Today is my little brother's birthday. He would have been 48 years old. The very last conversation I had with him was about Brett. I'm ashamed to admit that I made some insensitive, disparaging remark about the difficult reality of my yet to be born baby. My words saddened Craig. I remember exactly what he said: "Awwww Laurie. Don't say things like that...don't you know how much we're going to love him?"

But he didn't live to love him. Yet I know that if he had, he would have lavished love on him. Because that's who he was. He loved babies more than any man I've ever known. I love babies too, and I remember fighting once over who should get to hold our newborn niece. How many men do you know who love holding infants? And my Brett is like a giant infant, he still likes to be held and, at almost 10 years old, he's still dependent on us to meet his every need.

There were several occasions Craig thought he was losing me. When I was seven and he was five, there was a big snowfall and we couldn't wait to get out and play in it.  After bundling us up in snow suits, mittens and hats, my mom let us out.

Though it seemed like we'd trekked quite a distance, it was probably only a few houses down. I spotted some ice and decided to slide across it. I broke through the ice and was completely submerged. When I bobbed up, I screamed for Craig to help me. He did his best to try and pull me out, me screaming at him to pull harder and him crying and saying he was pulling his hardest, but he couldn't do it...he needed to get help.

I begged him not to leave me. He ran home sobbing hysterically, saying that I was drowning and that he couldn't help me.  My dad ran out in his bare feet and found me curled up beside the hole I had fallen through. Nothing but a guardian angel could have gotten me out of that water as weighed down as I was with all my snow clothing.

A few years later we were on our snowmobile. Craig and I were both too weak to pull the cord to start it, but we knew how to use a can of ether to get it going. I'm not even sure what ether is, I just knew if we sprayed enough of it, it would start the snowmobile.

I was driving and there were three of us on it. We had our friend's little girl with us. When I tried to slow down to make a turn, the throttle stuck and I froze as we headed straight for a fence at full speed. Craig managed to get off and pull the little girl off with him. But I stayed on and hit the fence full force. I was thrown over the fence and somehow split my head open (these were pre-helmet times).

Again, Craig ran home, sobbing hysterically, saying he couldn't get me, he couldn't save me. Again, my dad came running out to get me, carrying me home while pressing his hand firmly against the gash on my head.

I could fill pages with all the times guardian angels have stepped in and saved me. I managed to smash up everything my parents owned...anything with a motor anyway.

An angel didn't step in and save Craig on that fateful day, but it was a reward for Craig. I believe that with all my heart. Just a few weeks before his accident, Craig told us (eerily enough) that we'd better view his death as an event to be celebrated, because it would be well worth celebrating. He could sincerely say that because he lived believing that "to live is Christ and to die is gain" (Phil. 1:21).

When he was little, he used to sing an old song with his own twist on the words: "When those gates are open wide, I'm gonna shove my butt inside: I'm gonna sing, I'm gonna shout, praise the Lord!"

Those words are so entrenched in my mind that I can't recall the real words to that song. I miss his joyful, loving presence more than I can say, but I choose to be happy for him, because those gates were surely opened wide for him.

Not that I was a big Alec Baldwin fan to begin with, but after hearing about his dust up with American Airlines over not turning off his phone, I'm really not a fan.

It's the elitist mentality I can't abide by, those that believe they are such a favored group that laws and rules don't apply to them. I give kudos to the flight attendant for sticking to her guns and making them return to the gate to let Mr. Baldwin off.

I wish I was more like that, and I love flying with flight attendants who are like that. During boarding a few weeks ago, a smattering of call lights came on simultaneously and (thinking the worst, of course), my coworker made her way quickly up the aisle.

As it turned out, a seemingly intoxicated female was burping loudly and using foul language and several families with small children were objecting. Fortunately, my coworker is all about nipping problems in the bud and quickly informed the woman if the foul language and the burping didn't stop immediately, she would be taken off the airplane. The woman's whining response? "What?? We can't even burp on airplanes anymore?" You can't make this stuff up.

All elitists get under my skin, but a few famous ones really bug me. Take Al Gore, who thinks everyone should fold themselves into teeny-tiny vehicles, while he drives gas guzzling luxury cars, jets around in the very least fuel efficient jets and uses up enough electricity on his estate to power up an entire town.

Michael Moore is another one. A multi-millionaire (clearly a one percenter) who lives like royalty, flies into town on a luxurious private jet, dons a flannel shirt and his baseball cap and pretends to be something he isn't. Mr. Moore, if you think our government is doing such a fabulous job spending our money, instead of constantly exhorting others to fork up more for all their wise spending, why don't you write a million dollar check to the U.S. Treasury? Please do, and get your like-minded millionaire friends to do the same.

I heard a sermon once that focused on the importance of "considering others better" than ourselves.  I pondered the fact that those I find most difficult to consider better than myself are those that think they are better than me. Yet isn't this one of the biggest challenges of living a successful Christian life? Loving the unlovable? How difficult is it to love those who think like us and love us in return?

I have to admit, I've yet to feel like I have any use for the likes of Baldwin, Gore and Moore. And yet. There is hope, there is always hope. Like a wise friend recently posted on Facebook, "conversion takes but a moment, but transformation takes a lifetime."

"Do nothing out of selfish ambition or vain conceit, but in humility consider others better than yourselves."  (Philippians 2:3)

Bob and I just returned from watching Dane's school play baseball in Florida. Part of what made this trip possible was the generosity of a charity organization called Children are Precious that pays for respite care for special needs children. The nurse that cared for Brett had a dog that took to Brett right away, taking him on as his own personal charge and insisting on sleeping with his warm little body pressed right up against Brett's back. When it came time to take Brett home he starting growling and pulling on the nurse's pant leg with his teeth, horrified that his new friend was being take away so soon. Isn't that sweet? I think God gave dogs a sixth sense about kids with special needs...very touching!

The first couple of nights we stayed in a rather bad area in Naples (who would have thought there was such a thing as a "bad" area in Naples?). When we returned to the hotel after walking on the beach, I removed my sandals to clap the sand off of them and stepped right onto a hypodermic needle. Bob was furious. He even seemed mad at me, you would have thought that I just happened upon a nasty old needle in the parking lot and decided to jab it into myself just for giggles. Not a good start, but it got better.

We both get so nervous watching Dane pitch, that it's almost more fun to watch him root for his team from the dugout. The first game Dane started, he walked the first batter and the second batter got a triple. Bob said he felt like he was going to throw up (he looked like he was going to too). I was indignant, convinced that the ump had shrunk the strike zone to an impossible size and that the left field was unfairly sloped...how else could a blooper over the third baseman's head roll that fast into the pocket for a triple? He struck the next guy out, but because of a pesky rule that allows the batter to run if the catcher drops the ball on the third strike, he got on too. Dane pulled it together after that and pitched a decent three innings, but his arm ached and he was discouraged. How earnestly we both prayed that he would pitch well for his last game! Well, God gave us more than we could ask or imagine and allowed him to pitch a no-hitter (a rare feat in college baseball).

The last time Dane pitched a no-hitter was his senior year in high school. He had been through a particularly rough stretch and we ached for him. I woke up in the middle of the night before a big game praying for him, even asking God specifically that He would allow Dane to get 10 strike outs and allow zero hits. I told Bob about my specific request and he said, "Oh for crying out loud...just pray he has a good game." Well, guess what? Dane pitched a 10 strike out, no-hitter. I can't describe how personally loved I felt that God answered my seemingly far-fetched prayer. (Bob asked me to start praying for his hair after that).

I am feeling especially thankful today for answered prayers and the gift of being able get away knowing that Brett was being lovingly cared for at home, but I don't want to leave anyone with the impression that I'm not familiar with unanswered prayers. My thoughts on prayers that haven't been answered (at least not the way I wanted them to be) needs a blog of its own, and I'd rather save that for another day...

Last weekend Bob and I were treated to a 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. 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 who was with the person filming it all. He sounded like he could only have been about 3 or 4 years old and he calmly observed that "the 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!

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. 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 we 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. Actually, 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.

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.

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 lie here, if I just lie here would you lie with me and just forget the world?"

I have days where sadness overwhelms me. Days when I just want to retreat into my closet, curl up into a ball 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 lie 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 lie 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 "lie with me,  just lie 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.

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 who gets more kisses from their grandmother than Brett does (and he's not always happy about them 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 the secret is to my mom's incredible strength and joy in spite of all she's been through and I've 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 wondered why she seemed down. She said she was having a hard time believing 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 who have had to endure the heartache she has, but no, I should have known better.

She said, "there aren't too many people that can say 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!