernards. (Do St. Bernards in multiples become a herd? A pack just sounds so aggressive and strong. And St. Bernards are lazy and goofy and fun loving. But mostly lazy. So I think a herd sounds about right.)
Anyway, I digress. I was thinking this morning about "the farm" and the fact that it's a farm in the same way that I am a Christian. I know what I was created to be. And I know what I am to become. But the getting there sure seems to be taking a lot of time. And this time being independently wealthy wouldn't help at all.
We are made in His likeness. I Corinthians 15:49 "And just as we have borne the likeness of the earthly man, so shall we bear the likeness of the man from heaven." Of course, this is in the context of talking about the resurrection from the dead. It comes with a promise, "If there is a natural body, there is also a spiritual body."
I can't wait for the day that the farm is a real farm. But it doesn't begin to compare to my eagerness for the day when I "shall see Him as He is" and I "shall be like Him." Marantha! Come Lord Jesus!
It's funny. We call our place "the farm". But there's actually no farming of any kind that takes place out here. It was a farm - years ago, when my Uncle Earl owned it. And we'd love for it to be a farm again someday. We have really big dreams for this place. We'd love to live here full time. If only we were independently wealthy! Sigh.
Ken would grow a crop of blueberries or some other hard-to-obtain item. We'd have a big kitchen garden with tomatoes and corn and potatoes, herbs and other vegetables. I'd write for a living and have time to bake bread and make wonderful fresh organic meals. We'd both throw pottery for fun and we'd raise a whole herd of St. Bernards. (Do St. Bernards in multiples become a herd? A pack just sounds so aggressive and strong. And St. Bernards are lazy and goofy and fun loving. But mostly lazy. So I think a herd sounds about right.)
Anyway, I digress. I was thinking this morning about "the farm" and the fact that it's a farm in the same way that I am a Christian. I know what I was created to be. And I know what I am to become. But the getting there sure seems to be taking a lot of time. And this time being independently wealthy wouldn't help at all.
We are made in His likeness. I Corinthians 15:49 "And just as we have borne the likeness of the earthly man, so shall we bear the likeness of the man from heaven." Of course, this is in the context of talking about the resurrection from the dead. It comes with a promise, "If there is a natural body, there is also a spiritual body."
I can't wait for the day that the farm is a real farm. But it doesn't begin to compare to my eagerness for the day when I "shall see Him as He is" and I "shall be like Him." Marantha! Come Lord Jesus!
Thursday, September 9, 2010
Surrounded By Incontinence
Yes, I mean incontinence. I had a friend who used to constantly exclaim, "I'm surrounded by incompetents!" when she got frustrated with the people in her office.
Today I found myself shouting out just like she did, but with a twist. I'm surrounded by incontinence! It's bad enough that I work in a Retirement Community. What is it about people over the age of 70? They suddenly become obsessed with the workings of their bowel and bladder. And they like to discuss it. With you. Frequently. I can deal with that. I'll probably do the same thing one of these days.
What I can't deal with is my elderly dog. Sampson is fifteen years old. He'll be sixteen at Thanksgiving if he makes it that long. He has been a great dog! In fact, if I start talking about it, I'll start crying. And that is a tribute for another day. Today, I love him, but I'm REALLY frustrated with him.
He's fine when he's awake. Happy to see me when I come in the door...let's me know when he wants to go outside. The problem is when he is asleep. Due to age, he's' become incontinent when he's asleep. He will be laying on the floor, sound asleep, and all of a sudden he will just start peeing! That doesn't sound so bad until you consider this: he sleeps nearly 20 hours a day! So this happens a lot!
I've tried putting diapers on him. Even invented my own version combining baby diapers, ribbon, and adult undergarments. He looks like a border collie/sumo wrestler most of the time. They absorb a lot, but they can't handle what this dog does in his sleep. So here's how my day typically goes:
Sound asleep, just before the alarm is about to go off, and my beloved whispers to me, "Ginger, wake up. I smell your dog. I crawl out of my nice warm bed and, if I'm lucky, go in search of the morning's first puddle. If I'm unlucky I don't have to search because I've stepped in it barefoot on the bedroom tile. Many papertowels, plastic bags, wet mop and bottles of various disinfectants and air fresheners later, (I'll spare you the gory details) I bundle up the mess and take it out to the garbage. I put leashes on both dogs and take them outside.
Our apartment is on the front of the building, right next to the office. If I can get out prior to six o'clock I can go out in my pajamas and no one will be the wiser. This morning it was about 5:40. It's raining and I pad to the end of the sidewalk in my barefeet - kind of hanging back behind the corner of the building and letting the dogs run out to the front on their expandable leashes. No one is around, so I decide to step out on the stepping stones between our sidewalk and the main sidewalk that runs in front of the building. We added the stepping stones because when it rains that particular section of the yard becomes a mud pit.
Here's what happened next: I hear a car coming and decide that whoever it is doesn't need to see me in my pajamas. I turn to go back behind the building, but I miss the first stepping stone and my foot slides off into the mud pit. At the same time, Gracie (our St. Bernard) is startled by a bird or a frog or her own shadow. Who knows! But she takes off the opposite direction. When my foot hits the mud I go down, face down. Straight into the mud! And poor Sampson who can't really see anymore and who doesn't hear well gets all excited. He doesn't know what he's excited about, but he knows that something's going on! So of course, he does the only thing he really can do anymore when he's excited - he lifts his leg - aimed right at me!
You have never seen a fifty year old fat girl move so fast!
I limp back to the apartment covered from head to toe in mud. All except for my left foot which is mud-less due to Sampson's unfortunate timing, if you get my drift. A shower has restored my dignity, but my patience is still wearing a little thin. I have a bump on my knee and I think I sprained my big toe. And in the amount of time that it took me to shower, Sampson took a nap. Guess what I got to do for the second time this morning and it's not even 7:00 yet.
Old people . . . old dogs. Every morning it seems like I have to get up and decide again if it's worth it. It is. Not that the two are anywhere near the same level of importance. Working with seniors is not for the faint of heart, but it sure does wonderful things for the heart.
And as to old dogs. As long as that tail continues to wave every time I walk into a room or speak his name, I guess I'll keep making designer doggie diapers and putting up with whatever it takes, because he still has a huge place in my heart.
The day can only get better . . . right?
Today I found myself shouting out just like she did, but with a twist. I'm surrounded by incontinence! It's bad enough that I work in a Retirement Community. What is it about people over the age of 70? They suddenly become obsessed with the workings of their bowel and bladder. And they like to discuss it. With you. Frequently. I can deal with that. I'll probably do the same thing one of these days.
What I can't deal with is my elderly dog. Sampson is fifteen years old. He'll be sixteen at Thanksgiving if he makes it that long. He has been a great dog! In fact, if I start talking about it, I'll start crying. And that is a tribute for another day. Today, I love him, but I'm REALLY frustrated with him.
He's fine when he's awake. Happy to see me when I come in the door...let's me know when he wants to go outside. The problem is when he is asleep. Due to age, he's' become incontinent when he's asleep. He will be laying on the floor, sound asleep, and all of a sudden he will just start peeing! That doesn't sound so bad until you consider this: he sleeps nearly 20 hours a day! So this happens a lot!
I've tried putting diapers on him. Even invented my own version combining baby diapers, ribbon, and adult undergarments. He looks like a border collie/sumo wrestler most of the time. They absorb a lot, but they can't handle what this dog does in his sleep. So here's how my day typically goes:
Sound asleep, just before the alarm is about to go off, and my beloved whispers to me, "Ginger, wake up. I smell your dog. I crawl out of my nice warm bed and, if I'm lucky, go in search of the morning's first puddle. If I'm unlucky I don't have to search because I've stepped in it barefoot on the bedroom tile. Many papertowels, plastic bags, wet mop and bottles of various disinfectants and air fresheners later, (I'll spare you the gory details) I bundle up the mess and take it out to the garbage. I put leashes on both dogs and take them outside.
Our apartment is on the front of the building, right next to the office. If I can get out prior to six o'clock I can go out in my pajamas and no one will be the wiser. This morning it was about 5:40. It's raining and I pad to the end of the sidewalk in my barefeet - kind of hanging back behind the corner of the building and letting the dogs run out to the front on their expandable leashes. No one is around, so I decide to step out on the stepping stones between our sidewalk and the main sidewalk that runs in front of the building. We added the stepping stones because when it rains that particular section of the yard becomes a mud pit.
Here's what happened next: I hear a car coming and decide that whoever it is doesn't need to see me in my pajamas. I turn to go back behind the building, but I miss the first stepping stone and my foot slides off into the mud pit. At the same time, Gracie (our St. Bernard) is startled by a bird or a frog or her own shadow. Who knows! But she takes off the opposite direction. When my foot hits the mud I go down, face down. Straight into the mud! And poor Sampson who can't really see anymore and who doesn't hear well gets all excited. He doesn't know what he's excited about, but he knows that something's going on! So of course, he does the only thing he really can do anymore when he's excited - he lifts his leg - aimed right at me!
You have never seen a fifty year old fat girl move so fast!
I limp back to the apartment covered from head to toe in mud. All except for my left foot which is mud-less due to Sampson's unfortunate timing, if you get my drift. A shower has restored my dignity, but my patience is still wearing a little thin. I have a bump on my knee and I think I sprained my big toe. And in the amount of time that it took me to shower, Sampson took a nap. Guess what I got to do for the second time this morning and it's not even 7:00 yet.
Old people . . . old dogs. Every morning it seems like I have to get up and decide again if it's worth it. It is. Not that the two are anywhere near the same level of importance. Working with seniors is not for the faint of heart, but it sure does wonderful things for the heart.
And as to old dogs. As long as that tail continues to wave every time I walk into a room or speak his name, I guess I'll keep making designer doggie diapers and putting up with whatever it takes, because he still has a huge place in my heart.
The day can only get better . . . right?
Sunday, September 5, 2010
Compliments
I got the best compliment of my life today. It went like this: "Grandma, your sermon was awesome! It really made me think!"
Let's just savor those words for a minute . . . "Grandma". Never thought I'd be a grandma. Went a long time hoping for family, then a lot of years assuming my chances were done. God knew differently.
"Grandma, your sermon was awesome!"
Of course, it wasn't really a "sermon". It was a "talk" at a Ladies Retreat. I can see why she might have called it a sermon. It was at the same time as the normal worship service. There was a song service, and a prayer time, and I "talked" during the time we would normally have preaching.
I've always felt called to preach. I love to teach about the Word. I enjoy standing in front of people and directing their thoughts toward God. I'm actually more comfortable in front of a crowd than I am carrying on an intimate one-to-one conversation with an individual. But in "our" church women don't preach. They talk. So I talk. A lot. Any time someone asks. Sometimes even when they'd rather I'd stay quiet.
I don't feel like I'm anything special or that I even have any new or real deep insights into scripture or the Christian life. But I have the ability to learn and absorb the teachings of others - to really understand their thoughts - and to communicate them to others. I would love to preach - all the time. But for now God has called me to talk. And I will do what He wants.
"It really made me think."
Coming from a fourteen year old, this is really good stuff. My oldest granddaughter was three when I married her grandpa. Petite, with long golden hair, she bounced on her tiptoes everywhere she went. She was precocious and a little spoiled and I wanted to smother her with love the minute I saw her.
But I was cautious, wanting to feel my way into this new family without upsetting everybody's apple-cart. We became close. She liked to sit by me or ride in the car with me. She talked and I listened and acted interested. And as she grew she developed an intelligent mind and a sweetness of spirit that had me wanting to listen when she talked . . . kept me interested and wanting to have an impact on her heart and mind for God.
Two months ago, she turned fourteen and she is beautiful. Sweet and smart and looking so much more like a woman than a child that it makes my heart skip a beat when I look at her.
So when she says to me "Grandma, your sermon was awesome. It made me think", I know that I've achieved the highest award given to any woman. To impart something of His spirit to the spirit of my Granddaughter . . . to leave a legacy of eternal consequence, is all I can ask for and more than I deserve. I can die happy now. But I hope that I don't. There are seven more coming behind her, four girls and three boys. If I keep seeking Him, maybe God will use my talk (whether in front of a crowd or just around the kitchen table) to cause them to think. That would be awesome!
So, thanks for the compliment, Micha. You made your Grandma's day.
Let's just savor those words for a minute . . . "Grandma". Never thought I'd be a grandma. Went a long time hoping for family, then a lot of years assuming my chances were done. God knew differently.
"Grandma, your sermon was awesome!"
Of course, it wasn't really a "sermon". It was a "talk" at a Ladies Retreat. I can see why she might have called it a sermon. It was at the same time as the normal worship service. There was a song service, and a prayer time, and I "talked" during the time we would normally have preaching.
I've always felt called to preach. I love to teach about the Word. I enjoy standing in front of people and directing their thoughts toward God. I'm actually more comfortable in front of a crowd than I am carrying on an intimate one-to-one conversation with an individual. But in "our" church women don't preach. They talk. So I talk. A lot. Any time someone asks. Sometimes even when they'd rather I'd stay quiet.
I don't feel like I'm anything special or that I even have any new or real deep insights into scripture or the Christian life. But I have the ability to learn and absorb the teachings of others - to really understand their thoughts - and to communicate them to others. I would love to preach - all the time. But for now God has called me to talk. And I will do what He wants.
"It really made me think."
Coming from a fourteen year old, this is really good stuff. My oldest granddaughter was three when I married her grandpa. Petite, with long golden hair, she bounced on her tiptoes everywhere she went. She was precocious and a little spoiled and I wanted to smother her with love the minute I saw her.
But I was cautious, wanting to feel my way into this new family without upsetting everybody's apple-cart. We became close. She liked to sit by me or ride in the car with me. She talked and I listened and acted interested. And as she grew she developed an intelligent mind and a sweetness of spirit that had me wanting to listen when she talked . . . kept me interested and wanting to have an impact on her heart and mind for God.
Two months ago, she turned fourteen and she is beautiful. Sweet and smart and looking so much more like a woman than a child that it makes my heart skip a beat when I look at her.
So when she says to me "Grandma, your sermon was awesome. It made me think", I know that I've achieved the highest award given to any woman. To impart something of His spirit to the spirit of my Granddaughter . . . to leave a legacy of eternal consequence, is all I can ask for and more than I deserve. I can die happy now. But I hope that I don't. There are seven more coming behind her, four girls and three boys. If I keep seeking Him, maybe God will use my talk (whether in front of a crowd or just around the kitchen table) to cause them to think. That would be awesome!
So, thanks for the compliment, Micha. You made your Grandma's day.
Sunday, August 29, 2010
Peace
Where do I find peace?
I want breaks from the hustle and bustle.
I want clean.
I want good smelling.
I want fresh.
I really want outdoors.
I want breezes.
I want cool water, green trees, and blue sky.
I need the Heart that created them all.
I need You.
Trapped in the stale, the artificial and the fake
I need You.
Come and bring me peace
I want to smell Your Freshness
taste Your Sweetness,
Dive into Your Coolness.
You are Peace.
I want breaks from the hustle and bustle.
I want clean.
I want good smelling.
I want fresh.
I really want outdoors.
I want breezes.
I want cool water, green trees, and blue sky.
I need the Heart that created them all.
I need You.
Trapped in the stale, the artificial and the fake
I need You.
Come and bring me peace
I want to smell Your Freshness
taste Your Sweetness,
Dive into Your Coolness.
You are Peace.
Life never slows down
I started this blog a month or so ago during a period of complete delusion. The delusion was that my life was actually slowing down a little bit. What a laugh!
You know how it is. Always so much to do and so many things that you want to do. And you keep saying to yourself, "when things slow down a little bit, I'm going to . . . bathe the dog . . .start my blog . . . write a novel . . . clean the grout in the bathroom . . . . " . Whatever it is that you never seem to have the time to accomplish. Everybody does it. But here's what I wonder about. Anytime I fall prey to the particular delusion that my life has actually slowed down a little and start one of the long-standing projects on my list . . . WHAM!! . . . I'm hit with one of the busiest, craziest, abnormally nutty weeks of my life! Does this happen to everyone or is it just me?!
It seems so unfair. Because, not only do I get lulled into thinking that I'm going to finally accomplish something that I've wanted to do for so long, but I also have this great sense of being on top of everything! Then, the phone rings, or an employee resigns, or someone gets sick, or people just go crazy and suddenly I'm not on top of anything. Everything's on top of me AND I've got this new project that's either half done or that I've promised people will be done by a certain deadline and my hole is deeper than it was before I began! Why does this happen every time!!!
That's what happened with this blog. A friend says, "You need to post something at least three or four times a week. Do you think you have enough to say!" And I'm bragging, "Three or four times a week! I can probably post something everyday. I love to write and I have things to say!" I believe that particular conversation took place two days before my last post on August 4th. Here it is the 29th and I'm not even really posting anything worth reading - just whining!
So, I'm not falling for the delusion ever again. Life Never Slows Down. Never.
So here are the conclusions that I have come to:
1) I have to be intentional about the things that I really want to do.
2) Some things that appear urgent become non-issues if you ignore them long enough
3) Stinky dogs are as loveable as ones who've been bathed. If you don't care, then they certainly don't.
4) Clean grout is over rated.
5) Multi-tasking and "having it all" are the true delusions.
6) Life never slows down, so hang on and enjoy the ride.
You know how it is. Always so much to do and so many things that you want to do. And you keep saying to yourself, "when things slow down a little bit, I'm going to . . . bathe the dog . . .start my blog . . . write a novel . . . clean the grout in the bathroom . . . . " . Whatever it is that you never seem to have the time to accomplish. Everybody does it. But here's what I wonder about. Anytime I fall prey to the particular delusion that my life has actually slowed down a little and start one of the long-standing projects on my list . . . WHAM!! . . . I'm hit with one of the busiest, craziest, abnormally nutty weeks of my life! Does this happen to everyone or is it just me?!
It seems so unfair. Because, not only do I get lulled into thinking that I'm going to finally accomplish something that I've wanted to do for so long, but I also have this great sense of being on top of everything! Then, the phone rings, or an employee resigns, or someone gets sick, or people just go crazy and suddenly I'm not on top of anything. Everything's on top of me AND I've got this new project that's either half done or that I've promised people will be done by a certain deadline and my hole is deeper than it was before I began! Why does this happen every time!!!
That's what happened with this blog. A friend says, "You need to post something at least three or four times a week. Do you think you have enough to say!" And I'm bragging, "Three or four times a week! I can probably post something everyday. I love to write and I have things to say!" I believe that particular conversation took place two days before my last post on August 4th. Here it is the 29th and I'm not even really posting anything worth reading - just whining!
So, I'm not falling for the delusion ever again. Life Never Slows Down. Never.
So here are the conclusions that I have come to:
1) I have to be intentional about the things that I really want to do.
2) Some things that appear urgent become non-issues if you ignore them long enough
3) Stinky dogs are as loveable as ones who've been bathed. If you don't care, then they certainly don't.
4) Clean grout is over rated.
5) Multi-tasking and "having it all" are the true delusions.
6) Life never slows down, so hang on and enjoy the ride.
Friday, August 6, 2010
Sunday, August 1, 2010
Here's the kind of bonus kid I ended up with . . .
Kenny read my last blog and he and Rebecca showed up at Silver Dollar City the next day! He said it was because I offered to carry all his stuff. I think it's just 'cause he's a great guy. We had fun.
Friday, July 30, 2010
Careful What You Wish For
We went to Silver Dollar City today. It's always been one of my favorite places. When I was a kid it was a real city in my mind. It was about the frontier and celebrating country and pioneer life. Now it's more of an amusement park, but I still love it.
One reason I still enjoy it is that it is one of the few public places you can go that is unapologetically Christian in its choices for entertainment. We really enjoyed the GAC Show this evening - especially the gospel music and hymns that were performed. But that's beside the point of this post.
We've visited SDC every year since we've been married, except for the two years that we were working on the east coast. Every time we went it seemed that our trip was complicated and difficult because we were always trying to coordinate with one family member or another. A few times we went with my parents, siblings, and nieces or extended family of aunts and cousins. Other times we had teen aged daughters, married sons with small children and infants and even a few church friends thrown into the mixed. There was even one year that mom was having trouble with her knees and Ken pushed her in a wheelchair all over the park. To say that he was tired after was an understatement.!
It seemed that we were always dealing with wheelchairs or strollers, back packs and diaper bags, kids that wanted to pack a lunch and kids that wanted to eat in a restuarant. Kids who could pay their own way and kids who needed us to pay their way. Children who were impatient and parents who were slow. We would always say afterwards, "One of these days we're going to Silver Dollar City all by ourselves - just the two of us!"
Then circumstances changed and we found ourselves far, far away from these Ozark Hills. For two years we were away from home and from all the people we loved. Parents grew older, kids grew up, two moved away, and life changed. Possibly the biggest change is that we lost mom. She passed away a year and nine months ago. The hole she left is enormous. But there are other changes as well. The kids we used to have to pay for, are now doing well and can manage things on their own. The infants that we pushed around are all growing up way too fast. The nieces are teenagers now and have such busy lives that we can't schedule much time with them. And there are now daughters and children on each coast that can't make the trip just to spend time with us at an amusement park.
Today was lonely. We got to go to Silver Dollar City all by ourselves - just the two of us. And let me tell you I'd trade every minute of it for one more chance to push mom's wheelchair all over that park! I hope we get the chance to introduce the East Coast granddaughter to all the fun we enjoyed as kids. And I'd take any of the kids, brothers, sisters, aunts, uncles, cousins, or grandkids we could get our hands on with us the next time.
If the last few years have taught me anything, it's that life is too short. Kids grow up too fast. Parents age too quickly. And getting to "do your own thing" isn't all that it's cracked up to be!
So let's try to schedule a trip together soon. I'll carry anything you want me to without complaining. I promise.
Missed you today, Mom.
One reason I still enjoy it is that it is one of the few public places you can go that is unapologetically Christian in its choices for entertainment. We really enjoyed the GAC Show this evening - especially the gospel music and hymns that were performed. But that's beside the point of this post.
We've visited SDC every year since we've been married, except for the two years that we were working on the east coast. Every time we went it seemed that our trip was complicated and difficult because we were always trying to coordinate with one family member or another. A few times we went with my parents, siblings, and nieces or extended family of aunts and cousins. Other times we had teen aged daughters, married sons with small children and infants and even a few church friends thrown into the mixed. There was even one year that mom was having trouble with her knees and Ken pushed her in a wheelchair all over the park. To say that he was tired after was an understatement.!
It seemed that we were always dealing with wheelchairs or strollers, back packs and diaper bags, kids that wanted to pack a lunch and kids that wanted to eat in a restuarant. Kids who could pay their own way and kids who needed us to pay their way. Children who were impatient and parents who were slow. We would always say afterwards, "One of these days we're going to Silver Dollar City all by ourselves - just the two of us!"
Then circumstances changed and we found ourselves far, far away from these Ozark Hills. For two years we were away from home and from all the people we loved. Parents grew older, kids grew up, two moved away, and life changed. Possibly the biggest change is that we lost mom. She passed away a year and nine months ago. The hole she left is enormous. But there are other changes as well. The kids we used to have to pay for, are now doing well and can manage things on their own. The infants that we pushed around are all growing up way too fast. The nieces are teenagers now and have such busy lives that we can't schedule much time with them. And there are now daughters and children on each coast that can't make the trip just to spend time with us at an amusement park.
Today was lonely. We got to go to Silver Dollar City all by ourselves - just the two of us. And let me tell you I'd trade every minute of it for one more chance to push mom's wheelchair all over that park! I hope we get the chance to introduce the East Coast granddaughter to all the fun we enjoyed as kids. And I'd take any of the kids, brothers, sisters, aunts, uncles, cousins, or grandkids we could get our hands on with us the next time.
If the last few years have taught me anything, it's that life is too short. Kids grow up too fast. Parents age too quickly. And getting to "do your own thing" isn't all that it's cracked up to be!
So let's try to schedule a trip together soon. I'll carry anything you want me to without complaining. I promise.
Missed you today, Mom.
Sunday, July 25, 2010
Never Polished . . . just being perfected.
We ate lunch at Olive Garden yesterday. (One of my personal favorites, by the way.) I'm sitting there waiting for Ken, who graciously dropped me off at the door, while he went to park the car. Anyway, I'm looking around the room and realize that I'm surrounded by "perfect" people.
You know the type. Women who are probably 55 but look 35. It's obvious they've never carried an extra pound anywhere on their skinny frames. Their hair is perfect, streaked with the kind of highlights you can only get at the best salons. Their clothes are "just right" - cute little shorts with coordinated tops, darling sandals, perfect jewelry choices. Their makeup looks as if they just stepped out of a magazine shoot and their nails are always perfect - tastefully done - nothing too bright or gaudy.
Some of them even have their perfect daughters with them. Teenage girls who look better in cut-off shorts and a tank top than I looked on my wedding day - perfectly made up, beautiful hair and teeth. Young adult women who you just know will marry someone in finance or law, look like a princess on their wedding day and who will produce offspring that will never spit up on their designer baby clothes.
I'm sitting there in the new khaki shorts that I splashed bleach on while trying to help my dad clean out his pool and a top that I grabbed because it was cool. (Hot flashes and humid Arkansas summers are my definition of hell.) Only later did I realize that it was much to short for the waistline on my pants. Consequently, I looked like the Pillsbury Doughboy from the neck down. And I kept having to shove my bra straps back up under the sleeveless shoulder. My hair was piled on top of my head in a jumbo gator clip that I had grabbed earlier in the office when sweat starting pouring down my neck. (Hot flashes - you use what's at hand). And my finger nails were sporting the remainder of a manicure from three weeks ago - most have it having peeled off along with the ends of my always soft, ragged nails.
For just a split second I was incredibly jealous. Why couldn't I have been born with those genes? But in the next second the feeling passed and I realized, "Who cares?" I have a great life. God's been good to me. So I'm not always perfectly put together! But I am being perfected
I know that over the years God's been working on me. Through my trials and my triumphs, through my friendships, my experiences and my marriage. But His perfecting has absolutely nothing to do with the outside and everything to do with who I am. I'm not who I want to be, but I am becoming someone who is lovely. (Not always, not every minute. But more minutes today, than yesterday. And yesterday more than the day before . . . and the day before . . . and the day before.) And that's enough.
So I smiled at the perfect lady across the room and her two perfect daughters. It was a confident smile that said, "You might look perfect. But I'm eccentric, and happy, and, for all you know, creative and brilliant and well loved by others." They smiled back and I found myself sending up a little prayer that if their inside wasn't as put together as their outside that God would bless them that day.
Ken came in and I thought about telling him what I was thinking. But he'd do one of two things: 1) tell me how beautiful and wonderful I am and that I'm every bit as attractive as those perfect women - (he's crazy like that ); or 2) he'd think that I was fishing for him to encourage me to go get my hair and nails done; and buy some new clothes. That wouldn't be my intention. But once he offered, I'd do it. And then I'd have to feel guilty for guilt-ing him into offering. So I just kept my thoughts to myself.
A funny thing did cross my mind though . . .when I die and you all come for the viewing . . . would someone please be sure that my bra straps aren't showing?!
You know the type. Women who are probably 55 but look 35. It's obvious they've never carried an extra pound anywhere on their skinny frames. Their hair is perfect, streaked with the kind of highlights you can only get at the best salons. Their clothes are "just right" - cute little shorts with coordinated tops, darling sandals, perfect jewelry choices. Their makeup looks as if they just stepped out of a magazine shoot and their nails are always perfect - tastefully done - nothing too bright or gaudy.
Some of them even have their perfect daughters with them. Teenage girls who look better in cut-off shorts and a tank top than I looked on my wedding day - perfectly made up, beautiful hair and teeth. Young adult women who you just know will marry someone in finance or law, look like a princess on their wedding day and who will produce offspring that will never spit up on their designer baby clothes.
I'm sitting there in the new khaki shorts that I splashed bleach on while trying to help my dad clean out his pool and a top that I grabbed because it was cool. (Hot flashes and humid Arkansas summers are my definition of hell.) Only later did I realize that it was much to short for the waistline on my pants. Consequently, I looked like the Pillsbury Doughboy from the neck down. And I kept having to shove my bra straps back up under the sleeveless shoulder. My hair was piled on top of my head in a jumbo gator clip that I had grabbed earlier in the office when sweat starting pouring down my neck. (Hot flashes - you use what's at hand). And my finger nails were sporting the remainder of a manicure from three weeks ago - most have it having peeled off along with the ends of my always soft, ragged nails.
For just a split second I was incredibly jealous. Why couldn't I have been born with those genes? But in the next second the feeling passed and I realized, "Who cares?" I have a great life. God's been good to me. So I'm not always perfectly put together! But I am being perfected
I know that over the years God's been working on me. Through my trials and my triumphs, through my friendships, my experiences and my marriage. But His perfecting has absolutely nothing to do with the outside and everything to do with who I am. I'm not who I want to be, but I am becoming someone who is lovely. (Not always, not every minute. But more minutes today, than yesterday. And yesterday more than the day before . . . and the day before . . . and the day before.) And that's enough.
So I smiled at the perfect lady across the room and her two perfect daughters. It was a confident smile that said, "You might look perfect. But I'm eccentric, and happy, and, for all you know, creative and brilliant and well loved by others." They smiled back and I found myself sending up a little prayer that if their inside wasn't as put together as their outside that God would bless them that day.
Ken came in and I thought about telling him what I was thinking. But he'd do one of two things: 1) tell me how beautiful and wonderful I am and that I'm every bit as attractive as those perfect women - (he's crazy like that ); or 2) he'd think that I was fishing for him to encourage me to go get my hair and nails done; and buy some new clothes. That wouldn't be my intention. But once he offered, I'd do it. And then I'd have to feel guilty for guilt-ing him into offering. So I just kept my thoughts to myself.
A funny thing did cross my mind though . . .when I die and you all come for the viewing . . . would someone please be sure that my bra straps aren't showing?!
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