Childhood innocence. What a beautiful time for a child…even for adults who are willing to be a part of a little person’s life. This past week I got some good daily doses of living in the world of young minds…no cluttered worries….lots of pretend play….embracing life through eyes that only see beauty in everything and once in a while a few tears, too. My week began as usual on Monday and quickly escalated with being called to substitute in our church’s preschool program–seems a nasty virus had made its way through the children collided with the teachers and took them out like a big avalanche carving its path down a mountainside….so, four days this week I spent several hours with three and four year olds which I admit is outside my comfort zone but let me tell you, it was pure joy. I’d like to share some of the things I enjoyed while being with these precious lil humans.

Tuesday’s colder weather gave us our first dusting of snow in our community. That day I was in class with three year olds and they were so excited to go outside on the playground. In order to do so, that meant snow pants, jackets, boots, hats and mittens. Their teacher gave them loving instructions as to what order to put them on….first your snow pants….then your boots….then your jacket….then your hat…then your mittens. Sounds simple, right? The chaos in the hallway getting their gear on was fun to watch as some had listened…others obviously had been distracted, evidenced by the order they were putting on each item…mittens were scattered along with hats as their teacher and I played investigators finding rightful owners. Nothing could have drowned out the “Teacher, I need help!” that filled the air. We made it to the playground and watched the kids catch snowflakes on their tongues….make tiny snowballs to throw “at the wall but not at your friends”….witness little white cheeks turn rosy pink from the crisp wintry air….returning inside just in time for moms, dads, grandmas to take their treasures home.

One of my favorite times during the preschool day is their morning circle time. It’s encouraging to watch and listen as jobs are assigned….learning which day of the month it is and counting down to it…standing to say the Pledge of Allegiance…and listening to a story….me giggling as 12 little people sit on their bottoms, some quite still…others that HAVE to fidget…have a hand raised continuously because they have something very important to share like Wednesday morning when I was in with a group of 4 year olds…their teacher was explaining a new playground rule and when she finished numerous hands shot up in the air! In response to hearing that one of their “friends” had bumped his head, well, several of them had their own war wound stories to share….I had to turn my face when a girl informed us “my gramma had to get a shot in her butt one time”….alrighty then, sweetheart. Thanks for sharing that.

Heading down to a large group activity with those same four year olds I was at the rear of their line when one of the boys turned around to tell me “Luke just farted”. Oh my. The fascination with bodily functions starts early. Truthfully–farting stories are still a popular topic in my family. Everyone loves a good fart story, right?

Perhaps the sweetest moment I had with the four year olds was during their free play. A few of the kids built a long tubular tower from hollow connecting pieces. Their goal was to “touch the ceiling” but they didn’t have enough pieces to accomplish the task. Not to be disappointed, they found a couple of marbles to launch from the top of the tower and listen as it rattled its way down to the floor. Giggles galore as they yelled “Look, Miss Amy. Look, Miss Sue! Look at what we made!” They laughed when they realized Miss Sue wasn’t tall enough to launch the marble…belly chuckles continued as they found out Miss Amy could reach because “she’s bigger than you Miss Sue!” Plastic towers that wobble and two marbles that make a clickety clack were very entertaining. No electronics needed here, right?

Who knew that Hershey Kiss candies were a prized goal to achieve? Not me for sure, until I was asked by one sweet girl during nap time “Will I get a Hershey Kiss?”

“I don’t know”, I replied. “How do you get one of those?”

“We have to rest or be very quiet, those are our two options”. Options? Do most four year olds know what that word means let alone use it properly? Naptime continued with my little I Want A Hershey Kiss girl wiggling about on her cot, doing her best to rest and be quiet….they all got a Hershey Kiss at the end of the day. It’s the small things, right?

Preschoolers are busy little people. They play hard…they are easily distracted….they are all so much alike while still being individuals. There are those that go straight to the dress up clothes…who doesn’t want to be a princess or a mermaid? Others assemble a race or train track to play with cars and all kinds of vehicles until clean up time. Creative cooks bring plastic food to “here, try this Miss Sue, I made it just for you”....maybe one or two sit quietly at the coloring table and get lost in their own small world creating masterpieces of art. Will their drawings go on the fridge at home for all to see? I hope so.

A week being with three and four year olds was exhilarating and exhausting all at the same time….could I do school with them every day?…admittedly, that would be a true stretch of my usually comfortable routine I’ve built for myself…yet, I can honestly say I wouldn’t trade this week for all the quiet days at home for anything. Where else would I be asked ever so honestly “why do you have makeup?”  or told “I don’t have to do what you tell me”.…

“I like makeup” and “Yes, yes, you do need to do what I tell you young sir”. They learn to challenge us early, right? And that’s why all of them are in preschool. Life is simple. Sit still. Listen. Play. Rest. Do all this and get a Hershey Kiss. When I came home these past three days I took a nap after my lunch. I was quiet. I didn’t wiggle around. But, when I woke up  I didn’t have anyone to give me a Hershey Kiss….darn.

A current “buzzword” in our present day is “inclusive”. It’s a word tossed about frequently from particular people groups who feel their identity and worth as a person is either devalued or ignored. It’s also a word being used in our political and education arenas as well as media anchors on radio and television. Its first definition according to the Merriam-Webster Dictionary is “the act of including”.  In order to be included, at first are people or things first excluded? If so, what determined the reason for that decision or what are or were the circumstances that caused or continue to leave someone feeling outside the circle of acceptance? Admittedly, I feel as though the word “inclusive” has come to the surface of our current culture to draw attention to those who feel “less than” when it comes to their gender, skin color, sexual orientation…anything that appears to be “outside” the norm of social acceptance. I also admit that I have and continue to struggle with my own thoughts and prejudices towards the uprising in promoting a person’s identity being rooted in those latter descriptions. When I struggle, I have nowhere else to go but to scripture. I cannot think of anyone who was more inclusive than Jesus, yet even He, whose ways and thoughts are not of this earth…or my own mind with all of its preconceived thoughts and opinions…has left me an example of “including” others who are very different than me without jeopardizing the truth of the gospel which, when applied to a dark hardened heart, brings forth repentance which is laying down former sin(s) and pursuing a life that seeks to be honoring and holy to Him alone. In order to teach ME His example, I looked at two people in the New Testament.

In John 8 Jesus is in a group of people, teaching in the temple courts. The teachers of the law and the Pharisees brought in a woman caught in adultery. After presenting “their case” against her to Jesus the question was asked that according to their law she should be stoned, but these men wanted to know what “HE” would say. In what remains a mystery to this day, Jesus gives a non verbal response and merely begins writing “something” on the ground. Questions continue to be pelted at Him which are met by Jesus standing to His feet by now and responding with his own question: “If any one of you is without sin, let him be the first to throw a stone at her”. And, second mystery–He writes more words on the ground. Their plot, their numerous questions, and two lists penned in the dirt caused all of them to scatter until only Jesus and the woman remain. Alone. Can you imagine standing or sitting alone with Jesus? This new man who has been traveling among your communities teaching and healing? Performing miraculous acts? Preaching messages totally foreign to your Jewish traditions? 

Does Jesus attack her because of her choices in life? She’s an adulteress. She’s involving herself in sexual relationships outside of being married. Is she herself married or is she a prostitute? Those details aren’t given to us other than her conduct, her choices fall under the category of sin…but now, alone with Jesus, those fallen sins are forgiven by Him as He declares that He will not condemn her. But, and please, don’t miss this–His final words to her are the life changer: “Go now and LEAVE your life of sin” (emphasis mine) He gives her two charges. Go. Leave. He doesn’t tell her to merely “go” and live your life. He doesn’t “leave” her as a now forgiven woman to return to the lifestyle that caused a frightful audience with her peers, religious leaders, and Him. It’s quite evident that being included in His deep love for her by the forgiveness of her sins is an admonition to “change”. This is a message for all who are living in deeply embedded lives of sin, a need to consider–Jesus does and will forgive–but He also requires “change”.

The second person I looked at was Philip’s encounter with an Ethiopian eunuch. Their encounter is described in Acts 8. When looking at their meeting, first I was curious about the definition for “eunuch” as used here. A quick search of the Greek word shows it’s defined as: alone in bed *castrated *Abstain from marriage. Further descriptions of the Ethiopian eunuch revealed he would have been a man with great responsibilities in the household of his Queen. So, I’m guessing he had a place of prominence in her home, entrusted to the care and supervision of others on her staff as well as property she owned. This is no ordinary man other than he is impotent–either from birth or intentional castration in order to serve under her rule. 

This nameless royal servant is traveling and while doing so he is reading from Isaiah’s writings when Philip comes along. Philip isn’t merely walking up to the chariot either. He RUNS. He runs because “first” the Holy Spirit told him to go near “that” chariot and stay near it”. Why? Because, secondly, Philip HEARD the eunuch reading. And that’s when the encounter launches another miracle of conversion. A divine appointment between two very different men results in the eunuch understanding God’s plan of salvation, asking to be baptized and here’s the exciting part for me–”he went on his way rejoicing”. He didn’t get removed from his assigned duties to his queen. His physical mutilation wasn’t miraculously restored. He remained impotent physically but was filled supernaturally by understanding God’s Word, repenting of his own sin after understanding the good news of Jesus, and choosing baptism –in water along a desert road! (Incidentally, though I have NO proof…I am imagining that the eunuch is a black skinned man interacting with Philip who would probably have been very light brown or light skinned; he was working along the Sea of Galilee when Jesus called him to become a disciple = two very different people by definition of outward appearance who meet and engage with one another!)

A woman who was an adulteress, most likely feeling very empty without a stable healthy marriage relationship.  An impotent man who must have felt some degree of emptiness, now filled with great joy. What do they have in common? Jesus literally met them where they were “at” in life, acknowledged their present situation without name calling. No finger pointing. No accusations or digging up their past with specific details.  He did so by being physically present with the woman. He did it again through the obedience and ministry of Philip, serving a resurrected Christ who had ascended into heaven before the eunuch began a journey down a dry and arid desert road.

What does any of this have to do with being “inclusive”. My first thoughts are to remember that every person has been created in God’s image. That doesn’t mean that every person is perfect. Our fallen world creates many flaws, numerous failures, a myriad of lies–all of which bombard God’s desire for every one of us to embrace an identity that is rooted in Him and not defined by our gender…behaviors….outward appearance….skin tones…If that were the case, I would need to declare my identity as a short, plump, light skinned woman who has a tendency to gossip, overeat, become angry, resentful, judgemental…. While I could “be caught in those things” and brought before a group of my peers to be investigated…I am not. I’m a daughter of the Most High God. I met Jesus on my own dry desert road. I drank His living water. I tasted and saw that He was and IS good. I am forgiven. Redeemed. Set free. I am rooted in Him and the truth of all scripture, that He is for me and not against me. I can and pray He uses me to minister to those who feel as though they are “outside the circle of being included”…to bring them in…but not “leave” them the same when they step back into everyday life. That’s what Jesus did. It’s a hard truth, but then, it’s His Word, His teachings, His commands, not mine. Not yours. He’s God and we are not.

To My Readers:

Today’s blog entry is rooted from moments spent in self reflection…digging into scripture to help expose and describe how my heart feels not only today….how momentarily I grieved for this recent midterm election and some of the results. I read comments on my social media pages and I am deeply saddened by how our culture began describing people–good or bad–how far we have wandered from sound Biblical teachings founded on the Truth of a Most Holy God and His Son Jesus Christ. Christianity and those of us who follow Him, are quickly becoming a group that is being challenged by secular teachings and attempts to destroy/distort the very truth taught in Who God is and what He demands/requires of His people. So, today, I looked (very briefly) at the buzzword “inclusive” and penned my own thoughts. I know that Jesus wants me to love all people, but I also know that I am not required to condone what He calls sin. 

Stuck in my Head

Spending time with grandchildren is probably one of the best ways to fill my cup that holds joy. I’m always ready to hear any question that comes into their little mind or to overhear conversations during their pretend play.

Recently, I had to run a short errand and my two Hunt grandkids went along for the ride. As we rode along I could hear Macklynn, age 7, in the back seat singing one of her songs she’s learned in KidMin (today’s swanky name for Sunday School)...”Jesus, You’re My Superhero”. She had sung it through about four times before stopping to tell me…”Gramma, sometimes a song gets stuck in my head.” Ahhhhh…a teachable moment arrived on the scene….

“Macky”, I responded. “That’s great. Wanna know something?”

“What, gramma”.

“There is a Bible verse that says to hide God’s Word in your heart. It’s Psalm 119:11 (Before you get all excited that I knew the chapter and verse, don’t. I merely remember the general instructions.

“I have hidden your word in my heart that I might not sin against you.”

Driving along, I briefly explained to her that remembering a song is like hiding God’s Word in her heart. Hmmmm…wait for it…..

Soon, her next question…”What does  ‘your word’ mean?”

At age 7 she may be a bit too young to comprehend that in the Greek language which refers to Jesus as “The Word…”—”Logos” that He is thought of as the entire Bible when it’s read. So, my simple explanation to her was “when we think about ALL the Bible we are thinking about Jesus…and every verse…and even your songs are able to be memorized and hidden in our heart…that we can pull them out when we are sad, lonely, need to feel safe or loved….and, again, her “ohhhhhhhh”, indicating she understood with her brain wheels turning. 

Years ago, I was helping a friend with Vacation Bible School. Jean was teaching the kids songs during the music segment of the day. I have never forgotten her loving instruction to them as they learned their cute songs. “Boys and girls, the wonderful thing about learning these songs is that you can sing them anywhere/anytime you need to be close to Jesus…..at home alone in your room….playing at school during recess…..sitting in class taking a test…..feeling sad….or especially when you don’t have your Bible with you to read…”

Sadly, with the chaos happening around the world…wars…people being persecuted for their Christian faith….even parts of American society where being a Christian is challenging…I can’t help but wonder if we are living in the days that Jean was preparing our little children for some forty years later. I hope not, but I’m not persuaded that “all is well” and that “peace on earth” is anything other than the peace that only God gives to His children…young and old.

Today, as I write about a superhero song…with lyrics that challenge the strength and popularity of Superman…Barbie…Actionman…my young granddaughter is learning to have fun with those characters but moreso, focusing on the BEST superhero of all ages….Jesus. 

Jesus you’re my superhero.You’re my star,my best friend.Jesus you’re my superhero.You’re my star,my best friend.

A quick glance at the October calendar shows that Halloween is fast approaching. As the warm days of late fall scoot past us, fading into cooler days that require a jacket or heavy sweater, leaves are turning an array of colors….winds are more at play in the air than not….rain teases with hints of snowflakes that will soon become winter’s regular source of joy or disdain depending on perspective. But, before we can build snowmen, or drag out dusty shovels, there is Halloween.

I got to reminiscing of my childhood memories that surround this day of the year tagged as absolutely acceptable to dress up in a cute or outlandish costume…yell at people to come to their doors…and fill your bucket or bag with candy. Lots of candy depending on your neighbors’ generosity or how many houses you’d “hit”….a common form of communicating success back in the late 50s and 60s during my Trick or Treating career. “Hey, how many houses did you ‘hit’”? “How many blocks did your parents let you go?” “Did you get lots of good stuff? Any crummy apples or popcorn balls? Ya, there were always those few people that gave out shiny red apples or homemade popcorn balls. Who wanted those? Not me, as I recall.

My first store bought costume was that of a witch. My outfit consisted of a skirt, cape, hat and mask. I wore that simple costume for at least two or three years…until one year I “went as a hobo”…. No fancy bag or bucket for me. Most of us kids used a pillowcase to carry our candy from house to house, twisting it round and round so our treasures were kept safe as we made our way up and down streets illuminated only by porch lights and the big street lights on corners. We always traveled in small groups–most parents stayed home to hand out candy…very few teenagers joined us because the general rule was by the time you reached junior high age, trick or treating ended for you. The evening was dedicated to the “little kids”…

Our neighborhood had a big number of kids so the age range was wide…there were always enough little kids to entertain every year…and as the boys in our neighborhood got too old, they came up with other ways to enjoy a dark night…

I remember one year that some of the boys–one of my brothers included–came up with a coffin and put Donny in it, dressed in a scary costume. Donny was smaller than the other guys so he was the logical choice for them to carry around….allowing him to pop up every once in a while and yell BOO! They were quite effective….we fed their desire to be scary…running away  screaming in terror…even though we knew it was Donny. There’s something eerie about a dark sky, a neighborhood slowly losing light as porch lights turned off….the boys finding trees or bushes to hide the coffin until a group of us walked by their hiding spots. 

Celebrating Halloween has changed over the years. What usually took about a week to purchase a costume has become big business now, with stores dedicated to this lone holiday. Yard decorations that are lifesize now accompany or replace one lonely jack-o-lantern that sits on a porch waiting for children to arrive. More elaborate costumes hang from clothing racks…taking away any need to make a homemade costume I guess. Are the days of going through family clothes to become a hobo…or cutting up an old sheet to become a mummy or ghost behind us? 

To be honest, Halloween gives me mixed emotions. I miss the simplicity of the event. I miss homemade costumes. I miss staring at the skyline and clock, waiting for complete darkness to swallow the last rays of daylight, signaling it was time to “hit” the sidewalks.  I miss my mom going through my candy, taking the candy bars as though it was some form of payment…I miss the innocence of not worrying about my candy being tampered or tainted…I miss jack-o-lanterns glowing on the corner of porches….I don’t miss getting shiny red apples or homemade popcorn balls…somethings never change in that respect I guess.

Labels

Tanisha. Julie. Stephanie. Gloria. Lisa. Lyndsey. Wendy. Frank. Tom. Branden. Barbara. Jay. Logan. Denise. Jaden. Melissa. Ashley. Tammy. Jason. Cheryl. Dan. Jerrid. 

Everyone named above is either a family member or a friend. Each is unique. Some of them have brown skin…some have white skin…one has red hair….one is a Type I diabetic.. Two of them are in recovery from addictions…one is a doctor and one a teacher….one is a very good friend with graying curly hair…one is adopted…one is Chinese…one has passed away…two are pastors (one female, one male)…one is a single mom…two are “gluten free”….one is very blond…one is a widow….one is a young married mother of two…one is married and has three boys and a daughter…..one is Korean AND adopted….one is gay…

If I were to introduce you to either of these dear people I would say “please meet Tanisha”. If I were talking about her in a conversation with you I would refer to her as Tanisha, one of my very best friends.  I could tell you what a wonderful job she is doing parenting a child all by herself; she is a single mom. Does her skin color matter? No.

What about Frank? Frank is a great guy we met this past summer when he came to our church to speak about global missions work within our denomination. He spent a Saturday night in our home. When I tell you about Frank and the work he’s doing for our Lord, is it important that you know his ethnicity? Not to me it doesn’t.

When I brag about Melissa or introduce her to you….do you NEED to know she’s a Type I diabetic? No, not really, not unless you’re close enough in our circle to watch for warning signs if her numbers go wonky. Then it matters….

If I’m talking about my two good guy friends who are part of my Celebrate Recovery Forever Family do I need to tell you one is tall, one is shorter in stature? Or divulge to you their addictions? No.

Branden is a cousin. Is he brown or white? You can guess. Jaden is a great niece. Is she the doctor in our family or the adopted gal? Does it matter when I’m bragging about them? Only if their achievements and how they came into our family is part of the story.

Labels. I don’t care how our society has been quick to “label” people. White, Brown. Black. Skinny, Fat. Tall. Short. Homophobic. Xenophobic. Radical. Liberal. Conservative. Leftist. Deplorable. Dem. MAGA. Republican. Gay. Bi. Straight. Trans. Fluid. Furrie. 

I’m finding myself in a place of self reflection today, asking myself how our culture got to this place? It seems that suddenly some labels offend us while others do not. I guess a simple way for me to justify the need for a label is those found on our food products. For some people, it’s crucial to their health to know if something contains gluten or too much sugar. 

When it comes to skin color, I guess it’s important to differentiate skin color, hair style, color of eyes, height, etc.only  if we’re describing someone to a police officer. In everyday conversations…um, I don’t think it’s necessary. Merely my humble opinion and my personal decision to regard my family and friends as fellow human beings, living in communities…much like crayons sharing the space in their box. 

For me, the most used word lately in any news story is the term “racist”. I hold a lot of disdain for this word. Aren’t we ONE human race? Did I miss something in science back in junior high school or Sunday School? Didn’t God create ONE mankind and from the stroke of His creative artbrush make us all  different shades of skin tone? Some light…some dark….some very dark…and some brown…some who sunburn easily and others who take on beautiful tans during summer months. 

I always chuckle when I’m filling out a form that asks gender. We’ve gone from two to several choices now. Then there’s the boxes to check if you are caucasion, hispanic, black, or other.  So, under “Other” I have begun checking that box and writing in Child of God.Call me radical if you want. If society wants everyone to be labeled,  I’m choosing  what is MY truth. I guess doing so may cause me to earn another “label”–rebellious one or radical.  It’s okay…I’m sticking with Child of God. I like the sound of that much better than anything other people might throw on me in the hope that it sticks.

Water Troughs & Baptism

What does a shiny animal water trough and baptism have in common? To the average person, nothing. To the one going under the water, everything.

This past weekend our 7 year old granddaughter was baptized. She was the only youngster to go under the water Sunday morning. A second person, much older than she, followed suit. Both went under the water…washing away the “old” person and coming up “new”. It’s exciting when any one makes the decision to be baptized in a public setting…it’s another whole new level of joy when it’s your own child! Seeing her smile…witnessing her enthusiasm…hearing people hoot and holler words of love as hands clapped in a fury of happiness for this dear little soul is a moment I will never forget.

Following Macklynn’s baptism…coming out of the water….she jumped into her daddy’s arms and snuggled in as he carried her off the platform, warm towel around her little wet body. I was able to capture the moment…a usual pose for father and daughter. She loves being held by her dad, wrapping her small arms around his neck where it is very evident she feels protected, safe, cared for no matter what comes her way…that’s what a good daddy does for his children.

I think the two of them–caught in this familiar pose–show a perfect example of how each one of us who belong to God can be assured of His perfect and unconditional love, too. Though she is a mere seven, Macklynn knows this truth. She was dedicated to the Lord when an infant and has been in church almost every weekend…she has learned to pray…at mealtime…before bed….for loved ones who need healing…she’s been an active participant in godly conversations with family and friends. She knows her Father.

On one particular Saturday morning, when Macky was about 3 years old, she came into the bedroom where I have my prayer chair in a corner. I had gotten up earlier than she (she had spent the night) and by the time I had finished reading a portion of scripture and began writing my prayers in my journal, she entered the room. Of course, she asked what I was doing and as I explained I also told her that if she made the decision to stay with me, she needed to be quiet. She agreed. Before long, the quiet was interrupted with her asking if she could write her prayers too. I gave her a piece of paper, pencil and she sat down on the floor by my feet. “Gramma, I don’t know how to write the “numbers” (her toddlerish word for letters).

“It’s ok, Macky. God can read what you write.”

Very carefully she drew 3 wavy lines across her page.

“Imitate God, therefore, in everything you do, because you are his dear children. Live a life filled with love, following the example of Christ. He loved us and offered himself as a sacrifice for us, a pleasing aroma to God”. Ephesians 5: 1-2

Well, scripture says to “imitate God” but I’m pretty sure He doesn’t mind that she desired to copy gramma that Saturday morning with her prayers being written out to Him…that precious morning is a treasured memory now….she’s growing up very nicely, currently attending second grade in school, learning how to read and write her “numbers” and “letters”.  Prayers are taking on a bit more maturity…snuggles with her daddy are ongoing…being under the wings of her heavenly Father continues to be her rightful place, too…arms around His neck…as He guides each step on the path He has lovingly laid before her.

Identifying Character Flaws

What does a cute black dress adorned with red apples have to do with character flaws? In my case, plenty.

Today, I’m taking you back to my childhood to a day when I was probably 7 or 8. Most likely I was in the second grade at that age. My birthday falls in early November and although I’m not sure if I received a really cute skirt as a gift or if my mother had purchased it for me, this newly acquired piece of apparel became the focal point of an intense argument between me and my mom. At age 68 I can still see the skirt. It was a black and white pattern and along the hem were big red apples. Small for my age, when I tried on the skirt, where it should have fallen just below my knees, this one came down to about my ankles. I was so excited to wear the new skirt and had it on, ready to go to school when mom interrupted my plan.

“Susan, you can’t wear your new skirt yet”.

“Why? I like it”

“I know you like it, but it needs to be hemmed first. It’s too long”

“No, it’s not. I want to wear it”.

This is when the fight started… fueled by the back and forth of our tongue lashings for one another. The room got heated…both of us grew more exasperated as we refused to give in until mom said “All right, go ahead–wear it if you want to, but don’t come to me complaining that the kids laughed at you.” Her decision to “let go and let me” was the weapon that sucked the air out of my stubborn-need to be right-I’m gonna do things my way balloon. Suddenly, mom made sense. I certainly didn’t want to be laughed at by my friends. . 

Sixty some years later, I can still see the skirt, my bedroom, mom’s defiant face, my own angry face, and admittedly, probably some fist clenching and feet stomping. I can hear her words “go ahead then….” Looking back on that memory is an ability–while swallowing a lot of pride–to admit that that argument was the beginning of my character flaw “a need to be right”. 

I won’t bore you–or more honestly–expose the numerous times in my 68 years that I’ve fallen into the trap of having to be right. I’m not proud of the flaw, rather I’m pleased that I have recognized it, have a window to see where it began, and have begun the work of learning how to overcome my tendency to do the wrong thing…. replace it with listening, yielding, taking inventory of my emotions in the moment….setting aside pride for humility.

It’s funny. Although I can vividly remember my cute apple skirt, the argument, I cannot recall if I actually got to wear it after that morning’s argument. Maybe the part I do have embedded in my mind is there to help teach a lesson that God wants me to learn as I work daily on my character flaws. So, this morning, in my journal, as I revisited this unfortunate argument with my mom, I listed where I was wrong…defiance, disrespect, anger, control…the “need to be right”. Then, I asked God to forgive me for my bad behavior towards my mother…after all, I realize now she wasn’t trying to “control” me…she was actually loving me enough to protect me from possible humiliation from my peers. Isn’t that what a mom is supposed to do?

Identifying character flaws can be painful. But, trust me. The habit of continuing living in them, compared to the freedom when self evaluation produces positive change, is worth a bushel of apples. Big, red ones, I might add.

Hold Outs

Welp…summer is certainly behind us for another year…in several days the calendar will boast that it’s October 1st which means “all things apple, pumpkin spice, caramel, donuts, hot autumn beverages, football games, blankets…sweatshirts, longer pants….” Most all associated with cooler temperatures that come with Fall, now front and center in my mind. 

This past week my good husband turned on the heat. Although it seems early, waking in the morning to feel the warmth in the house as I make my way to the coffee pot is very welcome. Admittedly, I am keeping my slippers by the bed, something I don’t necessarily do during the hot summer months. In fact, my slippers are usually covered up in the closet by summer’s choices of shoes! I like the changes that come with each season. I truly like “all things apple and pumpkin”…but I also like the ability to wear shorts or capris and my sandals…thus my photo. 

On Monday I woke to temperatures in the low 50s. The sky was gray with rain clouds covering our lil neck of the woods. Monday mornings you’ll find me in our church office working for a few hours at the front desk. The drive there is very short, not long enough for the heat in the car to warm up to a comfortable number. I toyed whether to cover my feet with socks and shoes…I really wanted to get a few more days with my favorite jean capris and my most recent pedicure with red toes for Fall! So, I did it. The photo is proof that I left the house sporting my summer hang out “look” on an early chillier-than-usual morning. 

I’m in good company with my sandals..several female friends at church have the same attitude regarding their feet…their choice of shoes…regardless of the weather. A couple of them make jokes about wearing sandals year round no matter rain, snow, slush, ice, or clear sunny skies.  I smile politely and let them enjoy their little quirk–I draw the line at having my feet get real cold or getting a “soaker” as we called it when we were kids, stepping into a puddle that rose up to our ankles.

Just this past weekend, my husband was left in charge of two grandchildren on a Saturday morning. While the 7 year old played inside contentedly, he had the 3 year old outside who is fascinated with the garden hose. Saturday was a mildly blustery day for late September. Rain threatened throughout the morning, the air was cold enough to require a warm jacket, certainly not your “typical let’s play in the water kinda day”….but to a grandpa and a 3 year old….let’s just say that as I drove up the driveway I was audience to our grandson holding the garden hose up to his face and mouth…jibber jabbering at the stream of COLD water pouring out on him and drenching his jacket, pants, and shoes. I questioned the wisdom of such folly only to be told “well, he’s already soaked one set of clothes….I threw everything of the kids stuff in the washer”….grandpas logic and playtime activities differ from gramma’s…but by the expressions on their faces, cold water, chilly air and soaked clothing and shoes–gramma’s common sense didn’t matter. I smiled, laughed, and went inside the house. Kids warm up. Clothes dry out (with some help) Memories last forever.

Yes, I have some summer holdouts. My sandals are one of them. It’s safe to say that most of the flowering plants are going dormant now…seed pods are forming which help to replenish the beds next year or provide a snack for our neighborhood birds and small critters. Some of the “dead” plants have been removed to the compost pile. Vegetable plants have been uprooted too. Their purpose is finished, too. In their place are remnants of what once was a vibrant green healthy plant or vine. Dead leaves have dropped to the ground and will slowly disappear into the dirt until next spring when I will “work” up the ground to get it ready for another “fresh start” in a season of new growth…and I will most likely wear a pair of older sandals while I embrace the promises of spring after enduring winter months that promise “hot beverages”…”blankets”….”jackets”…”snow boots”….”snow”….did I ever tell you how much I love snow?….till next time or the first snowfall! Hmmm….I wonder if anyone has ever tried to design a snow boot that looks like a sandal?

This jar of sourdough starter is not my actual  attempt of bringing up my own delectable concoction of water and flour that ferments and when added to other ingredients, turns out breads, pancakes, muffins, anything that spells cozy and comfort food. 

I’ve not had the best of luck in the past in the world of sourdough starter, but I am somewhat determined to give it another whirl. After all, flour is pretty inexpensive…our water is free and I have numerous jars in my pantry…plenty of counter space to let it have a cozy place of its own and pray for its magic to happen. Wanting to be able to create some tasty breads, once again I found myself searching the YouTube channel for a simple approach to this age-old practice that everyone says is easy. Well, my starter is almost 7 days old…I’m following the instructions…I’m seeing bubbles…and I’m keeping the “discard” on hand in the fridge because the gal in the video said “don’t throw that away! You can use it to make all sorts of wonderful things!” (some comments to the video said gals were even giving names to their starter–I didn’t commit to that, at least until I have “proof of life”….. Ok, I obeyed, and today I had enough discard on hand to begin wondering if it was time to search for a recipe to use some of it. Lo and behold, Google took me to a banana bread recipe. “I have those frozen,” I declared. Here, I’ll toss in a few frozen blueberries”…not enough of those to use in something other than a smoothie…who doesn’t like blueberries, right? So, as I type today’s blog, I have a loaf of banana bread baking in the oven. I’m praying it turns out yummy…(I’ll let you know next week how I fared)

Fall makes me want to make all things yummy. Pumpkin anything. Apple anything. Squash any…well, as a warm side dish with pork or turkey….I truly enjoy baking and now that cooler days are mixing in with the latter days of summer, having the oven on isn’t a hindrance to creating tried and true recipes or venturing into the world of ‘trying something new’.

When it comes to life’s adventures, I’m not as quick to try new things that require great risk. I am not a fan of roller coasters..or great heights…ladders still make my heart pound and jumping into a pool…well, those days are behind me. Last June, when we visited the southern rim of the Grand Canyon I paid close attention to my footing. I was happy to stand near an edge but NO way did I venture out onto some flat rocks where others made their way to get a different view. Um, no thank you. My view of this majestic handiwork from God was very comfortable staying away from slippery gravel and jagged rocks. I guess some would say I’m not very adventurous….maybe a bit scared or dull….whatever adjective you want to give me that doesn’t match your level of courage is okay with me. I’m content to live my version of dodging sandy soil and rocky edges experiences…

I have no idea how a new sourdough starter or life adventures tie in with one another. I guess it’s all due to my self reflection related to taking risks…big or small. Trying a new recipe isn’t the boldest or most exciting thing to pursue, but if it turns out real tasty, the payoff is worth the work! Taking a trip to the Canyon was a lifelong dream duly noted on my bucket list, checked off now and surrounded by photos and memories. 

Let’s hope that I can take a photo of the sourdough banana bread and check it off my list as “that was worth it”….”Sure is yummy”….”Glad this doesn’t need to be tossed in the garbage”….then I may actually come up with a name for my starter…any good ones to offer?

Back to School

August’s hot days and weeks are behind me now. Our air conditioning system is running less frequently as uncomfortable days from high temperatures are slowly making room for cooler mornings…another blanket on the bed at night…cozy slippers for chilly feet upon waking and crawling out of bed….it’s the third week of a new school year for most of our children–Phew!–I know of some who began their new grades in late August…at any rate, each year when kids return to school I, too, feel a “shift” in my emotions and thoughts…almost as though I will get to experience something new and exciting like a brand new school year!

Our oldest granddaughter has entered second grade. She loves school and takes each day very seriously. Unlike her gramma, she embraces math…like me she is excited to explore learning through science and social studies. Being in the gym or playground is on her top list because she loves to run, climb, and do endless cartwheels as she bounces across any surface with ease. As much as she likes school and doesn’t argue about getting up in the morning, she has admitted to her parents that second grade is “stressterating” (her own combination of stressful and frustrating)…it’s evident that everything she mastered in first grade is now being challenged with building on her early foundations of learning. All of us–parents, grandparents, aunts and uncles, are assuring her that she will do well. We believe it and she does, too, now that nighttime prayers include speaking positive affirmations over her sleepy mind before laying her head on the pillow. “You are kind….you are a good learner….”

***

When kids head back to school, I am reminded of something my mother once told me. She admitted that for the first few days all three of us kids had left for school, leaving her to an empty house, she felt lonely. I guess the chaos brought on by raising three growing noisy children…preparing endless meals including snacks, playing referee to childhood squabbles with neighbor kids….keeping track of everyone’s schedules left her with emotions of loneliness…perhaps a quiet home was too much too soon and  fed her feelings of missing us kids…now that I’ve had kids of my own…lived through their 12 years of education, I “get it”. What’s odd, though, is that our own children have been out of the house for awhile now…my own September lonely days without them are behind me, and yet, here…now…in the third week of September I have felt the return and effect of kids going back to school….I wonder why…

I truly have no idea why the experience of sending my kids back to school…and now, watching as our granddaughter walks that same path…soon to be followed by her younger brother and  few cousins less her age…evokes emotions that include surviving the heat of July and August to finding ways to occupy my time in the cooler days ushered in by September. Maybe the mere process of recognizing the “shift” is all part of a grand plan to keep me aware of each day’s opportunities for living life and fulfilling purpose…whether it’s waiting to hear a report on how second grade is going….being included in conversations about social studies or how many cartwheels were spun during recess.

Ya, August is behind us. We are living in September. Windows aren’t open as often. School doors have opened, welcoming back our precious babies who are eager to learn. Momma heartstrings are being tugged at as kids leave each morning… noisy goodbyes leave homes  quieter now until the final bell at the end of the day…

The school bus doesn’t stop at our home any more. But it doesn’t mean that I don’t long for those days that are now a thing of the past…what it does mean, though, is that with the gift of four precious grandchildren to love now, while I may not be waving goodbye as the bus pulls away, my hands are now folded in prayer for them every morning,,, that they will be protected, be loved, be kind, embrace learning…and not get too “stressterated”.  And that any melancholy feelings of my own will soon disappear into the calendar of the new school year…