Recently we moved my mom into a much, much smaller condominium.

When she made the move up to Michigan, she was too numb with grief to part with anything. So you can imagine the enormity of the job of sorting through decades worth of belongings.

I don't have a sentimental bone in my body. My criteria for deciding what to keep? Do I have any use for it? Will I ever care to even look at it again? No? Pitch it.

It's amazing how little we actually do need. Sorting through box after box, closet after closet, cupboard after cupboard, I'd ask, "Will you ever wear it again? Do you have any use for it?" I convinced her she needed very, very little and the give away pile ended up being ten times larger than the keep pile.

I was the right person for the big job of condensing, but the wrong person for allowing my mom time to ruminate and grieve over the precious memories sorting through each box and closet evoked. I tried my best to ward off her inevitable feelings of desolation. She has experienced so much loss.  Most people would have held her close and let her grieve. Not me, I plodded swiftly on, in spite of feeling I was failing her miserably.

My friends and family will tell you I am one of the least touchy-feely, warm and fuzzy people they know, cold even. But, honestly, on the inside I am holding people close, on the inside I am aching with them. I wish I wasn't so painfully introverted. I wish I didn't come across as cold and unfeeling. It's not an endearing quality.

The longest time my mom ever spent away from my dad was two weeks. He must have written her several times a day because she had a box full of letters he wrote to her during those weeks. Talk about being besotted!

We stumbled upon my baby book, she'd written very little, but a lock of hair from my first haircut was tucked in there as well as a teensy retainer holding two tiny yellow teeth. I knocked out my two front teeth when I was two years old. My mom didn't want that gap there until my adult teeth came in (around fourth grade), thus the retainer with two little teeth. But why yellow? If I was one bit tech savvy I would post my second grade picture showing off those beauties. I can almost guarantee a few belly laughs. My mom asked me if I'd like to save it. Did it meet my criteria? Not even close.

We also stumbled upon a yellowed piece of scrap paper with phone numbers jotted down on it, on the back side my mom had scribbled down a poem for me. Possibly for my 16th birthday or when I graduated from high school. Regardless, it was never given to me and of course I wanted to save it.

I've always told my mom she has a real knack for writing poetry. The sweet words I may never have read have helped allay some of the guilt I feel for rushing her through such a traumatic move.

On a warm and sunny afternoon,
God placed within my hands 
A darling precious baby girl.
We named her Laurie Ann

God said that we could keep her
And have her for our own and
Since that day our love for her
Has deepened and it's grown.

Now suddenly it seems to us, 
That little girl has gone.
No more does she delight us with
A silly phrase or song.

And in her place we find we have
A daughter fully grown.
One with grace and beauty;
A personality all her own.

I thank God for you, Laurie,
And what you've meant to me.
I'm thankful for your beauty,
Both the kind you can and cannot see.

I'm thankful for your loving ways
And the considerate things you do.
But most of all I'm thankful
God saw fit to give me you.

My Brett has beautiful skin and from the time he was little I liked the healthy glow he'd get from the sun. It made his sightless, gorgeous blue eyes stand out more than ever. I loved taking him on walks, letting him get a healthy dose of vitamin D and a touch of color too.

One sunny day I suggested Dane ride his bike up to the ice cream shop and Brett and I would meet him up there.

I passed a woman on the sidewalk. She looked closely at Brett. "The sun sure is bright today."

"It's beautiful," I agreed and continued on my way.

As I approached the door to the ice cream shop, a police car came screeching up and stopped at an angle. A police officer jumped out.

A patron was holding the door for me, "Looks like somebody's in trouble."

"I guess so!" I agreed.

"Ma'am?"Heavens! Was he talking to me?? My heart lurched. Please God don't let anything have happened to Dane.

"Ma'am, I need to have a few words with you." He approached me, "Is your baby wearing sunscreen?" He was accusatory, not friendly.

"Yes, he is." I foolishly held up the bottle of sunscreen as "evidence." The truth was I only had the sunscreen with me because I let him get 20 minutes of unfiltered sun before I applied it.

The officer wasn't impressed. "Why don't you have the canopy over the stroller, so at least the sun isn't in his eyes?"

"Well, he's blind." What a stupid, stupid thing to say. Was I looking for sympathy?

"All the more reason to have the canopy up!"

He came closer, inspecting Brett from head to toe. Apparently satisfied he wasn't burnt, he got back in his squad car and drove away.

I was devastated. Mortified. Humiliated. I barely made it around the corner of the building before I fell to the curb and sobbed my heart out. Huge, gut-wrenching sobs. I think I sobbed harder then than I did when Brett's team of doctors told us he'd never respond to us.

Somehow Dane found me. Alarmed, he jumped off his bike and sat beside me on the curb. He could barely make out what I was saying. He patted my back, "It's okay. You're a good mom."

He hit on the crux of it. I didn't feel like a good mom. It hurt that the officer and bystanders thought I was neglectful, possibly even abusive. I looked at my sweet, oblivious Brett. His skin was flushed. Maybe I had burnt him. My poor baby! As if he didn't have enough troubles! I bet I sat there sobbing for a good half hour before finally getting up and walking home.

As I walked, I became angry. How dare that officer speak to me that way, humiliate me like that!

Bob called the station to complain and the officer told him he'd call and apologize. Bob asked me to be respectful, we sure didn't want to be black balled by the local police department.

The officer did call and explained they had to follow up on complaints, but he was sorry I responded the way I did. That's an apology???

"You could have handled it better. Why squeal up there like I was a dangerous felon? And what would you have done if he wasn't wearing sunscreen?"

"If my touch would have left a white mark on his skin, I would have reported you to protective services."

Angry indignation made my voice louder than I intended, "I suggest you forget trying to stop crime and save lives, instead, why don't you station officers at local pools? I'm sure they'd find plenty of sunburnt children to keep them busy."

Then I hung up on him. I wasn't respectful and I felt just as guilty and heartsick as ever. All because of my stupid pride. All because I wanted Brett to look as healthy and normal as possible. All because some lady found me unworthy enough to sic the police on me.

Thankfully, as flawed as I am, Christ ensured my worthiness in God's eyes, and His eyes are the only ones that ultimately matter, "For these light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all." (2 Cor, 4:17). Amen to that!




A couple of side notes:
I have an enormous amount of honor and respect for police officers. They risk their lives every day to keep us safe and the climate in this country is making their job more dangerous than ever. I am extremely grateful for their service.
If I wasn't so tech-illiterate I could figure out how to attach an old picture of my sun-kissed baby Brett showing off his bright blue eyes. Maybe if I change my cover photo it'll work. We'll see.

I noted last week that one of the greatest perks of working for an airline is flying for free, but  flexibility and patience are a must because things happen.

Though non-revving to and from Florida over Spring Break is nigh on impossible, Tammy and her family manage to make it work. They split up, they sit on jumpseats, they take circuitous routes...whatever it takes, they get there.

At vacation's end, it is just Tammy and her son Spence hoping for a seat on the first flight back to Detroit. They aren't feeling hopeful. Every flight is overbooked. There is a good chance they will be spending a long, futile day at the airport, before trying again the next morning. All they can do is wait patiently in the gate area and pray for a miracle.

The harried gate agents are busy loading and unloading one overbooked flight after another when they get word a crew member has become sick. Without the FAA required minimum crew, the flight can't go out. Talk about a nightmare! I'm sure those poor agents were bracing themselves for the raging lunatics who simply cannot accept that things happen.

Tammy is sitting in the gate area oblivious to the calamitous situation brewing at the podium when she gets a call from crew scheduling:

Would there be ANY possibility she'd be willing to work the flight to Detroit? 
Of course she would! But she was traveling with her son, would they be able to ensure a seat for him? 
To avoid stranding 200 people? A no-brainer! Of course they'd get him a seat!!

Tammy boarded the airplane to brief with the crew, while her son waited in the gate area to board with the rest of the passengers.

He told her later the agent made an announcement explaining a crew member had become sick and if not for a vacationing flight attendant willing to work they would have had to cancel the flight. She wasn't in uniform (obviously), but not to worry, she was fully trained and qualified.

Many passengers expressed their gratitude to Tammy. After the service, a woman came back to the galley and personally thanked her; her mother was in hospice and if the flight had cancelled she would have missed the chance to say good-bye to her.

Back in the galley, Tammy shared the story of her friend Cindy, a fellow flight attendant in dire circumstances due to an unexpected illness. One of the flight attendants was so touched she grabbed her wallet and gave Tammy a hundred dollars to give to her.

When they landed, Tammy called Cindy to tell her she'd be leaving money in her mailbox and Cindy burst into tears because that very day she'd received notice that her electricity would be turned off unless she came up with a hundred dollars.

I love stories like this, such clear evidence of God working behind the scenes. He used Tammy's availability and sweetness to answer prayers that day, including her own prayers that she and Spence might get on that flight. Gotta love it!

An irate passenger made national news last week. She went absolutely ballistic over a delayed flight. Yelling at the top of her lungs at the poor hapless gate agent. What bothered me most was the lack of condemnation on the part of those reporting the incident.

Goodness people! Things happen. Weather gets severe, airplanes break, medical emergencies force unexpected landings, crew members get sick, out of control passengers cause delays...and the list goes on.

One of the greatest perks of working for an airline is flying for free. The only glitch is, you only get on flights with open seats. Hence the term "non-revenue." You may think you're going somewhere, but like I said, things happen.

My kids learned that early on. When they were seven and three, my parents lived near Orlando and we visited them often. They got used to watching one airplane after another pull away from the gate without us on it. But eventually, we always made it down there.

I remember one occasion I checked a flight that, miraculously, had sixty empty seats. I told the kids the night before that it was a "sure thing" we'd get on that flight. Silly Momma.

There was a little girl (I would guess around four years old) in the gate area sitting near us. She carried a Little Mermaid back pack and wore a Minnie Mouse T-shirt.

"I bet you're going to Disney World." A woman commented.

"Maybe, but we're non-revs."

"What does 'non-rev' mean?"

"It's bad." The little girl answered matter-of-factly. "It means we come to the airport but we barely ever go anywhere."

I had to laugh. Poor little thing. But at least this time she would be going to Disney World. Or so I thought. But, things happen.

Hordes of people came out of nowhere, a flight had cancelled and they were all being re-booked on our "sure thing" flight.

Caitlin and Dane were stunned. "But, Momma," they wailed, "you said it was a 'sure thing!'"

I vowed to never say something that ignorant again. There is no such thing as a "sure thing," not even with paying passengers.

I fell back on my usual, "But, like I've told you before, everything happens for a reason."

I'm happy to say we all got on the very next flight.

The following week I ran into a flight attendant who was on the flight we did NOT get on. Turns out that flight was a nightmare, an emergency landing followed by hours of sitting on the tarmac. She didn't get to Orlando until the following day.

From that time on I used that example, "You know how I'm always telling you things happen for a reason? Remember that nightmarish flight God saved us from? You guys were frolicking in the pool while those poor people were stuck out on the runway of our "sure thing" flight.

All because, things happen.

I was recently reading the verse, "If Christ is for us, who can be against us?" and it made me think about what it means to be "for" someone. It was opening day so my first thought was that I am "for" the Detroit Tigers.

I'm a huge fan. I always look forward to the start of a new season and sad when it ends. Admittedly, I found last season to be a bit frustrating because the following scenario played out way too often: The starting pitcher and hot bats give the Tigers a wide lead. The reliever comes in in the eighth inning and mows down three batters, often throwing less than a dozen pitches. He's hot, in his groove. No matter, he gets pulled for the ninth and they bring in the closer. The players are out on the field on the cusp of a big win but instead watch dejectedly as ball after ball sails out of the park. And they lose. Ugh.

I was thinking how different I'd feel if I knew with certainty the Tigers were going to win the World Series. I would relax and enjoy the game more. I would show a little more grace for errors, bad calls, dopey coaching decisions and even closers who give up one dinger after another. Because I'd know in the end they are going to be the champions.

As Christians, we know the outcome. Christ won the victory. He is "for" us. No one can win against us. And our "win" is infinitely better than winning a World Series. Talk about a celebration!

Knowing the final chapter helps me deal with crushing disappointments, injustices, dopey decisions and devastating losses. I can extend a little more grace and experience less anxiety because I know Christ is preparing a place for me that "no eye has seen nor mind imagined," where there will be "no more mourning and no more tears," and the loved ones I've lost will be there to welcome me Home. Hallelujah!

Several years ago, Bob was sitting in the parking lot at Dunkin' Donuts feeling despondent about our marriage. We were going through a serious rough patch. As he sat there, an old gentleman pulled into the spot next to him and then walked around to open the door for his wife. He held her elbow as they walked in, helped her up onto her stool at the counter. They looked at each other and smiled. They held hands.

As Bob tells the story, he said tears came to his eyes as he watched them. That's what he wanted for us. He wanted us to be that couple some day. To grow old together and still want to hold hands. He wanted to take tender care of me, he wanted us to "love and cherish each other 'til death do us part." Was it still possible?

Bob went in and sat on the stool next to the woman. He turned to her, and still feeling a little choked up, asked her what their secret was? What was it that kept them close and in love after all these years?

Before the woman could answer, the old man leaned across her and loudly barked out, "Mind your own business!"

That story makes me laugh to this day. Thankfully, these many years later, I cannot imagine not having Bob by my side. Through God's mercy and grace, I believe with all my heart that we WILL be that couple someday. And if someone asks us what our secret is, you can be sure Bob won't bark out "mind your own business!"

Happy Anniversary, Babe!

My week sure got off to a bad start.

Sunday. The Lion's game. No elaboration necessary.

Monday. My dentist appointment. I go in to get a filling and find out I a need a root canal. Which means a crown. Which means hundreds of dollars. I'm warned if I don't get it, I might be flying one day and feel such agony I'll be writhing in pain in the aisle. I opted for the looming agony.

Tuesday. Brett's doctor's appointments. As usual, there isn't a single available parking spot. My handicap parking pass is obviously useless. I wonder if all the handicap passes are legitimate. I wonder this only because the handicapped spaces in the employee lot are always taken, too--not by handicapped people but rather by those that can leap out of their cars like jackals and sprint for the bus.

I finally spot someone leaving and creep behind them to get their spot. It's not a handicapped spot, so I need to angle my van so it's T-boning the car next to me. It gives me just enough room to get Brett out and park him safely against the wall, get back in the van and straighten it out.

Same rigamarole when we leave. Wheel Brett over to the wall, get in the van and slowly angle it into the T-bone formation. As I'm doing this, some guy yells out, "Lady, you trying to pull in or out?"

I force a smile, "I'm gonna be a while." Move along friend. I can hear the muttering, "Inept bimbo's like that shouldn't be allowed to drive."

I get Brett loaded up, finally ready to leave, and can't get the van in gear. I keep trying, fiddling with the gear shaft, getting more and more violent, feeling like I could break it off. Please God, please God, please God.

I'm so tense, it's like PMS on steroids. And who gets to feel the brunt of all this frustration? Bob. Poor guy. As if he doesn't have enough on his plate.

I get his voicemail. No, "Hey babe, I'm having a little trouble getting my van in gear."

Quite the contrary, it's a clenched teeth, "PLEASE PRAY!!! I can't get this STUPID van in gear." No hello, no goodbye.

I take a deep breath, utter another prayer and finally get it in gear.

Bob calls me back and I'm still tense and angry. He says he wishes I wouldn't get this way. It is decidedly the wrong thing to say.

He sends me a text after I get home suggesting we get a sitter so we can go out for a margarita. It is decidedly the right thing to say.

Not that I think alcohol should be our "go-to" (we'd be a couple of drunks if it was), but because it got us out alone and gave me a chance to tell Bob how much I appreciate him and all he does. If we'd stayed home, the TV would have been on, I'd have had my nose in a book and he'd of fallen asleep on the couch.

Instead, we talked about all we have to be grateful for, especially each other. It did wonders for my attitude, gratitude always does.