Bob and I rarely go to the movies. Mostly because I’m the harshest movie critic I know and I hate wasting money only to be let down or brought down. I tried making a list of all the movies I truly loved and I could only come up with about fifteen. But on the rare occasion I do like the movie, it’s worth every penny to see it at the movie theatre.  

I’d heard great things about a recently released movie and I couldn’t wait to go see it.

I hated it. I was let down and brought down. Maybe I’m just a sucker for happy endings--or at least a few laughs.

One of my all time favorite movies, The Sound of Music,  came out when I was only three years old. My parents took all of us to see it. It’s one of my few vivid childhood memories. I’ve read that the more emotion that is attached to a memory, the more likely it is that you’ll remember it. Which might explain why I’m able to remember it so clearly.

I sat mesmerized through the whole movie. When it ended, I cried, and cried and cried.

Rather alarmed, my parents tried their best to comfort me, “Honey, what’s the matter? It’s all good. They got away. They live here in America now. There’s nothing to cry about.”

Nevertheless, I could not get a grip and sniveled all the way home.

When my dad used to fly cross country trips he always brought us home gifts. Unique, thoughtful gifts. When I learned to read, he brought me home several books about the Von Trapps, because he remembered how much their story and that movie had affected me.

I devoured those books. I have to admit, I almost wished they hadn’t included their photos, because not a one of them was blessed with movie star good looks and sadly, it made me love them a little less.

I’ve thought about what triggers the strongest emotional reactions in me and decided it’s the sound of music (ha-ha). On the rare occasions I get to hear my cousin play her violin, I can’t help but cry because It evokes such sweet memories of growing up in a wonderful family.

The movie reels of my family’s lives here on earth have hardly been a string of happily-ever-after stories. But our faith in Jesus promises our stories don't end here--the best is yet to come--the happiest of all happy endings awaits us in Heaven. Hallelujah! 

On a flight a few weeks ago a family slowly made their way to their seats. The mother cradled a tiny newborn. Her husband and three more children lagged behind her. If I had to guess, the eldest was no more than five. They were all laden with backpacks. The husband nudged along a toddler, while carrying a beat-up old carseat and a vintage 1960’s pink, vinyl suitcase.

I watched the husband stow the suitcase and gently buckle the toddler into her carseat. He was strikingly good looking. At least she’d hit the jackpot when she snagged him. 

As soon as he made sure everyone was all set, he headed up the aisle to his own seat. A flight attendant touched his elbow and told him she was sure she could get someone to change seats with him so he could sit with his family.

“Thank you,” he answered, “but my family is sitting up front. I was just helping her out.”

A lump formed in my throat because nothing moves me like the kindness of strangers.

When we landed, it was after midnight. It had been a long, hard day and we were all eager to get off the airplane and head home. 

Ugh! It was going to take forever to get that family off. The children were fast asleep, with zero desire to move, much less have those heavy backpacks strapped back onto their little backs. 

Nevertheless, we had them up and ready in short order. One flight attendant retrieved the surprisingly heavy pink suitcase. I carried the carseat. Another carried the toddler. The little boys staggered down the aisle.

“We have a wheelchair ordered, right?” I asked. “Because their stroller isn’t going to cut it.”

“We don’t have a stroller,” bemoaned one of the little boys.

What?? Are you kidding me??

The wheelchair was waiting and we loaded it down as best we could. But two backpacks and the car seat were still left for the little boys to handle. They put the backpacks in the carseat, then took opposite sides of it to carry it. They had to put it down every few minutes, to rest between picking it up again.

I caught up with the guy pushing the wheelchair, “Can you please order another wheelchair?”

“Everyone else is gone for the night.” 

That figures. That poor family.

The tram showed up just then, and with a sigh of relief we slipped in right before the doors closed. 

It wasn’t until the next day that I realized I’d missed the chance to exhibit the kindness of a stranger. Big time. I felt sick. Who knows what blessing I’d missed out on if only I’d chosen to go the extra mile. Maybe I could have learned her story, encouraged her. How could I have left those little boys to carry those heavy backpacks and that car seat on their own? 

Even as I write, my heart hurts. Live and learn. How often have I heard those words from my mom? Too many to count. 

I pray I did learn this time. Please God, open my eyes to see those who need someone to go the extra mile with them. But I won’t see them if I don’t slow down. 

Dallas Willard’s advice for all of us is: “Ruthlessly eliminate hurry from your life.” 

I doubt anyone needs to heed that advice more than I do.

When I’m in a funk, I don’t write, in fact I don’t do much of anything at all. I plod through the motions of taking care of Brett and do the bare minimum to keep the house in some semblance of order. Sometimes I don’t shower for days at a time (poor Bob).

But I decided today I WOULD write, because I find writing therapeutic. The only question remains: what to write ABOUT.

I thought about the different gifts God’s given us, or our “strong suits” as my mom used to say. A few years ago a man was doing some painting for her; he was there several days. He wasn’t inclined to engage in conversation, but she felt obligated to at least try. “So, how is your day going?" she asked him with a smile.

“It’s going the same as it was the last time you asked me!”

Exchanging pleasantries obviously wasn’t one of his strong suits. My mom had a difficult time not laughing out loud because not being easily offended and having a great sense of humor were some of her strong suits.

I thought about Bob, what an awesome salesman he is—he could sell sand at the beach. I learned long ago I’d be destitute if I had to rely on selling anything to anyone.

Years ago I ridiculously decided to partake in our subdivision-wide garage sale. I hauled out tables and things to hang clothes on and painstakingly put a price tag on every item. 

I felt a little anxious as the “shoppers” strolled around, picked up items and snorted at the price. I tried not to feel insulted. I surmised exchanging pleasantries (or even making eye contact) are not strong suits for garage sale shoppers. I think they think if they make any connection at all they won’t feel emboldened to offer a penny for an item I put a two dollar sticker on. 

Just as I think another rude shopper is leaving empty handed, she holds up an item I’d priced at five dollars. “Will you take ten cents for this?” 

“Sure!” I act like I think it’s a generous offer and decide to close up shop and call the Salvation Army.

I tally up the all the hours I spent preparing for the garage sale and figured I made about two cents an hour. I counted up my “haul”--a whopping two dollars! But hey, that’s almost enough to buy two large Diet Cokes at McDonalds. Cha-Ching!!

It's funny how the same sight and sound can evoke such starkly different emotions. I'm sure in war-torn countries, the roar of a fighter jet must fill people with terror and make them instinctively want 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 for a few fortunate years we lived close enough to his base that he could surprise us with personal fly overs. We’d hear the roar of his jet and excitedly run out to watch him. He’d fly upside down close enough for us to see his face, he’d twirl straight up into the sky, then come flying straight down, before finally arcing up and away and back to the base. With all those awe inspiring maneuvers it’s no surprise that the sight and sound of a fighter jet fills me with such nostalgia for my dad and an astonishing burst of love for our country.

As a flight attendant I've taken the for granted the ability to fly for free, traveling all over the country and visiting my family as often as I please. People have often commented that an airplane is probably the last place I want to be on my days tell off. Oh, how wrong they are! I've never lost the thrill of getting on an airplane and flying around the world. Regardless of how often  I've been bumped off flights and had to find creative ways to reach my destination, I STILL love it.

But twenty-one years ago I gave birth to Brett, a severely impaired baby boy and it put an abrupt halt to last minute travel adventures. Brett is blind and will never walk or talk. He is completely dependent on us. His many health issues made last minute trips to see family impossible. Regardless of how many miles away they lived, I never had to miss birthdays or family get- togethers. I could be there in a few short hours. Oh, how I missed it!

When he was four-years old, and I could still lift him, I decided I'd take him with me to visit my family in Florida. All was good until about an half hour into the flight when he developed a hideous case of diarrhea. It oozed out of his diaper, soiling both his clothes and my clothes. I struggled to get him into the lavatory to try and clean us up, but even if he’d been able to stand on his own, I wouldn't have been able to do much. We reeked. I felt horrible for the passengers seated around us. 

It occurred to me that it’d be a lovely time to experience a slow decompression. The oxygen masks would drop, people could put them around their nose and mouth, breathe normally, know that they are getting oxygen even if the bag does not inflate and best of all…get relief from the pungent stench emanating from us.

Not knowing what else to do, I held Brett with his poor tummy ache and stared out the window. Telling myself this would surely go down as one of the worst days of my life, I suddenly spotted a fighter jet right below us. It was so close! I watched it until it arced gracefully up, out and away. I thought of my dad and even whispered, "Dad?" 

Just thinking about how sorry my dad would feel for 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—isn’t he now exempt from pain and sorrow? And wouldn't it make him sad to see me? Sad to see his little grandson? 

Still, the glimpse of that fighter jet flitting through the sky comforted me, made me think that whether my earthly father can see me or not, my Heavenly Father does see me, and He won't let anything overwhelm me. I am in His tender care—always and forever. The pure conviction of God's personal love for me at that moment gave me a rush of joy that's difficult to describe. Sadly, I don't often feel that depth of joy. But the joy was real and it was enough to assure me I wasn't alone. 

 There is no doubt in my mind that God placed that fighter jet in our air space that day. A tangent reminder that He is with me, He loves me and is plenty capable of providing miraculous signs to spur me on in times of despair. 

I once offered Caitlin and Dane ten dollars if they could name the nine characteristics of the fruit of the Spirit. They'd learned a little jingle about them at Bible camp. They sang the jingle. Didn't miss a one. Twenty bucks gone—just like that. 

I never learned the little jingle and still can't rattle them off like they can. Let’s see…”Love, joy, peace patience, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and…self control." One is escaping me. 

Upon looking it up, I realize it is kindness, possibly signifying it’s the one I lack the most. Maybe I thought goodness and kindness were basically the same. But I think kindness requires action. Kindness is proactive, it looks for ways to ease burdens, to encourage, to defend, to provide.

My Bob has kindness in spades. The first time I witnessed his kind heart was at youth group in junior high, an age where being popular is the end all and be all. An age where kids can be brutal (even "church" kids). Sadly, there's usually at least one kid that's an easy target, and it's usually a witty, popular kid who hits that target. They hit it so perfectly most find it hard not to snicker. It takes a certain amount of courage to step up and defend him. But Bob did and who knows the difference he may have made in that lonely kid's life?

Bob’s eyes are always open to see where a little kindness will make a difference. He’s constantly affirming, giving, calling or praying for those in need.

Seeing people being unkind to others sucks the life right out of us. It’s awful. 

Bob often says how thankful he is that we never have to worry about anyone hurting Brett's feelings. When our kids are hurting, Bob can hardly stand it, so having to watch people make fun of Brett and hurting his feelings would be unbearable…but thankfully, Brett is blissfully unaware.

Thinking of Bob this Father’s Day, I’m especially thankful for his boundless kindness. He’s simply the best! 

Happy Father’s Day!

Today marks six months of my life without my mom. Six months to the day, she left us to join dozens of her beloveds’ in heaven. As much as I miss her, I take comfort knowing she is now happier than she has ever been.  

As sick as she was, she never lost her sense of humor. I can honestly say (even on her worst days) she always found something to laugh about.

No one could lift me out of a slump like she could. I’m doing my best to emulate all the wonderful traits I treasured the most…her eternal optimism, humor, gratitude and selflessness. 

She was a beautiful woman inside and out. She always took care to look her best for my dad, regularly getting herself fixed up before he came home from work. Her desire to look good on the outside is the one thing I did inherit from her.

Through some cruel stroke of fate, I wasn't born with curly hair. My parents and siblings all have curls, but much to my mom's dismay, no such luck for me. As soon as I grew enough straight hair to wind around a curler, my mom created curls for me. Though there were nights when I begged to go to bed without my "cur-wers," it was a rare night that Dippity-Do and "cur-wers" weren't part of my bedtime routine. If people got a gander of me after I'd been swimming, they were shocked I didn't really have curly hair (a poser!). I'd overheard my mom tell people I was "just as pretty on the inside."  I didn't feel like I passed muster without curly hair. I wanted to tell their shocked faces that I was still pretty on the inside, even without the curls. Sadly, focusing on being "pretty on the inside" has not been a guiding principle in my life.

The last time I needed to get my passport renewed and knowing I would 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 looked like I’d aged thirty years! My mom said it was no wonder, after all I had been "put through the mill.”  Well, who knew "the mill" could wreak such havoc? To add insult to injury, as I was checking out, an insensitive beast of a man mistook Brett for my grandson. At that point, I wanted to go sit in the car and have myself a good cry.

I am disappointed that looking old and being mistaken for my son's grandmother derailed me like it did.

Even though I think my mom was at least partly responsible for my somewhat unhealthy focus on the outer me, she was fully responsible for the fact that I know Who and What I need to focus on above all else—Jesus. On my lowest days she steered my thoughts to Him, to His promises, to His abounding love and amazing grace. She knew every word to hundreds of hymns and she clung to the Biblical promises packed into all those old songs.  I know I often relied too much on my mom's advice, but I do know the most important decision of my life had to be made by me alone, and I chose Christ...and for that I am eternally grateful.

                                      "Turn your eyes upon Jesus,

                                      Look full in His wonderful face,

                            And the things of earth will grow strangely dim,
                                     In the light of His glory and grace."

I believe the fact that we are born with a sense of how things ought to be is evidence that God exists and that we’re living in a fallen world.

My friend Stacey’s daughter Alisha (like Brett) was born with severe disabilities. Sometimes Alisha 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.

Stacey tells of a time when her son Caleb was only five years old and became a tad irritated with her giggling during their prayers. When the prayer ended, he asked, "Why did you get her anyway?" (implying she hadn't been one of their better decisions) 

When they told him they’d gotten her before him, he asked exasperatedly, “Well then why doesn’t God just heal her up?" 

Caleb had never known a life without Alisha. It was only as he got a little older that he began to realize how much easier their life would be if God would just "heal her up.” 

I don’t know why God allowed Alisha and Brett to be born with severe disabilities or why He doesn't just “heal them up.” I can only share that I choose to trust in God's Word and His promises, to acknowledge that as far as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are His ways higher than my ways and His thoughts higher than my thoughts. (Isaiah 55:9) 

Of course there have been blessings unveiled in some of the difficulties, but the sharp ache of Brett not being what I think he ought to be never goes away entirely and sometimes it's overwhelming in its intensity. 

The apostle Paul's claim that he was "perplexed but not in despair" (2 Cor. 4) epitomize how I feel about Brett. I take great comfort in the fact that if Paul (of all people!) never got to a state of being un-perplexed, then 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 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.” (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 "perplexed but not in despair" knowing they will be perfect and whole for all eternity.