I am not a basketball fan (I couldn't name a single Piston's player if a gun was held to my head). But I have to admit, I have gotten into this whole March Madness thing.

A pastor was talking about his brackets, how his four year old son wanted to pick a team, too. His son picked the team he thought had a doggie as a mascot (Loyola), because he liked doggies. Who would ever guess the "doggie's" team would make it to the final four? As much as I like rooting for underdogs, especial one featuring a precious, old nun who's been a faithful fan for decades--"Go, Blue!"

I am a football fan, as frustrating as that is. An apt Lion's joke: Two avid Lion' fans were sent to hell, but they weren't miserable, and the devil wanted to know why.

"We're from Michigan, we like the heat." So the devil made it ten times hotter. They still enjoyed it, so the devil made it freezing cold instead.

When he went to check on the fans they were exuberant...chest bumping and running all over the place. The devil was stunned, "How can you be happy with everything freezing over?"

Their answer? "Hell froze over, which can only mean one thing...the Lions won the Super Bowl!"

I'm a Tiger's fan, too. My son tells me he thinks they'll be the worst team in the MLB this year. Ugh.

All kidding aside, the greatest victory of all time is celebrated on this day, Good Friday. I used to wonder why it's referred to as "good." What could possibly be good about the brutal crucifixion of Jesus?

The goodness is in Jesus' final words, "It is finished." (John 19:30) The three most powerful and freeing words ever spoken. My Bible says the word "finished" is the same as "paid in full."

"For God so loved the world that He gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in Him shall not perish but have eternal life."

Hallelujah!

Last week I had the sweet opportunity to fly to New York and fly back with Caitlin and our new grandson, Brooks.

Of course, being the ditz I am, I messed up right out of the gate. As I eagerly await to get my hands on my grand baby, Caitlin is waiting patiently in line in security. When she finally makes it up to the security guard, she's told Brooks needs his own boarding pass (even though he flies for free). Caitlin is justifiably exasperated. Didn’t she ask me over and over if she needed to have something for Brooks?  Yes, but I never had to have anything for my babies. Didn’t it occur to me that things may have changed a bit after 911?

Anyway, my ignorance causes us to miss our flight. “Oh well, live and learn,” I sigh.

I would venture to guess “live and learn” might be one of the most despised phrases Caitlin hears that come out of my mouth. She’s had a life time of watching me "live and learn" almost everything the hard way. I add another one of my favorites, “Everything happens for a reason, maybe a deathly ill person was on that first flight.”

She concedes it really is no big deal, she's hungry anyway, we can enjoy a leisurely lunch while we wait for the next flight.

Caitlin is very careful to limit Brooks exposure to germs. Everything and everyone needs to be abundantly sanitized. My poor Caitlin. She not only has to endure me not having it all together, she also needs to watch me like a hawk because I doubt there’s a person on the planet who cares less about germs than I do.

Thankfully, Brooks is oblivious to the mayhem and my unmindfulness of our germ filled world. He takes everything in with his big blue eyes, contentedly cooing and smiling, opening his mouth wide open with glee. I can barely take my eyes off of him, I’m completely smitten. I do have to admit, if I keep my face in his for too long, his smile fades, his bottom lip protrudes and he begins to look like he’s never seen anything more horrifying. Of course as soon as his oh, so beloved mama’s face re-appears he reverts back to his cooing, wiggly, happy self again.

Our return flight to New York goes beautifully. Brooks is just as much of an angel on this flight as he was on his first flight. Unfortunately, in the LaGuardia airport bathroom (of all places!), I drop the tent-like thinga-ma-jigger Caitlin uses for nursing. Horrors! I nervously whisk it up like a scarf out of a magician’s hat and try to convince Caitlin it surely qualifies for the five second rule…heavens, it touched the floor less than one second.

I’m in awe of what a wonderful mother Caitlin is, a natural. How in the world could I have produced such a extraordinary person? Probably years of watching my un-togetherness, made her vow to be nothing like me. 

Bob and I have never been more proud of our Caitlin, and couldn’t be more in love with little Brooks. We are so thankful for our sweet visit and are looking forward to many more.

Gumption. Not a word you hear much anymore, but one I've heard all my life--forever being told I needed more of it. My grandmother Cummins probably informed me of my lack of gumption the most, but I heard it a lot from my mom and dad, too. 

I intended to write about a few instances where having a little gumption would have served me well, but then I started to think about my grandmother’s abundant amount of gumption (synonyms include backbone and pluck), and took a trip down memory lane instead.

My grandmother was fiercely loyal to her family. I had to think twice about telling her someone had been even slightly unkind to me because I knew that person would be getting “a piece of her mind.” She didn't hesitate to give pieces of her mind.

When her church in Florida asked her if she'd take over their card ministry, she told them no, that writing cards wasn't her “bag.” Goodness! Her own grandchildren had never received a single card from her.

My mom was with her at the time and asked her what she'd have told them if they'd asked her, “Well then, what exactly is your ‘bag’?” 

Without hesitation she answered, "I would have told them ‘my bag’ is eating and sleeping." Her answer makes me laugh to this day.

When they still lived in Michigan, she and Papa would often sing in front of the church. One of their favorites was The Old Rugged Cross. The last words say, “then He'll call me some day, to my home far away, where His glory forever I'll share.”

I don't think our country has ever been filled with so much hate, so much evil. It’s made me long all the more for the day He will take us to our Home far away. 

Billy Graham said of Christians, “The moment we take our last breath on earth, we take our first breath in heaven.”

I love picturing my mom taking her first deep breath in Heaven. I'm missing her desperately, but that image comforts me.

I pray God will provide another Billy Graham soon, convincing millions more to accept Jesus Christ as their Savior and be assured their last breath here will be their first breath in Heaven.

My friend Kelly calls words and phrases unique to her family the “NutHatch Dictionary.” 

It got me thinking of my own family's unique vocabulary.  My great-grandmother (Nanny) was forever saying she was getting fatter than a “butcher's dog." I picked up the phrase when I was about four years old and used it for all manner of things—I got 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 my use of it cracked my family up so much.

Nanny wouldn't hesitate to label anyone exhibiting less than desirable behavior as “horse's rosettes.” I adopted this quaint little moniker as well.

How about "there's more than one way to skin a cat"? Eeew. I used that gruesome phrase recently when we were running short on cookies. I told a passenger I’d bring him extra cookies after the service. The other passengers in his row declined the offer of a snack, so he slyly interjected they'd changed their minds... they both wanted cookies. I smiled and said, “I guess there's more than one way to skin a cat.” What?? Where did that come from? Who knew that was even in my repertoire of phrases?

My dad used to call people always on the cusp of inappropriate behavior “loose cannons” who go off “half-cocked.”

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

My mom would threaten to knock us into the “middle of next week”— which I thought might be a nice place to be (under the circumstances).

My brother Craig used to come up with some outlandish facts. When my parents would ask him how he came upon his knowledge his answer was always the same, "A kid at school told me." It became our family's response to anyone who came up with questionable facts—”Did a kid at school tell you that?"

If we asked Dad if he had time to help us with something, he'd often answer, "What's time to a pig?" It always made him chuckle but I never understood why. I just recently learned it's a line from a joke: An old farmer walked his pigs a long way to drink from the river. When a neighbor offered to run a pipe from the river to the farmer's house, the farmer wasn't interested. When the neighbor explained how much time it would save, the farmer responded, "What's time to a pig?"

Another phrase, "You guessed it Nester!" It's the equivalent of "Well...duh!" If I put my uniform on and I’m asked if I'm going to work, I answer, "You guessed it Nester!" 

I could fill pages with phrases like "Did a kid at school tell you that?" that would only be funny to my family.

I’m so thankful God designed us to be placed in families. Sadly, many of my family's funniest storytellers have gone to be with the Lord. I miss them more than ever, but I take great comfort knowing their stories will continue to be told generation after generation and therefore never be forgotten.

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. But 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 a third of the way through.

Every time an angel appeared with a message for someone, the angel's first words were inevitably "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 30 some years ago I was walking through the "aisles of beauty" at Hudson's. The Estee Lauder counter had some kind of machine you could look into to that supposedly revealed 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 defying product they were hawking). Consequently, the multi-spotted, severely sleep deprived image I saw that day is pretty much what I see in the mirror today.

There are literally hundreds of phobias. I used to question the very faith of those who 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 they're not in control? That when their time comes it doesn't really matter where they are, or how they chose to get there?

But when I think of my own irrational fears (I honestly feel I might die if saw a mouse in my hotel room), I humbly realize all of our fears involve some degree of faithlessness.

In spite of all God's assurances, I still experience anxiety attacks and needlessly worry and fret about things I have zero control over. Another oft repeated command tells us what to set our hearts and minds on, and it isn't on this present, flawed world--it's on Him.

The crux of my anxiety stems from looking at my future without Him in it, which is obviously impossible. Some of Jesus' last words before he descended back into Heaven were that He would never leave us or forsake us...even to the end of the age. (Matthew 28:20) 

One of my mom's most oft repeated phrases was, "The Lord knows all about it." It's only now that I recognize how truly profound and comforting these words are. When anxious thoughts start to overwhelm me, I whisper my mom's words back to myself and it’s almost like she’s still her here with me, comforting me like only she could. 

I’ve experienced many unanswered prayers throughout my life, or rather prayers that weren’t answered the way I wanted them to be answered. Today I needed to remind myself of God’s faithfulness. I can recall so many times He’s shown me His mercy and grace. 

A few answers to prayers were particularly stunning. For the sake of space, I’ll only recount a few here.

When Dane was just an infant, Bob took a job running the Karaoke at the bar across the street from his work. Sometimes he wouldn’t get home until three in the morning. It was taking a toll on our marriage. When I went up to watch him I was shocked to learn he’d even acquired groupies! No wonder he wasn’t inclined to give it up. Rather than rant and rave about it (my usual modus operandi), I decided to pray about it. I kid you not, the very next day the place burned to the ground and was never rebuilt. Talk about being gobsmacked!

Another time, I was taking my cousin Cassie on a buddy pass to attend my grandmother’s funeral in Florida. Even though Cassie had been married for years, I’d used her maiden name on her reservation. I didn’t realize what I’d done until the TSA agent asked her why the name on her boarding pass didn’t match the name on her driver’s license. She sweetly replied that she’d gotten married. This was post 9/11, my ditzy mistake could have nixed our plans right there and then, but we were allowed to proceed to the gate without even any additional screening.

There were several empty seats on the flight when I checked, but I hadn’t counted on over thirty standby passengers. I was at the top of the list, so I knew I was going to get a seat, but Cassie was at the bottom, there was no way she was getting a seat. I walked over to give her the bad news. 

Before I could speak, she said she’d been sitting there praying and had complete peace about it, everything was going to work out and…

“Is there someone who can come get you?” I rudely interrupted, blithely waving away any possibility of Divine intervention.

Before she could answer, the gate agent called her name and gave her a boarding pass. I was stunned! Ashamed of myself for doubting the power of prayer and in awe of God’s goodness.

How do the words, “all I can do is pray about it” ever come out of my mouth??? The Creator of the universe asks us to call Him Father and encourages us to pour out our requests to Him. It’s not all I can do, it is the most I can do.

When a child asks for a piece of bread, does a good father give him a rock instead? How much more will our Father in Heaven give good gifts to those who ask Him? (Matthew 7:9-11)

“Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God.” Philippians 4:6

When Brett was born, in an attempt to encourage us, several people relayed the same basic story. It went something like this: A family planned to move to Italy but landed in Sweden instead. It wasn’t where they wanted to be! It wasn’t where they'd prepared to go! But once they accepted Sweden as their new home, their eyes were opened to all the beauty (albeit a very different kind of beauty) of Sweden, and they lived happily ever after. It didn’t resonate with me. I remember thinking Siberia might have been a better analogy.

I have an actual, first hand experience of landing in a country I didn’t plan on landing in, one I wasn't t prepared to land in, but nonetheless found myself in. 

In 1999, Tammy and I decided it was a must that we visit Hong Kong before the British cede the city to China. We make all the arrangements and off we go, even managing to sit in the upper deck on a 747 on our first leg to Tokyo.

Unfortunately we run into a slight glitch. We’ve landed on the wrong day. You’d think, being flight attendants, we’d have some grasp of how the international date line works. But we didn’t. We thought we were arriving on a Thursday, but we landed on a Friday.

Turns out there isn’t even the remotest chance we’ll get on a flight to Hong Kong on a Friday night. Tammy is furious. It was the hotel told who told her what day we were arriving. It was their fault, now ours.

Bottom line, we are now in Tokyo with nowhere to go. The agent suggested Seoul. Nah, been there, done that. How about Bangkok? There is good shopping. Sure. What the heck?

Turns out, not only should we have educated ourselves on time lines but on geography as well. As soon as we reach cruising altitude, we are told the flight time. Over eight hours!!! We want off! We don’t have time for this! Good heavens! It took us less than 12 hours to get all the way from Detroit to Tokyo. Is Thailand on another continent or what? Well, it’s too late now, we’ll just have to make the best of our 18 hours in Bangkok.

The cab ride to the hotel is harrowing, the little Buddha glued to the top of the dashboard is in perpetual motion as we bounce our way through broken roads and enormous potholes. There is no rhyme or reason for the traffic flow and we narrowly miss other vehicles, bikes, and dogs. Yes, dogs! Lots of them, apparently all without owners.

Perhaps most alarming of all, we appear to be one of the very few not wearing face masks.  

After a quick night’s rest, we get up in the morning ready to shop at the famed shopping center. We ask for directions from the man at the front desk. Communicating isn’t easy, but when he finally understands we’re asking about the shopping center he answers, “Ahhhh. Burn down.”

Our little trip is going from bad to worse. We’re so tired, we’re slap happy and turn to each other and repeat “burn down” and laugh so much we can hardly stand up. I can’t imagine what the poor little man thought of us (sadly, mimicking his accent) and laughing so uproariously over such a tragic event.

We have about six hours before catching our flight back to Tokyo, so we bravely set out to explore the city. We pick our way through the broken up concrete sidewalks, stray dogs and masked Thai people. I have to admit I'm finding the masks a wee bit disconcerting…might we be breathing in the actual “plague of death?”

We’re in an open air shopping area when I realize I need to find a restroom. Immediately. When I find one, I realize (in the nick of time) that there’s no toilet paper. I hustle back out and, sure enough I missed the lady at the door selling squares of toilet paper. Please, can I just take the roll and we can sort it out when I'm done? No. Must buy first. 

I tear off a swath I pray is adequate and she counts each square to determine how many bahts it will cost me. We had jokingly started pronouncing their currency “bites.” I think it cost me about thirty bites to use the restroom. Calling it a “rest” room is a sad misnomer as they don’t have toilets…it’s like squatting over a concrete shower base. If nothing else, I got in a good quad workout.

Another nerve wracking cab ride back to the airport. Another spastically bouncing Budha on the dashboard.

When we get to the gate we’re informed we’re not likely to get seats…possibly not for days. Days? Are you kidding me?? We’re not laughing now. We’re praying our hearts out, pleading with God to allow us to get out of there. And by His grace, we did. 

Back to the story that was meant to comfort us when we found about Brett’s condition—I was wrong to think Siberia was a better analogy. God has been faithful in not only allowing us to accept Brett as a gift, but also the peace that comes from knowing he is His perfect plan for our life, we "landed" right where God intended us to land.