Tuesday, March 27, 2012

A Weekend of Contradictions

I have spent time with many people in the past few days.  One, who leans toward racial and ethnic slurs, dissatifaction with others, and a need to be the center of attention, all the while wearing a mantle of Christianity.  I find that my worst self comes out in this person's presence.  Because I am called to love everyone, I will, but I like neither her nor myself when I am with her.  Please do not panic that I am in some way going to hurt her feelings by mentioning her in this way. She does not use a computer, and, history would tell me, that even if I used her name she would never recognize herself..   But, I will have sinned in a most extravagant way if I allow my interactions with her to overshadow all the many mercies the Lord graciously rained upon me during the time of her visit.

Friday, I had a walking tour with wonderful students, wonderful teachers, and wonderful parents.  A little mercy for my day.  I texted Mr. Lincoln yesterday when I finished my tour..."I love my job!!!"...and I do not have a smart phone, so it took a lot of button pushing to put those 3 exclamation points.  Every day this time of year, I spend my mornings sharing stories of history, enjoying the beautiful (and not so lovely at times) weather, interacting with precious 4th graders, and I get paid for it.  I am so very blessed.  When I begrudgingly headed home Friday to greet our weekend guest, I found MP and Simeon at my house.  MP let me take Simeon from the crib and hold him.  Aaaaaaaaaah, sweet peace. 

I had for several days been looking forward to Saturday.  MP, Sheri, and I, among others, were invited to a brunch at the home of one of my favorite people.  I love going to her home.  She is genuinely a Southern lady who entertains with ease and sweetness and warmth. There are several of us old Otter Creekers who have daughters and daughters-in-law expecting babies this spring.  Our hostess has a daughter expecting her fourth next month.  As I sat in that gracious home surrounded by women I love, both young and old, I was overcome with joy in their presence.  One friend, whose daughter-in-law was there, big with child, kept saying "this is where our treasure is."  Oh, how I love that friend.  What words of truth she spoke. The moms shared scriptures of encouragement that will be compiled for those young mothers.  I pray each of them is able to be bathed in the blessings of those ancient words.  We prayed over them.  We prayed over the two babies there.  One of them rested in the arms of her adoptive mother.  They are caught in a court battle.  It is scary.  We pray with confidence that they will not be separated.  I left there refreshed and renewed and grateful that I live in this time and in this place with these people.

Sunday, we had prayer stations during the service.  Mr. Lincoln and I, along with many others, were to oversee one of these stations.  This sort of thing is out of my comfort level.  I do not like being in front of everyone.  Oh, I have come into service in a cardboard car making vroom, vroom noises.  I have stood in front of the entire church dressed as a robot in a box with flashing Christmas lights, a funnel on my head, foil-covered shoe boxes on my feet and duct work on my arms and legs.  I have come in with a big pot and wooden spoon with one of my favorite partners in crime as she sang "hot chili...." to promote a chili cookoff.  I have danced the tango with Mr. Lincoln in front of the congregation while the praise team hummed to promote a marriage seminar weekend.  If you are not church of Christ, you haven't a clue what heresy that was....humming AND dancing.  Shocking!!!  But, I really do not like being in front in a serious role. 

I may not like it, but if one of our ministers asks me to do it, I will.  I realize the purpose is not my being seen or not being seen.  It is about edifying our church family.  Mr. Lincoln signed us up for the balcony during first service.  Our reasoning was that in the balcony, we would not be in front.  But, I think God had another reason, for as we entered the balcony, I saw one of my dearest friends.  Her distress was evident.  I leaned over to hug her.  She hugged me back, and in her tears she asked me to pray with her.  We prayed for her precious daughter; a daughter who is hurting.  I do not think we ever see the heart of God quite as clearly as when we agonize over our children.  We hurt when our children hurt.  I believe God aches for us as He watches us struggle.  There are those who would ask, "then, why doesn't he do something about it?"  I do not have an answer, I just know what I believe.  And, so, we prayed.  My friend and I.  I think I was put in that balcony for her and for myself.  She might not have been as free to share her concerns with someone else.  She knows I love her daughter, and her.  I hope she knows that I do not judge her parenting nor the goodness of her child.  Stuff happens.  People hurt and try to stop the pain in myriad ways.  It is not mine to judge.  It is mine to love and care for and join in prayer. 

Because the balcony is not open during second service, Mr. Lincoln and I stationed ourselves in the back of the sanctuary.  We prayed for a woman in recovery.  She is struggling.  My prayer was a stumbling, bumbling plea.  No eloquence there.  I hope she did not feel dismayed that she stopped by us. We told her not to hesitate to ask for help any time.   I continue to pray for her.  Mr. Lincoln passed her name and the fact of her struggle to the leader of our recovery ministry.  A longtime friend had the grace to come to us and tell us that she wanted us to pray a praise for our grandsons.  How dear.   She also was shouting a hallelujah because her son was in church with her.  She has asked the Lord repeatedly for a sign, if you will.  She had a specific sign, and that was to see her son singing in church.  He sang on Sunday.  It is the fondest desire of parents to have their children worship by their side.  It is not for appearances.   For as flawed as church can be, it is family. 

I look at the people I love so much, and I see the ones who are at weddings and showers and funerals.  They are the ones who bring food when we are sick or grieving.  They are the ones who come and say, "I want to pray prayers of praise for your grandsons."  They are the ones who lie face down at the Father's feet praying for other's children.   They are the ones who stand in the gap when hopelessness overcomes.  They are the ones who rejoice with you when lives are redeemed. 

While my weekend had its stressful moments, I would be a fool to let those overshadow all the wonderfulness of those 4 days.  I read a quote by Cal Turner Sr. at Dollar General's corporate headquarters.  I won't quote it exactly, but it was something along the lines of, "I never met a person from whom I could not learn something."  So, I thank my weekend guest for all the lessons I have learned at her feet.  I think I am a better wife, mother to adult children, mother-in-law, and grandmother from watching her.  I am more grateful to my hostess on Saturday and my friends with whom I prayed on Sunday for the lessons in grace, gratitude, faith, and humility. 

For today, I wish you both good and bad examples from which to learn, that your heart's fondest desire for your children will be realized, and I wish you

blessings

Wednesday, March 21, 2012

Overwhelmed

I looked up the word, "overwhelm."  It means to pour down on, and bury beneath, to crush, overpower.  That's exactly what I thought it meant.

I am overwhelmed today.  I am overwhelmed by my inability to stop the demons of depression, anger, anxiety, fear, self-loathing, and discontent from hounding the people I love most in this world.

I am overwhelmed by my own insensitivity and ignorance.  How I manage to hurt those who matter the most to me, overwhelms me. 

I am overwhelmed by the doors that don't work, the cracks in the walls, the snow cone machine in my freezer because the door often does not close properly, the sheer volume of work to be done in my yard, my total lack of energy to do anything about it, the woodwork that needs painting, the roof that needs replacing, and the driveway that is caving in.  It is overwhelming.

I am overwhelmed by the $258.00 price tag on two epi-pens that I probably will never have to use, but must have because that next bee sting might be the one that "does me in."

I am overwhelmed by the weather forecast of rain for 2 of the 3 days I have work this week. 

I am overwhelmed by the visitor who is coming for the weekend.  If history predicts the future, those four days should prove to be frustrating, disconcerting, and downright unpleasant.  I am overwhelmed by my own foolish behavior of letting this visitor ruin the days prior to the visit.  The 4 days of misery may be on her, but the 2 weeks prior are all on me. 

I am also overwhelmed today by hope; hope that those I love will be able to dispel the demons that haunt them. 

I am overwhelmed by gracious phone calls to set things right.

I am overwhelmed by the quietness and safety of my neighborhood, by the comfort I find in my home, by the space and supplies needed to entertain, by a refrigerator filled with plenty of good things to eat.  I am overwhelmed by the ability to go to the store and buy what I need and some of what I want.  I am overwhelmed by the peace of a catnap with Simeon sleeping in my lap.

I am still overwhelmed by the cost of the epi-pens, so I bought a package of Benadryl until I can make myself pull the trigger on the shots.  I am still working on this one.

I am overwhelmed by the beauty the rain brings; by the blooming redbuds and cherry trees, by the rich greenness of the grass, by the tender new shoots, by the daffodils and tulips.  I am overwhelmed by the beauty of the clouds.  As MP said last week, they make it easy to understand why the ancients thought the gods lived in the clouds.  They are so majestic.

I am still overwhelmed by the weekend visitor, but I am more overwhelmed by breakfast with 3 friends where worries and visitors and all manner of subjects can be discussed in love and laughter and understanding and compassion.  Thank you my precious friends, Betsy, Dele and Sharon.  I am overwhelmed by a phone call from my brother just to say he loves me and he wanted to say "hi."  Thank you, dear Sam. I am overwhelmed by friends who share their lawn tools.  Thank you Carol and Marlene.  I am overwhelmed by Mr. Lincoln who is my rock in this world, who shoots straight, but who listens with an open mind and a gentle spirit.  I love you, Mr. Lincoln. 

So, I am feeling a bit overwhelmed today.  Tears could spill over at the slightest provocation.  If they do, I will not let the tears of angst overcome the tears of gratitude.  There is room for both. 

blessings

Sunday, March 18, 2012

When Did That Happen? Parental Guidance Advised

Lately, it has come to my attention that I am aging.  Of course, intellectually, I knew that, but little things here and there have made clear that what I thought was a theory is an actuality.   Seeing my "baby" care for her baby may have something to do with it, but there are other signs that make me wonder, "when did that happen? 

Here are just a few "when did that happens" I have noticed recently.

When did it happen that I began to take a good 3 minutes to back out of a parking space at Kroger?  Granted, Honda Elements do have blind spots, but it is becoming seriously ridiculous.  I am now one of those drivers, who as young people wait to snag my parking space, is probably being spoken of in  none too flattering terms. 

When did it happen that driving at night became a hazard?  Driving at night in the rain?   Forget about it! 

When did it happen that the eyelash on my cheek which someone kindly tries to brush away is actually growing there?  That's not embarrassing! (insert sarcasm font here)

When did it happen that the skin on my shins became so thin that the tiniest bump creates a gaping wound?  I ran into the corner of a table recently.  So much for a skirt on Easter.  Fireworks will be shot for the 4th of July before it heals.  The last time I did that, I cut myself with a cardboard box...yes, I said a cardboard box.  That was good for 3 visits to the doctor, a round of antibiotics, and a MRSA scare. 

When did it happy that my "little" muffin tops became 3 layer cakes?  I mean, seriously, when did that happen?

When did it happen that the freckles on my legs become liver spots?  I could connect the dots and come up with something quite enchanting I'm sure.  I am beginning to understand the concept of full-body tattoos. 

When did it happen that 6:15 am is the latest I can sleep?  Probably, when 9:00 pm became the latest I could stay awake.

When did it happen that I began to feel the need to be ever so cautious as I embark upon entering the bathtub?  I realized the other night as I had a vision of falling and cracking my skull on the side of the tub, that I hoped if it happened  I would just die of the injury rather than having to suffer the embarrassment of having the EMT's see me disrobed. Eventually, I guess I'll bathe in my bathing suit.   There comes a time when naked is not good...not fat naked, not skinny naked, not any kind of naked.  MP once said a naked lady she saw at the Y looked like she was melting.  Perfect description.

When did it happen that I need multiple pairs of glasses with varying strengths?  The other day I was trying to turn the timer off MP's stove and, and I am fairly certain that it beeped 87 times before I was finally able to locate the proper button, even with her very explicit instructions as to where the button was.  My first foray into changing Simeon's diaper was quite the scene.  I could neither see nor locate those little tabs.  We used cloth diapers.  I knew nothing of disposables, but, I'm learning.  The poor child still probably wishes his mama would change him, but he's coming to the understanding that Mellie will eventually get it done. 

When did it happen that people seek me for "words of wisdom?"  Don't ask me.  I know a whole lot less than I did when I was young and knew everything. 

When did it happen that my "tennis elbow" is caused by playing too many video games rather than too much tennis?  Oh, yeah, wait...I never had "tennis elbow" caused by playing too much tennis. 

When did it happen that my knees dropped to where my calves used to be?  When did my calves become my ankles? 

When did it happen that I passed middle-age?  I mean, I seriously doubt that I will live to be 120 years old. 

Well, I do not know when all this happened.  Fortunately, it has happened a little bit at a time...sort of like peeling the layers off an onion.   I feel very fortunate that I am still able to drive that Honda Element, and the young folks will just have to wait on me as others will wait on them in the years to come.  I feel very fortunate that I can still do and enjoy my walking tours, that maybe I have something of value to offer.  I know 60 is not that old, but this is the year of my 60th birthday.  I guess that and these grandbabies has made me more aware of this aging thing.  I look at my mother who will celebrate her 88th birthday this year, Lord, willing, and I know there are many wonderful things ahead.  I'll just get me another tattoo, perhaps, and I will always keep my tweezers, glasses, and bandages close by.

Just a few musings from an aging mind.  Off I go to play a little Sporcle to keep my mental faculties sharp.  Nah, what I'll probably do is play Bouce Out.  I just love the sounds it makes...and I don't have to think about it.

So, for today, I wish you a lack of awareness concerning "when did that happen," and I wish you

blessings

Wednesday, March 14, 2012

Differently the Same


When I was growing up, my mother had "help."  It was not exactly the same as in the book The Help.  They were not the help, they were just help, as in "help me, Lord."  There were several different ones who helped my mother with housework, ironing, and watching us children.  My mom did not work full time, but she worked odd hours, piecing together various jobs in order to be available to her children, her aging parents,  home when my dad got home from work, and still help out with the family finances.   The one I remember best is "Miss" Aileen.

Yesterday, my mother had a luncheon for that old friend.  She is 98 years old ("Miss" Aileen, not my mother).  Their friendship began as employer/employee.  "Miss" Aileen knew that she was there to iron the clothes and watch over the children.  If she could not do both, watching over the children was the priority.   All those children who are still living are in this picture.  The child "Miss" Aileen remembers best is my brother, Charlie, who died almost six years ago.  She called him Bugsy.  It was his family nickname.

Although Aileen worked for my mother, it is not in my mother's nature to be a hard task master nor to consider herself above anyone else.  Aileen is not of the nature to consider herself beneath anyone else, and so a beautiful symbiotic relationship was born.  Despite what may seem like obvious differences, the sameness is the basis for the bond.  We knew that we were to obey "Miss" Aileen as if what she told us to do came directly from my parents.  She often covered for my brother, Mike, when he, in his own words, "would act the fool."  She was not so inclined with me and my infractions.

I remember a day specifically when "Miss" Aileen was keeping me.  I do not know where the boys were.  Had they been home, I probably would have behaved a bit better for I knew they would go straight to my parents if I did something wrong.  I have mentioned in past blogs that my daddy thought I was perfect, and so was highly unlikely to take seriously any negative reports from my brothers about my alleged bad behavior, but my mother was a bit more likely to give credence to their reports.  Knowing how "Miss" Aileen protected Mike from punishment for his shenanigans, I figured I was safe.   

I was out playing with the hosepipe (yes we called it a hosepipe) on a hot summer day. Often on summer days the windows would be open allowing every little breeze passing by to blow through the screens giving a bit of relief to those inside.  On this day, "Miss" Aileen set her ironing aside to open the window and tell me it was time for me to turn the water off and come in.  Well, I took a notion.  Perhaps, I thought "Miss" Aileen needed cooling off after slaving over a hot iron in a very warm house.  I do know that  I was not ready to come in, so I turned the water on full blast, pointed the hose at "Miss" Aileen behind the screen window and sprayed her for all I was worth.  I am really not sure why I did such a thing.  Had I had any sense about me, I would have said the Devil made me do it.  After soaking "Miss" Aileen, everything in the room, and causing her to put the ironing away because she had to clean up the mess I made, I was still quite confident that she would not tell on me. 

I was living under a terrible misconception.  "Miss" Aileen ratted me out. I really cannot blame her.  When my mother asked why more ironing had not been completed, "Miss" Aileen chose not to take the fall for my misbehavior.  She told my mom.  My mom told me she was really disappointed in me, and that she would have to discuss with my dad how to handle my misbehavior.  Man, I thought I was golden.  Discuss it with my daddy?  He who thinks I am perfect?  I had it made.  Not so. 

Picture the scene.  We are at the dinner table.  My stinky older brothers, my ever-loving daddy, and my mother and me who had this little secret we would be keeping.  Imagine my surprise when asked how her day had been, my mother launched into a detailed description of my rebellion and defiance.  My brothers were having the time of their lives.  My daddy was furious.  He marched me from the table to the snickers of my brothers, took me to another room, spanked my bottom and made me go back to the table.  I thought my mortification complete.  It was not.  At the end of the meal, my mother brought out a beautiful porcelain plate and cup with Bambi on them that she had bought for me that day.  She was probably paying for it with money she did not really have at the very moment I was spraying "Miss" Aileen.  She let me know she bought them for me just because I was her good little girl.  The wailing and tears of remorse flowed.  I suffered every emotion possible from that one little prank. 

"Miss" Aileen was the only black lady I ever saw with pink sponge rollers in her hair.  She is who rode home from the hospital with my mother when my little brother, Sam (he's the one in the picture who looks like a movie star) was born.  Sam came six weeks early.  He weighed not much more than 5 pounds when the doctor let my mother bring him home.  Back then, babies did not come home in car seats so my mom was in the front seat with my dad, who was driving, and I was in the back seat with Aileen who was holding the baby.  My mom was tired, sore, and ready to get home.  It was a warm September day.  We took the scenic route home from St. Thomas hospital.  All was well.....until, we ran out of gas in Shelby Park.  We were right at the overpass headed to Double Drive.  Oh, was my mother ever frustrated.  She was letting my dad know of her displeasure when "Miss" Aileen said, "now, Miss Mary, don't you be fussin' at Mr. Thurman.  This could have happened to anybody."  Mom hushed, but she still was not happy. 

"Miss" Aileen lost a child; a daughter.  She later raised a cousin's daughter, Joanne.  I do not know what happened to Joanne's parents.  I do know she was most fortunate to have "Miss" Aileen take her into her home.  I never knew "Miss" Aileen's husband, and do not know when he passed away.  Yesterday, at the luncheon, Joanne, who now lives in Dallas, was there.  She is 82 years old and is spry and so full of personality, I just wanted to hug her...so I did.  Also there, were two ladies from "Miss" Aileen's church.  Two ladies who have taken exquisite care of her.  She has no blood family in Nashville, but she has church family.  Her pastor, Reverend Harris, dropped by Mom's with a two other men from his church. One of those was the brother of Edith, who takes such good care of "Miss" Aileen.  He, himself, admitted that he's a bit of a backslider, but no one seemed to care, least of all the Reverend Harris with whom he arrived.   I loved watching the love between all those people related by the blood of Jesus.  I also loved the way they called each other brother and sister, like we used to do years ago. 

There was a period of time when my mother and "Miss" Aileen lost touch with one another.  When my brother died, they somehow re-connected.  I do not know the sequence of events.  I believe "Miss"Aileen saw his obituary and called my mother.  It does not matter.  The friendship flourishes once again.  When "Miss" Aileen had to be moved to a nursing home, my mother became her help.  She makes sure that someone visits, that clothes are clean, that possessions are not stolen, that special treats are brought, that holidays are remembered, that needs are met.   She reminds "Miss" Aileen that she cannot be cursing at the helpers or residents where she lives.  "Miss" Aileen needs a little help with that these days.   

When the time comes, and it is necessary for the contents in "Miss" Aileen's house to be dealt with, I will be right there, cash in hand, to buy a three tiered table in her livingroom that once resided in ours.  I love that table.  I am so glad that "Miss" Aileen has had it all these years.  She has some beautiful items in her home.  Perhaps, I will buy something else as well...when the time comes.  I am so grateful for family.  It was lovely being at my mother's with my siblings on a Tuesday afternoon visiting an old friend.  Several times by several different people yesterday, the words were uttered, "God is good."  Bless be the tie that binds.

So for today, I wish you renewal of old friendships, help, blessed ties that bind, and I wish you

blessings

Friday, March 9, 2012

Sheri

The first I ever heard of the Benthall girls was years ago when I met two of them, twins, at a church ladies' retreat.  One of them taught us how to sing in Chinese.  I learned that I am off key in any language.  I vaguely remember it being mentioned that there was another sister.  Little did I know then how important that sister would become to the Switzer family.  Some time later, Marshall said he had met a girl, and she came to dinner one Sunday.  She was a lively one...still is.  It was not long before she became not only a Benthall girl, but a Switzer as well.  She has lots of nicknames ~ Sheharazzad, Shayree Bayree, Sha-ree, Aunt She She, Sher. 

Ken and I had the opportunity to really get to know her better when, before the wedding, the four of us took a trip to Gatlinburg to stay at a friend's home.  We knew she was going to fit in when she offered 100% cooperation in a silly plan Mr. Lincoln and I devised while we were there.  Our friends had lots of family pictures around their home, so we decided to replace them with similarly-posed pictures of us.  The one with Marshall sitting in my lap to replicate their grandson sitting in Judy's lap was the second best one.  The one of Mr. Lincoln in the hot tub replicating one of the grandchildren in the tub was the best.  Our friends got a huge kick out of it.  They would expect nothing less from us, and Sheri just fell right in line with our idiocy.  I really like that about her.  She further followed the family idiocy when she ran 30 miles on her 30th birthday.  What's up with these people?



We can always count on Sheri to be at family events, often without Marshall.  In fact, I remember several occasions where MP was working and Marshall just wasn't "feeling it" that Sheri and Josh would attend birthday celebrations or other events.  Life is so interesting.  Sheri and Josh knew each other long before any of us knew either of them.  They can often be seen heads together laughing or discussing more serious topics whenever we are together.

Sheri has a great laugh.  It is not a delicate giggle, but rather a bold guffaw often followed by a snort.  Funny, before I knew and loved her, I never enjoyed a snorting laugh, but now we know a joke or comment is truly successful when the Sheri snort appears.  We try to discourage her at times when she snorts at Mr. Lincoln.  It just encourages him.  She is the one who began to call Mr. Lincoln The Fizzler.  Every time she would call him that, he would correct her and say, "it's The Sizzler," but she just never caught on to that.  For this reason, I would not be surprised if the grandchildren call him Fizzler, or GrandFizzler, or Fizzy or some other unique moniker. 

Sheri introduced me to the World's Longest Yard Sale, and we have had great fun laughing, with an occasional snort, at ugly lamps or signs that advertise "Beer and Baby Clothes."  She is an accountant, and while I am sure she is excellent at the technical parts of her job, I imagine her greatest gift to those with whom she works is her laughter and self-deprecating humor.  She will keep a place lively, no doubt.

She may not have won the prize for best costume at work this past Halloween, but she and her cohort, Ashley, were by far the cutest ones there, and did they ever gather their costume together with great enthusiasm.  Nothing would do but the properly colored tights, candy corn earrings, and matching purse.

Sheri is the Aunt to three nephews and a niece.  She is a very good aunt who loves to play and be silly and have fun.  She also expects everyone to conduct themselves well in order to be safe and well-behaved.  John, Abe, Arlie, and Simeon are very lucky to have her.

Like all of us, Sheri is not perfect.  I truly believe one of her biggest failings is not being able to recognize her own potential and worth.  She often does not trust herself or her decision-making skills.  She sometimes "borrows trouble," and finds herself fretting over something years down the road.  I think I have come to understand, however, that is just her way of processing things, and while it might make someone else nuts, it helps her find a calmness. 
She loves having lunch at Marche, she likes a great cup of coffee, she loves her cats she likes the Sanibel Bean, she likes shelling.  She has a tender heart toward the small and weak.  She can get really riled up over politics. She is very forgiving.  She is fast to laugh.  Her feelings are written all over her face even when her words might try to disguise what is going on.  She is a paradox in that she can be both very spotaneous and very intentional.  She is an exceptional gift-giver.   No matter how much or how little she spends, her gifts show a sensitivity to the recipient"s preferences, and a thoughtfulness that is greatly appreciated.  She does not speak ill of her husband to others, and let's face it, everyone at times has a complaint or two about their spouse, but the wise ones do not share it with every Tom, Dick and Harry.  She can grow quite passionate over certain issues, and one may feel as though she is yelling when she expresses her opinion. She can be a little earthy at times.  On occasion she has a 14 year old boy's sense of humor.  That is just part of who she is.  She longs to be the best person she can be.  She longs to be the best mother possible to the little guy, who, Lord willing, will arrive sometime in late May. 


   

I feel very fortunate that she has allowed me a place in her life.  She confides, seeks advice, seems to enjoy the time we spend together, and for that I am most grateful.  I have observed mother-in-law/daughter-in-law relationships, and I have seen good and bad, healthy and unhealthy.  Sheri has a mother and father whom she loves dearly, but she does not let her relationship with them prevent one with Mr. Lincoln and me.  That shows great maturity and kindness. 

So, happy birthday, Sheri.  I hope this year brings you great joy, contentment, peace and love.  I love you.

For today, I wish you all people who make a difference in your life, and I wish you

blessings 


Wednesday, March 7, 2012

A Rant and a Vow

THE RANT:

I am angry.  My anger was sparked by one event which led me to think of other similar ones, and I find myself in a frustrated, mainly helpless place of indignation.  So, here goes. 

Why do teachers who seemingly dislike children choose to teach?  Truth be told, they do not really teach.  They bully and threaten and insult and belittle the very people who they are supposed to be protecting and encouraging and teaching and building up.  There is a local teacher who I would love to slap.  My pacifist friends would not be pleased to hear me say that, but I think I could slap her, convince myself that the Holy Spirit told me to in order to expedite a life-changing experience for her so she can live a more Christ-like life.  The tales of her hatefulness have opened a Pandora's box of injustices.

Could someone please tell me why people find it necessary to compare children?  I have a relative who, when he was in high school, at times, was compared to a cousin close in age.  No matter how well he did in school, he was reminded that his A's did not mean as much as his cousin's A's because he attended public school and the cousin was in private school.  There was no way to win. He was a much loved, very accomplished young man, but in the mind of his grandfather, who felt it necessary to compare the two, he never quite measured up.  Sadly, I think he also believed that he never quite measured up.  Years after the grandfather died, this man while in treatment for depression, was required to write his grandfather a letter to just get out the hurt those comparisons caused him.  It is an irony of life that we often repeat behaviors that have harmed us.  I remember when this same man in conversation with a young family member found it permissible to belittle the school that child attended, encouraging him to convince his parents to send him to the very private school his cousin had attended so many years before. 

I know how it feels to be compared to someone and come up lacking.  My aunt Ruth, at every family occasion, found it entertaining to have her daughter and me stand back to back to see who was the tallest...or the shortest.   Her criterion for which was better was strictly dependant upon what her daughter was.  I've mentioned this before, but the Lord God blessed me with a daddy who made me think he thought I was perfect, so my psyche was not harmed by what I, even as a child, considered ridiculous exercises in proving who was better.  I knew in my father's eyes there was no comparison, so I tolerated the embarrassment of the family gawking as Gail and I stood back to back, and I heard my aunt's cries of glee that, yet again, her daughter was the victor in the height wars.  Give me a break.

I know of grandparents who do the same thing.  They have their grandchildren stand side by side so they can see who is taller.  It is understood by all that being tall is the better situation.  Why do they do that?  Children are the height they are supposed to be, and one's height has nothing to do with the other.  It is as if the children have some control over how tall they grow.  Why should anyone feel badly because they are short, or tall?   I know grandparents who if one grandchild is complimented, they feel it necessary to tout the superiority of another grandchild.  Who cares?  We are not talking about that child.  To praise one should not be to put down another.  Can you tell I'm really frustrated?   Let me say, it is not just grandparents who do this.  Parents do it. 

Sometimes I think people feel comfortable to belittle children because their parents give tacit permission through their own behavior toward the child.  I would be a monstrous hypocrite if I did not admit that I was guilty of that from time to time.  I regret every word or action that may have caused my children to believe they were not good enough for me.  I have always thought they were wonderful, but they have not always known I felt that way.  I hope they know I think it now. 

I have a niece.  She has three children...three absolutely adorable children.  We all know she thinks they are precious and wonderful and she shows it in her actions and in her words.  I love when she says, "isn't he just the cutest little boy you've ever seen?"  He is adorable, there is no doubt.  She does not compare him to anyone else.  For her there is no comparison.  Good for her.  That is how it should be.  Children deserve the adults in their lives to "have their backs," be it parents, grandparents, teachers or whoever. 

And another thing....what is the deal with kids putting other kids down because they don't wear the fancy brand of shoes or drive the right car or live in the right neighborhood?  Children are not born with those prejudices.  They learn them from the adults in their lives.  Why is being an athlete more important than being a really good person?  I want so badly to say, when a kid is bragging about his Sperry's, "okay, great, you have the "in" shoes, but tell me what kind thing did you do today?"  Adults are just as bad.  We all know adults who love to brag about their stuff, and how much they paid for it. I once had someone say to me after buying a new car, "you just DON'T want to know how much we paid for this car."  I agreed with them.  I think they really wanted me to know, but I really just did not care.  Now, if they had gotten a great deal, I would loved to have known, but I figure the only reason to word it the way they did was to let me know just how MUCH they paid for it. 

I was on the phone once with a friend and commented that Marshall was running around the house.  She actually asked me which day he started walking because she had a child amost his same age, and she wanted to be sure her child had started walking first.  I think I told her what day he started walking, but what I should have said was, "he started walking on the day he was supposed to."  I caught that same mom once running her finger in Marshall's mouth counting his teeth so she could tell me her child had more.  So?  I figured he was not going to get to adulthood without teeth, and guess what, I was right.  Comparisons are just silly talk.

I am not how tall I am.  I am not what I weigh.  I am not the car I drive.  I am not the clothes I wear.  I am not the house I live in.  I am not the vacations I take.  I am not my college degree. I am not my job.  I am not my husband's income.  I am the people I love.  I am the people I help.  I am the people I encourage.  I am what I sacrifice.  I am fearfully and wonderfully made.  I bear the stamp of God, the Creator and the Father.  I need, no, I long to act like it. 

THE VOW:

I have 1 and almost 3/4 grandsons right now.  Simeon and Max.  I vow to them that I will always know and let them know that they are perfectly themselves. I vow that I will never ask them to stand back to back and see who is taller.  I vow that I will never comment on their achievements in any way that makes them feel I am comparing one to the other. I vow I will ask them what they GAVE for Christmas long before I ask what they received.  I vow that  I will let them know I see the image of God stamped on them. I vow that I will let them know that they are not the shoes they wear, the car they ride in, the house they live in, the bike they own, the grades they make, the instruments they play, nor the touchdowns they score.  I vow that I will be proud of their accomplishments as those successes stand on their own and not in regard to someone elses. 

I love what Aibileen always said to Mae Mobley in The Help.  I vow that I will say my own version of it to my grandchildren whenever they are with me...you are kind, you are smart, you are important, and you are loved just as you are. 

Whew.  I feel better.

So for today, I wish you a doing away with silly comparisons, an awareness of your own divine spark, and I wish you

blessings

Saturday, March 3, 2012

Snapshots

The last couple of days have been amazing, just the start of amazing fun.  I had my camera with me at all times, of course, but I took many more "snapshots" inside my head.  I'll share a few.

Heading to the hospital,excitedly telling Mr. Lincoln that we would talk every hour or so as the day progressed.  He says he doesn't know who is more excited, me or MP.  I said, "are you kidding? Me, of course.  She's about to go through lots of pain.  I'm just going to sit there and wait."  Seriously, it is so much harder to watch those you love in pain than to be in pain, but it had been agreed upon that I would not be in the labor and delivery, which suited me perfectly.

Not rushing, thinking there is plenty of time, but thrilled to get a great parking space in Vanderbilt's garage.

Getting no reply after texting Josh, as MP said I should do, to find out where they were.

Guest services knew.

Calling cell phones, no answer, waiting, waiting, waiting...about 15 minutes...phone rings, it's Josh, "it's a boy.  Mother and baby are doing fine!"  My reply, "Come on Josh, that's not funny...who's that crying in the background?"   Speaking with MP briefly, Mr. Lincoln beeping in, I tell him, "He's here."  He replies, "who's here?"  THE BABY...it's a boy...Simeon Paschal.  Several Keystone Cop-esque moments.

Josh, grinning from ear to ear.  Big hug.  I get to see Simeon for the first time.  Oh, man, he's beautiful, but then I realize I would not know if he isn't...but, he is.  "Look at all that dark hair." 

Watching MP sort of shake all over.  "It's normal," says the nurse.  "I know," I think, but I don't like it.  Seriously, did I really ask her if she wanted another blanket like 10 times?  Yep.  One just cannot squelch the mama syndrome.

Nunny and Doree, thrilled.  Doree cries.  I wish I could do that more easily.  Nunny holding her 9th great grandchild.  She has 2 more on the way.  What a full life she has.  Is it because she is so lovely?

Mr. Lincoln comes.  More ear to ear grins.  He sits and rocks the baby telling Simeon that he really should share some of that hair with his grandfather who is probably going to be called The Fizzler.  I know, it's a long story.

Walking back into the room with antibacterial foam all over my face and in my hair.  I don't think I used that little canister outside the door correctly.  I am still a bit dismayed that no one in the family seemed at all surprised.

Marshall calling, trying to find us.  Apparently, I failed to mention one step in the directions, so he found himself wandering through the parking lot. 

Uncle Marshall (Marshie), getting enough foam to pretty much cover his whole body.  He looked like he was preparing for surgery. 

Simeon, so comfortable in Uncle Marshie's arms.  That man is perfectly designed to make a baby feel safe and comfortable. 

Josh, over and over telling MP what a great job she did.  Even though she was in labor at the hospital less than an hour, they had a few scary moments there.  It helps to speak it aloud. 

Beautiful Aunt She She (Sheri) arrives.  She looks great holding a baby.  Of course, she's full of questions, for Lord willing, we will be right back there in about three months welcoming Max to the world.  The nurse asked her if she was from Italy.

Is there anything more calming than a baby resting on your chest?  It is better than a sleeping pill.

MP taking a recommended walk around the halls as I push Simeon in his bassinet.  I feel like Rhett Butler and Scarlett as they pushed Bonnie in her perambulator through Atlanta, "well, hello Mrs. Mead, and how are you this beautiful morning?"  I have an active imagination.

After a couple hours away, Josh returns.  His parents are coming soon.  They need time together, so I head home.  Well, I try to head home.  Finding my car in that perfectly wonderful parking space is becoming a trial.  "Can you help me find my car," I ask.  Thank goodness for the valet workers in the red coats with good directions.  Finally, I find my car. 

A stop at Nordstrom to buy an outfit that MP and I had seen the day before. Every single person in Nordstrom knew that I had a new grandson. Oh, dear, I'm going to be THAT kind of grandmother, huh?

I'm exhausted.  You would think I had given birth on this day. 

Friday morning, I cannot wait to get to the hospital.  MP calls and wants me to come and watch Simeon so she can shower.  On my way!!

You can't say I don't learn from my mistakes.  I used valet parking today.  I only made 2 wrong turns in the garage before I found valet parking.  That's a record.

MP's hospital room smells wonderful, Pantene shampoo, like her.  Even the nurses comment on it. 

Simeon had his circumcision this morning.  He's in the nursery.  Please bring the baby back.

Yep, as I suspected.  He's still beautiful.

The Fizzler arrives with cupcakes.

I walk to the Courtyard Cafe for some tea and lemonade (gave up Diet Coke for Lent).  It seems the Courtyard Cafe is on the other side of Egypt.  I arrive.  Is there a door?  Are there two doors?  How do I get in???   Oh, this must be it.  I wander around, buy a sticky bun (no, it did not ruin my appetite for a cupcake), get the drinks, try to find the door.  It must be over here.  Nope.  Maybe here.  Nope.  It is hard to look cool leaving a cafe walking back and forth and in circles.  Finally, the door.  Now, which way to go.  Of course, I chose poorly the first time, but it was only a few miles down that corridor before I realized I was headed in the wrong direction.  Upon my return to MP's room, I made her and Mr. Lincoln promise to not let me leave again. 

Visitors arrive.  Brilliant visitors who could write a book on hospital visits.  They oohed and aahed, rocked Simeon, spoke of his beauty, stayed about 10 minutes and left.  Again, they could write a book.

Simeon needs his diaper changed.  Josh and I are in charge.  Special instructions to take care of the circumcision.  Why will that vaseline not come out of the tube?  I'm sweating, Simeon is crying, Josh is fumbling, I cannot see the velcro thing on the diaper (I used cloth diapers where you just stick yourself with the pin and leave blood drops on the outside of the diaper), I'm thinking Josh is never going to let this baby stay with me, the job is completed.  Whew! 

The weather is growing threatening.  Nothing on TV but weather reports.  The storm of the century is coming.  We can see things blowing around outside the window.  Marshall texts me, "TWC just said 90% chance of a whirlydoomstorm in Nashville."  The boy can coin a phrase. 

Josh's parents arrive with a stack of clothes for Simeon that they purchased at the OC consignment sale.  The boy will not lack for clothes.  I suspect Max will wear some of them too.  So sweet of them. 

Mr. Lincoln calls and says, "either get home or stay put, but there is a storm coming."  Josh and his parents need time together with Simeon, so I go home. 

Found my car, thank you very much!

Marshall calls.  We talk for over an hour.  I love him.  He is very wise about so many things.  We are planning a great treehouse/clubhouse in Mellie's backyard for Simeon and Max.  I'm like a 3 year old who has a new sibling.  I'm ready to play!!

Mr. Lincoln and I hunker down.  We have about 10 hail stones and 4 raindrops.  The whirlydoomstorm fizzled out.  We are not disappointed.

We clean out the closet in MP's old room.  Why tonight?  I do not know.  I am sorting through her pictures and cards and stupidly long and boring letters I wrote her when she was at UGA.  Mr. Lincoln brings out a little wicker bassinet that was given to me when MP was born.  I burst into tears.  There we go...all that emotion of the past two days needed to go somewhere.  I wondered when it would bubble up. 

I shall wait until this afternoon to see Simeon, MP and Josh.  They are headed home from the hospital, and I want to be sure that Josh's parents get all the time they can before they fly back to Texas.  I know it will be really hard for them. 

The Lord has blessed us with more than we could have hoped or imagined.  I intend to enjoy every single moment.

So for today, I wish you joyful moments, babies in your life, family, more than you hope or imagine, and I wish you

blessings