My first memory of Bob was from fifth grade. I was going to Sunday school class with my cousin and she confided in me that she "liked" a boy, but if I ever told anyone she would never share a secret with me ever again. I promised I wouldn't, of course. When we got to the class, she discretely pointed Bob out and I told her I thought he looked like the Blue Eagle from Sesame Street--he had a really low hairline and thick black eye brows.

Several years later I decided he was the best looking guy on the planet. He became friends with my brother. If I had any inkling he might be stopping by, I’d race up to my room and make myself look as pretty as possible.

I’d sit in the same room with them until my brother would turn and ask, “Don’t you have anything better to do than sit there and stare at us?”

I was mortified, but he was right--.I was just sitting there and staring. I’ve always had a staring problem. But a lot of girls had a hard time not staring at Bob.

For some reason I'll never understand, a few short years later, he professed his love to me. Me! A staring, immature, insecure little monster.

  

I think we jumped into marriage before either of us was ready. I wasn't involved in any of the planning for the big day (other than my dress). I wasn't even aware of which songs were going to be sung. Looking back, it's hard to fathom, but it's true.

It wasn't until the night of the rehearsal that I recognized a song from Fiddler on the Roof. Eeek! I hated that movie, but the lyrics were oh-so appropriate. 

                                        Is this the little girl I carried?
                                        Is this the little boy at play?

                                       When did she get to be a beauty?
                                       When did he grow to be so tall?

                                      Wasn't it yesterday when they were small?
                                      I don't remember getting older, when did they?

The fact is, if I would have gotten a peek into some of the difficult days ahead of us, I probably would have bailed (and saved my parents a lot of shekels).

How fortunate God doesn't let us see into the future. Because if I had bailed I would have missed out on experiencing the miraculous ways God would heal our marriage, making us stronger and more dependent on Him than ever.

From the very beginning of my pregnancy, we knew Brett wasn’t “right.” Bob pleaded with me to follow the doctor's advice and terminate the pregnancy, but God intervened in a miraculous way and convinced Bob we were meant to have him. 

Now Bob views Brett as a gift from God, with a special purpose. He considers him the "glue" that held us together. He has never complained or resented the fact we will be tending to Brett's every need for the rest of our lives.

Today, I marvel at the selfless, loving man I married. I don’t doubt his devotion to me anymore. Though life isn’t always easy, he does everything he can to make my life as easy as possible

And, truth be told, since the day he told me he loved me, I’ve never been able to envision my life without him.

If only I’d been born just one decade later I could have experienced the incredible technology of having (at my finger tips!!) not only a camera but also a way to take a video of each and every entertaining moment in Caitlin and Dane’s lives. I’d give almost anything to be able to sit and watch those unscripted, random scenes of hilarity and sweetness.

When Caitlin and Dane were little, the only way we had of recording anything was with a contraption not much smaller than those that television news crews lug around today. There was a lot in involved in putting it together—certainly not conducive to catching any spontaneous fun times.

I was totally incompetent with the thing. I never held it steady enough and I constantly forgot to push the "stop recording" button and thus we have literally hours of film of the pavement at Disney World. 

But one particular Christmas I was thankful for my ineptness, for forgetting to push the "stop recording" button…because it’s given me a lifetime of laughter...

All the presents had been opened and the clean-up had begun. No one had any idea the camcorder (that I’d carelessly placed on a chair) was still recording.

Only seven year old Caitlin is in “the shoot.” She’s kicking through the carnage of wrapping paper, tissue and boxes. She finally stops her search and, with a big, dramatic sigh, announces (to no one in particular), “Nope. No 'Free Willy.'”

We howled with laughter when we watched the inadvertent recording of Caitlin kicking her way through dozens of presents in search for the one thing she’d asked for but didn’t get.

The phrase became a standard joke between me and my mom. Heaven forbid I replied, “Nope,” to any question, because neither of us could help but follow it up with, “No 'Free Willy.'” 

I can relate to my seven year old Caitlin this year. In the face of all God has given me and in the wake of one of the most exciting years of my life (my first grandchild is due to arrive any moment), I’ve been kicking through the gifts, only focusing on the one gift that’s missing…the wondrous gift of my mother’s constant love and laughter. 

I’ve been convicted of the need to sit and savor the greatest gift of all…Jesus. Prince of peace, Lord of Lords! Love has come, hope is born! What an indescribable gift it is to know that nothing in all creation can surpass the glorious gift of His Son.

Wishing you all a very Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!

(I stumbled upon this blog, written almost exactly three years before my mom left us for her Heavenly Home.)


I've been so inspired by my mom's selfless love--how she has risen above her own considerable grief to offer comfort and encouragement.

Her hard earned wisdom has guided me through many difficult days. When I'm experiencing especially down days, I tend to avoid people (except poor Bob, of course). Because really, who wants to be around a downer? But my mom is always able to get to the nitty-gritty of my sadness and literally set me back on track to right thinking. Thinking that takes the focus off of myself and on to all I have to be grateful for and the importance of living in the present. Life is short, carpe diem!

Sadly, not only am I not as selfless as she is, I don't laugh as easily either. But she thinks I'm funny and her laugh is contagious, so consequently, we've spent my entire life laughing together. I talk to her pretty much every day and every day we find something to laugh about.

When I was in high school she asked me to trim the back of her hair. She's always been one to save money by cutting her own hair. I took the scissors and began snipping. I cut it unevenly and after numerous attempts to get it even, it ended up much shorter than she wanted. Which made her mad. Which hurt my feelings.

I asked her what had made her think I knew how to cut hair in the first place? She said I certainly didn't hesitate to grab the scissors and tear into it like I knew what I was doing. In moments, the anger and hurt turned into uproarious laughter. I don't think I would have been laughing had she done that hatchet job on me...but that's the difference between the two of us.

The other day, I was telling her about a girl I met who named all five of her children after U.S. presidents. There was Kennedy, Reagan, Madison, Jackson and...? I couldn't think of the last one. She offered up several suggestions, trying to jog my memory.

"No, no...I know it was a conservative president."

"Hmmm..." my mom hesitated a minute. "Was it Bush?"

Of course, we erupted into laughter at the cruel absurdity of naming a child "Bush."

I can't imagine a life that doesn't include my mom and her daily doses of wisdom and laughter.  She is my biggest fan and my dearest friend, and I love her with all my heart.

I just returned from a wonderful visit to see my brother and his family in Charlotte, NC.

While I was there I was able to reconnect with Robin and Ellie, my best friends from college. It had been 25 years since I’d seen Robin, but Ellie and I have kept in touch.

Ellie’s husband Johan, was recently a victim of downsizing. He was elated because it freed him to pursue his own dreams. Ellie went kicking and screaming. She went from living a life of leisure in Connecticut to learning how to drive a fork lift for Johan’s bourgeoning business in Charlotte.

While leaving Costco, something blew off Ellie’s cart and a kind woman ran to retrieve it. And who might that kind woman be? Robin. Definitely a God thing! They were meant to be reunited.

Ellie insisted on picking me up from the airport because it would give us more time to visit.

I told her about my recent trip to Santiago with Dane. She knows I’m a ditz and always appreciates my stories.

When I was checking out of our hotel, the man at the desk asked me, “Habla Ingles?”

“No habla Ingles.” I stupidly answer. Of course I know what he’s asking. It’s just me being ditzy. 

Looking rather incredulous, he asks me again. 

“No habla Ingles.” I repeat a little more firmly.

“Habla Espanol?” 

“No habla Espanol.”

At this point, he’s not sure where to go and finally asks, “Americano?”

Bingo.

The second night I’m in Charlotte, we all meet for dinner and we talk about some of my most embarrassing moments. 

Like the time I went to class with a big curler in my hair. All the second glances I was getting served to puff up my ego a bit. 

Like the time I hit the dirt when a giant leaf came dive-bombing towards my head. I watched “The Birds” when I was five years old and have been terrified of them ever since. The shadow of that leaf looked exactly like a big bird.

Most embarrassing of all was the time I got caught eating Robin’s food. Robin is 5’7” and weighed 98 pounds. I am 5’8” and weighed 150 pounds.

Robin always had snacks in our room. Since I was forever trying to lose a few, I never had 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 her "Donkey Kong" cereal, which I'd flatly denied. 

When I walked in and saw her with her “toy,” I was thrilled she’d found the missing glass piece from my watch. 

Busted. 

Not only had I been snacking on 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. 

Thankfully, my beloved sister-in-law, Shannon, appreciates my stories just as much as my college friends. I can’t express how thankful I am that my job allows me to fly in for a quick visit and laugh with such abandon, because laughter really is the best medicine.

One of the greatest blessings in my life was the special bond I shared with my mom.

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 was my favorite color? I'd ask my mom what her favorite color was. “Green,”  she'd answer. 

“Green,” I'd tell Jeff.

 It exasperated him. "Why can't you come up with anything on your own?” 

"That is what I came up with on my own!" I'd answer indignantly and turn to my mom, “Huh Mumma?”

My life became a series of “Huh Mumma’s?” I never stopped seeking her affirmation.

Today is Brett’s 15th birthday. His first birthday without my mom. I know if she was here, we would rehash some of the funny stories, ruminate about the positive impact “The Baby” has had on our lives. She never once called him Brett, always The Baby.

It was only because of a heart-wrenching chain of losses that my mom was living with us when Brett was born. Oh, how thankful I was to have her by my side every day! 

All those days of carefully measuring and re-measuring Brett’s 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 job of trying to keep the oxygen cannula lined up with his tiny nostrils.

When we brought Brett home they provided us with a "mother tank" of oxygen that had a 50 foot long cord allowing us to walk around the house with him. Anytime we'd pick him up we'd pull on 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. It was hilarious to watch because I found myself doing the same thing. We both had gotten so used to the cord that long after it was gone we were still “pulling” air. It was hysterical. I’m sure if I were to see her today, I could reenact it and we’d laugh just as hard now as we did then. 

The Baby, who is fifteen years old today, is still like a baby—a giant, content baby. 

Today, I’m thanking God for allowing my mom to be here in Michigan…from the day Brett took his first breath fifteen years ago to the day she took her last. 

Our awesome God knew just what I needed…”Huh Mumma?”

”We act as though comfort and luxury were the chief requirement of life, when all we really need to make us happy is something to be enthusiastic about.” I jotted that down without noting who said it, but apparently it resonated with me. 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. Some psychologists decided to perform an experiment on two little boys, one an eternal optimist, 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 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, the merry-go-round would 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—generally just having a walloping good time.

Again, they were absolutely incredulous. ”What are you doing??? How could you be having so much fun?”

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

Talk about optimistic enthusiasm! I do believe 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 despite what wretches we are, 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. 

Yet I still have days when all I 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 around because I've let all the sad stuff blind me to all the good stuff.

Let's face it, crap happens. In so many ways, losing my mom has been the crappiest thing that's ever happened to me. She was the epitome of optimistic enthusiasm, and it was contagious, and I will never stop missing it—but I’m also never going to stop striving to be like her, hoping one day my attitude will lift others up the way she could always lift mine up.

One of the things I’m missing the most about my mom is hearing her laugh. Talk about laughing with abandon! I’ve never met a person who laughed as easily as she did. 

Every time I think about the following story, it makes me laugh.

I often complain about the state of our public schools. Horrified that students who can’t even write a complete sentence are getting diplomas. It’s certainly not doing the students any favors.

But do I actually do anything about it? Do I even have any idea who sits on our school board? No. Apparently I’d rather sit in my warm, dry home and belly ache about it.

Not so with my friend Stacey. She does the grunt work. She makes it her business to learn everything about the people running for seats on our board of education. Her efforts convicted me I needed to vote. I asked for a cheat sheet so I’d be sure to vote for those who uphold the same values I hold so dearly.

I gave my mom the same cheat sheet, and begged her to vote as well. It was five years ago and her illness had already progressed to the point where it was a real feat for her to go anywhere. But, by golly, she did it.

The cheat sheet turned out to be useless. Though she lived in Canton township, it was Van Buren schools.

She said when she entered the room it was completely empty save for the poll watchers. They were jubilant to see her! Turned out she was the only voter who showed up that day, but she was living proof that there were still people out there who cared.

“But, you didn’t actually vote did you?”

“Of course I did,“ she replied. ”I couldn't possibly disappoint those people after the overly warm reception they gave me.”

“Well, who in the world did you vote for?”

“I have no idea, I just picked some names I liked and voted for them.”

“Mom! For all you know you could have voted in a child molester!” 

The idea that my mom (at my urging) may have been the sole determinant of who is sitting on the board of education in Van Buren township struck us as so funny we laughed until we cried.

Oh, my goodness, did I ever love laughing with her. 

Yet another attribute I’m striving to emulate—to laugh easily and often.