Is this retirement?

"So, Miss Careen, what do retired people do?"

The question struck me as odd, because the one asking it was the person who has helped me in our home for the past ten years, since I "retired." I started thinking...was she asking because she apparently doesn't see me doing anything, or is it because we stay so busy she doesn't realize I've retired from something?

I'm trying to find the answer to the question. Let's see, the past ten days, here's what I've done:

A week ago this past Thursday, Pops and I drove to Macon and babysat our three grandchildren so Clint and Helen could have a night out. It was their first "date" since the new baby, Hartley, had been born. We entertained Harrison and Hannah (more accurately, they entertained us), fed them supper, and rocked little Hartley until the parents returned, then we drove home around midnight.

Friday was a rest day! Then on Saturday, I visited with our youngest son Josh, his wife Jenny and their new baby, Molly (two weeks old), who live across the highway. I helped Jenny entertain an out-of-town guest who had come to see the new baby. Pops spent the morning on the tractor spraying food plots for the deer, and the afternoon playing 18 holes of golf with our middle son Jed, who was down from Atlanta. His expressed purpose in coming was to take me on a date! We hadn't had any fun time together lately, so he wanted to do it. We went to dinner at The Trellis restaurant in Americus, the nicest place in town. I enjoyed every minute of the time we spent in conversation. Sunday, it was church and lunch at Josh and Jenny's. The remainder of the week was filled with three workouts at the gym, two Bible studies, sharing meals with the new parents, counseling a young woman Burt met in Cracker Barrel one morning, who came and spent the night in our guest house.

On Friday of last week, I had an unexpected call from Lila, our almost-four granddaughter, who was at the beach with her family. She wanted to know if I wanted to come to the beach and "sleep with her in the big bed." I wasn't too keen on sharing the bed with Lila, but joining them at Watercolor, I could do! So Pops and I left the next day and came down, and here we are! We'll go home tomorrow and get geared up for the expected influx of guest that will come during hunting season.

So what is all this saying? If our time was spent looking for entertainment for ourselves, I can't imagine how bored we'd be. The fact is, we never know what surprises God has for us every morning. We get calls about serious prayer requests, unexpected guests staying overnight in the guest house or the carriage house, and repeated opportunities to share with people daily, the goodness of God that has graced our lives.

Retirement for us simply means we don't go to the same work place every day. It means we are free agents, ready to be used by the Lord to be blessings to others whenever the Holy Spirit taps us on the shoulder and puts us in the game. The days we have nothing to do are almost non-existent, but we figure we worked for forty years for this moment of availability.

Home Alone

Tonight finds Pops and me at home alone! ( Sound like we like it, doesn't it??) I'll admit...it is kinda' nice not to have anything to do or anybody to interact with. The Lord send so many people our way, and we absolutely LOVE it, but tonight, we needed a quiet night. It's the beginning of the Labor Day weekend, and we feel as if we're on vacation. I made dinner; we ate in the sunroom where my man was enjoying watching the Braves game on TV, and everything tasted so GOOD, I just have to share my recipes!

First, I cooked fresh salmon, purchased at Publix a few weeks ago (I froze it). Here is the recipe, which I got from wwww.allrecipes.com:

Ingredients

1/4 cup brown sugar

1/4 cup olive oil

1/4 cup soy sauce

2 teaspoons lemon pepper

1 teaspoon dried thyme

1 teaspoon dried basil

1 teaspoon dried parsley

1/2 teaspoon garlic powder

4 (6 ounce) salmon fillets

Directions

Whisk together the brown sugar, olive oil, soy sauce, lemon pepper, thyme, basil, parsley, and garlic powder in a bowl, and pour into a resealable plastic bag. Add the salmon fillets, coat with the marinade, squeeze out excess air, and seal the bag. Marinate in the refrigerator for at least 1 hour, turning occasionally.

Preheat an outdoor grill for medium heat, and lightly oil the grate. Remove the salmon from the marinade, and shake off excess. Discard the remaining marinade.

Grill the salmon on the preheated grill until browned and the fish flakes easily with a fork, about 5 minutes on each side.

Note: since I didn't want to fire the grill for a small piece of salmon, I used the oven. I set it a little hot, about 400 degrees, and the sugar on the fish caramelized around it—yummy. I also hardly ever measure, so there were probably more spices in the recipe than called for. Just go for it—you can't lose, if you like salmon!

Then I put together the best tasting salad! I must share it with you:

I mixed Baby Romaine lettuce (buy-one-get-one-free at Winn-Dixie) with some marinated goat cheese (also purchased at W-D), threw in some Kalamata olives, marinated artichoke hearts (in a jar), and the crowning touch...fresh grape tomatoes and cucumbers given to us by our new friends from Athens, GA, that we just met last weekend on a Lay Witness Mission at their church in Athens. I used my own olive oil-balsamic vinegar dressing, and it was YUM-IE!!!

There's not a lot of spiritual depth to this post. I guess the point is that, after 41 years of marriage, I enjoy serving my man and letting him relax more than I did years ago when I was in the throes of child-rearing, and needed his help to settle the guys for bedtime. Those years, I resented his relaxing at night because I couldn't. Things have changed. He now realizes how much his presence means to me, regardless of the task, and I've come to realize how much I need him. We both realize how much we enjoy taking care of each other!

We also enjoy the same menu...and a quiet weekend!

Happy Labor Day, Everybody!!!!

My Little Diva

I've learned some things about little girls lately. Especially about my little girls. Especially about Hannah, my little granddaughter. I've learned I can't trust them...out of sight, that is!

We thought the challenge at our house would be the big boy toys: the knives, guns, matches, and other trinkets that fascinate both little boys, as well as big (as in, grown-up) ones. I never stopped to think that my stuff was in jeopardy. Our sons never seemed interested in the things I kept in the bathroom, except the time that one of them came walking into my room filled with guests, carrying a handful of tampons. That temptation was easy to fix; I just put them away and simply explained that was something that for girls, not for boys. No problem; our boys didn't want "girl stuff."

So I hadn't considered the possibility of little girls being interested in my things. I actually thought I'd enjoy having granddaughters to share lotion and nail polish and jewelry with. Guess I didn't realize that Hannah, at age 2, was ready to share. So when she disappeared for a few minutes and found my make-up, and you see the results! She looks much better without make-up!

Balancing our Lives

I got this message from one of my "special girls," a young mom with two toddlers and a newborn:

My servant attitude sure has been challenged recently. Especially with the addition of another little one with so many "needs". I have even caught myself rolling my eyes when a little one dares to utter the word, "Mama". I know alot of my attitudes are from lack of sleep and the constant "neediness" of being a mom. Trying to adjust/correct my 'tude, but also trying not to beat myself up during this season of my life. It's all a balancing act.........but that has left me wondering, does it ever balance?

I understand the question. Will the day ever come that we don't have some disappointment in ourselves as moms, those times when we lose our cool and find the very ones we are devoted to and would lay down our lives for are the ones we become frustrated with. I said that, at times, I didn't even LIKE my own kids! I realize now it was myself I didn't like. I didn't like my lack of self-control, my lack of patience, my lack of the nature of Jesus. That's what I wanted to show to my family, but instead I have shown annoyance to the very ones God sent me to minister to. The disappointment in my own behavior becomes a harsh exposure of the deficiencies in my own life.

Dealing with the stubborn spirit in our children makes it evident how far we human beings are from being like the Master. No doubt, to God we look no different from the belligerent two-year-old who throws herself on the floor and kicks her feet, or the siblings who tug and wrestle over some toy. It's all about having our things our way. The angry little toddler who screams at being denied a treat before dinner is motivated by the same spirit that causes me to yell at a child who just tracked mud over my clean floor.

Dealing with small children shows me another spiritual lesson: I can't do it successfully without HELP. And that's exactly why God sent the Holy Spirit to us, to help us in our weaknesses. Yes, everything is a balance. Our busy, demanding lives have to be balanced with time to be refreshed and renewed by the Holy Spirit. Sometimes we just need a nap! Parenting is not easy; to me, neither is grand-parenting. My precious grandchildren remind me how much I need God's help to let the fruit of the Spirit come forth.

Sometimes I think I expose too much to the young women I mentor. I confess my lack of composure. But at the same time, I tell them where to find the watering hole: resting on Jesus's bosom and believing He will impart His presence to us and His wisdom for the tasks we face. Jesus Himself became tired. He sat "wearily" by a well and sent the disciples on ahead to get food (John 4:6); He needed time alone so He left the disciples early in the morning and went to pray (Mark 1:35). I love the verse in Mark 1:33, "The whole town gathered at [his] door." That's a verse we mothers can relate to—sometimes it feels like the whole town is gathered at our door...especially when we're in the bathroom!

The life of Jesus was one of composure and balance. The only way to find this for ourselves is to spend time in His presence, and that means we remember He has placed His Spirit within us, and because of it, we will find the balance we need.

Tea and Servanthood

I spent yesterday propped in bed, sipping hot tea and fighting cold symptoms. Taking the advice of one of my "Tuesday Morning Mamas," I resisted going through stacks of books or cleaning out the fridge! Why is it that we women need permission to take the day off?

Days like this remind me of the times when our boys were little and I had an occasional day of feeling poorly, all I wanted was to be left alone! Irma Bombeck said she understood why animals go off in the woods alone when they are sick. Makes perfect sense to me. However, having such a day makes me feel thankful again for the people who have helped me over the years.

Like Emma.

Emma came four days a week when I had five little boys running around, and she was like their second mother. (Mine too.) Our kindergartner at the time told his teacher he had a stepmother; her name was Emma. Emma rescued me, or I should say rescued the kids, when I didn't have a clue how to raise babies. She made it look easy. Many afternoons the younger boys would walk home with her and she'd make them peanut butter/jelly sandwiches at her house. Seems things always tasted better there.

The reason I'm so aware of these memories is probably because the Tuesday Morning Mamas all went together to see The Help at the movies a few nights ago. It grieves me to think about some of the injustices that have been done to people who were created in the image of God and made to love one another. I grew up on a farm in the Deep South, and our relationship with all the people working was one of mutual respect and genuine love. I will always be grateful to Emma, for the patience she had with our children, the laughter we shared over family incidences, and for the days she let me enjoy a cup of hot tea alone in my room and not feel guilty about it!!

Our Tuesday Morning group began a study this week of Proverbs 31...you know, the chapter about the perfect woman. Reading it is like inviting Rachel Ray, Paula Dean, or Julia Childs to come for dinner: regardless of what we'd cook, it wouldn't measure up to their standards. That's how most women feel when they read about the Proverbs Lady. I hope, however, this study is going to be inspirational to all of us and not the opposite.

The main point this week was that the woman in the scripture receives praise from her family because of her serving others. Jesus made crystal clear the value He placed on servant attitude. When two disciples were squabbling over who was the greatest, He put everyone in his place by saying, "You know that in this world kings are tyrants, and officials lord it over the people beneath them. But among you it should be quite different. Whoever wants to be a leader among you must be your servant..." (Mark 10: 42-43).

There is no pretty way to state it: mothers are servants. But we serve out of a heart of love and not resentment (except, every now and then, right?). In the end, it's the servanthood we have demonstrated that causes our husbands and children to praise us. Looking back, I realize the things I praise Emma for were all acts of service, things that made my life easier and our family's life more enjoyable. Our families will feel the same way about us as moms. The things they will remember are sometimes the things we resent doing, a.k.a. the serving. But the first step in our fulfillment is to let the attitude be in us as it was in Christ, who refused to resent the servant's role that He took on Himself. At the same time, we must believe the Spirit will work on our family members to give them ability to appreciate what we do.

In a Christ-centered marriage, grace is imparted into our husbands and children to praise us. In other relationships, there is no guarantee that we won't be taken for granted. This added to my list of things to thank God for this week: a godly man who praises and appreciates me, and children who bless me every day... and occasional days when I can stay propped up in bed with a cup of tea!

Jed's Dog Pete

I'm not really sure where I'm going with this post. I think it's going to be about a faithful and companionable dog. But it might not be. It might be about a son going through a transition. It could be about a family pulling together in support of a sibling who is hurting. It might be about a mom and dad who connected with a son in a special way. It could be about a mother and her son.

Maybe it's about all the above.

The death of a pet who has lived out his life is more than just giving up a companion someone has enjoyed. It means the end of an era, the closing of a period of that person's life. A few years ago, another of our sons had to end the life of T-Bone, his sixteen year old Cocker Spaniel, whom he had had since he was nine years old. Another son had to euthanize Buck, his handsome German Shorthair. Burying T-Bone meant burying little-boy memories−- the camp-outs and deer trackings, snuggle times in front of the fireplace, races down the driveway, and fishing in the creek. This was when I realized the 25 year old man in front of me was the same little nine year old boy in his heart, and that part of him had to be reached to bring real solace.

A similar thing happened this week. Pete's master was Jed, only Jed didn't have him as a boy. He got Pete in his second year of college at UGA, so it was Pete who saw Jed through the uncharted waters of living away from home, pledging a fraternity, graduating, getting the first job, buying his own home. Pete was his comforter when relationships didn't work out or deals didn't go through. Pete was his pride and joy when he pointed a covey of quail or simply strutted his barrel chest. I think Jed's biggest struggle wasn't accepting Pete's demise, but that of wondering if Pete was really ready to go on. As emaciated as his body was, his eyes nevertheless followed Jed and their spirits stayed connected. It was not until our veterinarian/in-law gently explained that we would not want to live as a human in such a compromising physical condition that Jed was able to make the final call to terminate Pete's life.

Throughout the last three days, Burt and I were able to feel so close to our adult son. In the absence of a family of his own to share his grief, we could fill his emotional tank, and he was willing to let us. I'm thankful he didn't keep us at arm's length.

What I have to accept as a mom is that my own sons are not little boys, or college boys any more. If they were not the strong men of God that they are, this might be sad, but the fact is, they have become exactly what God told me to rear: five godly Christian men. But this doesn't keep me from looking back in my memories, just as I look back sometimes through pictures of them as little boys and very young men, just as Jed will look back and remember Pete and a pup. Jed can hold the memories, and he will, as he accepts Pete's passing. I too, will hold memories of our boys as they grew and matured, and I must accept that they are now men.

It's Tough on a Dog

By Jean W Sawtell

It's tough on a dog when his boy grows up,

When he no longer romps and frolics like a pup.

It's tough on a dog when his boy gets old,

When they no longer cuddle on his bed when it's cold.

It's tough on a dog when his boy gets tall,

When he's off with the boys playing soccer and baseball.

They no longer paddle through the mud in the bog,

Hoping to find a turtle or frog.

They no longer run through the grass up to their knees,

Or roll in the piles of fresh fallen leaves.

It's tough on a dog when his boy gets tall,

When he's off to school, looking at girls in the hall.

It's tough on a dog when he has work to do,

When he forgets to play as he used to do.

It's tough on a dog when instead of the woods or field or pond,

His boy becomes a man— and the man is gone.

A Place of Quiet Rest

A place of quiet rest is not where I've been lately! After successive weekends filled with various activities, the birth of a new granddaughter, overnight guests (in our unofficial B & B!), the freezing of fresh peaches and vegetables, and the company of two very active toddlers for nine days in two weeks, I hit my wall this morning. I couldn't seem to get on top of things the past two days and my blood pressure was high! After remembering all that has been going on, I understand why.

The most disturbing thing was the feeling of being haunted by some phantom fears...nothing definable, just vague feelings of uneasiness.

Just yesterday we were talking with a young couple who were staying in our guest house for the weekend, and they were saying how hard they had been working and how overcome with "busy-ness" they were. Being here gave them the chance to have a period of rest and reflection, and they echoed the same thing everybody says about our property: there is such a feeing of peace here. I told them about Nancy Leigh DeMoss's book, A Place of Quiet Rest, how inspirational it is to me and how I though we'd make a habit of giving a copy to everyone who spends the night here. They wholeheartedly agreed their biggest need was to be still and let God's peace surround them.

This morning I was in our bedroom, praying for our son Jed who was driving home today to have his beloved German Shorthair dog put to sleep. I was also thinking of our second oldest son, who turned 39 today, and how we wanted to be with him, but felt we needed to be here for Jed's sake. Anyway, in the process of it all, I had the desire to hold up my arms and ask Jesus to take and comfort me. I just felt tired and emotionally drained. I felt that something was missing. Then it came to me: I needed the place of quiet rest.

The remainder of today has been just that. It has been filled with emotion, but also comforting and convicting. We humans simply can't sustain ourselves without Divine help. What do people do who don't have a relationship with the Savior, the God of all comfort?

Almost everybody I know is familiar with Psalm 23. We hear the phrase "He restorers my soul" quoted in all kinds of situations. What does this really mean? To quote Nancy DeMoss: "I'm convinced that one of the major reasons we can't handle the demands of day-today living is that our spirits are weary. Our souls need to be restored...The restoration of our souls is a ministry of our Great Shepherd...If I don't take time to get my spiritual tank refilled, I soon find myself 'running on fumes.' Before long the least little demand is more than I can handle, and I find myself reacting to even minor annoyances and interruptions out of frustration and irritation."

This describes my condition the past three days. Now I know what was missing, and I'm recommitted to the practice of spending time each day in God's presence. Oh no, it's not easy, especially with little ones demanding time and attention. This week reminded me how challenging it is for a mom to find even ten minutes of quiet, but how restorative it is. I pray for mothers to find the still waters and green pastures. Just as I wanted to take our adult son in my arms and comfort him through this time of sadness, so I want the Holy Spirit to engulf me and impart peace and comfort and rest. I have been reminded that He is so willing to do just that.

We Survived!!!

We just returned two of our adorable grandchildren to their rightful owners! This past week, Pops and I had the fun of keeping Harrison (age 4) and Hannah (age 2) to give Helen a chance to recover from the birth of little Hartley. What a blast! The week was a contest to see who could get the dirtiest and the hottest. Simply put, there are things that little kids can do in the country they can't do in the city, such as...

Going to the dirt pit (which Harrison used to call the arm pit). This refers to the big hole in the ground that Pops uses to get dirt for maintaining the roads throughout the property, and it is—literally— a big dirt pit. Nothing amuses the kiddos more just now than stripping off everything but their underwear and playing in the red dirt. The walls of the pit are sloped at just the right angle for sliding down and climbing back up again. The dirt clods are just the right degree of firmness to throw and explode at the bottom of the hole. The loose soil has just the right moisture for digging with the fingernails, and the powdery dust is just right for sticking to the scalp. The quarter-mile walk to the pit is always exciting and promising, but the same walk back home is hot and challenging. I got the brilliant idea to take the red wagon with water for us to drink. What I discovered was the kids thought I brought it so I could pull them back home. At one point, I was trying to make it up a steep hill in the woods with both children riding in the wagon and I didn't think I'd make it. About that time I heard Harrison call out, "Lollie! You can DO it!!" Well of course I did!

I was the favorite grandparent only until Pops decided to upstage me by taking them to "swim." The place he chose was safe, for sure. It was a BIG muddle (a made-up word for "mud puddle")! Actually, it was a pool of clear water that had collected in a field road where the irrigation system was running, but it soon became a muddle when the kids got in it! They first waded, then wallowed, then started throwing globs of mud at Pops and each other! I took a picture on my phone and sent it to Clint, their father. He replied, "Brings back memories!" When I sent him another picture of Hannah, whose diaper was so filled with muddy water that it sagged below her bottom, he responded, "Just make sure this doesn't hit Facebook!"

Bedtime was, umm...interesting. They wanted to sleep together in the recently acquired red twin beds, pushed together. It didn't take me long to realize that they were never going to settle down by themselves, so Pops and I lay down with them and I told them a made-up story about two children going to visit their grandparents. They loved it, and wanted to hear it several times. The last time I made up a story for Harrison, he thought I was saying that a little boy got buried alive, and that wasn't what I said. Now their parents are a little suspicious of "Lollie's stories." (I never wanted to be a children's writer anyway!) Anyhow, I kept this one PG rated!

If anyone should ask Harrison, he might say the highlight of his week was helping Pops drive the big tractor, operate the levers on the grapple hook and pick up piles of limbs. Or he might say catching two toad frogs, a baby and a larger one, plus a cricket was the epitome. He named the frogs Rufus and Oscar.

Maybe this was the week that I started to complete the metamorphosis from "mother" to "grandmother." I am seeing how much fun it can be. Burt and I thanked God every day that we can relax in the joy that our grandchildren are being reared by parents who love the Lord.

Mother/Grandmother

I'm up early this morning (5:45 a.m.). There were things on my mind I wanted to remember today when "Pops" and I go to Macon to assist Helen with our new granddaughter, Hartley Burgin Strange, who was born this past weekend. I stayed up late last night cooking food to take for the freezer— chicken and rice, roast, squash casseroles, scalloped eggplant, and peach cobbler. I'll finish with peas and creamed corn when we get to Macon.

The cooking brings back memories of our sons' births. It seemed they all came when vegetables were in season and things were the busiest (of course, it would have seemed that way regardless of the birth month). I always scurried to get cooked food in the freezer before going to the hospital.

This activity also gave me reason to ponder the question, do I feel more like a mother or a grandmother? I'm not sure I've made the transition. I think this is the season where I should relax and pop popcorn and watch movies with the grandchildren, but I still feel the weight of responsibility when a new baby comes into the family. I remember the lack of time to get things done, and the fatigue that demotivates a new mom. I also recall the persistent demand of the existing siblings.

My transition from mom to grandmother was further underscored this past week when I changed our son's bedroom at our house from "his" to "theirs." This meant I took away the hunting/camping/college/boy-toys and replaced them with red twin beds, "Hungry Caterpillar" sheets, and stuffed animals. His reaction to the picture of my accomplishment was classic: "You did what to my room!?" Forget the fact he's a grown man, married for nine years! He still has his boy-place at Mom's house. As I pulled out stuff and re-lived memories, I have to admit, he still has a boy-place in my heart as well.

Making the transition from mom to grandmother is still a struggle for me. It means my role is changing. I'm learning to embrace the changes instead of trying to function in the role of responsibility I've always known. Today we're going to Macon to welcome our newest grandchild. I'm going with the intent of playing games and reading books. I know I have a position of influence, and I will reinforce the training of the children, but I can let go of the primary responsibility. Our grandchildren couldn't have better parents. They are being taught and nurtured, and they will become strong men and women of God. The first thing I read this morning reminded me of our blessing:

And this is my covenant with them says the Lord. "My spirit will not leave them, and neither will these words I have given you. They will be on your lips and the lips of your children and your children's children forever. I, the Lord, have spoken!" (Isaiah 59:21)

Pops and I have kept the charge we were given, and now it is time to reap the rewards.

I love small towns!

If anyone reading this lives in a town of more than 1100 registered voters in the entire county, you might not be able to relate to what I'm about to say.

Today I went "up town" (so stated because we live five miles south of town center, the one traffic light). My first errand was to cash a check (written to "cash") at the local-- as well as locally owned-- bank. I exchanged greetings at the drive-in window where the young lady noticed I was wearing makeup (for a change). She apparently remembered me from previous visits, especially from the time the ATM wouldn't give me my money and I had to solicit her help. Another teller, a dear grandmother of one of my favorite high school students a few years ago, stuck her head around the corner to greet me. I signed the check for cash, and went on to sign my husband's name on a check made out to him, which they cashed—no questions asked.

Then I moved across the street to the post office. I parked beside a car whose passenger door was being opened by a very elderly lady, dressed to the nines in her coral pink pants suit and pearls. As I walked into the post office, a likewise elderly man was ahead of me, shuffling his feet and laboring to get inside. I thought I should help him with the door. As I tried to get around him without looking rude or impatient, I caught a whiff of aftershave lotion and I noticed his spotless appearance, his polyester blend shirt tucked in neatly to his pleated pants. I started to stand back when he gallantly opened the door and gestured me inside with all the decorum of a Kappa Alpha pledge. Once inside, I was surprised to realize the window was closed for lunch. The older gentleman reminded me that they would be back at 1:30p.m.

Upon exiting the post office, I saw the elderly lady, apparently his wife, who greeted me with a smile. I asked if the drop-off for the checks for trash pick-up was in the same place, since the city office had relocated. Someone walking by said hello, and Yes, they did still check the drop-off box, which was a discarded library book depository. However, the older lady said she would be glad to take my check and deliver it to the city clerk that afternoon. I thanked her and told her I would simply mail it.

On my way home, I realized I had forgotten to stop by the drugstore and pick up a prescription. No problem; I will simply call the pharmacist and she is always happy to leave the medicine in my mailbox.

As I drove home, I realized the hometown feeling is still alive. There are real people here who want to relate to each other. There are older men who still feel satisfaction from being courteous to women. All together, if catastrophe struck, I would rather be in a community of caring people than in a concrete jungle where everyone is a stranger.

Celebrating 42

This week we are celebrating our 42nd anniversary. Our actual wedding date is July 19, but that night we knew all our children were working, out of town, or otherwise occupied with their busy lives. My day started with Burt bringing me coffee in bed, followed by a relatively unplanned day. I had a haircut scheduled in Albany, so I emailed the young moms that I meet with every week to see if anyone was available to help us celebrate. We decided to meet for dinner at 6:30 that evening, and they could feel free to bring their children. Three of the couples were able to come, so the fourteen of us met at Outback. In the midst of the meal, with the chatter of children and the commotion that goes with a large group, one of the girls said, "So, is this what you had in mind for your romantic evening?" We laughed and said I should take a picture with a caption that said, "And we asked for this!" So we did, and here it is.

I sent the picture to our family members and told them that since they weren't available, we had to find some others to help share the occasion. Our boys' reactions were classic, as usual.

One said, " Didn't know you were cheating on us with another family."

Another one said, "You and Dad have some nice looking kids."

Another, "Good fill-in fam. We're going to have to raise the bar so we won't get replaced."

Our boys always crack me up!

The point of all this is to say "Praise God for wonderful marriages!" Burt and I are happier together than we have ever been, and hardly a day goes by that we don't remind each other of how blessed we are. As vicious as the attack on marriage is now, I am nevertheless encouraged by the couples we know that are committed to doing it right. Our three married sons have marriages founded on solid foundations, and I'm confident the two remaining bachelors will find the same thing. Besides our own guys, I see the same commitment in the young couples I'm with every week, and we find more everywhere we go.

Praise the Lord for marriage. It was His idea in the first place, and unless He changes the plan, it will continue.

Do you hear Me now?

I don't know, but I wonder if a person's subconscious mind responds to music. I believe it does. Every day I think about my friend Mary Jane. I don't know if she thinks about me, or if she thinks about anything. She has Alzheimer's. All I know is that I want to connect with her. The times that I have visited her in the nursing home, I know she knows me. She is as alien to me as E.T. was to Elliott, but I sense the same type connection between us, and I wonder if I can reach her through music.

When I put my headphones on and listen to worship music, I'm immersed in the presence of the Lord. In my mother's hospital room during her last days, we played soothing worship music continuously. Entering her room brought a sense of calm and peace. Hearing the sound throughout airways is one thing, but having the perfect blends of melody and tones directly in the ear takes hearing to a new level.

I want God's voice to be to me as the headphone are: directly heard, clearly received, uncorrupted by other voices. Job 33:14 says, "But God speaks again and again, though people do not recognize it. He speaks in dreams, in visions in the night when deep sleep falls on people as they lie in bed. He whispers in their ear..." And my favorite verse, Isaiah 30:21, "Your ears shall hear a word behind you saying, 'This is the way, walk in it.' " When we want to get a child's attention, the best way is to speak directly into their ear. This is not a time to yell, but to whisper.

I thought this posting was about Mary Jane. Maybe not; maybe it's about me. I don't know very much about Alzheimer's. I only know that I love my friend, I know she's "in there" somewhere, and if I can reach her, I will. I want to put the headphones on her ears and let her hear the sounds of worship and see if she responds. Maybe the Lord is trying to get through to me as I'm trying to get through to her. That's what I pray I'll be sensitive to. I'm learning that the burden is on me to listen. He's not going to raise His voice and yell at me. He's going to whisper in my ear and I don't want to miss it!

How old would you be...?

We just celebrated our oldest son's 41st birthday. Have mercy! My children are almost my age! Burt and I met him and his middle brother at the Cheesecake Factory for brunch Sunday morning. We sat there discussing their plans for business, their present circumstances (both still single), but most importantly, what the Lord was showing and teaching them, and I realized I was seeing the mandate God gave me years ago coming to fruition: "Your purpose is to rear five godly men." Before we ordered I asked them to pray for me because I didn't feel well. By the time our bountiful meal arrived, I had relaxed in the comfort of their love and the awareness of their confidence that God would handle my need. (I've learned that my boys get distressed if they think I'm not okay, and it's a thin line between asking them to pray for me and reassuring them I'm fine.)

Maybe I was stressed because I wanted to convey the message to them (especially the Birthday Boy) that age shouldn't determine attitude. I gave him a card that expressed that sentiment. On the front it read, "How old would you be if you didn't know how old you are?" I told them I'd be 29, because I still think like that. I still believe I have a life before me, the opportunities are unlimited, and there are people that need me and want to hear what I have to say! I feel that I'm about to embark on a new career! I'm in a new season of life, and it's wonderful! And their 75-year-old dad feels the same way!

I love the renewing that comes with the Spirit of the living God living inside us. Do I get tired sometimes? Well yeah. But I did when I was 29 as well. I see every day now just as I did then: full of possibilities, more to do than I can accomplish without some divine assistance. Isn't that exactly what He promised us? Isaiah 40:29-31 says, "Even youths will become exhausted, and young men will give up. But those who wait on the Lord will find new strength. They will fly high on wings like eagles. They will run and not grow weary. They will walk and not faint."

At this point in the journey, I feel like we're all the same age. We're on a road and we're walking abreast, arms linked, advancing together. If one of us stumbles, the others are there to steady him or her and we keep going. I'm basking in the strength that comes from knowing we are all being renewed and energized as the Holy Spirit brings us all into maturity, the maturity that is measured by our likeness to Christ, not by how many birthdays we've celebrated.

So here I am, 29 and holding!!!

God's List

I like making lists— errand lists, grocery lists, project lists, etc. My favorite list, however, is called "Burt's List." This is the Honey-do list, the one wives eventually discover. What makes this list enjoyable is the feeling that as long as it is written down somewhere for the husband to see, eventually it will be done. (The operative word here is "eventually.")

But this morning, I discovered an even better list than the Honey-do. I call it "God's List." When I sat down to read my Bible, I put a notepad on the table beside me, resolving to jot down any errant thoughts that came to me while I concentrated.

It occurred to me that this is the way I need to deal with the annoying musings that come when I least expect them, such as, "What will you do if something happens to your husband?"... "What if you boys never get married?"... "How do you know [a symptom] isn't something serious?" Impressions not from God's Spirit have always been a nuisance, especially when our boys were growing up, the worries that plague moms. Looking back now, I see that none of those things happened.

So I'm forming a new list habit. From this day forward, I will have God's List beside me. The things that cause anxiety that are not the Voice of the Holy Spirit will be put on His list, and He will handle them as only He can.

Lila...look!

I'm studying about the Holy Spirit again. I say "again" because I have been on a 40-year quest to get to know Him, the One that Jesus promised to send us when He left the earth. To this end, I'm reading (again) a book written by Catherine Marshall entitled The Helper.

One of the chapters is about the way the Spirit helps us know how to pray. He enables us to see things the way that Jesus sees them, and when that happens, we know we are praying in God's will, and when that happens, we know our prayer is answered! (I John 5:14).

That's where I want to dwell: in the confidence that I'm praying in a manner to which God responds.

In order to do this, I have to learn to see a situation the way that Jesus sees it, and intercede the way that He would. That means I have to see things through His eyes. How do I do it?

This makes me think of our granddaughter, Lila. We'll see things that we think would be interesting to her. "Look, Lila! There's a hummingbird!" or "Look, there's a deer drinking from the pond!" She squints her eyes and peers everywhere but the right direction. Usually she's looking right in front of herself instead of further out. Then we take her little head in our hands and turn it toward the subject, and we try to send her eyes in a straight line at the end of our pointed finger. We want her to see what we're seeing. Sometimes she gets it, sometimes not.

That's me. I need God's hands on my head directing it, letting me see what's at the end of His pointed finger. Maybe He sees me the way we think about Lila: "When she matures, she'll see."

I pray that the Holy Spirit will show me how to look through Jesus's eyes.

Compelled to Write

I'm writing this morning because I am compelled to. Not that I've had multiple requests for postings (I wish!), but because I can't be content not to. The urge to let out whatever is trapped inside me won't go away. In the May/June 2010 edition of "Writer's Digest," Anne Lamott says about writing, "It's absolutely the most important thing you can do if that thing is inside you, tugging on your sleeve, hoping you'll notice it there, urging you to be one of the storytellers." It's there with me all right, like a child pulling on my clothes until I notice him.

I also attended a writer's workshop this past weekend, led by Penny Whipps, a literary agent and veteran in the publishing industry. Not that I expect to be published, but I went for two reasons: to accompany a close friend, and to be exposed to others who share my passion. In the seminar, Penny stressed the importance of tapping into the social network. I haven't given in yet to Facebook, etc., and everybody seems to have a blog. I stopped writing in this one because nobody read it (not even my children). But I know it's time to get back in public writing. I can express my feelings easily in my journal, but the challenge of penning something that anybody can see is intimidating. Nevertheless, I'm doing it. This is like spending endless hours shooting free throws after basketball practice. My skills will improve; my confidence will rise, and who knows? I might even post on Facebook!