Today is our 25th Wedding Anniversary. It doesn't seem possible. I have spent more of my life being married than not being married...wow.

I recently read about a play in which a girl was allowed to choose one day of her life to relive.
It got me pondering which day I would choose. I asked Bob which day he would choose. He doesn't like questions like this. They make him skittish. I think he thinks I have a "right" answer in mind and if he comes up with the "wrong" one, all hell will break loose. I persevered and he finally came up with a day he thought he would like to relive. He chose our wedding day. That happened to be the wrong answer. It was not a good day, it was filled with tension and Fiddler on the Roof music (and I hated Fiddler on the Roof). Sadly, being the spineless little people pleaser that I was, I let everyone else decide almost every detail of my big day. My sweet Aunt Janet came up with some ideas for songs and after she read me some oh- so appropriate lyrics, I went with the ones she suggested. I was horrified when they started belting out "Sunrise, Sunset" at the rehearsal. Why didn't someone tell me the songs were from Fiddler on the Roof??? Well, it was a little too late to change anything by then.

Bob said he only chose that day because he wanted to go back and change everything so that it would be a wonderful memory for me. I told him that part of the "rules" were that you couldn't change anything, you had to relive it just as it was, so he needed to come up with another day. He wouldn't. I put a great deal of thought into which day I would choose for myself. I told him I would like to relive the day he first told me he loved me. It was one of the happiest days of my life. Truly. I could hardly believe that Bob Staples loved me, of all the girls that had a thing for him (and there were many), he loved me! It was very intoxicating. It probably wasn't such a stellar day for him. His avowal of love was met with total silence on my part. Finally, I just embarrassingly buried my face in his neck. I was such a goof. Months and months later I finally mustered up the courage to tell him I loved him, too (even though I'd been hopelessly in love with him for almost as long as I could remember).

If I had gotten a peek on my wedding day into all that was going to transpire in the next 25 years I probably would have done an about face and marched right back out of the church (or rather pranced out accompanied by that silly Fiddler on the Roof music). How fortunate that God doesn't let us see into the future. Because if I had walked out I would have missed out on experiencing the miraculous ways He has healed our marriage, making us stronger and more dependant on Him than ever. I would have missed out on seeing how tenderly, totally and selflessly Bob has loved all of us. I would have missed out on seeing the special love Bob has for Brett and how he has never viewed him as anything but a gift from God, with a special purpose. He considers Brett the "glue" that has bonded us together. Bob has never complained or resented the fact that we will be tending to Brett's every need for the rest of our lives...this in spite of the fact that we get absolutely nothing back from him...not even so much as a smile.

Since those first early days of dating Bob, I haven't been able to envision a life with out him, I still can't. Like the words of that old Barry White song, he is "my first, my last...my everything". Happy Anniversary, Babe!

When Dane was three years old I ordered him a Batman costume from a catalogue. As soon as I opened it I realized that something had gone terribly awry in the assembly of the mask. It was so tall  you could have fit two heads in it. One of the ears was straight up while the other one was almost stitched flat.

Dane didn't recognize the strangeness of it and could hardly wait to don the whole get-up and pretend he was Batman. I wanted to throw myself on the floor laughing after I put the mask on him, but somehow, I managed to keep a straight face.

Dane raced around the house, cape flying behind him, fighting off his imaginary foes, and generally just having a rollicking good time....until he caught a gander of himself in the hall mirror. I could tell by how still he suddenly got that he was stunned. I could see his little eyes looking through the mask taking in the whole ridiculously freakish picture he made. It most certainly was not Batman. And the Batman game was definitely over. I realized it was actually a good thing that he got a glimpse of himself in the mirror because it would have been infinitely worse to let him get laughed at. Let's face it, if his own mother could hardly keep a straight face, he wasn't going to fare well with the general public.

Our Brett has hydrocephalus and when he was born his head was already way bigger than it should have been. As the days progressed it just kept getting bigger and bigger, until finally it was imperative that he undergo brain surgery to have a shunt put in. Because his head was so abnormal looking (and still is to some extent), I became fascinated with the variety of heads out there. For one, I had gotten so used to Brett's large head that every normal infant I saw looked like a pin-head.

I'm still fascinated with all the various sizes and shapes of heads. There are tiny headed (of which I happen to have one), flat headed, huge headed, pointy headed and lumpy headed, all out and about and doing just fine, thank you.

Bob and I both realize what a blessing it is that Brett is blissfully unaware that he doesn't look or act normal. We are very thankful that we never have to worry about his feelings getting hurt, because let's face it, nothing hurts quite so much as seeing your child get hurt. Especially the emotional hurts.

Most of the time, physical hurts heal and the pain is temporary, but being mocked and rejected often leaves life-long scars. We can't kiss away these "boo-boo's" or put band aids on them.

We can't protect our kids from the inevitable sorrows of life, but we can trust in the One who loves them more perfectly than we can. Jesus told us we would have troubles, but He didn't stop there, He said, "but take heart! I have overcome the world!" (John 16:33) Someday "He will wipe every tear from their eyes, and there will be no more death or sorrow or crying or pain," (Rev. 21:4), until then we have been promised that "He who is in us is greater than he who is in the world" (1 John 4:4) and that we can be "more than conquerors through Him who loves us" (Rom. 8:37). Everything that takes place God uses to take us to the place He wants us to be. He doesn't waste any experiences (Rom. 8:28), not the broken hearts, the crushed spirits or even guilt and shame.

I was given the opportunity to finally see Caitlin's beautiful little apartment and the school where she teaches. I'm always in awe of Caitlin. Always. How did she go from pretending to teach school to actually having real live students? Of course they love her... who wouldn't? I can tell she's a wonderful teacher and that she loves those kids with everything she has.

What a treat it was to attend their morning meeting, to hear God's word shared and marvel how much wisdom has soaked into those little minds. Even the littlest ones had answers that reflected real Bible knowledge. Wow.

Of course I got to spend time with my sister and her boys, too. I can never get enough of them. She had a bunch of her friends over for brunch. Five two-year olds and one three-year old were part of the entourage and Kristie had hired a babysitter to keep them occupied in her basement.

I was more tired than usual, not feeling up to socializing with people I don't know (isn't that terrible?). She needn't have hired the babysitter because I decided I'd like nothing more than to hang out with the kids. Perhaps because Brett is blind and doesn't really do anything, but I'm more fascinated than ever by children and their distinctly different personalities and interests. They are all so unique, so funny and adorable.

My little nephew Sam is one of the most beautiful little boys I've ever seen. His big brown eyes, perfectly chunky body and big wide smile would melt anybody. I can hardly keep myself from stroking his pudgy cheeks and kissing his sweet neck. Of course, you can only get away with so much of that before they start avoiding you like the plague. Sam seemed rather bored with the other boys and didn't interact much with them, just played contentedly with his cars.

The other boys dug in the toy box until they found things that could be used as weapons. There were numerous bouts but surprisingly no one got seriously hurt. The two little girls dug desperately in the toy box for something that would interest them and, lo and behold, one of them unearthed a baby doll. She was thrilled with her find and gently cradled her in her arms. Alas, there wasn't one for the other little girl and she eventually settled for pulling a little chair up close to watch and admire the "baby."

I marveled at how God made us so innately different...so evident in these precious little ones. I thoroughly enjoyed quietly observing and occasionally laughing out loud at their antics. I was almost sorry to see them all leave but looked forward to spending the last few hours with my sister before I had to head back home. Time with my sister is always wonderful, she's not only an insightful and fascinating conversationalist, but she laughs all the time...and it's delightfully contagious.

What made my little excursion to D.C. possible was that my friend Dawn offered to come and stay with Brett for me. She not only watched him, she cooked us up a fine dinner and even baked us a cake! I prayed specifically that Brett would be his usual content self and that she wouldn't have to change a messy diaper. Sadly, God didn't grant me either of those requests (the only disappointment in my near perfect day). I asked God to especially bless her because she is a busy, busy gal and yet she carved out these hours just for me. Dawn, I am so thankful for our friendship!

Our driveway has become somewhat of a demolition derby. For some odd reason, all of us, at some time or another, have backed out of our driveway (at breakneck speed), forgotten that we had visitors, and blasted into their cars. My mom's car has taken the most hits (since she's our most frequent visitor, the odds are stacked against her).

I have to say I was almost glad when Bob eventually joined our team of demolitionists. Once on our way to church, he speedily backed up and slammed into my mom's car. There's nothing quite as disheartening as a few seconds of inattention causing hundreds of dollars of damage. I really hated for him to have to endure that all too familiar sick feeling but at least it allowed him to experience some empathy for the rest of us (which was severely lacking before).

Some months ago, my friend's son, Blake had spent the night and I had to leave for work before anyone else was up. I was running late (how uncharacteristic!) and came flying out of our garage and only noticed Blake's car as I whizzed by it, missing it by mere millimeters. It scared me so bad I couldn't help but cry out, "Oh, thank you Lord!" It was a miracle, there's no other way to explain it. I never peel out of the garage hugging that side of the driveway (a flattened bush on the other side of the driveway attests to this). What a potentially hideous morning God saved me from!

The overwhelming gratitude that started my morning affected my entire day. It gave me a new appreciation of the enormous benefits of a grateful spirit. When we're deliberately and specifically thanking God we can't help but feel connected to Him. I felt like I was offering up whispers of thanksgiving all day long. As I stepped on the employee bus, I noticed a pitiful girl sitting across from me that had a very, very small amount of hair, and I whispered up a thanks for my own hair. Thinking back, a loving, thoughtful Christian would have asked God to give her an adequate amount, yet I didn't offer up a single syllable of prayer for that poor girl (which just goes to show you what a self-centered little piece of work I really am).

What a gift it is to have eyes that see God's hand working in us, around us and for us! My friend Tammy has always had a unique gift to see God's hand in every situation. Thankfully, it has been a contagious gift, because I know I have grown in my own awareness of His Presence through her. It's taken almost thirty years, but finally some of her habitual gratitude is rubbing off on me! May we all learn to "be joyful always, to pray continually and to give thanks in all circumstances." (Col. 3:15)

By the way, if you do pay us a visit, you might want to park in the street.

Bob and I just returned from an incredible five days in Marco Island Florida. We stayed at a breathtakingly beautiful beachfront resort. The employees referred to it as "Paradise" and I felt like I was in paradise, enjoying the bright sunshine and gorgeous sunsets. Each morning I woke up thinking that there really can't be too many places in the whole world as beautiful as this. Even the nights were like day because the moon reflected so brightly off the white sand. As picture perfect as the surroundings were, and I did try to soak up every detail, it was the people we met that were the most beautiful and made the greatest impact...an eternal impact.

In early 2008, a close friend of Caitlin's introduced her to some of the people that are responsible for putting on the National Prayer Breakfast. She was fascinated with their vision and desired to be a part of it. She applied for a nine month internship that would begin the following fall and was blessed to be one of only four girls in the nation to get one.

In November of 2008 we were invited out to Washington D.C. for a parent weekend to spend some time with the people who were mentoring our children. Caitlin had shared that many of the people involved in the group held high government positions, rubbed shoulders with world leaders, owned companies, were sitting judges and lawyers. I felt a little intimidated. What could a flight attendant and a car salesman possibly contribute to that group? More than likely they'd think we're a couple of nitwits. How wrong I was! I have never felt such genuine love from essential strangers in my entire life....and oh, how they love Caitlin! They genuinely cared about us and wanted to hear every detail about our life with Brett and how God has worked and continues to work in our lives.

Their desire is to be Jesus to people and their tangible love and joy has attracted many rich and influential people to join in their effort to reach every corner of the globe. It thrilled us to know that Caitlin was being discipled by these people.

That weekend had an enormous impact on my thinking, prodding me to reach out to people like they do. It is too easy for me to stay in my familiar little world, not caring to open up to strangers, accept help or even meet new people. When Peggy and Michael Gooch (parents of one of the interns) invited us to attend the Willow Bank Memorial Gathering in Florida, I didn't have a clue what it was but I thought we should try and go... I wanted be around those people again!

With a special needs child that requires 24/7 care, just picking up and flying off somewhere is no longer an option. As God would have it, a friend with a special needs child of her own had recently taken advantage of a charity organization called Children are Precious (childrenareprecious.net) that provides respite care for parents or caregivers of special needs children. I felt overwhelmingly grateful for such an organization. It seemed almost too good to be true that these precious people, having experienced the need themselves, began an organization to provide a break for people like us. All they ask in return is that at some point we might share our testimony at a fundraiser. The news got even better when we discovered they would hire a nurse we knew, someone who we knew would love on Brett and take extra special care of him. What peace of mind! God is good. Though every detail seemed to be falling into place, Bob was still wary about spending the money, feeling it wasn't something we could afford at the time. I was convinced we should make every attempt to go. It wasn't like we were buying stuff...we would be spending money on something that would have eternal benefits!

From the minute we walked into our little meeting room, we felt inexplicably loved and embraced by these people. We know that each connection we made was divinely orchestrated by God to touch us in some way. We were divided into small groups. Merle and Mary Ann were our small group facilitators and we were joined by Patrick and Leslie. On the second day Mary Ann insisted on treating me to a massage. I'd never gotten one, and I spent the 50 glorious minutes thanking God for the opportunity to be there and for Mary Ann's generous heart.

There was a reason God had us in the group that He did. Because we shared a common bond in Jesus, we weren't afraid to be vulnerable and we shared from our hearts. The theme for the week was growth...are we growing? If not, why not? What is impeding our growth, how can we foster it?

After we returned I was reading some verses about growth and noticed something I'd never picked up on before. In 1 Cor. 3, Paul tells the Corinthians that they weren't ready for solid food, they were still too worldly, still too filled with jealousy and quarrels... they were still just mere men. What struck me is that spiritual growth is supposed transform us into more than mere men. This is what made this gathering of people so different...with Jesus at the helm of their lives, they are more than mere men. These people are not willing to just stay comfortable in their familiar, comfortable environment, they are continually growing and reaching out.

Bob commented on what an awesome time he had golfing with complete strangers. Because of the connectedness he felt with these men through Jesus, he was able to laugh and share with them as if he'd known them his entire life.

I could fill pages with all the fascinating stories and heartfelt sharing. A couple who especially touched Bob and I had fostered and then adopted three boys. They've suffered through trials and set backs with their boys that would have sunk most people... yet they exude joy! They laughed more in the short time we spent with them than some people do in an entire year. Bob and I were profoundly affected by their example, so inspired by their example.

The night before we checked out, one of the men approached Bob and said a few of them had decided they wanted to pick up the tab for our entire stay. We were so bowled over by their unexpected generosity that we hardly knew how to express our gratitude.

That last night I didn't sleep a wink as I played over in my mind all the stories, the people, the sharing, the generosity, the love and the hope that was shared. It was mind boggling the way these people reached out to us. I still don't understand it, but Bob and I have decided we want to reach back. We don't want it to be just a vacation we'll never forget, we want to do what it takes to maintain these connections that God undoubtedly orchestrated.

I used to think a gorilla could do my job. Not anymore. I think it would shock most people to know just how much we need to know. Not just know, but prove our mental and physical prowess each and every year. It's either that or lose our jobs.  Plus I doubt gorillas love people and love to travel, ha-ha.

Oddly enough, the more I fly the more I think passengers believe we're nothing short of little Einstein's.

They believe our geography knowledge is second to none. They think we're capable of discerning which state lines we are crossing. We can name every mountain range we're flying over, every body of water and each little city.

They believe we are capable of predicting the future. We can tell them if the weather is going to affect our arrival or departure time. I always thought it would be fun to carry around a magic eight ball and when asked if they're going to make their connection, I could consult it and show them the answer, "Not likely."  Can you tell us if the row behind us will stay empty, so we can spread out a bit? I could give the eight ball another shake, "Fat Chance."

This is only a tiny sampling of how deep and vast they believe our knowledge is. It's almost like some of them get dumbed down the minute they step on board. Many have trouble deciding if they should head into the cockpit or down the aisle. They have difficulty matching their seat number with the row they're in. They can't decipher diagrams that tell them whether they're at the window or the aisle. They can't distinguish the ashtray (that's in the center of the door) from the door handle to get into the lavatory. On doors you need to push to get into, there's a big sign on the door that says, "PUSH." They find this so baffling I need to do a charade-like illustration of "pushing" to help them out. They can't remember the definitions of "occupied" and "vacant."

Remember those toys we played with when we were little--the ones that had different shapes that fit into different holes? Only the square shaped piece fit into the square shaped hole? When they get on an airplane that simple concept escapes them. At least we didn't break the toy when the square piece didn't fit into the rectangular hole. Not them, they will break the bin before they'll recognize that their square luggage will not fit into the rectangular sized bin. On the buttons above their seat they have trouble differentiating the reading light button from the flight attendant call button--even though the light button has a picture of light bulb on it.
 

Our knowledge of the airplane itself surpasses those of the best mechanics. We can pinpoint every odd noise it makes, the speed at which we are flying, the maximum range of each aircraft, the type of engine it has and how many engines it has (um, isn't that one kind of obvious?). What's really funny is that I actually throw out answers like, "it's  just the hydraulics." The sad truth is I don't even know what hydraulics are. I keep meaning to find out. But I heard a pilot give that answer for a noise I hear a lot and so I know that's what it is.  What I can truthfully answer (and often do) is, "it's normal." If it isn't "normal" you can bet your bottom dollar I'd let someone know it wasn't normal. 

I remember when my son, Dane, was only four years old and had to sit by himself on a flight. I drilled him on how to act, "Have your order ready, don't you dare ask what we have, tell them as quickly and clearly as possible what you want, say 'please' and 'thank you' and then just sit there and look at your books."

The whole time I'm giving him his "coaching" he's staring up at the flight attendant call button and at the end of my explicit instructions to ONLY push it if there's an emergency, he adds "...or if I want another drink."

"NO! Haven't you been listening?? I said NEVER push it unless there's an emergency."

"Well--then why is the button a picture of a lady carrying a drink?" he asks, logically enough. Why, indeed? Because flight attendants didn't design them, that's why.

"Just don't do it, okay?" And he didn't. 

He was a perfect little passenger and did the most perfect thing of all--he slept the entire flight.

I just got back from three long, brutal days of training in Atlanta. As part of merging with Delta, we are acquiring several new types of aircraft and all flight attendants must be qualified on each and every one of them. Thus I've endured three days of cramming in hundreds of new facts, new commands, and new ways of dealing with emergencies and then being tested on all of it. Failing isn't an option.

I've concluded that there are no two words in the English language that can knock the sense out of me quite like "Easy Victor." In an emergency situation, when the words "Easy Victor" are heard from the cockpit it technically means the airplane has come to a complete stop. For us, it means Act 1, Scene 1, and we are the sole performers.

It is imperative that we say our lines verbatim and that our actions follow the script exactly. Just when I think I've got my "role" down, I hear those words "Easy Victor" and suddenly I can't even remember the first word of the first line, much less what my hands and body are supposed to be doing.

If a "take 2" is required we are not allowed to be told what we did wrong in "take 1." We think about it and start from "Easy Victor" again. If a "take 3" is required we take a break and go think long and hard about how we're going to perfect our "role" because there will be no "take 4."After three days of numerous "performances" I've decided that I absolutely detest the words "Easy Victor."

Lest you think I didn't learn anything useful I will conclude with something I learned that was helpful (we even watched an ever-so-helpful video on it): Do not send any incapacitated crew members down the escape hatch head first.

After reading my dad's thoughts on entitlements, I was thinking about how destructive the whole "entitlement" mentality is. Not just for our country, but spiritually as well. A large portion of our population feels that we are entitled to free health care (no matter that it would be the furthest thing from "free"). Feeling we're "owed" something takes the pride out of accomplishing it on our own. Just like my dad said, mandated "giving" robs us from the God given pleasure of giving on our own.

In our spiritual life this same feeling of being "owed" certain things robs us of joy-giving gratitude. I've worked hard, I'm entitled to a good time. They really hurt me, I'm entitled to hurt them back. I've been disappointed with some of the things that have happened in my life, I'm entitled to feel sorry for myself and resentful of those who haven't suffered similar misfortunes. They didn't treat me with respect, I'm entitled to be rude to them. They made some rude gesture at me while I was driving, I'm entitled to be angry and wish bad things on them. They're driving 40 in a 55, and I'm running late for work, so I'm entitled to ride their tail and flash my lights (I learned that trick from somebody...could it be...Bob?).

God's life instructions are in complete opposition to the "entitlement" mentality. He asks us to bless those who curse us. To pray for those who are evil. To work diligently, "doing it all in the name of the Lord Jesus." To give thanks in all situations. To consider others better than ourselves. To be peacemakers and live peaceably with all men. All the very opposite of what feels natural to us.

The only thing we are really "entitled" to is a life in Hell separated from God for eternity. Yet when we do things God's way He is faithful to give us inexplicable peace and joy. It's just so darn hard...some days MUCH harder than others. I know God is faithful, that He did begin a good work in me and that He is continuing to mold me more and more into the image of His Son. So eventually I know I'm gonna be nicer...in fact, I think I must be nicer than I was last year and I should be even nicer next year. Isn't that what growing in grace and knowledge is all about? (2 Peter 3:17). I know Bob, for one, will be especially be encouraged by this possibility.

"Rejoice! Let your gentleness be evident to all. The Lord is near! Do not be anxious about anything. But in everything, by prayer and petition with thanksgiving, present your requests to God, and the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus." (Philippians 4:4-7)

My dad always disliked the word "entitlement". I recently came upon a letter he wrote to an editor in 1995 (!) and thought I'd share some excerpts with you:

"The concept of 'entitlement' is at the very least presumptuous. I don't accept the idea! Why should any hard-working member of the productive element of our great nation be 'herded into' the notion that we owe the non-productive element anything?....Believe it or not, I am actually benevolent. But, I DECIDE to whom I will be benevolent....I do not need government to facilitate my giving (at my cost). There is 'pleasure' in giving. This pleasure is obliterated when giving is mandated."

A few paragraphs later he continues with, "You may find this a bit hard to believe, but I consider paying federal income taxes a great privilege. It is an opportunity beyond comprehension for people in third world societies. We, the productive element of our great society, can buy-into the ownership of the United States of America in proportion to our income! Yet, my vote counts exactly the same as Bill Gates or Steve Forbes. Think about it. The operative word is "income". There is no need to tax citizens that have no income (and by that I mean disposable income). Just look at last year's form 1040. You tell me, are there no opportunities for improvement? (1) If you had the misfortune of paying $5000.00 for medical treatment, why shouldn't 100% of it be a deduction from income? (2) People are our most valuable national resource. If you can prove that you paid out $5000.00 for the education of your dependant children, why shouldn't 100% of the expenditure be a deduction from income? (3) If your labor paid you $30,000 for an entire year's hard work, why should you be required to pay any income tax? (4) If you decided to sell your home that served you well for 20 years, but nearing retirement, you and your wife decided you don't need, why should you pay any income tax on your 'capital gain'? I could go on. ....Certainly there is room for improvement in our federal income tax code. But, what is vastly more important is where the money goes! As of today, our hard earned dollars are going to things that most of us don't believe in and would not support, if asked."

My dad was particularly concerned about our national debt. He quotes the great economist Milton Friedman: "The problem to address is spending." He goes on to say that what needs to be balanced is our national check book! ....Most of us hardworking suckers must live within our means. If we want something a little beyond necessity we plan ("budget") our income. Pretty simple. ....But, your federal government elitists are not constrained by this simple philosophy. The have infinite resources: tax on the hard-working suckers.

....But in fact, your elected representatives are your employees. Unfortunately, you and I have abdicated our responsibilities as an employer. We have "excuses": We've been too busy trying to make ends meet. We've been focusing on raising good citizens. We work.

....In case you haven't thought about it, you and I are going to die! Our time is not infinite. Before I die, I am going to do all that I can to leave this United States in the shape it was given to me: With no entitlements."

Sadly my dad went to be with the Lord in 1999. Can you imagine how horrified he'd be with his beloved country's debt now??? My dad was constantly stressing to us kids how important it was to contribute (he DID like that word). He wanted us to be involved, to know who our representatives are and to hold them accountable to follow the will of their constituents, always stressing that they work for us. We are their employer. I don't think there's ever been a time in our country's history that we need to understand and act upon this more. I've always been in awe of my dad's prescient wisdom. A day doesn't go by that I don't miss getting his "take" on things. I know if he were still with us his heart would be broken by all that has happened and continues to happen. I was overcome with nostalgia after reading his letter and was moved to share his thoughts with you. I hope you can appreciate how opportune they are today....more than 14 years after he wrote them!

I've decided I have a real problem with people telling me what to do. One of the commands that rankles me the most is being told to "smile!" I'm usually quite pleasant and welcoming when passengers are boarding, but occasionally my mind must wander and my smile (evidently) fades. Sadly, I always obey the command (on cue, like a trained dog) and immediately plaster a big, phony smile on my face that usually stays there for the duration of the boarding process.

The one who gave the command is oblivious to the fact that he is now jockeying for first place for my "jerk of the day" award. I amuse myself with my mental tallying of asinine comments and behavior. Some days I encounter quite a few contenders for the title.

It's interesting that there are times when I fully intend to do something but then when I'm told to do it, I'm suddenly determined not to do it. The pile of clothes in my closet may be getting higher and higher, but just when I decide to start hanging some of them up, Bob will tell me I need to start hanging them up, which only necessitates the pile getting twice as high before I'll attempt to dismantle it. What's up with that??

Isn't the first step to getting beyond an issue realizing that you have an issue to begin with? So I'm sure I'll eventually rise above this contrariness, but until then, please don't tell me to smile.

I love that commercial where two little girls are offered ponies. The first girl is handed a little toy trinket of a pony, which she perfectly happy with. They ask the little girl next to her if she'd like one too, but instead of a little toy they lead in a real pony.

It's comical to watch (from her face and body language alone) how stupid and worthless the first little girl now views her "pony."

This commercial so aptly illustrates how happy we can be until we see someone else who has something better.

Like the story Jesus tells about the workers. The workers are pleased as punch to have jobs, happy with the work rules and pay until new workers are brought in and given the same pay for half the work...and bam, just like that, that's the end of their job satisfaction (Matthew 20).

It's amazing how quickly a little comparing can jolt the joy right out of you. You've always been perfectly happy with your bathtub, until you visit a home with a large sunken bathtub and suddenly you realize you've been bathing in a bucket. You think you've got a decent amount of hair, until you start comparing the size of your ponytail to others and realize you're actually practically bald.

I'm being facetious, but you see where I'm going with this...comparing what God has given us to what He's given to someone else is never good. Even when we perceive our life as being the superior one, it's destructive because insidious pride seeps in. We start believing we somehow deserve a "better" life than someone else.

Jesus said He came to give us life...life to the full (John 10:10). I love that verse. We're here to make a difference, to live a life that matters and the most gratifying feeling in the world is knowing we're right where God wants us to be.

Sometimes I watch normal little boys and I literally ache for Brett to be like them. When I have thoughts like this, I remind myself of what Tammy once told me, that Brett is God's pleasing and perfect will for our family right now.

Someday we'll see all the good Brett's life has brought into this world, good that only came about because he is the way God made him. Until then, I'll continue to remind myself not to compare my life with others, because God in His infinite wisdom is molding and refining me to accomplish what no other person is as uniquely qualified as I am to do.

I like how The Message translates Ephesians 2:10, "He creates each of us by Christ Jesus to join Him in the work He does, the good work He has gotten ready for us to do, work we had better be doing."

May we all find joy and purpose in the life God has given us, regardless of what circumstances we may find ourselves in.

"Little Miss Sunshine" is one of my favorite movies. It's one of the few movies that made me laugh out loud and cry my eyes out. Unfortunately, it's full of foul language and unsavory characters. But, if you can get beyond that, you'll see a story that hilariously illustrates that sometimes the only way to get beyond our own sad circumstances is to put everything we have into helping someone else.

The movie opens with a little girl (Olive) watching a Miss America contest. She stands there enraptured, oblivious to the sad contrast of the contestants' perfect bodies and her own plump body with her unmistakably rounded belly. It  is Olive's dream to be a contestant in a beauty contest.

Each of the characters in this film has a dream and as the movie unfolds we see all of their dreams shattered. I know it sounds like the furthest thing from hilarity, but you just have to trust me on this one.

When Olive gets a phone call letting her know she's been selected (by default) to be a contestant in the Little Miss Sunshine beauty pageant, she literally runs through the house screaming at the top of her lungs.

The logistics of actually getting Olive are not in her favor, but remarkably enough, the family rises to the challenge and they pull out all the stops to get her there. The disasters they encounter along the way keep us laughing and wondering if our sweet Olive will ever make it.

The family arrives with seconds to spare. They are visibly horrified when they see the freakish, mannequin-like little contestants prancing around in all their exquisite finery. (Jon-Bonet Ramsey comes to mind).

Their elaborate hair and make-up make Olive look pitifully out of place, completely out of her league. The family's own problems are forgotten as each one tries in vain to keep Olive from the humiliation of performing along side these ultra-talented little caricatures of beauty pageant contestants.

However, Olive perseveres and the family is forced to sit agonizingly through one amazingly perfect performance after another. Finally, it is Olive's turn to perform and she shyly dedicates her performance to her grandfather.

Apparently Olive's chaotic home life had left her largely to her own devices. As it turns out, only her heroine addicted grandfather had been available to teach her a dance routine. As the chords to Rick James' "Superfreak" begin, it becomes obvious that her "dance" is nothing short of a sexy strip tease act. They sit in stunned silence as she provocatively tears off her pants and saucily tosses her top hat at the appalled announcer. She's blissfully oblivious to the scorn, shock and outrage breaking out around her. One by one, like mother hens protecting their chick, each family member joins her on the stage, dancing with her and shielding her from the onslaught of the increasingly hostile crowd.

I see parallels in Olive's family and our Christian family. We all have shattered dreams of some sort. We all have our funny quirks and various "issues," yet we desperately need each other. It's only through helping each other along the journey that we find our own joy and purpose.

Sadly, our days of high school baseball have come to an end. It has been an exciting four years and it flew by entirely too quickly. My mom often watched Brett so I could go to the games. When she wasn't available and it was too cold and rainy to take Brett out, my little car became an all terrain vehicle enabling me to drive right up to the fences at the various ball fields. At one particular school I was especially determined not to miss a thing (Dane was pitching!!) and I had to jump a curb and drive stealthily up the lawn between two fields. A woman from the other team was visibly shocked at my gall and stormed over to the car. I politely rolled down the window to hear what she had to say,

"Just what do you think you're doing?" she asked indignantly.

"Me? Oh. I'm watching my son play baseball." Isn't that rather obvious?

I don't think she knew how to respond to my candor or maybe she saw Brett and didn't have the heart to order me off the lawn, but either way, I continued to enjoy my warm, comfortable front row seat.

At a playoff game against Plymouth (at Plymouth) one of our big hitters, Dan Stoney, hit a home run that landed in the middle of the tennis courts (over 400 feet!). Dan is the baby in his family and the only boy. It's obvious that his older sisters are two of his biggest fans. After his home run, his mom texted them both with the news. One texted back, "Hot Damn!"the other "Praise God! I've really been praying for him!" Sue got a big kick out of it, commenting on how perfectly it illustrated the stark differences in their personalities. Regardless of their different responses, they were both thrilled for their "little" brother.

There is something about witnessing siblings obvious love and concern for each other that really touches me. I feel like parents have done something really right when their children love and support each other. I think about our Heavenly Father and of His many exhortations that we love one another. I know I'm not the only parent that feels a particular joy when I see evidence that my kids genuinely love each other. I think it gives us a small glimpse of the pleasure it gives God when He sees His children being "kind and compassionate to one another, forgiving each other, just as in Christ God forgave us." (Eph. 4:32).

"Let me give you a new command: Love one another. In the same way I loved you, you love one another. This is how everyone will recognize that you are my disciples—when they see the love you have for each other." (John 13:34-35, The Message).

I had a trip last week I thought was going to be a complete bonanza. All we had to do was ferry an airplane (no passengers) from Detroit to Quebec City, pick up a group of people, fly them to Boston and then ferry the aircraft back to Detroit. Does it get any easier than that?

I packed lots of reading material and was prepared to enjoy my easy day. It was not enjoyable, at all.

Turns out a fancy-schmancy Spanish insurance company had chartered a couple of our 747's for their little jaunt from Quebec City to Boston and had specifically requested to have Spanish-speaking only flight attendants. Uh-oh. No hablo espanol. We did have four flight attendants who spoke Spanish, so it should still be okay. It's a 52 minute flight from Quebec City to Boston, for crying out loud. How hard could it be to pass out Pepsi's and snack boxes?

I vowed to be the happiest, most eager to please flight attendant they'd ever laid eyes on and it wouldn't matter a lick that I didn't speak Spanish. They were a happy bunch and the boarding seemed to be going seamlessly. I was working in the back, nodding and grinning and trying to be as helpful as possible.

All the announcements were being made in Spanish, so I had no idea a man in the upper deck had somehow managed to crack his head open and they had subsequently paged for a doctor. A passenger came up to me and in halting English told me she was a doctor. I wasn't sure how to respond. Well...bully for you... so is my brother-in-law? I just nodded, trying to looked suitably impressed. She didn't appear to appreciate my response to her little bit of braggadocio and started pointing at the ceiling until I finally understood she was saying that "they" had paged for a doctor. They did?

I led her to one of the Spanish speaking flight attendants who told her that they'd already gotten a doctor to bind up the wounds of the klutzy Spaniard upstairs.

Shortly after I got that cleared up some passengers came to me to help them find their seats. Surely, I could handle this one. I took their boarding passes and motioned for them to follow me. Their seats were in row 79. I led them back and back and back and... discovered the rows ended at 68. Hmmmm...this was a toughie. I shrugged my shoulders and motioned for them to take some empty seats until I could sort it out. They weren't understanding me, so again, I hailed one of the Spanish speaking flight attendants and after he explained the problem to them, they looked at me and laughed.

The flight attendant made some comments of his own and they looked at me and laughed more heartily. It was very unsettling. It's no fun to stand there like a stooge and be mocked in another language. Hey! I wanted to say, don't you think I might be able to figure out what "muy stupido" means?

It was actually the very first time I'd ever been on a 747 so I had no idea that rows in the 70's were in the upper deck. What an idiotic way to do it...who had thought up such an illogical way of numbering the rows anyway? That was the one who was muy stupido...not me. 

I asked the spanish speaking flight attendant what they were finding so funny and he said they were a little incredulous that a flight attendant didn't know how many rows there were but, no problemo, he had cleverly turned it into a big joke. Har-dee-har-har. Oh, well. Live and learn. I guess I should be happy I gave those people such a big laugh--a little unexpected bonus thrown in for them, free of charge.

As I started making my way through the cabin and closing bins I noticed a girl crying in an exit row. The man next to her was trying to soothe her but she just kept getting more and more upset. It was evolving into all out wailing but I didn't want to stare. Maybe a boyfriend had just broken up with her or something...they're a passionate people, right? I certainly didn't want to risk saying anything muy stupido again.

I continued closing bins and by the time I circled back there was major drama going on with the weeping girl at the exit row. When a flight attendant had attempted to brief her about her exit seating duties, he wisely determined the shrieking wasn't going to cut it for the "willing and able to assist in an emergency" response we require. We would have to move her to another seat.

The girl was incapable of moving, apparently she was having a full-blown panic attack. Yet another page for a doctor, oxygen bottles brought out, paper bags provided for breathing into---the whole nine yards. Nothing seemed to be working to calm her down.

One of her traveling companions commented that they go through this every leg. Every leg??? It seemed like they would have grown tired of these antics and sent her packing back to Spain a long time ago. They finally had to physically lift her out of her seat, one lifting her torso, the other her legs and tote her back to a row of empty seats. They laid her down, belted her in while one stroked her head and the other her feet until she finally calmed down. Phew!

Finally, we were able to take off. The service required passing out hot towels, snack boxes and a beverage. There were six of us serving close to 300 people in the back and the 52 minute flight only allowed us to serve about half the people before we had to quickly stow everything and prepare for landing. How embarrassing. The whole "easy" day was a fiasco from start to finish.

I was telling Caitlin about it and asked her if she'd brushed up on her Spanish during her stint at an orphanage in El Salvador. She said she had boned up on only two phrases: "sientate por favor!" (please sit down!) and "quieres pow pow?" (do you want a spanking?). Darn! I could have used those phrases! I could have told the passengers to please sit down and I could have asked that girl if she wanted a spanking. It would have been perfect. Oh well. Maybe next time---though I'm kind of hoping there won't be a next time.

I read something once that said "We act as though comfort and luxury were the chief requirement of life, when all we really need to make us happy is something to be enthusiastic about." Isn't that the truth? Winston Churchill described success as "going from failure to failure without any loss of enthusiasm." I love it.

I was reminded of that joke about the optimist and pessimist, where a couple of psychologists decided to perform an experiment on two little boys, one an eternal optimist and the other a perpetual pessimist.

They locked the pessimist in a room with every thing a boy could ever dream of owning. There was a real merry-go-round, an umpteen amount of popular video games, a live pony and all sorts of other toys to charm the daylights out of any little boy. Surprisingly, when they came to check on him in a hour, they found his dreary little self just sitting in a corner.

They were incredulous, "Why are you just sitting there??? Why aren't you playing with all the fun things we've provided for you?"

He answered dejectedly, "If I tried to ride the pony it would probably buck me off, if I rode the merry-go-round it would probably make me dizzy and the video games are too violent..."

They left him moping in the corner and went to check on the optimist. They had locked this little boy in a room full of nothing but manure. When they came to check on him, he appeared to be having the time of his life! He was diving in and out of the manure, happily flinging it about,  just having a walloping good time.

Again, they were absolutely incredulous, "What are you doing??? How could you be having so much fun in there?"

The happy little lad answered joyously, "I just figured with all this manure, there had to be a pony in here somewhere!"

Doesn't this illustrate Churchill's point exactly? We need to be enthusiastic about something, and as Christians we have something far greater than the prospect of a live pony to make all the "crap" worth wading through. We have the assurance of eternal life. We know that despite the wretches we are that we are loved unconditionally. We have God's Word to direct, comfort and empower us. We have brothers and sisters in Christ who are steady sources of love, encouragement and prayer. We have confidence that regardless of what tragedies come our way, God has a plan and a purpose, and that He doesn't waste any of our experiences.

Yet I still have days when all I can see is the manure. Days when I feel far from God, when I feel hopeless and inadequate. Days when I act just like that wretched little pessimist moping in the corner because I've let all the sad stuff blind me to all the really great stuff God has so lovingly provided.

Let's face it, crap happens...but thankfully God hasn't left us alone and He has a plan and a purpose for each of us. So...show some enthusiasm!

I think I married one of only five people on the planet that does not enjoy eating. Bob doesn't see eating as the divine pleasure that most of us consider it to be. He views it as mere fuel and he isn't opposed to fuel rationing for the rest of us. He offered to bring me home some lunch one day and brought home a Whopper Junior. One Whopper Junior... for us to split! I'm dead serious. What most of the nation would consider a snack-bite, Bob considered lunch. My family still teases him about what he once believed to be an adequate lunch for some guests. Family had stopped over and he offered to go get some KFC. I don't remember exactly how many of us there were (probably 8-10) but he brought home three dinners (for all of us!). No one wanted to be the first one to dig in. Let's see, three green beans for you, a teaspoon of mashed potatoes, five corn kernels... it was embarrassing. You might be tempted to think Bob is cheap but you could not be more mistaken. He is one of the most generous people I've ever met. He just doesn't have a very big appetite (to put it mildly) and he can't conceive of anyone else having one either. He has a very weak stomach. One time just a mere glimpse of a hair on his salad gave him a such a serious case of the dry heaves that he almost lost it (we managed to get it out of his sight just in the knick of time). Maybe if I always had food that close to coming up on me I wouldn't want to eat as much either. You would have thought that living with him for almost 25 years and enduring the fuel rationing, I might be skinny. Not! As much as I would love to have his appetite (and I'm sure he would love for me to have it), I still love to eat and frequently eat too much. Fuel rationing just doesn't appeal to me. My dad was never one to mince words and anytime I mentioned wanting to lose weight he would suggest "taking off the feedbag." He would add that "you never saw any fat people coming out of a concentration camp, did you?" The problem is, I love the feedbag...I just wished Bob loved it too.

After Bob and I got engaged we asked the pastor that had married my parents to marry us too. He told a little story at the rehearsal dinner that made me deeply regret ever considering him for the part. He told of a newlywed husband that asked his wife to try on his jeans. Of course, they were way too big on her and he said to let that serve as a reminder as to who wore the pants in the family. Very funny! I felt like everyone was laughing at me, because the fact is, two of Bob's legs could probably fit into one of my pant legs! So if that little illustration held true, I would be the one wearing the pants. That silly, old coot...what was he thinking??? He's not really a silly, old coot. The fact is he is a wonderful, godly man that just didn't do his homework. Fortunately, I've never wanted to wear the pants anyway. Although it would be nice to be able fit to into Bob's pants.

The truth is, Bob's missing the boat on this one. I know God meant for us to enjoy eating...otherwise why would there be all that feasting in the Bible? Anytime there was something to celebrate a feast ensued. Remember when the return of the prodigal son called for the fatted calf to be prepared? Remember the Israelites thinking they would rather return to slavery(!) if only to experience some tasty morsels again? I remember thinking that if Martha had chosen the "better thing" too, who would have cooked the meal? Silly thought. Compared to feeding 5000 people, a meal for that small gathering would have been small potatoes for Jesus. Doesn't just the aroma of outdoor grilling make your mouth water? Remember Jesus cooking some fresh fish for the disciples after His resurrection? His resurrected body took in food so why wouldn't ours? I believe we will continue to enjoy eating in the New Heaven and the New Earth and that Bob will be contentedly lapping it up right there with us (finally!).

I have a bad habit that will probably send me to an early grave. I know what you're thinking: I'm about to fess up to drugs or alcohol or some other equally destructive behavior.

It's actually the stress that my habit causes that has the potential to bring me down. I have a bad habit of always meaning to do something but rarely doing it. My life is one long series of "meant to's."

I meant to send a card.

I meant to not fly into a rage when Bob got perturbed with me...but after 30 years shouldn't he know that I don't even like the idea that I can perturb anyone...much less him?

I meant to leave in plenty of time.

I meant to spend some meaningful time in prayer.

I meant to be a better listener, remembering that God puts people into my life to teach me something (not the other way around).



And some time ago, I meant to take pictures of Flat Stanley. Unfortunately, I only remembered Flat Stanley when another flight attendant brought him with us on our trip.

Flat Stanley is a laminated paper doll that elementary school classrooms send to out of state acquaintances. The recipients of Flat Stanley are encouraged to take him along with him on their daily outings and include him in some pictures before they send him with the pictures back to the classroom. Apparently, the goal is for Flat Stanley to "see" all fifty states by the end of the school year.

My co-worker took a picture of him "sitting" on the front of her beverage cart. When they opened the aircraft door in Montego Bay, she hung him in the doorway so you could see the hills and palm trees of Jamaica behind him. On our layover in D.C. and she took a picture of him on the hotel van. She was very, very good to Flat Stanley.

Unfortunately, Flat Stanley was doomed from the very first day he arrived at my house. If I would have had a shred of decency I would have immediately mailed him back, knowing deep down that he would be just another tragic victim of "I meant to." Instead, I pondered taking some pictures with him and put him in my suitcase.

Months later (or was it years?) when my co-worker brought him out of her bag, I remembered my own Flat Stanley stuffed somewhere in my suitcase. So ultimately, all my Flat Stanley "saw" was the inside of my suitcase and then (of course) the inside of our garbage can.

I've been convicted this past year of the need to simplify my life. To get rid of all the "stuff." Simplifying makes room for what really matters: relationships. I've never regretted setting "things" aside to spend time with friends and family. I've never regretted writing a letter, or making a phone call or doing anything that strengthens relationships.

Procrastination is a real saboteur of time and my propensity for it is stealing the peace and joy God gives me when I do carry out the things He has planned for me to do.

Years ago the the teaching leader at Bible study (Anne Milleville) used a visual aid to illustrate the importance of prioritizing our time. She had a mason jar, some walnuts, and a cup of rice. The jar signified how much time we have in a day. The walnuts signified the really necessary things, like quiet time with God, prayer and serving others. The rice signified all the other "stuff" that fills our lives, both things we like to do and things we need to do...things like taking walks, reading, paying bills, doing laundry, watching our favorite television shows, etc. When she put the rice in first the walnuts didn't fit into the jar. When she put the walnuts in first and then added the rice, it ALL fit in! Because the rice fell into all the extra spaces the walnuts didn't take up. To get everything in, you have to put the big things in first.

The message is simple: When we put God first, our time is miraculously multiplied to allow us to accomplish everything else. "But seek first the kingdom of God and His righteousness, and all these things will be added to you." (Mt. 6:32-33)

I've taken the "walnut challenge" and have been amazed at how true the principle is, putting eternal things first did miraculously allow me enough time to accomplish all the other "stuff" too.

We moved a lot when I was younger. I went to four different elementary schools. Much to my dismay, more often than not we moved right in the middle of a school year. Being more than a little shy, this was always a traumatic experience for me. I can still remember the angst I'd feel standing in front of the classroom as the teacher would announce to the class that she had a special "surprise" for them. Some surprise! Just some goofy new girl with fake little front teeth that were as yellow as corn kernels. The teacher would encourage them to make me "feel welcome." They couldn't have been less interested in making me feel welcome. I was stuck standing up there in front of everyone feeling painfully self-conscious. When I was finally asked to take my seat, I'd realize my knees had locked up and I'd "march" to my seat like a little toy soldier.

I had fake teeth because I had knocked out my baby teeth shortly after they came in. My older brother had been walking around the living room with a blanket over his head pretending that he could see through it and, not to be bested, I put one over my own head and took off running, proceeding to knock my teeth out minutes later. I wore the fake little beauties for the next five years of my life. I never understood why my parents settled for the yellow teeth. Couldn't they have at least insisted on beige? I faithfully took them out every night to clean and brush them, but alas, no amount of brushing or cleaning made them any less yellow. When I finally got my adult teeth they were (disappointingly enough) almost as yellow as my fake ones but had the added feature of having jagged, shark-like edges. I was only able to get rid of the shark look years later after I got my braces off and the dentist finally agreed to file them down.

In fourth grade (yet again in the middle of a school year) we moved out to the country. I became a new "special surprise" for a new class in a new school where I didn't know a soul. However, this year proved to be much better than any other year of school, for one reason: Wonder of wonders, a boy liked me! The very first day, when I was standing against the wall at recess trying not to look too pitiful, he came by and snatched my hat off my head. My initial thought was I was going to be the butt of some cruel game these new schoolmates of mine had come up with. I looked away, determined not to be affected by any of their stupid jokes. He came back by me, still holding my hat and, with a big grin on this face, asked "Aren't you going to try and get it back?" I was meant to chase him! I couldn't resist grinning back and set off running after him. He let me catch him, I'd get my hat back, he'd chase me again and so on until the bell rang for us to come in from recess. It wasn't long before I was shyly handed the typical, " I like you. Do you like me? Check yes or no" note.

The following fall a family moved in down the street from us. They had twin girls my age and we became friends. One of them was put into my class and regrettably developed a crush on my boyfriend. Unfortunately she had the sad, misguided idea that he liked her back. Not willing for her to entertain such a ludicrous thought, I set out to set her straight. I insisted my boyfriend put in writing that, unlike she may have believed, he did not, in fact, like her at all. He cooperated, but for some fiendish reason, I didn't think that was enough. Who knows what evilness prompted me to to have it clarified even further...perhaps she didn't seem hurt enough. Anyway, I had him write a second note. This note said that he not only loved me but hated her. Who would have thought that a seemingly sweet fifth grader could be such a manipulative little witch? This second note caused her to cry. How could someone actually hate her? I felt terrible then. What kind of evilness existed in my heart that would want to hurt someone like that?

Believe it or not, I had asked Jesus into my heart in second grade. As Jeremiah so pertinently reminds us: "The heart is deceitful above all things." Anytime I'm tempted to believe that deep down I'm a sweet person incapable of such cruelty, I'm reminded of that wicked little scheme... along with all the other mean thoughts and deeds I'd like to believe are beyond me.

It is comforting that even the apostle Paul struggled with sin, saying: "For what I want to do I do not do, but what I hate, I do...I know that nothing good lives in me...for I have the desire to do what is good, but I cannot carry it out...who will rescue me from this body of death? Thanks be to God---through Jesus Christ our Lord!" (Rom 7:15-25)

We can never underestimate the power of sin, but as Paul so enthusiastically points out, we don't have to attempt to fight it on our own. Jesus Christ, who conquered sin and death once and for all, promises to fight by our side. I am ever so slowly learning that I can count myself "dead to sin but alive to God in Christ Jesus."

What cruel wacko came up with the absurd idea that breathing through childbirth could be a good thing? Lamaze. How much unnecessary torture has been endured for that little inspiration? When I was pregnant with Caitlin, Bob and I dutifully attended Lamaze classes.

I remember the instructor having our husbands pinch us with increasing pressure, so we could practice "breathing" through the pain. I'm embarrassed now that I was even a part of the whole herd-like mentality that bought into that claptrap.

When the day of her birth finally came it slowly became the most excruciating pain I'd ever felt. Of course, Bob "The Coach" was right there with me, telling me how much better I'd be doing if I would just breath the way "we'd" practiced. I hated The Coach. To top that off, my brilliant doctor had estimated Caitlin would weigh about six pounds and she weighed in at just under ten. I was sure I would never be able to sit down again, certain my once long strides would be forever reduced to short shuffles.

Before we left the hospital I was given a little booklet that detailed her expected development. At one week she should be able to do such and such, at two weeks this, and so on. I became obsessed with this booklet. I was constantly testing her, making sure she was progressing normally in every respect.

One day when I was putting away laundry, I happened to notice an old Mr. T mask that Bob had worn to a Halloween party. Curious to see how Caitlin would react, I put it on and knelt down to talk to her. I got my face about the distance that the booklet estimated she could bring into focus and.... she let out a scream different from anything I'd heard before or since. I immediately ripped the rubber mask off my head (practically scalping myself in the process).

Bob came tearing in from the other room to see what had happened. Knowing he would never understand my "experiment," I stuffed the mask under me and sat on it. Bob asked what had made her scream like that? I looked suitably stumped and said I had no idea. Unfortunately, he spotted a little tuft of Mr. T's mohawk underneath me and demanded to know what it was. I brought it out, acting completely baffled as to how it had gotten there.

"I can't believe you would actually want to scare a newborn baby! What is wrong with you?"

"It was just an experiment...turns out she's a little bit of a racist, that's all...," I tried to joke.

Bob was not amused. He took Caitlin from me and left me sitting there. Whatever. An innocent "experiment" had ruined our day. It wasn't easy being first time parents. Always worried that we weren't doing everything just perfectly. Worried that we were somehow going to "mess up" and ruin her for life.

I think about how we were then (almost 23 years ago!) and am amazed how far we've come. God knew how much we had to learn before He could give us Brett. Now, just when we need to be there for each other the most, Bob and I are a true team--I don't hate The Coach anymore. I know Bob does everything he can to make my life as easy as possible and I try to do the same for him. We are in it together and together we are trusting God to give us the peace, strength and wisdom for the rest of the journey.

"Do not be anxious for anything, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thangsgiving, present your requests to God and the peace of God which transcends all understanding will guard your hearts and mind in Christ Jesus." (Phil. 4:6-7)

One of the most difficult things to accept about Brett's prognosis was being told that it was unlikely he would ever respond to us in any meaningful way. You mean we'll be tending to his every need (for the rest of our lives!) and never get so much as a smile in return? That seemed almost unbearable to me.

The day they gave us the "low down" on Brett, they ushered Bob and I into a little room with a long conference table. They put a box of Kleenex in front of us (not exactly a hopeful sign). Various specialists filed in and took seats around the table. Each of them spoke about Brett's deficiencies in their various fields of expertise. It was all way over our heads, they may as well have been speaking in Greek for all the sense it made to us. Bob never uttered one word. What was there to say? Thanks for being so thorough? For dashing every hope we might have had that you could have been wrong about him?

At the very end of their long technical spiel, they asked us if we had any questions and I asked if there was any chance he would be normal. The female neurologist that answered seemed very exasperated with me, as if I'd been caught not paying attention in class. Had I "checked out" or what? Of course there was no chance of his being normal. I didn't ask any more questions, it seemed to me like the less we understood the better we'd be able to accept it all.

I especially did not want to believe Brett was blind. As soon as we were able to bring him home from the hospital I plopped him in front of the television to "watch" Baby Einstein tapes. I played them over and over. "Doesn't it seem like he's watching it?" I'd ask everyone that came to see him. It's amazing how much you can talk yourself into believing something that you really, really want to believe.

He was about five months old when I took him to see the ophthalmologist. I was sitting in the examining chair with Brett on my lap while he took various items out of his little black bag. He had lights, bright colored cards, strips of black and white cloths and other trinkets. He peered into Brett's eyes and tried to get him to follow a light or track some of his gadgets. I could see that Brett wasn't passing any of the exercises.

"He doesn't seem very interested in them, does he?" I asked.

"It's not a matter of interest," the doctor answered. "It's a matter of instinct."

Whatever! He instinctively knows he's not interested, okay?

We were both silent as he put all his gadgets back in his bag and wheeled over to his computer to input the sad results. I've learned to sense when I won't like the answers, and so I don't ask the questions.

I knew it was time to stop playing the Baby Einstein tapes when I'd gone from wondering which one I thought he enjoyed the most to which one seemed to make him cry the least. Thinking of Brett's lack of response to us made me think of how guilty I am of not responding to God's devotion to me. Everyday my needs are met, mercies are given, grace is extended, encouragement is given (often in delightful and unexpected ways), and He is with me. Yet how often do I acknowledge Him throughout my day?

 I am quick to run to Him when sadness overwhelms me or worries overtake me, but what about the rest of the time? What's really cool about acknowledging God's goodness is that He has made us to benefit from it. Praise and thankfulness lift us up and strengthen us. Numerous current best sellers (Christian and secular alike) are now acknowledging the emotional and mental benefits of gratitude. "In everything give thanks; for this is God's will for us in Christ Jesus." (1 Thess. 5:18) God doesn't ask us to give thanks for everything but in everything, trusting in His sufficiency and promise to work it for good (Rom. 8:28) and He is very good at using broken pieces to make something beautiful.

I know I won't entirely see the beauty God is creating with Brett's "broken pieces" until I reach our eternal home, but for now, I will rest in the assurance of His promises.

I have a very clear memory of the first time I met my best friend's beloved Granny. I was appalled, to say the least. There was a vacuum cleaner in front of a chair she invited me to sit in and she told me to move that "pecker" out of the way and have a seat. She told Tammy about some hoodlums that had thrown a rock through one of her windows---she had ran outside with an unloaded shotgun and threatened to "blow their balls off". She vowed to "crap in a bucket for a week" so she could mix it with lye and spread it on top of the wall behind her house... that oughtta make them think twice about climbing over it onto her property! Tammy spent many nights at her house and always insisted on sleeping in the same bed with her. As Tammy got older the extra weight coupled with the slightest movement would cause the slats to fall out and the mattress to come crashing down. Numerous times a night, they would be jarred awake with a sudden drop to the floor whereby they'd have to get up, pick up the mattress, put the slats back in and remake the entire bed. After several bouts of this Granny commented that she'd hate to be a married couple trying to "get a piece" in that bed. Listening to her, it occurred to me that my mom might not even want me hanging out at Granny's. What would she think if she heard how she talked? The sad part is, at the time, Granny's crass language blinded me from seeing how much she loved Jesus and how very much her life must have pleased Him.

To understand the depth of my dismay at Granny's coarse words you need to know a little bit about the excessively prudish upbringing I had. The f-word was strictly forbidden in our household. The f-word was f- a-r-t. Notice I spelled it out, I have yet to ever utter it...why start now?. Too bad I can't say the same about the other f-word. It was ingrained into me that f-a-r-t was one of the foulest words in the English language. It was never to be uttered and certainly never to be indulged in. Unmentionable body parts were simply referred to as your "privates", anything more descriptive than that was not allowed (even butt was a bad word). Acting and talking in a lady-like fashion was of supreme importance.


How sad it is to judge on outward appearances! "Man looks at the outward appearances but the Lord looks at the heart." (1 Sam. 16:7) Granny probably knew her Bible better than most preachers. She was totally in love and dependent upon her precious Jesus. She was always serving others: cooking meals for sick people, tending to children that needed tending to and giving generously to anyone that asked (even though she had practically nothing of her own). Most touching and revealing of all was how eagerly she embraced death. "Yea, though I walk through valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil..." Granny never experienced fear; only an eager anticipation to finally be with her Savior. She was the embodiment of Paul's words: "I desire to depart and be with Christ, which is better by far.... for me to live is Christ but to die is gain." (Phil. 1) The day she was told she had cancer and most likely didn't have much longer to live she flitted around her tiny house gleefully exclaiming how "glorious" it was going to be! Thankfully, she kept a journal. It is one of Tammy's most treasured possessions. By the world's standards she had nothing (education, wealth or status), yet she wrote over and over how content and thankful she was. Tammy was recently re-reading some of her journal entries and was touched anew by her complete reliance on the Lord. After escaping an abusive, alcoholic husband she spent the rest of her life working hard in a factory to support her three children. Undoubtedly she picked up her salty language from those long hours in the factory. Though she had much to complain about, she never did. Tammy thinks she probably lived with her cancer for a long time, as she mentioned her pain often in her journal. She died just three weeks after the day she finally admitted that she would like something for the pain. Those last days she loved for Tammy to sit by her bedside and sing hymns to her. Her favorite was the Old Rugged Cross:

"On a hill far away stood an old rugged cross,
The emblem of suffering and shame;
And I love that old cross where the dearest and best
For a world of lost sinners was slain.

So I’ll cherish the old rugged cross,
Till my trophies at last I lay down;
I will cling to the old rugged cross,
And exchange it some day for a crown.

O that old rugged cross,
so despised by the world,
Has a wondrous attraction for me;
For the dear Lamb of God
left His glory above
To bear it to dark Calvary.

In that old rugged cross,
stained with blood so divine,
A wondrous beauty I see,
For ’twas on that old cross Jesus suffered and died,

To pardon and sanctify me.
To the old rugged cross I will ever be true;
Its shame and reproach gladly bear;
Then He’ll call me some day to my home far away,
Where His glory forever I’ll share."

There was no doubt who Granny considered the "dearest and best", no doubt how much she longed for the day He would call her to her "home far away, where His glory forever" she'd share.

Misjudging Granny reminds me of Jesus' words to the religious windbags of His time: "Woe to you, teachers of the law and the Pharisees, you hypocrites! You clean the outside of the cup and dish, but inside they are full of greed and self-indulgence." (Mt. 23:25) There are so many of us that look clean on the outside yet sadly, "self-indulgence" describes us to a tee. We are chiefly concerned with our own outward appearance, our own comfort and all the "stuff" it takes to make us comfortable while the inner self gets largely ignored. How many of us could embrace death so gleefully or love and trust our Lord as completely as Granny did?

I was having one of those days that could have easily evolved into a full blown pity party. I resolved to count my blessings before all was lost. I'd start from the ground up: "Thank you Lord for my feet, that I have ten toes and ten toe nails...". From there my mind wandered away from my prayers of thanksgiving to thinking about all the various indignities that come with age.

I have a memory of my Grandma sitting in her easy chair holding a magnifying mirror and plucking her whiskers. It was a little bit unsettling for me. I remember feeling sad that she had whiskers. She had a very tough life and it didn't seem fair that on top of all she had to deal with she had to spend so much time tending to her whiskers as well. It didn't seem fair that my other Grandma was seemingly enjoying the whisker-free "Life of Riley" either.

One day, I got up the nerve to ask her why she thought she grew those whiskers.

She answered that all women grow whiskers when they get older.

Privately, I wasn't buying that. As I said, I'd never seen any whiskers on my other Grandma's face. But...if it made her feel better to think all older women had whiskers, then who was I to point out the error of her thinking?

She told me I'd get a chance to experience them myself when I got older.

I didn't believe that for a minute either. I didn't take after that side of the family so I figured I wouldn't grow whiskers like them either.

My friend had gotten a little lax in her "bleaching". Her little son was watching her intently one day and commented that she was "almost a man" with the "mustache" she was growing. He said it like it was something to aspire to...that he'd be very proud of her when she finally achieved her full "man" status.

Fortunately, I know why God made us to deteriorate in all these outrageously ghastly ways: because it makes us long for Heaven and our new glorified bodies all the more. I'm currently reading a wonderful book about Heaven and it's getting me really excited to experience it. In fact, I'm tempted to dash out to the garage and start the car (just kidding, Babe).

The book points out that "God uses suffering and impending death to unfasten us from this earth and to set our minds on what lies ahead" and that "every culture has a God given innate sense of the eternal--that this world is not all there is."

C.S. Lewis observed, "If you read history, you will find that the Christians who did most for the present world were just those who thought most of the next. The Apostles themselves, who set on foot the conversion of the Roman Empire, the great men who built up the Middle Ages, the English Evangelicals who abolished the Slave Trade, all left their mark on Earth, precisely because their minds were occupied with Heaven. It is since Christians have largely ceased to think of the other world that they have become so ineffective in this. Aim at Heaven and you will get earth 'thrown in': aim at earth and you will get neither."

The author reminds us that every day 250,000 people either go to Heaven or Hell. "The best of life is a glimpse of Heaven, the worst of life is a glimpse of Hell."

Just think... the best times we've ever had...the most tension free, loving family get togethers, the thrill of new love, the gratefulness and love we feel for our closest friends that sometimes threaten to overwhelm us, the best laughs, the most exciting vacations, the most breathtakingly beautiful sights...all of this, just a foretaste of what Heaven will be like!

Back to counting my blessings (I'll start with my head this time)..."Thank you, Father, that I can CHOOSE what I think about, that I have the ability to 'set my mind on things above' (Col 3:2)and to 'think on things that are pure and lovely' (Phil. 4:6)".

I think the pity party was effectively "rained upon".

A long time ago I heard a pastor share an interesting biblical fact about fear: God's commandment for us to "fear not" is second only to "praise Him" in how often it is repeated throughout scripture. God knew what nervous ninnies we were going to be and has tried to calm us down ever since. From Genesis to Revelation He has implored us to remain calm..."fear not, for I am with you" (Gen. 26:24), "do not worry" (Mt. 6:25), "do not let your hearts be troubled" (Jn. 14:1), "be anxious for nothing" (Phil. 4:6), "cast all your cares on Him" (1 Pet. 5:17), "do not be afraid" (Rev. 2:10)... these words and hundreds of others like them are found throughout the Bible. In the Old Testament those tiresome Israelites had no sooner witnessed fresh water gush out of a rock and food fall from the sky than they were back to their moaning and groaning, worried once again that God was going to let them die of hunger and thirst in the desert. We're no different. Regardless of how many times God has faithfully delivered us from our fears and difficulties, we always find something to be fearful about.

I googled phobia and literally hundreds of different phobias came up. We even have a phobia about having phobias...phobophobic. I personally am deathly afraid of mice. I know how ridiculously irrational this is. I know they're equally terrified of me and try their best to escape me with their horrifyingly speedy maneuvers. Apparently I didn't start out being afraid of them. When I was six years old I managed to catch one with my bare hands (the hair on the back of my neck is standing up just thinking about it). I was proud of my hunting prowess and carried it into the house to show my mom. When she realized I actually had a live mouse in my hands it filled her with such abject terror that she started screaming. She scared me so bad that I started screaming right along with her. What had possessed me to catch this wicked little creature that had the power to reduce my mom to this disturbed, screaming barbarian that was threatening to kill me (kill me!) if I dropped it in the house? Evidently, I took her death threat seriously because I managed to keep it in my hands (running and screaming the whole time) until I could throw it outside and quickly slam the door shut behind me. I ran back to my mom and we held each other and cried until it all just seemed like a bad dream.

Fear mongering is big business. There are people at work that think if they look sideways at the wrong person they'll be fired. Everyone is out to get someone and nothing can be taken at face value. Fear is a powerful tool that is routinely used to make us buy things, say things, do things and accept things that we never would otherwise. No wonder God deemed it necessary to tell us hundreds of times and in hundreds of ways to "fear not".

Our government has trotted out their own two words meant to comfort: federal bailout. They are employing their own horrifyingly speedy maneuvers to spend all the money they can beg, borrow, steal or print and frankly, it is all getting kind of...scary.

"But God is still on His throne,
And He will remember His own;
Tho' trials may press us and burdens distress us,
He will never leave us alone..."

Today (finally!) is Michigan at its finest. The sky is blue, the sun is shining brightly, the air is warm, the birds are singing...and I'm blessed enough to be home to enjoy it! The exhilaration we Michiganders feel at the first blush of spring is almost worth enduring the long, dreary winters.

I flew this morning. God allowed me to work with a sweet Christian who I haven't had the pleasure of flying with in a long time. It was great to catch up and exchange prayer requests in the brief time we had. Two uneventful flights, full of apparently sleep deprived passengers and an early arrival back into Detroit. It doesn't get much better than that.

When I got home I couldn't get my uniform off fast enough and into my outdoor pajamas. I grabbed my MP3 player and walked up to the library. My friend Stacey had recommended a book and I was intent on finding it. I had gone on the library's website and tried to locate it (with no luck) and when I got up there I tried to find it on their computer. Turns out I didn't have the correct spelling of the author, but you would have thought the title would still have done the trick. Giving up, I decided to browse through the Christian book section to see if anything else "caught my eye." I turned down a row I don't normally go down and there (right before my eyes!!) was the book. It was definitely a God thing. I love when God does stuff like that. I can't wait to read it.


"May flowers always line your path, and sunshine light your day, may songbirds serenade you every step along the way..."

Bob pleaded with me to not have Brett. He argued that it was the very last thing we needed. He wouldn't have welcomed the idea of a healthy baby much less one with "issues". At the time he didn't see Brett as a person, but as an obstacle. An obstacle to our new found freedom. Our kids had reached the age of self-sufficiency. We were now free to travel, to go out on dates, to sleep in, to spend our time however we chose to spend it. "It" would be an obstacle to all of this and much more. It was an obstacle that was removable. A removal that many thought reasonable.

I was unwavering in my conviction that God had allowed this pregnancy to evolve despite the unbelievable odds to the contrary. I feared hearing "you're the one that insisted on having him..." But God had another plan. Bob has never had trouble sleeping. He falls asleep immediately and sleeps as soundly as the dead. So it was highly unusual for him to be awakened in the middle of the night with a Bible verse reverberating through his mind...Proverbs 6:17, Proverbs 6:17. He wasn't familiar with the passage, but it started bothering him so much he decided to get up and look it up. The words leaped out at him: "God hates the shedding of innocent blood."

He was shaken by the words he read that night, moved to tears, in fact. From that moment on he was convinced that God meant for us to have Brett and that we were meant to face it together. I am thankful God intervened so dramatically to change Bob's heart and mind about Brett. I am thankful for God's faithfulness and His continuous supply of grace to handle each new challenge.

Sometimes I think the word "grace" gets bandied about too easily. I read an acrostic once that I liked and it has stuck with me: God's Riches At Christ's Expense. And what an expense that was! Part of God's riches include the strength to handle the really tough stuff that comes our way but I don't believe we're given that grace until we need it. Oddly enough, I had always feared having a severely impaired child, sure that it was something I could not handle. However, God has promised that His grace will be sufficient, that His power is made perfect in our weakness (2 Cor. 12:9).