all in a day's flight

2012-01-02T12:55:00.001-08:00

Last weekend Bob and I were treated to another wonderful evening with my dear friends from college. After years of not seeing Ellie and Johan, we reconnected with them last year and were able to do it again this year. I laughed so much my cheeks hurt and I was so unwilling for the night to end that I'm sure we overstayed our welcome. I love watching how their personalities play off of each other...just like they did in college. Johan still employs his clever sarcasm and Ellie is just as strong minded as ever, still dumbstruck that she can't convince her brilliant husband to agree with everything she says (but she's not going to give up trying). It's obvious that their whole family enjoys a lot of good natured teasing...and they laugh and laugh. I asked Bob if he remembers when we used to laugh and laugh. I was half kidding but it made me realize that I'm really not laughing as much as I used to, and I'm not sure why. One of my resolutions for 2012 is to get to the bottom of it and start laughing more.

There have always been things that some people think are funny that I never have. Puns, for instance, regardless of how clever a pun might be, I never find them funny. I don't find anything remotely amusing about The Three Stooges or Road Runner, in fact I find them tortuous. I don't appreciate plays on words, that whole "Who's On First" routine bores me to tears. I don't think crude jokes are funny and slapstick is just well, too slapsticky. Out of peer pressure or politeness, I can usually muster up some semblance of a giggle but there is nothing harsher to my own ears than contrived laughter. After admitting to all this humorlessness I'm sure you're thinking it's not exactly a mystery why I'm not laughing enough. So the question is... what does make me laugh?

I asked Bob what he thought makes me laugh. He had to think a minute (eek!). He finally said that I think it's funny when people get hurt. Charming! He's talking about blooper shows where bride's veils catch on fire and stuff like that. We watched a clip once where an elephant broke loose from a parade, causing massive destruction and terror. I was laughing hysterically. But what made me laugh wasn't the destruction and terror, it was the voice of a little boy that was with the person that was filming it all. He sounded like he could only have been about 3 or 4 years old and he calmly observed that "that elephant was being bad". Through all the screaming and chaos, you can hear this completely unafraid little boy calmly expressing his disappointment that all of this hullabaloo was caused by one "bad" acting elephant.

So it's real life stuff that makes me laugh. Real stories, real people, a child's unique perspective, genuine clumsiness and mishaps. I think my problem must be that I'm rushing too much to live fully in the moment. I'm not laughing as much because I'm not slowing down enough to listen to the stories, or to listen for a story. The funny stories that life consists of, both past and present, are all getting short shrift because I'm hurrying too much to fully take them in. It seems like every year I resolve to slow down, but I don't think I've ever made the correlation between hurrying and laughing less (as obvious as it is). That night with my friends we enjoyed a slow, leisurely dinner, we re-told old stories and shared new ones...and I laughed and laughed.

I'm tired of not living fully in each moment and missing all the unexpected gifts of beauty, joy, love and laughter. So this year (once again!), my biggest resolution is to slow down, to be fully there for each person and each circumstance that God brings along. And maybe, just maybe, I'll start laughing as much as I used to.

Happy New Year!

2011-12-25T11:29:00.000-08:00

My best friend Tammy turns 50 today. Her wonderful husband Joel threw her a fabulous party to commemorate this milestone. I wanted to stand up and share something at the party, but the opportunity didn't present itself. The mere thought of getting up in front of a crowd makes me start sweating (I wish I was kidding). Something about having more than one person's attention at the same time causes every thought in my head to leave. There are two stupid, dreaded words that cause this same brain freezing phenomena: EASY VICTOR. I'm sorry only flight attendants can understand the anxiety inducing effect those two words have on me. Anyway....because I knew I would be incapable of remembering one thing once I got in front of a microphone, I wrote something down and this is what I had planned on sharing....

Almost 32 years ago Tammy came on one of our church retreats. I'd never met her and I gushed to Bob, "Doesn't she seem like a nice girl?" He said she wasn't nice, that she was wild and that I wouldn't have anything in common with her. He was wrong. We ended up sharing a bunk and stayed up all night long talking and laughing. I told Bob the next morning that I loved her, that in fact, I might love her more than I loved him ;) I think it was probably a good thing we didn't have any idea what the next 32 years would bring, because well, if we did, we might not have laughed that hard. But really, though we have been through some tough times (and are sure to go through more), we've laughed much, much more than we've cried. I would never have been able to imagine back then what a wonderful gift Tammy was going to be or how closely our lives would stay intertwined...having kids at the same time, vacationing together, growing in our faith together, even having the unbelievable experience of working together for almost a quarter of a century! I could go on for hours and not run out of hilarious stories to share with you (but I won't). God knew exactly the kind of best friend I needed to share my life with, and He was so, so good to me when He brought me Tammy...a loyal, loving, faithful, smart, beautiful and funny friend to laugh and cry with for decades.

I can't think of words to describe how thankful I am that God put her on this earth, in my little corner of the world, 50 years ago today! Happy Birthday Tammy...I do love you so.

2011-11-27T09:10:00.000-08:00

There is a song by Snow Patrol called Chasing Cars that always reminds me of Bob, of his willingness to just be there for me. The sad and glad days, the silly and mad days, whatever it is I'm going through he's willing to (try at least) experience it with me. The words of the song ask: "If I lay here, if I just lay here, would you lay with me and just forget the world?"

I have days where sadness overwhelms me. Days when I just want to retreat into my closet, lay on the floor and cry my eyes out. If Bob happens to be home on those days, I try and "will" him upstairs to me. I want him to lay down beside me, to hold and comfort me as only he can. Often he'll ask me what it is that's making me so sad. I usually answer, "I'm not sure, I thinks it's just everything...Brett, all the things I wish I would have done differently, the fact that my mom doesn't have anyone to lay down with her...just... everything." And the crying continues.

I know what I should be doing, counting my blessings, forgetting the past and pressing on towards the goal and all that, but sometimes I just need a good, cleansing cry. It's on those days that I am most thankful that I have someone that will "lay with me, just lay there...and just forget the world."

Sweet Babe, thank you for putting up with me...the sad me, the mad me, the silly me, the real me and (the hardest one!)...the scared me. I cannot imagine doing life without you.

Happy Birthday.

2011-11-15T17:41:00.000-08:00

My dad used to say he'd make sure the words "Oh well" were put on my mom's gravestone. You would have had to have grown up in our household to understand how bolstering and encouraging those words have been. More often than not, her "Oh well's" were followed with "God knows all about it" or "It'll all work out".

When my parents were newly married, my mom fell in love with a little dinette set...but it was too much money, and they didn't have much money so they couldn't justify buying it. When the Holidays rolled around, my dad decided to surprise her with it. He went out and bought it and strapped it onto his car. On his way home it broke loose, blew off the car and broke into a hundred pieces. He pulled over, picked up all the pieces and put them in his trunk. When he got home he asked my mom to come outside to see what he'd gotten her for Christmas. When she looked into the trunk and saw all the sticks, she asked him what it was.

"Kindling", he answered, "I bought you kindling for Christmas."
I can just hear his big laugh.
My mom's response? "Oh well."
She could have said something like, "You'd think, being an engineer and all, that you might have figured out a way to strap it down so it wouldn't blow off." But no, that wasn't her way.

Throughout their marriage there would be many times that my dad would hear the heartening "Oh well." Like the time he came home and said that their business had gone belly up and they didn't have two nickels to rub together. Her response? "Oh well.... It'll all work out."

All of us, probably me more than anyone else, have gotten our share of "Oh well's".
Me: "Mom...I totaled the car." Mom: "Oh well, the most important thing is that you're not hurt".
Me: "Mom...I've really made a mess of things." Mom: "Oh well, sometimes you just have to live and learn."
Me: "Mom...they're telling me my baby might be blind, that he'll never walk or talk or respond to us in any way."
I will never forget what she told me that time: "Honey, God is either sovereign or He isn't."
Those words somehow both calmed and comforted me. I repeat them to myself often. God is either sovereign or He isn't.

I know there couldn't be a grandchild in the whole world that gets more kisses from their grandmother than Brett does (and he isn't always happy about it either). I have a vision of my perfect, handsome Brett (who looks so much like his daddy), coming up to my mom in Heaven and telling her that all those kisses were a little over the top.

I've been thinking about what the secret is to my mom's incredible strength and joy in spite of all she's been through and I decided the key is gratitude. She has never stopped being grateful. Last Sunday was the anniversary of my dad's home-going. When I went over to see her that day, I wasn't thinking about the date and I kind of wondered why she seemed down. She said that she was having a hard time believing that my dad had been gone 12 years and said, "there aren't too many people..."
I thought for sure she was going to say that there aren't too many people that have had to endure the heartache she has, but no, I should have known better. She finished her sentence with, "...that can say that they had over 40 wonderful years with the man of their dreams, or experienced the joy and laughter that your dad and I did."
That's my mom, always looking on the bright side and always being thankful.

Happy Birthday Mom...I do love you so!

2011-09-02T11:26:00.001-07:00

I must admit, I hate getting old. I especially hate looking old. I just turned 49 a few months ago but recently a pilot thought I told him that I'd been flying for 44 years!! I only realized he misheard me when he said that I looked good for flying for 44 years. (You can imagine how high I was riding after that conversation.) I wanted to tell him I wasn't even 44 years old! Of course, he was just a boy. Seriously, when did all these boys start flying our airplanes? Frankly, some of their landings feel like a little boy landed it. Not too long ago, after a particularly rough landing, the flight attendant was able to say with assurance, "use caution when opening the overhead bins, as your luggage HAS shifted about..."

I've always had a problem with caring too much what I look like. When I was in 7th grade I made the unfortunate decision to get the oh-so popular Dorothy Hamill hair cut. It was a time in my life when I desperately wanted to look like a girl but, evidently, the new cut threw into question exactly what I was and I was mistaken for a boy on more than one occasion. It was devastating. I can at least by thankful that I'm no longer a "Pat". If you're not familiar with Pat, tune into some Saturday Night Live episodes from the 90's and watch the hilarious confusion over exactly what Pat is.

Believe me, I'm not telling my sad story because I'm trolling for compliments...although a few assurances that I really don't look like I've been flying for 44 years wouldn't be unwelcome. But no, I have a mirror. "Yeaaah...I see it." (Only fellow flight attendants will get that line.) I know time is marching on and that aging is inevitable, but it is difficult not to get discouraged at the ever increasing pace of the march. I've always believed that my job makes time go by even faster, maybe because we live by the month rather than the week, or maybe because we cross time zones and lose track of what day it is. I try and remind myself that the most important thing is what's on the inside. "Pretty is as pretty does" and all that. Every day I see suffering and sadness that makes me being excessively bothered by someone thinking I've been flying for 44 years seem particularly shallow. Fortunately, I do know that this world and all its suffering is not the end of the story, which is probably why I've always loved 2 Cor. 4:17-18: "Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day. For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but what is unseen. For what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal." Yes!

2011-07-02T09:15:00.000-07:00

My friend Kelly suggested that I would be better served by looking for the blessing of the week rather than the jerk of the week. Oh, but it is sooooo much easier to find the jerks. The summer months are an especially difficult time to find the goodness in passengers. I can't tell you how many of our stories begin with: "Just when you think you've seen it all...."

The stifling airplanes, filled to the brim with hot, grouchy people, the thunderstorm delays, the infrequent flyers that are indignant that someone took "their" bin space, the ones that claim our seats keep getting smaller and smaller. I want to ask them if it has ever occurred to them that they might be getting bigger and bigger? Because I've been down that road of denial. I remember those days in college when I was sure the dryers were shrinking all my clothes.

Regardless of the difficulty, I am determined to find the goodness. Not long ago a female passenger had a mortifying accident (wearing white pants, no less!). She scampered back to the lav and stayed in there for a very long time. No doubt doing the best she could to wash them out. A large man sitting next to her eventually came back with a T-shirt he had retrieved from his suitcase. He discretely explained that his seat mate needed his shirt. He didn't want it back and he didn't want her to know where it came from. He figured his shirt would easily reach her knees, saving her from the indignity of wearing the stained pants. Talk about thoughtful! I'm ashamed to admit my thoughts would have been closer to, "I hope stinky can find another seat." Not this guy. He sat there and came up with a way to help her. See? There really are some very good, thoughtful people out there....and maybe just by "keeping my eyes peeled" for them (one of my dad's phrases), I'll learn to be a little more thoughtful myself.

2011-04-22T10:03:00.000-07:00

I bought the "One Year Bible" several years ago with the intention of, you know, reading it in one year. Unfortunately, I didn't achieve my goal. From the first verse I started counting how many times the Bible tells us not to be afraid. The number reached well into the hundreds before I was even halfway through. Every time an angel appeared with a message for someone, the angel's first words were always "fear not". Understandably! If an angelic being suddenly appeared in front of me, I doubt a "fear not" would be enough to stop the screaming. God knew what scaredy-cats we were going to be and how fear would be used to immobilize us and make us buy all sorts of things we don't need.

About 25 or 30 years ago I was walking through the "aisles of beauty" at Hudson's. The Estee Lauder counter had some kind of machine that you could look into to that supposedly gave you an idea of what you'd look like in 25 years. I couldn't resist looking into it and was justifiably horrified at the image looking back at me. Though it was frightening, it didn't scare me enough to stay out of the sun (or buy the age protecting product they were hawking). Consequently the multi-spotted image I saw that day is pretty much what I see in the mirror today.

One of the reasons I chose not to stay out of the sun was because I felt it was too late, the damage had been done. Sunscreen was unheard of when I was little. We belonged to a swim club and it was not unusual for us to be dropped off for the day. Our summers involved multiple peelings, even contests to see who could peel off the biggest piece. I remember one day we were dropped off because my mom and aunt were going to be canning all day. It didn't look like the greatest day to spend at the pool, but Mom assured us it was supposed to clear up. It didn't clear up, the sky turned green, the wind whipped up and tornado sirens started going off, yet still... no one came to get us. The lifeguards were less than enthused that they were forced to stay with us. My older brother was particularly annoyed, commenting that "you'd think reports of tornadoes touching down might clue Mom in to the fact that we're no longer having a good time here."

The tornado warnings weren't what scared me the most. What I feared the most was the PRESSURE COOKER! The dreaded pressure cooker that was only brought out for canning. I didn't even know what a pressure cooker was (I still don't), but my mom put the fear of God in us about that thing. It was so dangerous it was really best if we weren't even in the house when they used it. The slightest misstep could blow us all to kingdom come! I was terrified that the thing had finally blown and we wouldn't be picked up at all. I was never so relieved to see our old station wagon fish-tailing around the corner, with my mom screaming at us to hop in as quickly as possible.

There are literally hundreds of phobias. I used to question the very faith of those that are afraid of flying. To be fair, most would say it's not the flying they are afraid of but rather...the crashing. Don't these people realize that they are not in control? That when it's their time it really doesn't matter where they are, or how they chose to get there? Thinking about my own irrational fears has humbled me and made me realize that all of our fears involve some degree of faithlessness. In spite of all God's assurances, we still needlessly worry and fret about things we have zero control over. How freeing it would be to take God at His word and "not worry about tomorrow" (Matt. 6: 34), trusting that our days truly are "in His hands" (Psalm 31:15).

2011-04-05T09:59:00.000-07:00

Do you ever have days where you're just not "feeling the love"? I confess I have more of those days than I care to admit. Those days where the slightest traffic delay or people taking a little too long to answer my questions get on my last nerve. Despite my impatience on the road, I've shown remarkable restraint with my car horn, I can count on two hands how many times I've actually used it (possibly because a friend's accidental beep once caused a skittish Japanese lady to dart out into traffic and almost cause a horrific accident). But, I kid you not, those few times that I did blow my horn I've ended up feeling like a total loser. One time I couldn't see why traffic had come to a stop and blew my horn in frustration. As I got closer, I realized everyone had stopped because a mother duck was leisurely waddling across the street with what seemed like 30 ducklings behind her. Another time I was irritated that the cars in front of me weren't turning right on red. Don't those morons realize they can turn right on red? As I got closer, I saw a little old woman painstakingly crossing the street with two grocery bags hanging from her walker. Talk about wanting to slink behind the wheel and disappear! Another time, cars were driving ever so slowly by what looked like a dead animal in the road. What's wrong with these people? Is this the first time they've ever seen such a thing? As I passed slowly by, I saw that there was a dead duck lying in the street but its live mate was sitting beside it. I know ducks mate for life so that sad little image haunted me for weeks.

At work, one of my biggest pet peeves is passengers not removing their headsets when I get to their row. Practice your lip reading on your own time, buddy! When they do take them off they wonder what I said. Are you kidding me?? What do you think I'm asking you...if you've heard a good joke lately? The really aggravating ones tell me what they want to drink, put their headsets right back on and then we go through the whole rigmarol again to find out if they want peanuts, pretzels or cookies. Come on people, it's not like you've never seen this routine before.

I actually considered doing a weekly blog featuring who I determined to be the jerk of the week. There would be so many contenders! Something small, like telling me to smile, could rocket them to the top of my list. Fortunately I decided focusing on the negative wouldn't be as healthy as focusing on the positive. I've been humbled too many times in my impatience and irritation by the genuine goodness of people, the grateful and happy ones that often don't appear to have anything to be happy about. I'll probably always have days that I really struggle to feel the love, but God will continue to humble me with positive examples of goodness... reminding me that there are a lot of good people out there that (fortunately!) are feeling the love.

2011-01-28T00:45:00.000-08:00

I am absolutely terrified of mice. It is beyond irrational. For the first time in over 26 years of marriage, we had a mouse in our house. I literally went to pieces. My initial scream of stark terror was followed by hours of sobbing. You'd have thought my life was over. I wish I was exaggerating. A known terrorist breaking into our house would have invoked less fear. At least I can envision myself taking on the terrorist...my hair is standing on end just thinking of catching a glimpse of that mouse again. It's a sad reality that a terrorist could scare me more armed with a mouse than an Uzi.

As flight attendants we are required to attend recurrent training every year. Since 9/11 we have had additional training on ways we could stop a terrorist attack. Situational awareness is key, and we are reminded of the various "weapons" we have at our disposal...scalding coffee to throw in their faces, oxygen bottles to bash their heads in with, fire extinguishers to squirt in their eyes, and various other objects you wouldn't ordinarily think of as weapons. We watch self-defense videos and even practice on a rubber dummy...punching his face, kicking his privates and poking his eyes out. I get all tensed up picturing and practicing all the ways I would hurt him. I feel empowered, really believing that a terrorist would rue the day he ever thought about blowing up my airplane. We are shown a video re-enactment of a foiled terrorist attack on an Israeli airline. At the end of the video, the Israeli flight attendants that were solely responsible for thwarting the attack are interviewed. They tell of running their carts down the aisle and blasting into him. As an aside, that's one thing I can't picture doing. Their airplanes must have much wider aisles than ours because I can't seem to keep from bashing into every armrest, not to mention the unfortunate shoulders, knees and elbows that I clip on my way up the aisle. These Israeli flight attendants know they are in a life or death situation. The last lines of their testimony are (in heavily accented English), "after we subdued him...we took him out." Took. Him. Out. They killed him! Can you even imagine? No getting "lawyer-ed up" for a long drawn out trial, no referring to him as the alleged terrorist. Nope, instant justice. What's up with this alleged business anyway? Dozens of eye witnesses watch a guy shoot and kill people and he's only the alleged shooter? A guy ignites an explosive device in his underpants and he's only an alleged terrorist? Puh-leeze!

Anyway, back to the appallingly speedy little creature that turned my beloved home into a house of horrors. Are mice even capable of doing anything but darting around with lightning speed? Bob went into serious hunt and kill mode (he who doesn't even like killing flies). He chased that mouse into the wee hours of the night without success. He went online and researched their habits and all the different ways he could "take them out". He was at Home Depot as soon as their doors opened and purchased close to a hundred dollars worth of traps. Mercifully, the next night his mission was accomplished and we haven't seen or caught any since. The happy result of all this drama is that I've never felt more like a damsel in distress rescued by her knight in shining armor nor have I ever loved or wanted Bob more.

2011-01-13T20:26:00.000-08:00

I recently reconnected with some old college friends. What a gift! I was reminded of why I loved them so much then and dearly wish I could see more of them now. Reminiscing is priceless, and I was surprised at how many memories we were able to retrieve from the "corners of our minds". Robin, my old roommate, was almost as tall as me but weighed about half as much. My mom knew Robin made me feel like a moose and gave me the old, "you're just bigger boned than she is." I never bought into the big-boned, small-boned rationale. Seriously? The reason my thighs are twice the circumference of hers is because my thigh bone is that much bigger than hers? Hmmm.....anytime I've seen horrifying pictures of piled up skeletons or starving people that were practically skeletons, I've always thought they looked relatively the same size. So there goes that little theory.

Robin always had snacks in our room. Since I was forever trying to lose a few, I never bought snacks, but it didn't keep me from sneakily munching on hers. One day I came into our room and found Robin peering into what she thought was a toy surprise from her cereal box, possibly a little magnifying glass. She had accused me earlier of eating some of her "Donkey Kong" cereal, which I had flatly denied. When I walked in and saw her with her "toy" I was thrilled that she had somehow managed to find the missing glass piece from my watch. Busted. Not only had I been sneaking some of her cereal but I had pawed through it so much that the face of my watch had come off in the box. How gross, how mortifying. Surprisingly, I remember that Robin seemed more hurt than mad...or maybe it was just pure pity. As I've gotten older I've realized just how hurtful lying is. No wonder it's one of the ten commandments and on God's list of seven most detestable sins. Honesty is one of the most important building blocks of any great relationship.

Fortunately, God provided us with the greatest gift ever given: forgiveness. Robin forgave me (though she probably never trusted me around her food again). Of course, no gift can surpass the sacrifice of God's only Son to redeem us, but I sometimes forget what a precious gift it is to be able to forgive each other. There are things that I've done, and things that have been done to me that have seemed almost unforgivable, yet with God's help there has been forgiveness and healing. I am always inspired with stories of people that have (by God's grace) forgiven the seemingly unforgivable...like Corrie Ten Boom's forgiveness of that monstrous Nazi guard from the concentration camp. I love verses that talk about removing our sins "as far as the east is from the west" (Psalm 103), and that remind us to "forget what is behind and strive toward what is ahead". (Phil. 3)

I love how C.S. Lewis put it, "to be a Christian means to forgive the inexcusable, because God has forgiven the inexcusable in you."

2011-01-06T10:21:00.000-08:00

I was thinking today how incredibly self-absorbed I am...how self-absorbed most of us are. Who can deny clicking impatiently through pictures to find the ones we're in? Whenever I see pictures of myself, I scrutinize them closely and then decide they're not good pictures of me. My dad used to ask me what I thought I looked like. Good question.

Now with the advent of facebook, twittering and blogging there's more of a "Me, Me, Me!" mentality than ever. My friend commented that through facebook some have finally found a legitimate platform to brag about themselves. We haven't changed; we're still like little children, wanting our tiniest accomplishments duly noted..."watch me, watch me Mama".

Something happened to my sister that highlighted the absurdity of posting every moment's activity on facebook (as if anyone cares). She had left her iphone in a public restroom. Fortunately the wiseacre that found it didn't steal it, but did take the audacious liberty to update her facebook status to "I am pooping". Thankfully, Kristie must have received a few "TMI" or "Ewwww" comments to alert her to the fact that something was up and she was able to delete it before too many people saw it.

Perhaps most insidious of all is self-absorption disguised as self-improvement. Being encouraged to think it's in our power to make our lives perfect, to be anything we want to be, to believe that we deserve an easy, happy life. We don't deserve anything and yet millions of books are sold telling us that we do...that if only we believe in ourselves we will feel worthy and be happy. I know for a fact that my unhappiest days are those when I'm focusing too much on myself and what I want. I am so susceptible to forever trying to improve my outward appearance at the expense of neglecting my soul. God offers to satisfy my soul with "love, joy, peace patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self control" (Gal. 5:22). Nothing of worth is obtained without self-discipline and an undisciplined life is never satisfying. The Bible tells me that the focus of my life should be on God and His perfect plan for me and that I should consider others above myself (Phil. 2:3)...exactly the opposite of what the world peddles.

With the arrival of a New Year it's difficult to avoid all the clamoring for self-improvement and self-gratification but I'm hoping to make strides in being a little less self-absorbed and a little more God-absorbed. I know it's not going to be easy but I was inspired recently by an interview I saw with Billy Graham. He was asked if he had any regrets. He said his only regrets were that he didn't pray and meditate more; that he didn't spend more time just adoring his Savior. Think about it... Billy Graham's(!) only regrets were that he didn't live a more God-focused life.

2010-11-27T19:35:00.000-08:00

Today is my precious husband's 50th birthday. Admittedly, there have been days when I thought he was the furthest thing from precious as I'm sure there have been days when he must of thought I came straight from the bowels of hell (sadly, I'm sure there are still days like that). We've been married 26 years. It's been quite a roller coaster ride, with plenty of exhilarating high points and more than our share of scary low points. However, we did stay on the ride, sometimes holding on for dear life. I'm thankful to say the ride is getting more enjoyable all the time. I'm almost afraid to admit that, lest a terrifying dip is right around the corner. As the years go by, the words to Barry White's "You're My First, My Last...My Everything" have become increasingly appropriate.

As most of you know, our 8 yr. old son Brett is blind and will never walk or talk. He is completely incapable of doing anything on his own. Bob and I both believe that God is good, and we both believe with all our hearts that in ways we don't yet fully understand that God is bringing about more good by allowing Brett to be the way he is than if he were perfect. We know that we will enjoy our sweet son forever (in all his perfection) in Heaven and "can only imagine" how someday he will dance for Jesus.

But even now, Brett's life has brought good things. If not for Brett I wouldn't have known how utterly self-less Bob can be. Bob does everything he can to make my life with Brett as easy as possible. He adores him...patiently feeding him, bathing him, loving on him...all without any response from Brett. If not for Brett we wouldn't have known the loving goodness of friends and family or experienced their generous offers of help and faithful prayers.

We were driving around with Brett not long ago and Bob turned to me and asked, "Isn't great that we never have to worry about Brett?"

I wasn't sure how to respond, thinking to myself that, on the contrary, we're going to have to worry about Brett for the rest of our lives.

But Bob went on to say, "...we never have to worry about him making bad choices, or worry about people hurting his feelings...we just get to love him and take care of him."

That's how Bob thinks, we get to love and take care of Brett. That's the selfless man my Bob has become and I was thrilled to be able to honor him with a 50th birthday party. As was evidenced by all the "fans" that came to his party, Bob is a very loved and admired man and I am thankful to be his wife and am overwhelmed with gratitude for the fabulous father he is to our three children.

I had the following short video made for him. The songs I chose are especially meaningful to us. I would love for you to watch it.
http://vimeo.com/17156788

2010-10-22T11:44:00.000-07:00

I just returned from my grandma's funeral. On the flight down I made myself write down a few things that I especially loved about her. I shared these brief thoughts at her service and wanted to share them with you here.

One of the things I loved the most about my grandma was how much she loved to laugh. She laughed easily and often...and loud. Admittedly, her sense of humor tended to be a little on the mean side. I don't think anything made her laugh any harder than a minor injury (especially of the self inflicted variety). Scaring the daylights out of us ran a close second.

I loved spending time with her. I couldn't get enough of her. Some of my happiest days and nights were spent at their home, their cottage or their condo. They always made us feel so special, we were convinced that it made them enormously happy to have us there.

I loved how real my grandma was...there wasn't a phony bone in her body. She wasn't afraid to speak her mind and was fiercely loyal to her family. Not too long ago, the church they went to asked her if she'd take over the card ministry. She flatly told them no, that writing cards wasn't her bag. Her own grandchildren had never even received a card from her. My mom asked her what she would have answered if they'd asked her what exactly was her bag? She said she would have told them that eating and sleeping were her bag. That's classic Grandma, keeping it real.

I loved how good Grandma smelled, and Papa too. Everything about them always smelled good...their home, their clothes, their car. I was always asking her what her secret was. I wanted my own home to smell like hers. I never found out, her secret potions remain secret.

I loved that my grandparents often sang in front of the church. I was always so proud of them, so attractive up there in their coordinating outfits. One of the songs they'd sing that stands out the most is "The Old Rugged Cross". The last verse says, "To that old rugged cross, I will always be true. Then He'll call me some day, to my home far away, where His glory forever I'll share". I'm so happy for Grandma, that God has ever so gently taken her to her Home far away and that she is finally reunited with my wonderful Papa, her mother and dad, her sisters, two of her children, my dad, my brother and so many others.

2010-09-24T16:14:00.000-07:00

When we come down for breakfast I am made aware of one of the many blessings of choosing Switzerland's L'Abri. As God would have it, we are here at the beginning of a term. The beauty of that being that no one knows anybody else. We are all new students. If we were here for a few days in the middle of a term we might feel a little like outsiders, as I imagine certain inside jokes and special bonds are inevitable after months of community living. As it is we get to hear every one's story; how they heard about L'Abri and why they have come. There is the young British couple, both doctors and planning on giving a year of their lives to serve in Rwanda. There's the sweet guy from Finland who is not sure what to do with his life but is seeking God with all his heart and hopes to find direction during his stay here. Surprisingly, the majority of the students are Americans, apparently this is a rarity. All of them are wonderful. I am especially encouraged (for Caitlin's sake) at the number of kind, intelligent and funny single guys. Wow. The song "It's Raining Men, Hallelujah" runs through my mind. Not that she's looking, but it's just nice to know they're out there.

It's during this time of sharing that I would give almost anything to be more like Caitlin. Her ability to draw people out is nothing short of brilliant. She has a genuine desire to know everything about people, but she's just as willing to share her own life and does so in such an engaging manner that they hang on her every word. I know I'm a proud mom, but I am convinced her particular brand of charisma is a rare gift. It takes me months to make the connections she makes in a few minutes. I don't doubt that she will maintain them either.

After breakfast we are given a tour and given some general rules and expectations. On a number of occasions we are reminded to pick up after ourselves as our "mothers' aren't here". Ahem! Someone's mother is here. It turns out Switzerland is a very expensive country to live in. Conservation, especially of water and electricity, is of utmost importance. Only two showers or baths per week are allowed and using a blow dryer or similar could overwhelm the electrical system. Unfortunately, I'm not a low maintenance gal...I only feel half human without all the accoutrement's (blow dryers, hot rollers, make-up, shampoo, hair spray). It's not like I can use any of it on the sly either. I can just imagine causing the electricity to go out...the cat would be out of the bag when I suddenly appear with my big hair. No, I just had to resign myself to a few days of showcasing my smaller than average head with my hair lying close to my skull.

The chalet that we're staying in is a constant reminder of my sweet Brett. Before being converted over to housing for L'Abri students it was a children's home...way back in the days when special needs children weren't kept at home. The main bath on the second floor has a row of little showers against the wall. I imagine that they were designed so that they could wheel the children right up under the shower heads. Awwww.

Each day we are assigned to work half the day and study the other half. Another beautiful gift of our timing is that Thursday is the only free day (plus a half day on Sunday). Our second day here is Thursday...and it's Caitlin's birthday. They provide us with packed lunches and we are on our own until dinner. We hike as a group into the nearby village and then high up into the Alps. We are blessed with sights, sunshine and fellowship beyond our wildest expectations.

This place is sooooo up Caitlin's alley. I know if she didn't have a job to go home to she would stay and Tommy-girl and I would be on our own. As it is she wants to stay as long as possible and instead of leaving in time to spend the night in Rome, she decides "we" will drive through the night. I kind of hope word might get out that I'll be driving all night and maybe get a light work load on Friday (or even a pass). Twas not to be the case. I am put to work dusting and vacuuming and when I finish with that, some heavy duty weeding. It makes me feel old and stiff and almost worthy of my (rather scandalous) decision to skip study time in favor of a hot bath. As I languish in the big, comfortable tub, I feel like I am enjoying a little slice of Heaven. The shutters are wide open to the fresh air and beautiful Alps. A charming British girl (but then, aren't all British people charming?) is down the hall singing away as she irons. She has a beautiful voice and the praise songs are incredibly uplifting. Does life get any better than this?

Everyone here is just so... lovable. Truly. I don't know how else to describe it. I know it's easy to be "all that" when you're in a beautiful setting, with beautiful people, zero crime, no news, total equality in working and living conditions and infused with nothing but good things...good reading material, good conversation, movies and tapes, but I am touched in a way I can't quite define with how genuine everyone is.

"Francis and Edith Schaeffer opened up their home in faith in 1955 to be a place where people might find satisfying answers to their questions and practical demonstration of Christian care. They called it L'Abri, the French word for shelter, because they sought to provide a shelter from the pressures of a relentlessly secular 20th century. As time went by so many people came that others were called to join the Schaeffers and more branches were established." (quoted from L'Abri's website)

I am so thankful Caitlin and I had the opportunity to come here. I know it wouldn't have been possible if not for Bob, my mom and Dane's willingness to take care of everything at home and I am eternally grateful for their selflessness.

2010-09-04T09:43:00.000-07:00

I am not by nature a very fearful person. I even kind of like the adrenaline rush of being slightly out of control, like skiing down a black diamond when I can barely manage a blue one. So when I say I am afraid driving in the alps you know it is a legitimate fear. We are hopelessly lost. We can't find anyone that speaks English and we can't make any sense out of the non-English, enormous map that I buy. At least if all else fails, our map can double as a pup tent and we can camp out under it for the night. We should have been onto Tommy-girl's antics sooner because her bum steers always begin with the words, "500 yards, then turn left, then a sharp right". Always. Those exact words. It's like she's too stubborn to admit that she hasn't a clue which way to go, and that's her default mode. It gets to the point where just hearing her say "500 yards" (even legitimately) gets my heart racing. Oh, no...not the dreaded 500 yards again!!!

When you leave a city in Italy you pass a sign with the city's name on it and a big red "x" over it. These signs crack me up, and I never tire of announcing each city's departure, "Hey, honey... we're not in Rome anymore" or "we're not in Florence"...or...well you get the idea. Anyway, after many hours of stressful driving in the mountains, I was sure that I remembered seeing a sign with "Italia" on it and a big red "x" over it...a clear signal that we'd left Italy and were now in Switzerland. Who's ever heard of the Italian alps anyway? Caitlin isn't buying it. She logically notes that we haven't passed any border patrols or anything. I refuse to believe that all of this driving in the mountains hasn't even gotten us out of Italy and I squeak out a "Yodel-ay-hee-hoo!" every so often to keep Caitlin from her luxuriant napping. I comment that all the cliff hugging roads, narrow tunnels, steep hills and hairpin turns are making me feel a little bit like Luigi in Mario Bros. "Except", Caitlin gloomily points out, "that when you drive off a cliff in the video game, little angels pick you up and put you back on the road". Oh! Well I knew there wouldn't be any little angels picking us up...maybe big angels welcoming us into Heaven, but certainly no little ones picking us up off the side of the mountain.

After failing to even locate L'Abri's city on our giant map, I begin pleading with God to let Tommy-girl cooperate. He graciously answers my prayer and she calculates a "re-route" and we are on our way once again. Sadly, Caitlin is right about still being in Italy. We do indeed have to pass through some sort of border patrol, but it's easy, they just collect money, give us some Swiss chocolates and send us on our way. As we get closer to L'Abri Tommy-girl directs us onto "roads" that I am sure are actually bike paths. What happens if another car comes along? The paths are so steep that it is all I can do to press on the gas and let out the clutch without stalling out and rolling back off the road...and off the side of the mountain! I am terrified. Truly. As I look back on it, it was God's providence that had us meandering all over the Italian alps for so long because if we had been driving on these bike trails in the daytime, we surely would have come across another car (or even a person) and that would have been disastrous. As it turns out, one car is expected to back up to a little turn-off and wait for the other car to pass. I cannot even imagine accomplishing such a feat. Thank you Lord for Tommy-girl's obstinacy.

Even though Tommy-girl has led us up the right mountain, we still can't find L'Abri. It's not quite 11:00 p.m. but there aren't any lights on anywhere, nor are there any cars on the road. I tell Caitlin we have no choice but to wait for a car and then frantically wave it down. I think we have a better chance with Caitlin doing the waving. So when we finally see lights approaching, I send her out there, dangerously close to the road, waving frantically. They ignore her and drive by! I am dumbfounded. How could they do that? Aren't the Swiss supposed to be some of the nicest people in the world? But then I remember, they don't get involved...not in wars, not in anything, evidently not even in helping stranded travelers. Now what? When another car finally comes along, I urge Caitlin to amp up the franticness a bit. This car initially drives by too, but must feel guilty because they stop and back up. They point us in the general vicinity and finally, finally we spot the eight inch L'Abri sign.

We really don't know what to expect. We do know that it's not a resort and we kind of giggle about the very real possibility of being jerked up out of bed at the crack of dawn to begin our chores. I'm sure they won't be mollified with any sob stories about my many hours of white knuckle driving. We creep up to the dark, quiet chalet and softly knock on the door. After a while a sweet girl comes to the door and whispers that they were expecting us earlier and that everyone has gone to bed. We whisper our apologies, briefly explaining our difficulties finding the place. After exchanging a few pleasantries, she quietly tells us that we'll get a tour in the morning, but for now we just need to go to bed. She leads us to our small room with bunk beds and whispers that breakfast will begin promptly at 8:00. Caitlin and I both relish getting under the covers, we are cold and exhausted and after a few whispered words of mutual gratitude that we actually don't have to get up at the crack of dawn, we drift off to sleep.

And so begins our stay at L'Abri...

2010-08-30T08:51:00.000-07:00

I'm reluctant to admit how little I appreciate fine art and music, but as I'm even more reluctant to be a phony baloney I'll admit it here. There are few excursions I consider more of a snooze-fest than a trip to an art museum or the opera. But Caitlin does appreciate art and that is why we are in Florence. I surprise myself with the awe I feel here. I stand in amazement at the sheer massiveness of the cathedrals, the soaring Gothic arches, the beautiful stained glass and all the intricate artwork. I am especially blown away by the fact that they were built centuries ago (centuries!!). I am glad that I have read the novel "Pillars of the Earth" because it has given me a greater appreciation for the massive amount of work and genius that goes into building such grand, lasting structures.

If Caitlin ever feels a dip in self esteem a trip to Italy should cure it. Men are constantly telling her how beautiful she is. They even yell it out to her as she passes. I am beginning to feel in awe of her myself. I see her wild blond hair, sun-kissed face, bright blue eyes and infectious laughter with new eyes. No wonder all these men are wild for her...who wouldn't be? I on the other hand, am feeling rather old and invisible, which I actually kind of like. Well, the invisible part anyway.

While we wait to get into one of the cathedrals, Caitlin jumps out of line to get a gelato. A young woman with a plastic cup inexplicably picks me out of the entire line to beg money from. I try to look away and ignore her but she's insistent, she is right up in my face and talking non stop. I only have a ten euro bill in my purse and just when I decide to tell her to wait for my daughter to return with some change she reaches in and pinches me. A skin twisting pinch. Ouch. Caitlin had an experience with a beggar too. She had risen before me to visit some churches. On the steps of one of them sat a very old woman with a plastic cup. Caitlin said she felt moved to put a few coins in her cup and touch her cheek. The woman took Caitlin's hand and gently kissed it. It brought tears to Caitlin's eyes. A kiss for Caitlin; a vicious, twisty skin pinch for me.

We take full advantage of everything Florence has to offer. We climb the 493 claustrophobic steps to the top of the Duomo where we have a spectacular view of the entire city. We walk back over the Arno river to visit a beautiful park with another breathtaking view. We do lots and lots of climbing, walking and shopping. The galleria that houses Michelangelo's David is closed just one day a week: Monday. We are there on Monday. We delay our Tuesday morning departure to L'Abri a few hours so we can see it. It is well worth it. It stands almost 18 feet tall and was carved out of a flawed, discarded piece of marble around 1502. I am moved by the incredible God-given talent that could carve something so magnificent from a chunk of marble. Even the veins in his arms look real, the musculature of his body captured perfectly...it is truly spectacular.

When we finally pull out of the city, Tommy-girl ever so properly and politely directs us on to the motor way to Switzerland. It is only when we reach the Italian alps that she starts pulling her mean shenanigans again...taking us on death defying, terror filled roads to nowhere. I am convinced it is only God's grace that brings us safely through them and high up into the Swiss alps where we finally, miraculously find L'Abri (a mere thirteen hours after leaving Florence).

Enough for now, I'll tell you all about L'Abri in a separate post...until then au revoir!

2010-08-22T09:13:00.000-07:00

Caitlin and I just returned from a very memorable trip to Europe. We visited Rome and Florence and then headed up to Switzerland to stay at L'Abri. There are so many things I want to share that it is going to take several installments to do it justice.

Our trip begins with an unexpected bump up to Business Elite (the international First Class). What a treat! You'd think flying on an airplane is a rarity for me as excited as I am to embark on our nine hour flight. Caitlin and I yuk it up in our big, comfy seats, sipping on champagne and enjoying every delectable treat that comes down the pike. Unfortunately I watch two stupid movies and can't sleep a wink. I am insanely jealous of Caitlin sleeping soundly next to me, her mouth wide open. I begin to worry about the energy she is going to have after all this hard sleeping (she's even dreaming!). When we land in Rome about 10:30 a.m. local time I've been awake for more than 20 hours. Standing at the rental car counter I feel an unfamiliar rumbling and cramping in my stomach. I say "unfamiliar" because I usually have just the opposite problem (especially when I'm traveling). As we wait for the car that I'd booked for the wrong day (forgetting that we'd be arriving the day after our departure), I start breaking out in a cold sweat. I need to find a restroom, quickly. To my great dismay, I discover none of the toilets have toilet seats. Thinking I must be in the men's room, I go out and recheck the door, but no, the figurine is definitely wearing a skirt. I suffer through my bout without the heretofore vastly under-appreciated toilet seat. Apparently Italians want to ensure people don't linger on the toilet, as all of the restrooms I visit throughout the day are equally ill-equipped.

It has already reached 90 degrees and I am roasting in my black sweat pants and black turtle neck. It is not helping my whole "situation". Caitlin offers to lend me a more comfortable outfit which I describe as a floor length, strapless muumuu. Caitlin describes it as an adorable, flow-y, floor length sundress. I don't care, it's cool and comfortable. So there I am, wearing my sensible tennis shoes with the floor length, strapless muumuu, made even more attractive worn over my matronly, thick-strapped black bra. Throughout the day Caitlin and I both randomly erupt in laughter at the picture I make...traipsing around Rome in a ridiculous get-up I wouldn't be caught dead in at home...an outfit that is so not me.

When we locate our car (barely bigger than a bumper car), we realize it's not the requested automatic but a manual. Caitlin asks if I even know how to drive a stick shift.
"Of course." I answer.
"When did you learn?" she asks.
"When I was a teenager."
"When was the last time you drove one?"
"When I was a teenager."

When we finally make it out of the parking garage, driving in Rome is not too difficult, despite the lack of traffic lights, stop signs or any discernible rules of the road. We need to see all of Rome in a day because Caitlin plans on having dinner in Florence. The first few hours of walking around I am doing okay, albeit exhausted. After waiting in line to see St. Peter's Basilica and getting rejected for admission (no visible knees or shoulders are allowed), I begin to feel like I really need to lie down somewhere. I remind Caitlin that we don't need to see it all in a day, she can return someday... the only caveat being that I need to be, you know, alive for her to enjoy the benefits of my job. She agrees that I had better listen to my body and lie down for a bit, so after enjoying lunch at a quaint outdoor cafe we head back to our car that is parked in front of a church. I had envisioned myself stretching out on a pew in the cool darkness but alas the church is locked and so I settle for sitting in our bumper car and closing my eyes for an hour or so. Caitlin continues her tour of the city and when she comes back suggests we visit the Vatican and then head out for Florence. We dubbed our GPS Tommy-girl (taken from her given name of TomTom). Tommy-girl starts acting up, giving us one crazy bum steer after another in our search for the Vatican. Frustrated with her increasingly ridiculous directions, we finally give up, promising ourselves a return visit. After Tommy-girl gets us safely onto the ever so lovely Italian motor way, we pull into a rest stop and I give Caitlin a quick lesson in driving a stick shift. After a dozen or so "lurch and stalls" she gets the hang of it and drives most of the two and half hour trip to Florence.

Florence is beautiful. We look for one of the hotels that Caitlin has looked up in her guide book. We don't find any of them but stumble upon Hotel Roma and take a quick tour, we love it but decide to make one more loop around to see if we can find a better deal. We don't find one. Hotel Roma is the ticket. Their rooms have toilet seats...really, what more could we ask? By this time I have been on the move for over 30 hours. I am tired and hungry. My legs are beginning to ache. The first restaurant we try has a two hour wait. No can do. We stumble upon another one (not nearly so nice) a half a block away but Caitlin wants to continue on to see if we can find one that looks more appetizing. A walk around the entire block ends up being a fruitless "penalty lap". The food is rather bland but it fills the void and we blessedly head back to Hotel Roma where I fall into bed and sleep like a baby.

That recaps the first day of our lovely trip. In my next post I will tell you all about Florence...and then all about the real highlight...L'Abri.

Until then...arrivederci!

2010-06-09T09:58:00.000-07:00

Today is my brother Jeff's 50th birthday. I can hardly get my mind around it. He certainly doesn't look 50. For at least the past 20 years people have assumed he's my younger brother. Not exactly a boon to my confidence...but understandable nonetheless.

As a protector, Jeff has been the epitome of the perfect older brother. I've always felt safe with him. When we were little Craig and I were both terrified of thunderstorms, especially ones that came in the middle of the night. We'd run to my parents room and plead with them to allow us to climb into bed with them until the storm passed, but we were always told to quit being silly and to get back into our own beds. So we'd go to Jeff and he'd always let us curl up with him....the three of us all huddled in his small twin bed. Comforted by his lack of fear.

After my dad's funeral I accompanied my mom back down to Florida and spent eight days there. They were the most difficult eight days of my entire life. I'd never witnessed such intense grief. I thought she would never recover, that I'd essentially lost her, too. I didn't know how to comfort her. I feared for her sanity. At one point I looked up every "doctor" in their address book and begged them to prescribe something for her, anything. Even if I had scored on some drugs she would have refused to take them. She said she didn't want to mask anything. Neither of us took a shower for days. It seemed somehow like getting cleaned up would have been disloyal, a signal that life was continuing on without my dad. She had put a few articles of my dad's clothing in a ziploc bag so she could open it up and smell him. When the day came that she couldn't smell him anymore she curled up in her bed and cried such deep heart-wrenching sobs that I could hardly stand it. I was so unsure of myself, so unsure of how to respond to her. Should I give her the privacy to mourn in her own way? I could hear her talking to my dad and to God, would I be interrupting by going into the closed bedroom? Should I go in there and just hold her and cry with her? Or would my very presence stifle a necessary grief process? In the end I stayed huddled in my own bed, crying and begging God to give her the comfort I knew only He could ultimately give her.

At the end of the eight days, Jeff flew down. I've never been happier to see him. I could have fallen to my knees and kissed his feet in gratitude. He took over. The endless paperwork, the financial wrangling, all my dad's belongings, all the myriad of distasteful tasks that had to be accomplished that we'd been inadequate for. He was just what we needed. It never occurred to me then to think what Jeff may have needed. How he may have needed to grieve.

My mom tells of watching him from their balcony as he sorted through some things in the trunk of their car. Unaware of being watched, he pulled out the ever-present tow rope, and as he looked at it and held it he slowly dropped to his knees and sobbed. Who knows why such a seemingly innocuous object would awaken such deep emotions. I don't know if it was because we never drove new cars or we just happened to be the hapless recipients of lots of "lemons", but a tow rope was as integral a part of our cars' accessories as a spare tire was to others. You just never knew when a towing might be necessary. Nostalgic memories of being towed must have overwhelmed Jeff at that moment.

We've relied on Jeff for all sorts of unpleasant tasks since my dad's death in 1999. Horrifying things, really. I don't know how we could have managed without him. I've never given him the proper kudos for always being willing and able to tackle the tough stuff that needed to be done.

Reflecting on Jeff's life today, I felt overwhelmed with gratitude for him and wanted to acknowledge him as the unsung hero he is.

Happy 50th Birthday, Jeff!
I love you.

2010-05-22T11:01:00.001-07:00

I was blessed to grow up with a cousin that has the same quirky sense of humor that I have. We can be on the floor laughing about things that other people barely crack a smile at. When we were little we spent many nights at our grandma's house, laughing ourselves silly. Sometimes my grandma would worry that her friends would think we were laughing at them. I'm ashamed to admit that I can remember one time when we were laughing at one of them. But thankfully, most of the time we just amused ourselves with our own silly nonsense.

One time when we had spent the night, we ventured down to a small bridge over the Rouge River. We spotted an old grocery cart partly submerged in the water. We were thrilled with the find! It would be just the thing for Grandma! Grandma had a bad knee and any time we were at the store she would tell us how much easier it was to walk when she had a cart to lean on. Why, with her very own cart she'd be able to walk everywhere!

With those thoughts in mind, we scrambled excitedly down the river bank and painstakingly hauled that old cart out of the nasty, polluted water. We craftily wheeled it behind the garage out of grandma's view and set about getting it spiffed up. After we'd fastidiously gotten all the river muck cleaned off of it, we walked down to the hardward store and used our candy money to buy a can of metallic gold spray paint. When we finally had it ready to be presented, we led Grandma out by the hand, making her promise to keep her eyes closed until we had her in front of it. We expected a squeal of delight, instead I don't think we'd ever done anything to aggravate her more. "Where did you girls get that? Why, people will think I stole it! Take it back where you found it...right now!" Back to the Rouge River?? Since we weren't supposed to be anywhere near the Rouge River we could hardly tell her we got it out of the river. We tried to tell her how nice it would be to walk all over the neighborhood, that we just found it, that nobody wanted it, that the A & P was almost rubbed off anyway...but she wasn't hearing any of it. So, after taking turns riding in it and pushing it around, we took it back where we found it. I admit there was a certain amount of pleasure in giving our bright gold, beautiful cart a big push and watching it careen down the river bank and splash back into the water. Giving a hoot and not polluting was a really big deal back then (remember the Indian chief canoeing through the polluted water with a tear running down his cheek?), so there was a tiny bit of fear that we might get caught polluting (no one would know it was re-polluting).

Beauty certainly is in the eye of the beholder, isn't it? What we saw as a beautiful ticket to freedom, Grandma saw as an ugly contraption that would only serve to label her as a common criminal. We are all guilty at times times of caring too much what other people think of us, when all that really matters is what God thinks of us. Isn't wonderful that as His beloved children we are considered beautiful by the only Beholder that really matters? I recently read a book that I absolutely loved by Angela Thomas. Her thoughts really resonated with me. In it she says, "Wholeness comes from God, not from any other relationship or thing or feeling. Don't get me wrong. Relationships, things, and feelings are great. As a matter of fact, they can be wonderful. It's just that all by themselves, they will never fill you up, they will never be enough to make you whole. You have been made by God, for God, and apart from Him there will always be emptiness in your soul." God rescues us from the pollution of this fallen world and makes us into "something beautiful, something good". He promises that "He will work all things together for good for those that love Him and are called according to His purpose" (Rom. 8:28). I don't want to live in the ugly void that a life apart from Him inevitably is. I want the wholeness that comes from Him, from knowing I am loved with an everlasting love. As Angela reiterates, "We have been made by God for God. To operate with only the taste of love we get on earth will leave us incomplete. That's by design. Our hearts have been made to cry out for a love that can only come from our Creator." My prayer is that all of us will truly understand and believe that "The King is enthralled with [our] beauty" (Psalm 45:11).

2010-05-13T09:13:00.001-07:00

In my last post I wrote about the special bond my mom and I share. I didn't mention that she writes beautiful poetry...but she does. I wanted to share the poem she wrote for me almost twenty years ago...for my 30th Birthday.

Looking Back

How could I know at age twenty
What God already had in His plan?

How could I know that He'd give me
A daughter, a helper, a friend?

How could I know how I'd love her
That her presence would change my whole life?

How could I know how soon someone
would claim her and make her his wife?

I know that I thank the Lord daily
For a daughter so lovely and true.

And I pray that I've been since age twenty
The right kind of mother for you.

She signed it, "Thank you being such a wonderful daughter and friend for the last thirty years.
I love you, Mom"

2010-05-01T08:48:00.000-07:00

One of the greatest blessings in my life is the special bond I share with my mom. Our relationship is one of the most consistent, loving, and joy-filled friendships I have ever witnessed. I adore her, I always have. My older brother used to tell me I couldn't even formulate an opinion without consulting her first. He would ask me something simple like what my favorite color was. I'd ask my mom what her favorite color was. "Green", she'd answer. "Green", I'd tell Jeff. It would exasperate him, "Why can't you come up with an answer on your own?" "That is what I came up with on my own!" I'd answer indignantly and turn to my mom, "Huh Mumma?" (as in, isn't that right Mom?). I'm almost 48 years old and I still seek that soothing "that's right, Sweetheart" response to my numerous "Huh Mumma?"s.

A series of tragic events happened that brought my mom back to Michigan just when I would need her the most. It was an incalculable blessing to have my mom by my side during the difficult months of my pregnancy with Brett and those first few months of his life. I honestly can't imagine how I could have managed without her. Those first few weeks after we brought him home from the hospital are almost a blur. Those days of carefully measuring and re-measuring his ever growing head, not wanting to believe the horrifying numbers. The days and nights of trying to get him to drink one ounce of formula on the hour, every hour. The seemingly impossible, frustrating job of trying to keep the tiny oxygen cannulae lined up with his little nostrils. When we brought Brett home they provided us with a "mother tank" of oxygen that had a 50 foot long cord attached to it so that we could walk around the house with him. Anytime we'd pick him up we'd pull the cord several times, ensuring we had enough slack to keep the cord from pulling against his face. Several days after he was no longer on the oxygen I watched my mom pick him up and then "pull" on an imaginary oxygen cord. I started laughing so hard I could barely get the words out to explain that what was really funny was that I had caught myself doing the exact same thing. We had both gotten so used to that cord that long after it was gone we were still "pulling" on an imaginary cord. It was ridiculous...we laughed until we cried (literally).

My mom compared us continuing to "mind" the cord to us continuing to hold on to worries and burdens that Jesus died to free us from. What a perfect analogy. We've been freed from the "mother tank" of confessed sin yet we keep ourselves attached through the invisible cords of guilt and regret. Regardless of how often I have been lured away from Him and His ways, and regardless of the fact that I was taught to know better, I still belong to my Father and when I return to Him, He not only welcomes me back, but He runs to meet me! It's inconceivable I know, but I know it's true because my "Bible tells me so" (see the Parable of the Lost Son, Luke 15).

How I thank God for a mother that not only believes everything the Bible says but has taught her children to believe it too.

Happy Mother's Day, Mom. You're simply the best!

2010-04-15T15:34:00.000-07:00

It's funny how the same sight and sound can evoke such starkly different emotions in people. I heard a guy from the Middle East say that whenever he hears the roar of a fighter jet he is instinctively filled with terror and looks for somewhere to run for cover. Conversely, there's hardly a sound in the world that makes my heart swell with pride and comforts me like the familiar roar of a fighter jet. My dad was a fighter pilot and I have many wonderful memories of awe inspiring personal flyovers...both of him flying solo and in beautiful formation. Whenever I see or hear a jet, especially a fighter, nostalgia and love for my country overwhelms me. "I'm proud to be an American, where at least I know I'm free, and I won't forget the men who died that gave that right to me...".

The last time we attempted to travel with Brett, I had two positive space tickets so that at least I knew we could get two seats together. Unfortunately, only Brett and I ended up making it on the flight. All was good until about a half hour into the flight when Brett developed a hideous case of diarrhea. It was everywhere... all over him, on me, on his clothes, on my clothes. I took him into that poor excuse for a restroom and tried to clean him up, but even if he had been able to stand on his own, I wouldn't have been able to do much. We reeked. I felt horrible for everyone on the plane, having to endure us and our stinkiness. I thought it would have been a dandy time to go through a decompression because then at least the oxygen masks would drop and give some sweet relief. Not knowing what else to do, I held Brett with his poor tummy ache and seemingly endless bouts of diarrhea and just stared out the window. Telling myself this would surely be going down as one of the worst days of my entire life, I suddenly spotted a fighter jet below us. I watched it arc gracefully up, out and away. I thought of my dad and even whispered, "Dad?" Of course just thinking about how sorry my dad would feel for me if he could see me opened up the flood gates, and tears of self pity streamed down my face. My dad died before he knew anything about Brett. I don't really think my dad can see me...because isn't he now exempt from pain and sorrow? And wouldn't that make him sad to see me? Sad to see his little grandson? Still the glimpse of that fighter flitting through the sky comforted me, made me think that whether my earthly father was able to see me or not, my Heavenly Father does see me and He is not going to let anything overwhelm me. I am in His tender care...always and forever. The pure conviction of God's love for me at that moment gave me a rush of joy that's difficult to describe. I wish I could say that I feel that rush of joy often; I wish I could say that I even I felt it for the rest of the flight. But I don't and I didn't. However, the joy was real, and that is enough to assure me that I am His.

I just read a great book by Larry Crabb that talks about how much joy modern day Christians are missing out on because they seek God's blessings more than they seek Him. We were made to feel that inexpressible joy when we are filled with the knowledge of His loving presence, not His presents. Crabb states that, "We experience so little of the joy that sustains us in suffering and the hope that anchors us amid shattered dreams when we come to Him looking for the pathway out of hardships instead of the pathway into His presence." He goes on to say that "our highest calling, our deepest joy is to celebrate His availability by drawing near to Him, not to use Him to make our lives better, but to enjoy Him for who He is. He allows good dreams to shatter to arouse the better dream of knowing Him."

I know I have missed out on a lot of joy by asking God for a way out rather than "celebrating His availability by drawing near to Him". I hope and pray that in the coming months I will be able to share with you that I am increasingly experiencing that deeper joy that is found only in His presence and availability.

2010-03-28T09:37:00.000-07:00

I spotted a penny on the ground the other day and it triggered a memory that I recalled with surprising detail. My brother Craig was seven or eight years old at the time. We were getting in the car to go someplace and he spotted a penny in the driveway. Not being one to pick it up and all day long have good luck, he picked it up and chucked it into the air with all the strength his skinny little arm could muster. My mom was on the other side of the car buckling in our baby sister when she suddenly felt a painful ping on the top of her head. Seeing the penny bounce along the ground, and not believing for one second that pennies were falling from Heaven, she picked it up and stormed around the car. Thrusting the offending penny under Craig's nose she demanded to know why he threw it. Craig could not have been more incredulous...how had his penny ended up in her hand? I couldn't believe how unlucky he was. I mean, what were the chances of that penny landing on her head? We're talking maybe a four inch circumference here. I thought her yelp of pain and ensuing anger were a little over the top at the time, but thinking back I'm sure with the velocity that penny gained on its way down, that it really must have hurt like the devil.

Fast forward thirty years and I'm sitting numbly in the church pew at Craig's funeral. I was experiencing a kind of detached surreality about the whole thing until the pall bearers walked by with his casket. The sight gave me a panicky feeling inside...that can't be my brother in there...there can't be any part of Craig in there! At that moment the agonizing finality of him not being a part of this world ever again cut me to the quick. I could hardly pull myself together enough to stand up and follow the rest of the family out of the church.

Just a few weeks before his accident, Craig had commented (eerily enough) that we'd all better view his death as an event to be celebrated because it would be well worth celebrating. He could sincerely say this because he lived truly believing that "to live is Christ and to die is gain" (Phil. 1:21). He knew that his life was not his own, that it was "bought at a price" (1 Cor. 6:20). As dozens of people testified, Craig loved Jesus and lived a life that glorified Him...he lived a life that mattered. So many live their lives like it is their own, that the chief end of man is to work hard and then retire to a life of ease. They strive to gain the whole world yet lose their soul in the process...that's a tragedy. Life is filled with pain, but Craig was spared from much of the evil and pain of this world. At the time of Craig's death a dear woman sent me a card with the following verses, "The righteous pass away; the godly often die before their time. And no one seems to care or wonder why. No one seems to understand that God is protecting them from the evil to come. For the godly who die will rest in peace." (Isaiah 57:1-2 NLT). These verses convinced me that Craig's short life was his reward, his "gain". Losing Craig was a tragedy to all that knew him. We miss his joyful, loving presence more than I can say. But his life was not a tragedy, because his life (and his death) left a lasting, positive impact on the world he left behind and now he is "present with the Lord" (2 Cor. 5:8). There could be no greater tragedy than to leave this life without having the all surpassing knowledge of knowing and accepting that we were bought...redeemed for all eternity. I hope and pray that my own life will have an increasingly positive, eternal impact on the world I leave behind...that I too, will have lived a that mattered.

2010-03-20T09:08:00.001-07:00

I've missed writing. I can't believe how long it has been since I sat down and tried to organize my chaotic thoughts into something intelligible. I set a goal this year (which I had thought was reasonable) to write once week, but for several reasons I've fallen off the band wagon. Apparently I have too much going on. I feel like I run around at break neck speed all the time and never accomplish anything. I experience on a regular basis what Steven Wright described as having amnesia and deja-vu at the same time...I know I've forgotten this before. My mind has been too scattered to be "all there" for anything or anybody...how sad is that?

Two weeks ago I had to attend my annual job training. This "training" entails some mandatory performances, which performed less than perfectly, could entail the loss of your job. I always get way, way too worked up about it. This year I came about as close to an anxiety attack as I've ever been. I know the stuff, it's just increasingly obvious that I'm not good at live performances (horrid at them actually). There was a silver lining in all the hideousness, because this year I was able to attend with Tammy. God was good to arrange that little miracle. Assuming I could keep my job, Bob and I were planning on traveling to Florida the following Friday to watch Dane play baseball. I confessed to Tammy that I was a little apprehensive about traveling with Brett. It's not easy flying standby in the best of circumstances (much less with Brett and in the middle of Spring Break). She convinced me to try and recruit some help for five or six days so that we could leave Brett at home, where he would be much happier anyway. It's never easy for me to ask for help. My sweet, wonderful friend (who, by the way, is just as frantically busy as I am), hauled out her calendar and figured out which days she could help. The possibility seemed almost too good to be true. Six days of taking care of only ourselves? Six days of watching baseball for Bob? Does life get any better? One thing about not having the freedom to just get up and go is that when you do get a chance to get away you are a billion times more excited and a billion times more thankful. I came home Tuesday night from training and flew out again Wednesday on what was supposed to be a two day trip. Due to some freakish weather in Orlando I ended up getting stuck there. I had literally hundreds of things I needed to accomplish on Friday before we could leave and now I had only hours to do it all. When I got home I couldn't decide what to do first...I'd start packing, then realize I better make sure I had everything ready for Brett, that I should probably clean my bathroom, that I better make sure Brett has all his medicine, make sure he has enough food and diapers...and on and on. I would start one thing, get distracted, think of something else, run upstairs and forget what I ran up there for. I was beginning to think I might be losing my mind. During this agitated racing around I realized I'd hardly paid any attention to my sweet, cooperative Brett laying there contentedly on the floor (like he always does). I knelt down beside him, talking to him and kissing his cheeks and neck. Normally he isn't very patient with all the kissing and stroking I arbitrarily inflict on him...and who could blame him? I get claustrophobic just thinking about someone hovering over me and kissing me like that. Most of the time he (none to gently) pushes my face away. That day he put up with me, even gently trailing his skinny little fingers along my cheeks (his only way of "seeing" me). He was being so unusually responsive that I stopped and made myself enjoy the moment and was suddenly overwhelmed with gratitude. Soak this up! This is what matters. Tuck this memory away so you can bring it out later. You're going to Florida!! You have people in your life that love you enough to sacrifice their precious time so that you can get away. Slow down and be thankful!

I don't want my frantic pace keeping me from enjoying life's simple pleasures or cause me to miss out on Divine appointments (which is what I feel I had that day with Brett). Like my daughter recently reminded me, good relationships don't just happen; they're intentional. You have to be "all there" for people. Frankly, there are times when I'd rather by anywhere but all there, when I want to retreat into myself and not see or talk to anybody. I think Satan uses both excessive busy-ness and isolation to keep us from making a difference in this world that we're just "a-passin' through". None of us are guaranteed a tomorrow, our life is but a mist that appears for a little while and then vanishes, and anyone that knows the good things he ought to be doing and doesn't do them, sins. (James 4:14-17) I hope in the coming months I'll be able to share that I've been successful in slowing down, that I'm enjoying God's simple pleasures and that I am recognizing (and doing) the good things I ought to be doing.

"Only one life; twill soon by past. Only what's done for Christ will last."

2010-01-20T09:46:00.000-08:00

In my last blog I wrote about how enchanting a child's perspective can be. The very fact that we are born with a sense of how things ought to be is evidence that there is a God and that we're living in a fallen world. No one had to teach Sloan that it wasn't fair for one child to be born with sight and another without and no one had to teach my friend's little boy that his big sister is not the way she ought to be.

My friend Stacey's 15-year old daughter Alisha (who, like Brett, was born with severe disabilities) sometimes giggles for no apparent reason. Often this involuntary giggling occurs at inappropriate times, times when they wish she would remain quiet, like during their meal time prayers. Usually it's Stacey's five-year old son Caleb that struggles to be still and quiet for prayer, but the other night, Alisha started giggling, and little Caleb became a tad irritated. When the prayer was over, he asked, "Why did you get her anyway?" (implying that she hadn't been one of their better choices). He wasn't entirely satisfied with their answer that they'd actually "gotten" her before him, and he exasperatedly asked why God doesn't just "heal her up?"

Caleb doesn't know a life without Alisha. She has always been there, and he has never had any inhibitions about trying to communicate with her. Stacey tells of how (since he was really little) he has been scrambling up onto her wheelchair and pressing his nose against hers, just staring into her eyes. Though Alisha has always been a fixture in Caleb's life, he is probably only just now beginning to realize how much easier their life would be if only God would just "heal her up". Sadly, we aren't going to be able to give him any simple answers, because we don't have them. We can only share that we have chosen to trust in God's word and His promises and that as far as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are His ways higher than our ways and His thoughts than our thoughts. (Isaiah 55:9). Sure, there have been blessings unveiled in some of the difficulties, but the sharp ache of what could have been never goes away entirely and sometimes it's overwhelming in its intensity.

I've shared here before that Paul's words, "perplexed but not in despair" (2 Cor. 4) epitomize how I feel about Brett. I take great comfort in the fact that Paul, in spite of witnessing all manner of spectacular miracles, still didn't feel like he had all the answers. If even Paul never got to a state of being un-perplexed, than I can be certain I'll never arrive there...and that's okay... because, like Paul goes on to say, "we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day. For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that for outweighs them all. So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but what is unseen. For what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal" (2 Cor. 4:16-18). We can't see the eternal glory that Alisha and Brett are achieving here on earth but we can live without despair and know that they will be perfect and whole for all eternity and that their heavenly rewards will be far greater than anything we can possibly imagine.

2010-01-09T10:21:00.001-08:00

I love how honest kids are. They haven't yet learned how to disguise their true thoughts and feelings. In "The Divine Conspiracy" Dallas Willard writes that, "interestingly, 'growing up' is largely a matter of learning to hide our spirit behind our face, eyes, and language so that we can evade and manage others to achieve what we want and avoid what we fear. By constrast, the child's face is a constant epiphany because it doesn't yet know how to do this." It's no wonder that Jesus beseeches us to have "child-like faith", without fear or phoniness.

Sloan was only four years old the first time he met Brett. He knelt down beside him and started talking to him and making funny faces, and I had to gently tell him that Brett couldn't see him. He was visibly appalled, almost angry.

"That's not FAIR!"

I wasn't sure how to respond. To an adult I might say, "Yeah, well...life isn't fair, is it?" But to a child? That seemed a bit much.

"He doesn't see anything?", Sloan persisted.

I sadly shook my head.

"But that's not fair!", he said again, even more vehemently.

It amused me and oddly enough, I found his genuine indignation comforting... a refreshingly honest departure from the positive spin most adults feel obligated to give it. I've had plenty of people tell me what a "blessing" it is. A blessing? I confess I struggle not to be aggravated by that one. If you think it's such a blessing than why don't you pray for a child of your own with severe disabilities? But, like my mom always reminds me, they mean well. Of course they do. I know that. People don't know what to say, but children are free to call it as they see it.

Caitlin teaches fourth and fifth graders at a private school in the Washington D.C. area. One day she told her students all about Brett. I think she was somewhat taken aback by their strong reaction to the news. It was all so sad! How horrible that Miss Staples' little brother was born like that! Poor little Brett! Poor Miss Staples!

One of Caitlin's little girls came up to her desk a little later. She wanted to say something to make Miss Staples feel better about her little brother. She asked Caitlin if she knew about the verse in the Bible where Jesus said the "least on earth will be the greatest in Heaven"?

Caitlin nodded encouragingly.

And the little girl sweetly continued, "Because I think that means your little brother is going to be the greatest in Heaven."

Isn't that precious? I can't describe how touched I was by this story. God used that little girl to comfort and encourage me like nothing else ever has. I will forever cherish those particular words of Jesus. I will never read them again without remembering that little girl and thanking God for her and her precious insight. How awesome that God's truths are simple enough to be understood by a child and yet remain "alive and active" to comfort and instruct us through every season of our lives.

2009-12-29T08:03:00.000-08:00

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!

2009-12-13T11:54:00.000-08:00

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 that 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. Of course I didn't. 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 that he made. This 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. There they all were...the tiny headed, 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. How very thankful I am for our "Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father and Prince of Peace" (Isa. 9:6) that promises to never let us bear anything without Him.

2009-11-28T09:24:00.000-08:00

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!

2009-11-13T18:59:00.000-08:00

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, 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.

2009-11-03T09:42:00.000-08:00

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 that 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, many 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 "cave", 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 that 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 this 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 (embarrassingly late), we felt inexplicably loved and embraced by these people. It really is quite indescribable. 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 "caves", they are continually growing and reaching out.

Bob commented on what an awesome time he had golfing with what were 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 that 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...what an inspiration they were!

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.

2009-09-30T15:54:00.000-07:00

I used to think a gorilla could do my job. I don't think so anymore. Plus I doubt gorillas love people and love to travel like we do. The funny thing is, what I'm realizing more and more, is that passengers think we're nothing short of little Einsteins. They believe our geography knowledge is second to none... that we can name every river, body of water or mountain we fly over. They even think we're capable of discerning which state lines we are crossing. 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. I heard a pilot give that answer for a noise I hear a lot and haven't stopped using it since. 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. They also believe we are capable of predicting the future. We can tell them if the weather is going to affect our departure or arrival time. We can tell them whether or not they'll make their connections. I always thought it would be fun to carry around a magic eight ball, and then when people ask me if they're going to make their connection I could consult it and show them the answer: "Not likely". They believe we can tell them if their seat mates are going to make the flight (because they'd like to spread out if they could). This is only a tiny sampling of how deep and vast they believe our knowledge is. Maybe it's just that they get dumbed down as soon as they step on board the airplane. 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 (how many doors have you seen with the door handle in the middle of the door?). On the lav doors that you need to push to get into, there's a big sign on the door that says, "PUSH". This completely baffles them, and in an attempt to help them get in there I find I can't think of another word for push and just repeat it, trying not to sound like a smart aleck. Sometimes I'll do a charade-like illustration of pushing to help them understand. 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 and the call button has a picture of a person on it.

I remember when 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 in the picture is the 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.

2009-09-25T11:57:00.000-07:00

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 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" and "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.

2009-09-20T23:49:00.000-07:00

My friend Kelly is compiling a list of words and phrases that are unique to her family. I believe she is calling it the NutHatch Dictionary. Their own little dialect is very funny (because Kelly is very funny). Anyway, it got me thinking of my own family's particular vocabulary. Phrases I use frequently, even when I haven't a clue where they came from or sometimes even the appropriate use for them. My great-grandmother (Nanny) was the idiom master. I remember she would put about ten spoonfuls of sugar on her cereal, and when she got to the eighth or ninth she'd say, "I really shouldn't...I'm getting as fat as a butcher's dog." When I was with Nanny we always saw a LOT of people that were as "fat as butcher's dogs". I picked up the phrase when I was about four years old and start using it for EVERYTHING. I was as "tired as a butcher's dog", as "hungry as a butcher's dog" and so on. Apparently only a butcher's dog could relate to whatever state of hunger, thirst or exhaustion I was feeling at the time. It wasn't until years later that I understood why this cracked my family up so much.

Nanny wouldn't hesitate to label anyone exhibiting less than desirable behaviour as horse's rosettes. I picked up on this too. I didn't realize until years later that it wasn't exactly the quaint little moniker I had assumed it was.

How about, "there's more than one way to skin a cat"....eeeek. I can honestly say I had NEVER used that gruesome little phrase UNTIL the other day. A passenger wanted three cookies and I told him he'd have to wait until everyone got a choice and then promised to bring him back whatever extras we had. The passengers seated next to him didn't care for anything so he craftily announced that they'd just changed their minds and that they both wanted cookies. I gave him the three cookies and told him "I guess there's more than one way to skin a cat, isn't there?" What?? Where did that come from? Who knew that was even in my repertoire of phrases?

"Loose cannon" is one of my personal favorites. My understanding of a "loose cannon" is someone that is always on the cusp of over the top behavior and must be carefully monitored at all times. Howard Dean is a perfect example of a "loose cannon", though Biden is right on his heels. They're also prone to going off "half-cocked".

My dad always told us to keep our "eyes peeled" for our baby sister. Meaning to keep careful watch over her. Eye's peeled? Ick.

I'm not even sure what a "whip stitch" is...but because I've heard it all my life, I use it every whip stitch.

How about all the ways we could be knocked or slapped? "I'll knock you into the middle of next week" "or "knock both eyes into one". "I'll slap some sense into you", or "slap you silly", or "slap the crap out of you". To be fair, my mom was way too proper to ever say crap, I believe her favorite was knocking us into the middle of next week...which I always personally thought might be a nice place to be (under the circumstances).

Craig used to come up with some outlandish facts. When my parents would ask him how he came upon such knowledge his answer would always be the same: "a kid at school told me." It became our family's response to anyone that came up with questionable facts...."did a kid at school tell you that?"

My mom liked nothing better than to "scare the living daylights" out of us. I haven't a clue what "living daylights" are, but she derived enormous pleasure from telling us scary stories and pulling nylon stockings over her head and poking it around corners to terrify us. When Kristie was little (too little to have the use of her pronouns down pat) my mom would tell her scary stories about abominable snowmen and Kristie would always ask apprehensively "Their don't come to Michigan, do their?" We started using that phrase about any bad people or bad news, "Their don't come to Michigan...do their?"

If we asked Dad if he had time to help us with something, he'd often respond with, "What's time to a pig?" It always made him chuckle but I never really got it. I just learned the other day that it's a line from a joke he loved. The joke goes something like this: an old farmer used to walk his pigs a long way so they could drink from the river. A neighbor offered to run a pipe from the river to the farmer's house but the farmer wasn't interested. When the neighbor insisted what a huge time saver it would be the farmer just asked, "What's time to a pig?" All these years later and now I get it.

Another phrase I use (but have no idea where it came from) is, "you guessed it Nester!" It's the equivalent of "Well...duh!" For example, if I get my uniform on and someone asks if I'm going to work, I say..."You guessed it Nester!" Or, in a lame attempt to be funny, I might say, "No, I just like wearing this outfit".

I'm sure if everyone in my family put our heads together we could come up with quite a "dictionary" of our own. What a gift it is to be "placed in families" (Psalm 68:6). Sometimes I think we forget how therapeutic it is to share our memories. I miss being able to rehash stories with Craig (no one could recount a story better than he could), but I know it won't be long before we'll be laughing it up together again in Heaven...probably sooner than any of us think. I have a distinct memory of us laying on a hill "watching for Jesus" and I can still hear him singing (in his own little rendition), "When those gates are open wide, I'm gonna shove my butt inside, I'm gonna sing, I'm gonna shout...PRAISE THE LORD!"

2009-09-13T19:20:00.000-07:00

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 that 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)

P.S. Babe, please don't tell me to do any of this, okay?

2009-09-12T08:04:00.000-07:00

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!

2009-08-25T07:53:00.000-07:00

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 behaviour. 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.

2009-08-15T16:56:00.000-07:00

I love that commercial where two little girls are offered ponies. They hand the first little girl a little toy trinket of a pony, which she seems perfectly happy with. She smiles and turns it this way and that, admiring it. 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 that someone else 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 for all these years. You're perfectly happy with your size until you start hanging out with people that you can make six of and then suddenly all you can think about it is how you got to be that big and eventually just find new, bigger friends (just kidding). You think you've got a decent amount of hair, until you start comparing the size of your ponytail to others and realize that 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 actually deserve a "better" life than someone else. Talk about experiencing "pride coming before the fall". Ouch.

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 that we're right where God wants us to be. Sometimes I watch normal six-year old 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 that 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.

2009-07-18T11:18:00.000-07:00

"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 taped 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 obvious 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, all that 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 in excitement. The logistics of actually getting Olive there don't seem to be 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 to the competition.

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.

2009-07-11T08:30:00.000-07:00

I almost died the last time I had a seizure. God surely had work left for me to do in this world, because He had to arrange an array of circumstances and angels to protect me.

I had flown with a flight attendant that had lost a considerable amount of weight. Not only had she lost weight, she had also gained muscle in all the right places. She carried before and after pictures with her that were truly awe inspiring. She was a living poster woman for a new energy pill that she swore was what allowed her to successfully diet and exercise her way into the wonder woman that she had become. She claimed to have never felt better or had more energy. Hey, even I can pop a few pills! I had visions of a shrinking, powerfully built body. In the vision the new, chiseled body never stopped moving. It whipped through the house cleaning every nook and cranny. It threw the kids up onto strong shoulders and ran with them! The kids in the vision were ecstatic that they had such a thin, strong and tireless mother. She was never too tired to do anything.

I couldn't get to the health food store fast enough to get those pills! Surely, the warning about not taking them if you have a seizure disorder didn't apply to me, did it? A smattering of seizures didn't constitute a "disorder" did it? Certainly not! Well, like I said, I almost died.

We left for vacation the day after I purchased the magical, fat melting, muscle building energy pills. I took the recommended dosage at breakfast and decided to walk back to the lake (about two and a half miles), I made it about two miles before collapsing into a quaking heap in the middle of the road.

I was in a drug induced coma for a few days and the doctors wouldn't venture a guess as to what (if any) brain damage I may have sustained. When I did awake from my deep sleep, they asked me two questions: "Do I have a daughter?" and then, "What is her name?"

Two facts I'd never forgotten. This time they didn't ask me my age, the year, or the season, just...did I have a daughter and what was her name? Precious facts. It's interesting to me that I never forgot the really important things. I never questioned my faith, or forgot who my friends and loved ones were. Everything else seems rather inconsequential. I didn't realize then what relief and joy my family must have felt when I was able to answer those two simple questions.

Weeks later I discovered that I'd had many visitors while I was "laid out". I'm ashamed of how irritated I was by the very notion of people parading through my room while I was unconscious. My little niece asked me why I wasn't "old and sick" anymore. People seemed to relish telling me how ghastly I had looked. I turned on poor Bob (of course). What had made him want to turn me into a freak show for all his friends, anyway? My sweet husband didn't get any credit for never leaving my side for two days...just "lit into" for parading all those people through. How appallingly ridiculous is that??? Very shameful.

I've learned that there isn't, nor ever will be a magic pill that allows me eat whatever I want. No, the only way to more muscle and less fat is just more exercise and less groceries. Sadly, there are no short cuts, just discipline. Someone once said that "discipline is the bridge between goals and accomplishments" and that "more people have talent than discipline. That's why discipline pays better."

Isn't this true in every area of our life? Discipline is the key to success and self-respect. It doesn't matter what our goals and aspirations are, without discipline we aren't likely to reach them and we certainly won't feel good about ourselves.

"He who rejects discipline despises himself, but he who heeds correction gains understanding." Proverbs 15:32

2009-07-03T08:40:00.001-07:00

Before the dog days of summer begin, I thought it might be a good idea to re-post my top ten traveling tips:

1.) Do. Not. Touch. My. Fanny. I know it's tempting, that it's right there at eye level and that you're almost in full panic mode because you think I've skipped your row, but get a grip on yourself and Just. Don't. Do. It.

2.) Take your headphones out of your ears when you see me looking at you and talking. It's the epitome of rudeness not to. You're not any better at lip reading that I am and your attempt to do so aggravates me to no end.

3.) When I ask you if you would like cookies or peanuts do not answer "yes". I know you think you're being clever, but you're actually being selfish and rude. If we had enough to give everyone both, don't you think we'd save ourselves from uttering 10,000 extra words a day and just hand you both? In fact, it would be really nice if you had your answer ready, saving us from repeating the question to every single person. It's amazing how endearing you can make yourself with a simple, clearly spoken, "Water and peanuts, please."

4.) When it gets really turbulent and the fasten seat belt sign goes on, do not ring your call button to summon me to stagger up the aisle to pick up your garbage.

5.) Say "please" and "thank you" and teach your kids to do the same. If your child is particularly clueless about what they would like (or the proverbial cat has gotten their tongue), quickly decide for them. If they do know what they want but all their choices are being nixed by you, let them know ahead of time that they actually don't have a choice.

6.) When you see me pushing my half ton cart up the aisle do your best to pull your body parts out of harm's way. I am now hawking more goodies than Tiger Stadium ever thought of selling and I cannot even see over my cart. Recently (unbeknownst to me), my cart nudged a passenger's foot. Since I didn't even realize I'd hit it, I didn't say anything and she sarcastically told me "not to worry", that her "foot still worked." What?? When I shared her bit of sarcasm with another flight attendant, she said I should have replied that it was too bad her brain didn't work, because then she would have known better than to have her leg out in the aisle in the first place.

7.) If you're sitting in the last row of first class and you don't get your choice of airplane food, do not act like your world is caving in.

8.) When I'm coming through the cabin picking up trash and my bag is full, do NOT panic, thinking I've arbitrarily singled you and your row out to hold onto your garbage for the rest of the flight. Just sit tight, I'll be coming through with a new bag shortly.

9.) If your suitcase is too heavy for you to lift, check it. I'm always amazed at the enormous number of "back surgeries" that are performed just prior to flying.

10.) If you're embarking on a long flight, please bring something to entertain yourself and your children. We do have a few flight attendants that perform magic tricks but this is not the norm and thus your chances of being treated to a magic show are very slim.

2009-06-11T09:05:00.000-07:00

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).

2009-05-27T09:47:00.000-07:00

I had a trip last week that 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. I started out with a late report. Turns out I was supposed to sign in an hour and a half prior to departure rather than the usual one hour... and just when I was thinking how nice it was that I'd gotten to work so early (I was only 2 minutes away from signing in "on time"). I hate messing up, I like to stay as far under the radar of management as possible. When we got to the aircraft, we discovered a manager was accompanying us. I don't care how wonderful of a flight attendant you are it's never fun to have a manager "working" along side you. 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 that spoke Spanish so it should still work...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 would be the happiest, most eager to please flight attendant that 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 didn't realize a man in the upper deck had somehow managed to crack his head open and that they had 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 finally just nodded and told her how nice that was. She didn't seem to like my response to her little bit of braggadocio and started pointing at the ceiling until I finally understood that she was saying that "they" had asked for a doctor. They did? I led her to one of the Spanish speaking flight attendants who told her that they had already gotten a doctor to bind up the wound 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 cards and motioned for them to follow me. Their seats were in row 79. I led them back and back and... discovered our rows only went to 68. Hmmmm...that was a toughie. I kind of shrugged my shoulders and motioned for them to just take some empty seats for now. 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 back at me, made some comments and laughed. The flight attendant added some comments of his own and they looked at me and laughed even more heartily. It was very unsettling. It's no fun to stand there like a stooge and be mocked in another language. Hey! I think I might be able to figure out what "muy stupido" means. This was actually the very first time I'd ever been on a 747-400, 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 flight attendant what they were laughing about 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 just be happy that I had made those people laugh that hard...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 seemed to be getting more and more upset. It was starting to evolve 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 did not want to risk saying anything stupido again. I continued closing bins and by the time I had circled back there was a major drama going on. When a flight attendant had attempted to brief her about her exit seating duties she had begun shrieking and shaking. The flight attendant said that wouldn't "do" for the "willing and able" response we require, and that she would have to move 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.

2009-05-22T10:38:00.001-07:00

I've really been missing my daughter lately and wondering what it is that I've been missing the most about her. I decided it was her enthusiasm. She makes every experience more enjoyable because she is always enthusiastic. Her contagious enthusiasm makes her the best traveling companion, conversationalist, confidante, spectator and storyteller that you could ever imagine. How very good God was to give her to me!

I read a quote recently that said, "We act as though comfort and luxury were the chief requirement of life, when all we need to make us really 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, and 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 out of the manure, happily flinging it about, and generally 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 my 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 what 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, that God has a plan and a purpose, and that He doesn't waste any 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 that God has so lovingly provided me with (like Caitlin).

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!

2009-05-20T19:40:00.001-07:00

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!).

2009-05-12T07:39:00.000-07:00

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 behaviour. 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 actually 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).

I meant to be more affectionate.

And some time ago, I meant to take pictures of Flat Stanley. Unfortunately, I only remembered Flat Stanley when another flight attendant (Linda) 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 (along 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. Linda 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 "meant to". Instead, I pondered taking some pictures with him and put him in my suitcase. Months later (or was it years?) when I flew with Linda, I remembered him and realized his days of riding around in my suitcase were over. 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. In fact, I "meant to" do it more often.

2009-05-03T14:05:00.000-07:00

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 had 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 that 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 that were 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 that I'd like to think 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."

2009-04-29T19:29:00.001-07:00

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 (along with all the other pitiful, sheep-like suckers) 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 hope I 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)

2009-04-21T09:46:00.000-07:00

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 that 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.

I commented that "he didn't seem very interested in them, did he?"
"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.

2009-04-09T08:46:00.000-07:00

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?

2009-04-01T12:10:00.000-07:00

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..." Well actually, counting my baby toe nails as actual nails might be a bit of a stretch. Correction: eight toe nails and two little chunks of nail-like substance. 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".

2009-03-25T08:47:00.000-07:00

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..."

2009-03-16T12:23:00.000-07:00

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 that I haven't had the pleasure of flying with lately. 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 too. 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.

The only cloud on the horizon of my perfect day was that CNN happened to be on while I was waiting for my food in the library cafe. And there was Obama-- indignant that AIG hadn't acted responsibly with the blank check they'd been given. Another classic example of how foolishly Big Brother spends money. Not surprisingly, all the emphasis was on the recipient of the blank check with no mention at all on who was stupid enough to write the blank check.

Okay. Deep breath. I will NOT go there.

Sooooooo...back to being thankful for the beautiful sunshine and my excellent reading material (and many other things as well).

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

2009-03-07T09:01:00.000-08:00

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).

2009-02-26T08:50:00.000-08:00

One Christmas, when Dane was ten or eleven, he could not come up with a single thing he wanted for Christmas. We brainstormed for ideas. How about a new game for his Nintendo? No. How about a different game system? No. How about a cool sweatshirt? No. He really didn't want anything. It was okay. Really.

Then one day out of the blue, it came to him, "I figured out what I want and it's all I want."

"Well, perfect. Soooo? What is it?", I was impatient for him to cough up his one wish.

"A gas machine", he answered firmly. "I want my own gas machine."

A gas machine? I figured he must be talking about a matchbox car set that had little gas stations. I'd never thought he was that into matchbox cars but maybe pretending he was filling them up with gas was going to make all the difference for him. Whatever. It would be one-stop shopping and I'd be done. Woo-hoo.

"Like from the Dentist's office", he added helpfully.

"A gas machine from the DENTIST'S OFFICE????", I hardly knew how to respond. "And when were you planning on using this gas machine?"

"You know, like when I get home from school and stuff. I like that floatie feeling it gives me."

I thought it was one of the funniest things he'd ever come up with. Bob thought it was one of the scariest...thinking it a very real possibility that we'd introduced Dane to a world of recreational drugs from which there would be no return.

The recent youtube video of a little boy after his own "gas machine" experience reminded my daughter of Dane's singular wish list. I have a hunch that that little boy does not want one for Christmas. I think it's hilarious. Because it's REAL life. Real life is ALWAYS the funniest.

O'Reilly has a pinhead and patriot segment on his program. He deemed me to be a pinhead (and millions of others) because I love watching (and re-watching) the youtube video of a British baby biting his brother's finger. I'm sure O'Reilly has just as much disdain for those of us that were amused by the drugged up little boy. Well, I say, "LIGHTEN UP!"

It's not as if these aren't educational experiences.
Let's see, a little boy sticks his finger in his baby brother's mouth, it gets bit. Does it again, it gets bit. He learns it's not such a good idea to stick his finger in his brother's mouth and we all get to laugh about it. Watch it: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_OBlgSz8sSM

Next scenario, a little boy is "put under" for some dental work. Coming out of it, he gets a little freaked out by his double vision and other unfamiliar (but temporary!!) sensations . We learn that we can utilize these teachable moments to scare the child straight. Watch it: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=txqiwrbYGrs

2009-02-21T01:40:00.000-08:00

Isn't laughter one of the greatest gifts God gave us? We're the only species on earth that have this ability. It is such a unifying experience. Sharing a good laugh can really make us feel connected...much like a really good cry (another ability reserved exclusively for human beings).

I was down in Florida visiting my parents when I came upon an interesting factoid that claimed that an average four year old laughs about 400 times a day while an average adult laughs only about 15 times a day. I was curious how many times my dad thought he laughed in a day. He figured he and my mom laughed at least 100 times a day. My dad was not prone to exaggeration. In fact, to my knowledge he never exaggerated at all. Perhaps because of his background as a pilot and an engineer he was more apt to make calculated guesses. Thus, there was no doubt in my mind that he and my mom really were laughing that much. It occurred to me that Bob and I were not having near as good a time and that our comparatively paltry amount of shared laughter might just be propelling us towards the big "D" (just kidding, Babe).

My dad always laughed easily and often. I'm happy to say I personally made him laugh easily and often. I really miss that big laugh of his. It doesn't seem possible that he has been gone for more than nine years now. Providentially, I made a television debut in 1980 that made him laugh for almost twenty years.

At the time I worked part time at my parents' travel agency and was often used as an errand girl. I've never been a morning person, always running late and taking minimal time to get ready. That particular morning was especially hectic. I'd overslept and didn't have time to shower or put on make-up. When I got to work they sent me out to the store to pick up a few items. When I got to the store I noticed a news crew set up in the parking lot. I vaguely wondered what the "big story" was but I was more concerned about getting in and out of the store without being seen by anyone. Just as I was about ten paces from the door, this news crew started running towards me like I was the big story. I tried to ignore them and picked up my pace a bit. They were persistent, saying they just had a few quick questions. Fine. They'd realize soon enough that I didn't know jack crap about whatever it was they were covering.

"Did you vote yesterday?", the reporter asked, putting a microphone up to my face.

I couldn't have looked more bewildered. You would have thought I'd never heard of the word "vote". What in the world would I have voted about?

I managed a meek, "Uh...no I didn't."

"Can you tell us why you didn't vote?", the man persisted.

Deciding honesty was the best policy, I answered, "I guess it was just...ignorance."

That seemed to satisfy them and they went on to find their next victim.

I didn't really think that much more about it until I got home and was eating dinner with my parents. I told them about my "interview" that morning.

"You don't think they'd ever put that on...do you?", the idea horrified me. I didn't want anyone to see me like that, much less an entire television audience. "What vote were they talking about anyway?"

Turns out is was Michigan's primary and there had been an unusually low voter turnout.
Please God, don't let me be on TV.

My dad turned to the right channel and just as we tuned in they started the segment with, "These are some of the reasons voters gave for not voting in yesterday's primaries..."

And there was my pin-headed, greasy, bigger than life face blazed across the TV, squeaking out the excuse, "Ignorance". The "I guess" part didn't make the cut, just the word "ignorance."

My dad howled with laughter. Every time I thought he had exhausted the laughter out of his system, he'd look at me and imitate that nasally, squeaky voice and say: "Ignorance". It would get him roaring all over again.

From that point on (at least once a year), something would remind him of it, and he'd look at me and say, "Ignorance", and laugh just as hard as if he had just witnessed it. It made me happy that I'd done something that could make my dad laugh that heartily, for that many years.

2009-02-13T14:44:00.000-08:00

Regret. I think that has to be one of the saddest words in the English language. Think of the devastating, life changing news that follow the words "we regret to inform you...". All of us, in one way or another have been on the receiving end of that kind of regret.

But what about personal regrets? Every time I hear the song "My Way" I think what a crock the words "regrets, I've had a few, but then again, too few to mention" are. Do you really think anyone has too few regrets to mention? The person who does life his way will certainly regret it when he meets his Maker. Like someone once said, you can't say, "Thy kingdom come" without first saying "my kingdom go." Everything not done God's way is, well, regretful. Everyone who doesn't love God with all his heart, mind and soul and love others as himself will regret it (Lk. 10:27), and since there's not one of us who has lived this out perfectly, we all have regrets. Shortly before my dad died my mom mentioned that it hurt Dad's feelings when we called and only talked to her. I made a mental note to always talk to him, too. Two days before he died I had a lengthy conversation (most of them are) with my mom. As we were wrapping it up she made a point to ask if I'd like to talk to Dad. I was pressed for time and said I'd be sure talk to him next time. There would be no next time. How hideously regrettable. My younger brother never forgot to call me on my birthday. On my 40th he called and left me a sweet message, teasing me about being "over the hill". He called me a second time and even though I looked and saw that it was him I decided I'd call him back when it was more "convenient". There would be no "convenient" time; I never got a chance to talk to him again. Regrets...I have too many to mention.

I read a quote recently that said, "We must all suffer from one of two pains: the pain of discipline or the pain of regret. The difference is discipline weighs ounces while regret weighs tons." The good news is that discipline is an option. We as Christians have been given the power (through the Holy Spirit) to live a life without regrets. When I was in Bible Study Fellowship, a former teaching leader (Sheila Nielson) suggested that we start every morning reminding ourselves that we are "dead to sin but alive to God in Christ Jesus" (Rom. 6:11). Temptation will come but He has promised to provide a way of escape (1 Cor. 10:13). C.S. Lewis wrote: "A silly idea is current that good people do not know what temptation means. This is an obvious lie. Only those who try to resist temptation know how strong it is...a man who gives into temptation after five minutes simply does not know what it would have been like an hour later. That is why bad people, in one sense, know very little about badness. They have lived a sheltered life by always giving in." The truly wonderful news is that God does not want us to wallow in our regrets, he doesn't want us to carry around the weight of a"ton" of regrets. One of Satan's favorite strategies is to keep us feeling ashamed and worthless because of past wrong choices, and I am especially susceptable to this strategy. Thankfully, God doesn't work that way, He assures us "there is now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus" (Rom. 8:1), that He will remember our sins no more (Heb. 8:12). God promises to forgive us and never bring up our sin again (Ps. 103:12). Satan will always point to our past because he knows it cannot be changed but Jesus points us to our future because it has yet to be written. I love Joseph Stowell's words, "A refreshing plunge into God's mercy awaits us on the other side of confessed sin." Someone else said that "though no one can go back and make a brand new start, anyone can start from now and make a brand new ending." How refreshing!

2009-02-02T12:53:00.000-08:00

My friend Kelly "awarded" me a blog assignment. I'm supposed to come up with ten "honest crap" things about myself to share with you. She shared ten "honest crap" things about herself and as usual she made me laugh out loud. She even mentioned me in it... I was quite flattered! I've had an especially hectic week (and Brett has not been cooperative) so I only managed to come with five "honest crap" things about myself.
So here goes....

1.) I have a staring problem. I'm not conscious of doing it but I have had a few people suggest that I take a picture ("because it will last longer"). Friends have kindly pointed out that my staring sometimes comes across as rude and quite frankly, kind of weird. I am trying to curb it, but my uncanny recollection of physical details suggests that I have not been very successful. Often if I am asked if I've ever met so and so, I might try and ascertain her identity with something like, "Are you talking about the girl with the small feet and the semi-big nostrils?" Bingo.

2.) I've never been impressed with celebrities. When we were little my cousin Stacey insisted she was in love with Tom Jones. She had all of his albums and posters of him everywhere. How could you be in love with someone you didn't even know....or ever even met before? This was the height of silliness in my mind. I can distinctly remember being aggravated that she would rather moon over pictures of Tom Jones than play with Chrissy and Velvet. Chrissy and Velvet were dolls that had hair that you could crank in and out of their skulls, depending on whether you wanted them to have long or short hair. They were very cool dolls...much cooler than Tom Jones.

3.) I don't like to sing. Driving home from church one Sunday I inexplicably, out of the blue, screeched out "He could have called 10,000 angels!" The car literally rocked with laughter. I wasn't surprised that my brothers were laughing at me but my mom was doubled over with laughter, too. Shockingly enough, even my dad was laughing. I immediately started crying, of course. But even my tears didn't serve to stifle my mom's laughter. When she was finally able to catch her breath, she tried to explain (amid fresh bouts of laughter) that it wasn't that it was bad singing, it was just the incredibly high notes that I hit that had spawned all the hilarity. Whatever. That happened when I was in fourth grade and I haven't tried to belt out a note since.
4.) I am fiercely patriotic. I know I am blessed to live in the greatest country on earth. I am always moved by a well done performance of the Star Spangled Banner (like Jennifer Hudson's at the Super Bowl). The first time I flew into Alaska my heart swelled with the realization that this is what they meant by "purple mountains majesty"; America truly is beautiful "from sea to shining sea".

5. )I'm just now learning to appreciate music. My cousin (the same one that was in love with Tom Jones) plays the violin. She plays it beautifully. She plays it in symphonies. When we were younger, she played it at every family get together. I can remember praying that she would (just once!) forget to bring her violin. She never did. It seemed like an interminable amount of time that we had to sit still and listen to her play. I was especially impatient with the whole tuning rigmarole. Why did she have to tune it every time? How could it get un-tuned so fast anyway? Now I love hearing her play.

Not long ago I tuned in to an Academy Awards show just as they were handing out the award for best musical score (a snoozer of an award). To illustrate just how important a movie's musical score is, they showed clips from movies without the music. The hills were definitely not alive watching Maria running around on them without the music, and the shark in Jaws didn't seem nearly as menacing. Music does make all the difference.

I have come so far in my appreciation of music that American Idol is one of only two shows that I regularly watch on T.V.

So there you have it. Five totally "honest crap" things about myself.

2009-01-26T10:27:00.000-08:00

Wouldn't it be wonderful to always have the unquestioning, confident, joyful faith of a child?

When my grandfather died, my brother and sister-in-law weren't sure how to handle explaining it to their two year old daughter, Maddie. They decided to simply tell her that Papa had gone to be with Jesus. Surprisingly, she was absolutely thrilled with the news. Of course her understanding of "going to be with Jesus" included a "visiting" type of arrangement that allowed for coming and going at will.

She was having an utterly wonderful time at the viewing. Skipping around, smelling all the beautiful flowers and delighting in all the attention from the aunts, uncles and cousins that had come together just to talk about Papa being with Jesus. Because my grandparents lived in Florida, Maddie hadn't spent much time with him, so it was understandable that she wouldn't remember exactly what he looked like.

In the midst of "working the room", enchanting everyone and cooperatively giving out hugs and kisses, she happened to look up as one of my grandfather's friends entered the room. I must admit he does slightly resemble my grandfather but she thought it was him and stopped dead in her tracks to run and welcome him back from his "visit" with Jesus.

"Papa!", she exclaimed excitedly, "You're back!"

Being hard of hearing, he didn't understand what she was saying but he was charmed to be greeted so enthusiastically and took her proffered little hand and was willingly led to the nearest seat. After he sat down she stood between his knees, resting a pudgy elbow on each knee. She was visibly eager to engage him in conversation.

"You were with Jesus...but now, you're back and....", she opened her arms expansively to include the beautiful flowers that filled the room, "ALL these flowers are for you!"

I was fortunate enough to witness every detail of this charming exchange. It amused me to no end. It touched me too, this obvious awe and enthusiasm to talk to someone that had actually been with Jesus.

When my son Dane was about seven years old I had inadvertently tossed a paper of his into the trash. When I found him desperately searching for it, I was reluctant to admit that I actually knew exactly where it was...at the county dump. Couldn't he just get another one at school? No, that wasn't going to do, he absolutely had to have it for school the next day. Knowing this wasn't going to happen, and not wanting to spend any precious time in utter futility searching for it, I tried to come up with another solution.

"I know!", Dane exclaimed excitedly, "I'll ask Jesus to help us find it!"

Great, I thought, now my obsessive compulsive need to have every scrap of paper off the counter tops was going to undermine my child's faith!

My sweet little guy knelt right there and then and asked Jesus to help us.

He got up with renewed energy to find it. He stood there for a minute as if waiting to be shown the way.

"Maybe it's in the cupboard underneath the drawer that you usually put my papers in!", he suggested excitedly. He skipped over to the cupboard and opened it, "Yup, that's where it was alright."

You could have knocked me over with a feather. Stunned doesn't begin to describe what I felt at that moment. I even tried to "explain" it away in my mind, maybe I hadn't thrown it away, maybe it had just been pushed back in the drawer and spilled into the cupboard. How inordinately sad that is! How could I ever doubt that my powerful, almighty Jesus who is the "same yesterday, today and forever" would not bless the faith of a little child? I asked Dane about it recently (he's now 18 yrs. old now) and he remembers it...how cool is that?

2009-01-12T10:32:00.001-08:00

I have a confession to make: I am way too obsessed with how I look. I could spend hours in the "aisles of beauty" at Hudson's (I'm never going to get used to calling it Macy's). Always in search of the secret potion that is going to take years off and vanish the hundreds of brown spots I've managed to accumulate. I am always in awe of people that could care less what they look like. My daughter is like that. Even if the biggest "crush" of her life was dropping by for a visit, it wouldn't occur to her to primp for him. Even after my not too subtle suggestions, "Do you think you should change? Or maybe comb your hair? Put a little color in your cheeks?" And despite the terrrible example I've been, she still doesn't feel the need for any extra enhancements. Isn't that the best? I adore that quality about her. She is what she is. Love it, love it, love it!

Though I'm sometimes a little suspect of the penchant to pin all of our unattractive character traits on our upbringing, I have to admit my mom deserves at least some of the blame for my unhealthy obsession. Through some hideous stroke of fate, I wasn't born with curly hair. My dad had curls, my older brother had waves, my younger brother had beautiful ringlets, my mom had (and still does) a headful of gorgeous curls, but much to my mom's dismay, mine was straight. My mom, not being one to accept defeat easily, started making me wear curlers every night just as soon as I grew enough straight hair to wind around a curler. Though there were nights that I begged to go to bed without my "cur-wers" (I couldn't even pronounce them, for heaven's sake!) it was a rare night that Dippity-Do and "cur-wers" weren't part of our bedtime routine. If people got a gander at me after I'd been swimming or something they were shocked that I didn't actually have curly hair (a poser!). I'd overheard my mom tell people that I was "just as pretty on the inside" and that's what I felt like telling people when they looked at my pin straight hair so appallingly (or so it seemed). I didn't feel like I passed muster without curly hair. I wanted to say, "but...I'm still pretty on the inside". Sadly, focusing on being "pretty on the inside" has not been a guiding principle in my life.

Not long ago, I needed to get my passport renewed. Knowing I was going to be looking at it for the next ten years, I made sure I got "dolled up" for the picture. Despite my efforts to the contrary, my picture was devastating. Good heavens! I'd aged thirty years! My mom (ever the comforter) said it's really no wonder because I'd been "put through the mill" these past ten years. Well, who knew the "mill" could wreak such havoc? While still at CVS (I would NOT recommend getting your passport pictures taken there), an insensitive beast of a man asked me what had caused my "grandson's" problems. At this point, I wanted to go sit in the car and have myself a good cry, but the hateful brute (the animosity was growing) kept asking question after question after question...mind your own business, already!

I am disappointed that looking old and being mistaken for my son's grandmother derailed me like it did. I don't want to waste any precious time being caught up in the "things of this world" that are here for a moment and gone tomorrow. As I get older I am increasingly saddened (and feel sure God must be too) by my unhealthy fixation.

After Brett was born the apostle Paul's words, "perplexed but not in despair" often went through my mind (and still do). I didn't know the reference, context or any more of the passage than that. And yet...just those words were comforting to me. I had shared this once with my daughter Caitlin and being the thoughtful sweetheart she is, she recently gave me a card with the whole passage written on it. I never realized it was from one of my most beloved chapters in the Bible (2 Cor. 4). One that I try to live by, to use to counteract what the world is constantly pushing: That unattainable perfect body, face, home etc. All these "things" that "so easily entangle" and hinder me from "running the race marked out for me", that keep me from "fixing my eyes on Jesus, the author and perfector of my faith." (Hebrews 12)

In my Bible 2 Corinthians 4 has a title: Treasures in Jars of Clay. A humble container to hold the greatest treasure ever given. "But we have this treasure in jars of clay [aging, deteriating receptacles]to show that this all-surpassing power is from God and not from us. We are hard pressed on every side, but not crushed; perplexed but not in despair; persecuted, but not abandoned; struck down, but not destroyed." Later in the chapter it says, "Though outwardly we are wasting away [sadly, we are all getting old], yet inwardly [this is the great part!] we are being renewed day by day. For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all [YES!]. So we fix our eyes not on what is seen [the outer shell, the sagging skin, the age spots etc.], but what is unseen [the ever renewing heart and mind!]. For what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal." Another one of my favorite "Truth talking" chapters is Romans 8, Paul states here that our "present sufferings are not worth comparing with the glory that will be revealed in us." (v.18)

Does this mean that I'm going to stay away from the "aisles of beauty"? Probably not. Does it mean that my feelings won't be hurt when I'm 80 and someone thinks I'm 100? Probably not.
But it does bring me back to the fact that I am a work in progress and that I am blessed beyond measure to know where my true value lies. "Being confident in this, that He who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus." (Phil. 1:6)

2009-01-11T12:31:00.000-08:00

As children of the sixties we experienced an entirely different world than our children experience today. We didn't have car seats, helmets, floaties, sunscreen or childproof caps. Instead of relying on electric outlet covers to keep us from poking knives into them or fancy gadgets to keep us out of cupboards, we were told not to do so. Simply put, if we didn't do as we were told we would be "smacked into the middle of next week." I can remember many times wishing I could be hit into the middle of next week. But it must have worked because we're all still here, buying up all those fancy gadgets.

When we were kids it was common to be left in the car while our moms went into the mall, after all... they'd only be gone for a "few" minutes. And we wouldn't be in the only car load of kids in the parking lot either. We tried to keep ourselves occupied for a while: blowing the horn at people as they walked by (laughing hysterically if it caused them to jump out of their skins), yelling to kids in other cars, pretending to be smoking...but it all got pretty old fairly quickly. By the time our moms finally came out (looking like they could use a third arm to carry all the packages) we'd usually be hot, sweaty messes from wrestling around with each other.

I can't remember it even being suggested that we wear a seat belt. It was total mayhem in the back seat. Whining about it got the "hand" reaching back and indiscriminately slapping anything in range. Nowadays kids have their own personal "thrones" replete with cup holders and personal dvd players. Nary a sweat drop will be found on their bodies because they control the temperature in their own personal domain.

I took Caitlin to a water park when she was four. Foolishly, we decided our first ride would be on the biggest water slide. The line was long, but we persevered and finally made it to the "launching station". As Caitlin got ready to be put in her tube to go down, she suddenly decided it was too scary for her. I offered to go down with her, but no, apparently that wasn't allowed under any circumstances. You could tell that the kid assisting in the boarding and launching of the tubes took his job very seriously.

I took Caitlin aside and said, "Okay Honey, Here's the deal, you either get in the tube and go down the slide or we go back to the car and sit in it for the rest of the day. You decide."

She stood quietly, contemplating her choices. Finally with tears in her eyes she said, "I guess I'll just go sit it the car."

Stunned, I told her that was in fact the wrong answer and despite her shrieks of protest and the angry objections of the "launcher guy", I tossed her in a tube and sent her on down. I grabbed another tube and sent myself down right behind her. As we rounded the first twist in the slide, I realized why the launcher guy was so adamant about the timing of each launch. My weight had me going so much faster than Caitlin that it became clear I was going to slam into her. Sure enough, with her screaming in fear and me screaming with laughter, I hit her with such force that she popped out of her tube entirely and went the rest of the way down the slide without it. Fortunately, back then every employee wasn't wired up with fancy walkie-talkies. Sure as anything if "launcher guy" would have had the latest technology he would have had some beefy security type waiting at the bottom of the slide to escort me out. As it was, Caitlin loved her ride and couldn't wait to go down again. Of course we had to bide our time (we didn't want to risk running into that uptight little launcher again). That was the last time she expressed any fear to go on any ride of any kind. To the world if may have looked like child abuse (that wrong perception thing again), but for me it worked like a charm.

2009-01-02T09:39:00.000-08:00

I'm sure we've all heard it said that perception is reality, but I wonder how often we unwittingly have the wrong perception and thus the wrong reality.

Often times the only thing that works to calm down our little boy is a ride in the car. Inevitably, his "fits" will happen in the middle of the night. So there my poor husband is, hair all wild (Dr. Zorba comes to mind), bundling up Brett at three in the morning for their nightly car ride. He says Brett is usually asleep by the time they get up to Taco Bell, where Bob routinely orders a volcano taco (not too much of that sauce!) and a Pepsi. He said he's sure the kid that works the night shift there must think he's a horrible, negligent father or more likely grandfather (since Bob's once black hair is now completely white). A drunk that needs his taco fix after his drinking binge, completely unmindful of the fact that his innocent six year son is slumped over in the back seat, sound asleep.

If the kid does think that (and who wouldn't?), isn't it sad how wrong his perception is? Instead of his eyes being bloodshot from too much alcohol and too little sleep, my husband's eyes are watery because he's genuinely hurting for our son, our mentally impaired, blind little boy that has no way of letting us know what's wrong with him. That kid has no way of knowing that my husband, far from trying to stave off a wicked hangover, has been using his driving time to pray unceasingly for God to comfort Brett, to take away whatever is keeping him from getting his much needed sleep. He has no way of knowing that far from being a negligent, horrible father, he is the most tenderhearted and devoted father I know.

I wonder how often we jump to the wrong conclusions about people we see, maybe just based solely on how they look. It's so much more uplifting to give a little grace, to assume the best, to give people the benefit of the doubt...why not? I know on flights the impatient, angry and rude people get all the attention, but MOST of the passengers are very cooperative, kind and helpful. Even the angry ones...we don't know what they've been through or where they came from.

When Brett was in the neonatal intensive care unit, a young kid came in with with tatoo's all over his body and a face full of piercings. He went straight to a small bassinet in the corner with a tiny baby in it. I never saw that baby move and I don't know what her diagnosis was. But that young kid was there every day, for hours at a time just crouched over that bassinet staring at that baby. To my knowledge, she never had any other visitors, but there wasn't a day that he wasn't there. Unfortunately, most people (myself included) would look at him and think he was all about himself...another tragic wrong perception!

2008-12-26T11:19:00.000-08:00

Many times I 've come to work feeling discouraged and downtrodden only to discover that God had a divine appointment waiting there for me. Jesus in the disguise of a fellow flight attendant. Someone to give me just what I need to get my focus off of myself and onto Him. I don't believe in chance encounters or coincidences...only God's providence. I had just such an ordained encounter not too long ago. We only did an Orlando turn together, but it allowed for just enough "jumpseat therapy" to fill me up with a renewed assurance that God is lovingly in control and that nothing is impossible with Him.

I can't remember her name, just her story. She had recently experienced what all of us hope never to experience: a passenger died on her flight. A woman and her daughter were returning from a trip to London, just the two of them. Sometime during the flight the woman told a flight attendant that she wasn't feeling well....maybe just indigestion? They offered up what they could to alleviate her discomfort, even offering to page for a doctor if they wanted her to. She didn't think it was necessary and the crew didn't really think any more about it. This girl I was sharing a jumpseat with said the woman and her daughter weren't even seated in her section but when she was walking through the cabin she noticed the girl sitting by herself and she decided to check up on how her mother was doing. The girl answered that her mother said she was feeling a little better, but that she'd been in the bathroom for quite a long time. Horrifyingly enough it was soon discovered that she'd passed away in there. From that point on, this flight attendant never left this girl's side. When they arrived in Detroit she assured her she wouldn't leave her, she'd even ride in the ambulance with her to the hospital. When she was told she wouldn't be able to accompany her in the ambulance she remembered that she had inexplicably driven from Grand Rapids to the airport rather than flying in (like she usually did), so she had her car and could drive to the hospital! She was there in no time to take up her place again at the girl's side. She booked a room at a hotel and stayed there with her until her dad arrived from Wisconsin the following morning.

A week later and she was back at the airport to fly the same London trip. She was feeling down, still affected from the trauma of her last trip. She was especially feeling melancholy about turning her phone off and being incommunicado for the next three days. The phone rang just as she was getting it out to turn off. Surprisingly, it was her brother-in-law from California. He called to relay a story he had just heard from one of his friends. He thought she would find it interesting. Turns out his friend's best friend had just lost his wife on a Northwest flight. When he finished giving her all the details (having no idea that she was actually on the flight), he said, "And this is the good part...God put an angel on that flight to watch over his daughter, and this 'angel' never left her side until her dad got there...isn't that an awesome story?"

Only an awesome, all powerful, loving God could arrange all those details. She wasn't planning on driving to work that day, but when she dropped off her young son at school, she'd unfathomably decided to drive to work. And just when she was at her lowest point and just minutes before she turned her phone off, her brother-in-law calls her (out of the blue) because he'd just gotten off the phone with his friend and thought she'd find his story interesting.

What a much needed boost of encouragement and joy this sweet flight attendant received at just the right moment! A missionary once defined fellowship as making God larger together. That flight attendant certainly made God larger for me that day. God ordained, sweet fellowship...does it get any better than that?

2008-12-20T08:35:00.000-08:00

A best selling book consists entirely of a compilation of answers people gave to the question: "How would you sum up your life in six words?" In an article written about the book in the USA Today, the journalist came up with these six words: "Dad was Santa. Downhill from there."

I think it's a great conversation starter. I was flying with my best friend and asked her what her six words would be. With very little thought, she answered, "There is help for the journey." Interestingly, she has a master's degree in counseling. When I got home I asked my husband to sum up his life in six words. He thought about it briefly and then answered, "Life is tough. Couldn't be happier." Awwww.

The more I thought about Bob's answer the more I realized how spot on he was! He gets it. Like the apostle Paul said in Phil. 4:11, "I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want." Paul even offers a few six word summations of his own: "Godliness with contentment is great gain." (1 Tim. 6:6) and "In humility, consider others above yourself." (Phil. 2:3b) He goes on to say that "we have brought nothing into the world and we can take nothing out of it. But if we have food and clothing we will be content with that." (1 Tim. 6:7-8)

What an awesome testimony to a watching world...simple contentment regardless of what life throws our way. Even when life is tough (and everyone has or is going to have some tough times), with the proper perspective and the right power source...we can do all things through Christ who gives us strength (Phil. 4:13).

Like a certain bumper sticker claims, many Americans can sum up their lives with these six words: "Accumulator of the most stuff, wins". What a stark contrast to Bob's six words. I would love to hear some of your own six word summations!

2008-12-02T13:07:00.001-08:00

The perception in the church I grew up in it was that it was more important what we stood against, than what we stood for. We were more often condemned for doing the wrong thing than encouraged to do the right thing. Years later, I've realized that some of those "wrong" things weren't so wrong afterall. Turns out some of the rules were added on. Being judged hurts and judging puffs up the "judge" with a false sense of self-righteousness. It's a lose-lose.

Inform rather than enforce, that's that mindset we are encouraged to have at work. I'm sure we've all seen flight attendants that seem a little over zealous in their enforcement of the rules. They practically storm through the cabin, their eyes darting back and forth ready to pounce on the slightest infraction, even adding new rules of their own: "No it's NOT enough to have the device turned off--I want it OFF your head. Now."

I was following (uselessly) behind just such an "enforcer" when she stopped at a row for no apparent reason. The passenger at the window seat was sleeping, completely oblivious to the fact that he was in violation of an FAA rule and regulation (and sadly, so was I). His seat back was in its upright and locked position, the tray table stowed, luggage stowed completely underneath the seat in front of him, electronic devices turned off...still, she was determined to wake him up and set him straight.

"Sir! Sir! Your window shade needs to be completely open."

He awakened with a blank look on his face, looking surprised that his window shade was even under his jurisdiction. He continued to stare at it dazedly until finally the guy on the aisle reached over and slammed the sliver of shade that was showing back into the slot and we were able to move on.

And pity the poor soul that has the audacity to jump up and use the lav after the boarding door has been closed. The "enforcer" flight attendant can't get on her P.A. fast enough, "Ladies and gentlemen, we are ready to depart, HOWEVER, we cannot do so until everyone is in their seat with their seat belt fastened."

Of course, at this point all the other passengers are cranking their heads around eager to identify the inconsiderate clown that is delaying their flight. As much as the rule breaker would now like to stay in the lav, he eventually slinks out with his head down, doing his best to ignore the accusing, disdainful stares of his fellow passengers. Inevitably, we don't leave the gate for another ten minutes or so while they finish loading bags or some such and we end up mortifying the poor guy for no good reason!

It's not just the flight attendants that are concerned about the rule breakers, the passengers get just about as worked up when they think we've overlooked an offense. I was in the middle of the cabin doing my demonstration, when a man frantically began pointing out that another passenger was still using his cell phone. Nodding my acknowledgement of the fact, but intending to finish up the demo before attending to it was not good enough for this guy and he said accusingly, "You don't even care!"

Apparently, the only thing that was going to satisfy this guy was for me to stop everything and recognize that if it were not for his vigilance (and my quick response) we would not have been able to taxi safely to the runway (thanking him profusely, of course).

Recently a mature Christian asked us if we knew what Jesus taught about judging. Always wanting to be the star pupil with all the right answers, I racked my brain trying to remember all that Jesus had said about it...let's see, there's the whole plank in your eye thing, the lest ye be judged thing...

"Don't do it", he interrupted my little reverie, "that's what Jesus teaches. Don't do it. We're not equipped to judge. We don't have all the facts and we can't see inside hearts."

Oh.

I've been reminded of that a lot in recent months. So simple. Just don't do it. A win-win.

2008-12-02T10:54:00.000-08:00

I was just reading over my last blog. Was it just last week that I was feeling that way? Hopefully I didn't come across as "having it all together". Because if I did, it was a bunch of malarkey. I know none of us will be "arriving" (spiritually speaking) until Jesus returns for us, and there is nothing quite as off putting as being around someone who thinks they've "arrived".

We've been experiencing a particularly difficult time with Brett. Up until these past few months, he's been very happy and we have been very thankful. Lately though, he's been miserable...almost constant, frustrated screaming, inconsolable and unable to sleep for any long stretches of time. His seizures have increased in number and severity. And frankly, I couldn't being feeling any less like "God's workmanship" "prepared in advance" to be Brett's mother. On the contrary I'm feeling very ill-equipped for the job. I'm having trouble even imagining the purpose, joy and fulfillment I mentioned.

When I have these inevitable dark days, I know I need to talk Truth to myself more than ever, meditating on and trusting God's Word.

I take enormous comfort from the fact that David had dark days. His psalms are full of his expressions of despair. But I see his resolve at the end of his cries to God for help, and that is what I know I must be: resolved. Resolved to trust in His goodness and faithfulness. In Psalm 13 David asks "...How long must I wrestle with my thoughts and every day have sorrow in my heart...?" He ends with, "But I trust in your unfailing love; my heart rejoices in your salvation. I will sing to the Lord, for He has been good to me." In Psalm 31: "Be merciful to me, O Lord, for I am in distress; my eyes grow weak with sorrow, my soul and my body with grief... " Again he ends with hope, "The Lord preserves the faithful...be strong and take heart, all you who hope in the Lord." In Psalm 54 he writes: "I said, 'Oh, that I had the wings of a dove! I would fly away and be at rest.' But, I call to God and the Lord saves me...he hears my voice. ..cast your cares on the Lord and he will sustain you." In Psalm 62 David reminds me where true rest and peace are found: "My soul finds rest in God alone; my salvation comes from him. He alone is my rock and my salvation; he is my fortress, I will never be shaken."

As I was reading through the Psalms, I came upon the following verse and was encouraged with the reminder that He has not left us alone in this world, there are countless brothers and sisters in Christ that haved prayed for me and have greatly encouraged me. Only He knows how the prayers of His people have sustained me. "...the righteous will gather about me because of your goodness to me." (Ps. 142:7)

Resolved to remember, trust and meditate on His promises.

2008-11-28T16:43:00.001-08:00

Throughout my career I've heard a lot of feel good stories. One of my favorites was told by a flight attendant that listened to her heart, even though it meant stepping a wee bit out of her comfort zone.

She told of a typically harried boarding process. After everyone was finally on board, the gate agent came down and said they were going to wait a few more minutes for a "runner". The words had no sooner gotten out of her mouth than a heavily perspiring, winded military guy (in full gear) came running down the jet way. He greeted them with a big smile and a hearty thanks for waiting for him. He'd been in Iraq and hadn't seen his wife and baby in a long time and he couldn't wait to get home. His seat was in the very last row of the airplane. The flight attendant told him she wished she could move him up but every seat was taken. He didn't care where he sat. He was going home! He was just happy to be on board.

After they landed, the flight attendant considered making an announcement about the returning soldier. Because she was relatively new, she was a little reluctant about not reading the arrival P.A. verbatim. Something in her told her to go for it and so after welcoming the passengers to their destination, she asked if they could please remain seated so that the soldier in the very back of the airplane could exit first. He'd been in Iraq and had not seen his wife and child in a very long time. Miraculously, they all sat and waited. Those sitting closest to him reached out and patted his back or shook his hand, thanking him for his service.

As he gathered up all his gear, someone started to clap and then the whole aircraft joined in. As he walked up the aisle to the spirited applause, many passengers patted him on the back as he went by. He had tears in his eyes as he thanked the flight attendants and stepped off the aircraft.

Do you think any of those passengers weren't touched by that experience? Any that wished they'd slipped off? I don't think so. My guess is the story was told over and over.

Regrettably too many times I've ignored that still small voice urging me to step out of my comfort zone to help or encourage someone. Perhaps just a phone call or a card. I hear stories like this and I am convicted to seize every opportunity I'm given to do good. The Bible has several verses to "prod" us along: "Anyone, then, who knows the good he ought to do and doesn't do it, sins." (James 4:17). "Let us not weary in doing good, for at the proper time we will reap a harvest if we do not give up" (Gal. 6:9). "Be kind and compassionate to one another..." (Eph. 4:32) and "Let us consider how we may spur one another on toward love and good deeds." (Hebrews 10:24).

Ralph Waldo Emerson once said, "You cannot do a kindness too soon, for you never know how soon it will be too late." How sad to think how often I've neglected to do a kindness either because it required me to step out of my comfort zone or (more likely) because it just wasn't convenient. May God open our hearts and minds to ways we can "spur one another on toward love and good deeds".

2008-11-18T19:45:00.000-08:00

On a recent flight the lead flight attendant asked me to help a Down Syndrome man/boy find his seat. It turned out he was plenty capable of finding his own seat. I think he fancied himself a dapper business man, traveling like any other. He wore horn-rimmed glasses, a polo dress shirt buttoned to the top, khaki's and penny loafers. He carried an old-fashioned, hardsided briefcase just like one my dad used to have. After he proudly found the right seat, he sat down and plopped his briefcase on his lap. He officially snapped it open to reveal one lone item: a Nintendo Game Boy.

I couldn't help but smile. and I couldn't help but fervently wish that my son was Down Syndrome. My own beautiful little boy is blind, severely mentally and physically impaired and will most likely never walk or talk. If God was going to give me a special needs child, why couldn't He have given me someone like this? Someone that was happy, enthusiastic and responsive?

I've learned (and keep learning) how debilitating it is to compare myself to others. Pure and simple it's called coveting. A preacher once said coveting is actually the mother of all sins, because it gives birth to so many others. It certainly leads to a loss of contentment and thankfulness...key components of living a successful Christian life. I am "God's workmanship", "created in Christ Jesus" to be Brett's mother and He prepared me for this job "before the creation of the world" (Eph. 1-2). I will find joy, purpose and fulfillment in doing the job He has set out for me to do.

Philip Yancy wrote, "Shattered dreams are never random. They are always a piece in a larger puzzle, a chapter in a larger story. Pain is a tragedy. But it is never only a tragedy. For the Christian, it's always a necessary mile on the long journey to joy. The Holy Spirit uses the pain of shattered dreams to help us discover our desire for God, to help us begin dreaming the highest dream. Shattered dreams are not accidents of fate. They are ordained opportunities for the Spirit first to awaken and then to satisfy our highest dreams."

I cannot deny that Brett "shattered" my dream of having a healthy third child, but through him God also brought joy, healing, and a greater dependence on Him.

2008-11-17T08:56:00.000-08:00

I had a couple on my flight last night traveling with their sixteen month old son. He sat contentedly on his mom's lap watching Elmo. All was well. Alas, the battery on the DVD player died, causing the baby to have a complete melt down. He was horrified and started screaming, "Elmo!" "Elmo!"

I could just imagine the little guy's frustration...why weren't his parents doing what he said? Why, in heaven's name, were they doing just the opposite and putting the DVD away?

"Elmo!", he screamed with increased impatience.

He started throwing himself around in frustration, while his mother gently tried to explain that Elmo wasn't working and that they'd watch it as soon as they got home.

"Elmo!" "Elmo!"

She finally picked him up and brought him back to the galley.

He looked at me, his big brown eyes filled with tears, "Elmo", he said plaintively. Maybe he thought I could convince his parents to turn Elmo back on.

He had a little figurine clutched in his hand and hoping to distract him, I asked him who it was.

"Diego," he whimpered.

At least he'd stopped crying. I'm not familiar with any children's shows, so I hadn't a clue who Diego(?) was and was at a loss for a follow up question.

At this point he put a chubby hand on each side of his mom's face, turned her face to him and said imploringly, slowly, "Elmo."

It was pitiful. He didn't understand why he couldn't watch it and he had a very limited vocabulary with which to make his case (remember, he's only sixteen months old). Though he did calm down, he never did give up trying to convince his parents to turn Elmo back on.

I am like that little boy sometimes. I can't understand why I can't have something. I can't see that there's a good reason, that God hasn't just arbitrarily decided not to give me my heart's desire. But I can trust that there is a reason. I can know that I have a loving Father that does not want to withhold any good thing from me. If we, as mere human parents don't want to withhold any good thing from our children how can we doubt the intent of He who is Love? (Mt. 7:7-12, Lk. 11:11-12).