Waiting For Advent

It’s almost here and once again, I’m behind the curve. 

Advent. 

I didn’t grow up hearing that word let alone, knowing what it meant.My family was never introduced to the customs of Advent. We didn’t light candles on a wreath at the dinner table or even open doors on a children’s calendar to reveal treats. I grew up in the late 50’s and 60’s when families of post-World War 2 veterans enjoyed new suburbs sparkling with Christmas lights and department store windows were filled with America’s newest must-haves. The war was a memory, the boys were back and all seemed right with the world. 

In our house, in the days preceding Christmas, music felt constant.  A large cherry cabinet sat in the corner of our paneled family room. It was a modern hi-fi record player. Inside sat the turn table and a stack of albums perched to drop. The front speaker, clad in burlap and wire mesh, hummed out carols from albums we purchased yearly at the Firestone tire center. I still have them. Bing Crosby, Perry Como and Andy Williams were the men who dominated that prized hi-fi. And the man who was the star of Christmas was, without question, Santa Claus.

Jesus waited patiently.

He still does.

It wasn’t until I was an adult that I fully entered into the church world. It was then I learned of Advent. The weeks preceding Christmas when we who call him Savior try to still the voice of commercialism and focus on the one true gift. Since then, every year, I realize that I haven’t come up with a plan on how to make the Advent season more meaningful. Do I quickly look for ideas on the internet? Should I go buy a wreath and candles? And where are those purple ones for the last week? Would it be okay to substitute colors that fit my decor or would that seem irreverent? Do I buy a calendar and fill it with treats for my husband who wants to keep his weight down? And what does chocolate candy have to do with the Christ child?

I’m telling myself to calm down. I don’t need to panic or feel as if I’ll miss the meaning. I’ve changed a bit since the 60’s and I’ve given my heart over to Jesus. I understand the true meaning, although it’s still hard to focus sometimes. I’ll always enjoy the other things associated with the season and I’ll take part in most of them, but I hope to always center myself where it matters. The traditions passed down are numerous, but reading the Bible and spending time thinking about it outweigh everything else. 

So, that’s my plan for Advent. I’ll bring my coffee mug and worn-out bible to my favorite chair each morning. I might put on some quiet music and if I have it all together, I may even light a candle.

Jesus waits patiently.

He still does.

STOP!

This morning, in trying to widen my thoughts with Scripture, I pulled out a journal that I bought in 1998 by one of my favorite authors/thinkers, Ken Gire: Reflections on Your Life; Discerning God’s Voice in Your Everyday Life. I found this entry on 6/19/2002 where I discussed taking time to sit in wonder at the beauty of nature around me and the love of God. I scolded myself for not making time with God a priority on my schedule.

I am not a scheduled person naturally. I’m one of those free-flowers. My husband spoiled me by letting me raise the kids as a full-time stay-at-home mom. That continued even when they left the house. No alarm, no time clock to punch. I have appointments and responsibilities but basically, I make the schedule. That can be a dangerous thing when it comes to my quiet time with God. You’d think otherwise, but it’s not always so. When the day stretches out before you in an endless open canvas, it can easily be fritted away and before you know it, you’re climbing under the covers and turning off the lamp. Whether you punch a time clock of sorts or fill a to-do list of your own making, the day can fly away without a moment of spiritual fill-up.

At the end of my journaling, I was surprised to find an acronym that seemed pretty creative and helpful. My first thought was Is this original or did I copy it from somewhere? Knowing that I journaled this entry in the woods with only my Bible and journal, I concluded it must be a revelation placed in my pea-brain. At any rate, I thought it was good and maybe I should pass it along. Especially to those flying down a “scheduled highway.”

Part of my entry:

What to do: 

Take more time to apply the brake pedal on my life. 

Slowing down still isn’t enough.

STOP!

S = still myself

T = take what God offers

O = observe and enjoy

P = pray and connect

“For God is not a God of disorder, but of peace.”   1 Corinthians 14:33

Sweet and Savoring

It’s summertime. The thermometer says 92°. On many days, the humidity is vying to win first place on the misery chart. Today, I opened the door to let the dog out and felt as if I were inhaling soup. Perhaps it’s a sign to work in my cool basement office.

I remember summer nights when I was young. Screened windows were open and fans whirred stirring hot air. (Do people even have screens on their windows today?) When I was a bit older, bedroom windows donned air-conditioners. They’d rattle and shiver and always drip, but they were a luxury we relished when August was in full swing. 

Occasionally, on sultry nights, when dogs barked at bike riders and the crickets were primed for their nightly concert, my parents would surprise us. 

“Climb in the car, kids. Let’s get an ice-cream.” 

Flip-flops (or thongs as we called them then) slapped the driveway as we ran for the back of the station wagon. We’d drive 10 miles to the nearest ice-cream parlor. No thirty-one flavors but perhaps eight. No fancy dipped waffle cones here, just ones labeled sugar or cupcake. We never heard of gelato or sorbet. There weren’t endless bins of toppings, but the teenager behind the counter could sure pile on the syrups and whipped cream and if you were lucky, two cherries. 

We would sit under glaring florescent lights on benches out front with the cold creamy dessert threatening to drip down our arms. Mom would rewrap our cones with endless napkins as we delicately licked the perimeter of the cone. There was an art to eating an ice-cream cone. The drips always determined the method. Some daring eaters would stick the whole top in their mouth and pull it out slowly making a curly cue on top. I tended to be the circle licker. Tilting my head and extending my tongue, I’d twirl the cone round and round smoothing the edges of the ice-cream. Regardless of the method, we savored the treat. I never remember seeing anyone biting and gulping down a cone in record time. What would be the point? Where would the enjoyment lie in that?

Here is my “connect-the-dot” moment. That moment where God provides a memory, an illustration and then connects it for me.

• How often do I gulp down my time with him? Do I gobble his Word or do I savor it? Do I stop when something strikes me or do I quickly plow ahead feeling a need to finish? Do I feel a nudge that He wants me to explore, but ignore it?
• Wouldn’t I do better to savor it like I did the cone? What if I take time to linger on a word or phrase that stops me? I could pray using the scripture even reciting it back to him. I could make it just for me. Just in time. It might become a message from God to me that follows me throughout my day. If I were to stop and savor, I might enjoy each moment feeling refreshed and “treated.”  To taste and see that the Lord is good. 

Maybe today I’ll indulge and order a double scoop.

Taste and see that the Lord is good; blessed is the one who takes refuge in him. 

Psalm 34:8

All That Glitters

 

         “I want the one with sparkles!” 

  When my girl was young, sparkles on anything won her heart. The gaudier the better. Princess tiaras, ruby plastic slippers, posters of ponies or glittered t-shirts - no matter the item, if it sparkled, it topped her desire list. I knew if I didn’t fill her closet with sparkles, the “fun grandma” would. My fashion sense veered more toward a classic, preppy look. Oxford shirts, seersucker, and grow-grain ribbon were staples in my closet. So, whenever my girl ran to a rack full of sparkles, I had to pause and mentally calculate how much glitter my world could handle.

     The other day, I looked around my guest bathroom. Several years ago, I had a creative idea to paint it white and make it a blank canvas for seasonal decorating. Since then, I regularly change the bathroom theme. Christmas decor transitions into Winter Snow, followed by Valentines, Easter, Spring, Summer Flip-Flops and finally Fall. 

     Wait. Bathroom decor? Have we switched topics?

     Hold on. My wandering brain can jump from mundane to meaningful. And the most wacky thoughts take off like a kid pedaling on high speed toward the ice-cream truck. I love random! And I love linking random to Jesus.

     Back to the bathroom. Looking at the current Spring decor, I noticed there were two things that glittered. Although I’d bought them and put them out for a few years, it never hit me that the preppy woman had sparkles in her guest bath. “I wonder what the attraction is for sparkles in our world?” I thought. “What draws us to it?”

     Sparkles shine. Duh. They catch the light, reflect it brilliantly and capture our attention. When you scan an isle of merchandise, if it shines, it draws your eye. (And your preschool daughter.) Glittering light is a cool sight, whether in my bathroom or from fireworks in the sky. It’s safe to say we’re all impressed with amazing light.

     If we’re impressed with sparkles here, what kind of glitter will heaven show us? It’ll be like glitter-mania, sparkle explosion times ten thousand. How will we even look at it? We’ll stand there and actually see, not just a reflection of the source of light, but THE light. John 8:12 tells us what Jesus said in no uncertain terms: “I am the Light of the world.” 

  When that same apostle, John, was given a glimpse of heaven as he sat on a rocky island he wrote in Revelation 21:23 “And the city has no need of sun or moon, for the glory of God illuminates the city, and the Lamb is its light.” 

Woah. No blinding sun... but a dazzling Son. 

Now, that kind of sparkle could knock my preppy socks off.

Leave a comment below and tell me what you're looking forward to in that city of light.
No time? Then click the vote button at the top right - a little fun poll.  :)

Ding-Dong

     On a recent winter morning, I had an unusual burst of domestic verve. After my customary two cups of coffee, I got busy picking up the house, loading laundry into the machine, brushing a swirl of blue cleaner in toilets and spraying all the surfaces in the kitchen with antibacterial liquid. What was that sticky stuff behind the toaster?

     I have to say, I was in the zone. I hadn’t even put on clothes. My old robe and slippers were just fine for this day at home. Admittedly, I should have tossed the robe in to the washer with one of the loads. It was marked with coffee drips and and a rather large yellow egg stain. (My nick-name should be Spot.) I had to laugh when I looked into the bathroom mirror while cleaning and saw several clumps of my short hair standing at wacky angles.

     I was deep into scouring, even gloved in yellow rubber, when the doorbell rang. Of course, I wasn’t going to open the door looking like that! What I did do was peek out of the front bedroom window to see who it was. I didn’t recognize the car, but I am oblivious to what my friends drive, so that didn’t help. I strained a bit more and saw the visitor staring at the door. My pulse quickened. It was a dear friend I hadn’t seen in over a year. But, how could I open the door like this? I was barely presentable for the dog, let alone my good friend. It was clear I needed to change first.

     I ran to the bedroom and changed into jeans and a shirt. I stuck my hairbrush under the faucet and quickly tried to tame the mane. Heading back to the door, I pinched my cheeks remembering that’s how they created color in prairie days. This will have to do, I thought. 
     I swung open the door to see the car heading out of the neighborhood.
     A note hung from the door knocker. 
              Wendie, I’m so sorry I didn’t get to visit with you.
               I’d looked forward to it. Maybe next time. 

************************************

     Jesus said, “Behold, I stand at the door and knock. If anyone hears my voice and opens the door, I will come in to him and eat with him, and he with me.” (Revelation 3:20 ESV)
     I missed it. I was too concerned with looking presentable for my friend. How foolish. If I had opened the door I’m sure I would have been greeted with a smile. We would have spent good time together. But, because I was vain, because my pride took over, I missed it.
     Do I miss answering the door to Jesus because I think I have to be “presentable” before I can let him in? Doesn’t Jesus who sees all things and knows our thoughts even before we do want to see that doorknob turn? Even if I put on my finest formal gown, had my hair and makeup done and teeth whitened, I’d still be lacking. I might look pretty in the mirror, but Samuel 16:7 tells me that man looks at the outward appearance, but God looks at the heart. 
      In all of my efforts to clean, did I take time to clean my heart that morning? Perhaps, if I had, my morning would have been filled with assurance instead of trying too hard. I’ve talked with people who think they have to earn Jesus. They feel like until they can check off a list of completed tasks, they aren’t ready. That’s when I remind them of the thief hanging next to Jesus. He didn’t climb down and complete a list. He was guilty... but forgiven because of his faith. There’s only one cleaner I need and that’s the blood Jesus gave on the cross.
     Remove my sin and make me pure. Wash me until I am whiter than snow!  (Psalm 51:7 ERV)

     I opened the door of my heart to him years ago dressed in the stinking filth of sin. Are you still waiting? Still trying? Don’t miss it.
     Listen. Was that the doorbell?

Take a Stand

If your kids are grown, do you wonder sometimes if you forgot to teach them something? Something important? While they’re young, time accelerates to Nascar speed and after the blur subsides, you’re left trying to focus. “Did I read to them enough?” “Do they know where our traditions come from?” “Did I tell them not to pour the hot water for tea into a glass pitcher?”
Just this morning, I wondered if we’d remembered to teach my son to stand when a lady enters the room. You don’t see that happen very often these days. Although he routinely opens doors and pulls out chairs for females, I can’t remember if he stands. It’s not crucial, but a symbol of a gentler society filled with respect. I want him to embrace those qualities — and he does. He’s a respectful young man all around. But, does he stand?
Standing in respect. Who else does that? Soldiers immediately come to mind.  An officer arrives, “Ten-hut!” reverberates and men rise quickly to stand at attention. Respect, you see. 
It’s the Christmas season as I write and performances of Handel’s “Messiah” will sound throughout the world. As the “Hallelujah Chorus” begins many will stand. Why? Legend has it that King George II attended the first London performance and stood up upon hearing the line “For the Lord God omnipotent reigneth.” Some say he was showing subservience and respect to God. Of course, whenever the King stood, you stood as well unless you enjoyed time in the dungeon. Better show some respect for the British Crown. 
I wonder. Who do you stand up for? What brings you to your feet? A rocking song at a live concert? Touchdowns? Contestants about to cross the finish line? Sometimes, it’s not even a deliberate action. We just spring up. A reaction to something exhilarating. It’s those times when we can’t help ourselves. When something just takes over and we're on our feet.
As I was reading in Isaiah this morning, I was halted by a small part of a verse that might be considered prose. But, God has a great way of focusing a spotlight on words that, if I stop and take time to think about them, I’m always the richer. 
      Isaiah 48:12-13 says “I am he; I am the first and I am the last. My own hand laid the foundations of the earth, and my right hand spread out the heavens;” and I wanted to stop there. I could picture a massive hand in the sky sweeping across it laying the stars by night and the clouds by day. How amazing would that be? In the age of computer graphics when we visually feast on images in theaters that wow us, this goes far beyond what we’ve ever seen. God is massive. Stopping on that thought alone would have me daydreaming for awhile. But then, I finished the verse. “My own hand laid the foundations of the earth, and my right hand spread out the heavens; when I summon them, they all stand up together.” (Isaiah 48:13 emphasis mine) Wait, what? 
How can the foundations of the earth and the heavens stand up? Now, that’s a puzzler. Literally, I can’t figure that out, but figuratively, that’s awe-inspiring. The earth and the heavens - all that surrounds us - stand up together when God summons them. I don’t know about you, but that’s a sight I’m looking forward to seeing. When everyone and everything stands up for The KING. 
Now, that’s respect.

Next Time

     The sign said 65.

     My speedometer hovered around 79 mph.  

     You must be waiting for me to explain the emergency that justified the speed. Was I on the way to the hospital with a bleeding passenger? Did I get a frantic phone call from one of my kids?

     An hour earlier, I was standing in my bathroom about to step into the shower when I decided to make a phone call first. I dialed my chiropractor's office. My hips have a tendency to become lopsided (much like my thinking) and they were shifting. I live about 30 minutes from the man who shoves my bones into place. The receptionist said, "If you can get here no later than 9:40 he'll see you. He's got to leave early today." The bathroom clock said 8:55. 

     After a six minute shower, I hurriedly dressed and grabbed the keys. Backing out of the driveway at 9:19, I knew speeding would have to be in order. So, I made a decision. Regardless of the signs, I would do what I had to do to make it on time. Once on the expressway, I made good on that. 

     The whole time I was pressing the pedal to the metal, an uneasiness kept entering my mind. Normally, I'm pretty obedient when it comes to driving laws. Five miles over the limit is about as daring as I get. I give myself time to get to my destination and let all those crazy drivers pass me by. But, today was a different story. I could make it if I just kept speeding. I have to admit, the thrill of pulling into the lot with seconds to spare was appealing. But then, that "voice" inside my head interrupted my racing adventure. 

     "What kind of example are you? Breaking the law." 

     I argued, "But, I never do this. This is an exception. It's important."

     "Oh really? A chiropractor's appointment? Really?"

     "Ok. Ok. I promise I won't speed — after this. Next time." 

     Then, I quickly envisioned a funeral service with my friends whispering, "You know she died hurrying to a chiropractor's appointment. Speeding was so unlike her. I can't believe it. So senseless."

     I'd love to say that my foot let up and the speedometer needle dropped. It didn't. But, I did listen to the voice and also linked a life lesson about faith. Maybe I need to focus on that even more. 

     So often I tend to rush ahead doing what I know isn't the best choice for me. Before I begin, I might know it's a bad idea. While I'm in the midst of it, I'm being tugged by the "voice." As a Christian, I know that's the Holy Spirit who tries to guide me. Guide, not force me. Sadly, I admit to often bartering with God. I'll move ahead promising to do the right think next time. How many "next time promises" have I made? Are they becoming routine? 

       Next time, I'll 
            give more money without being selfish.
               eat the right foods.
               keep my mouth shut instead of gossiping.
               exercise.
               offer to help instead of hoarding my time.
               be the first to apologize.
               spend time with God instead of _______.
               obey the rules.

     Funny, isn't it, how God can hound you with a lesson you need to learn. So like a loving parent. The day following my race car driving, this verse blindsided me. 

      "But I know you won't listen. You might as well answer, “We don't care what you say. We have made plans to sin, and we are going to be stubborn and do as we please!”"                (Jeremiah 18:12 CEV)

     Oh, I made it to the appointment at exactly 9:40. The chiropractor saw me after he played computer solitaire until 9:50.




             

Coasting

     I was a Schwinn rider in the 1960s. In those days, a kid's bike was their prized possession. It was used almost daily as long as the weather cooperated. We rode everywhere. Our thoughts had nothing to do with strangers or abduction. We worried about where the gang was and what time our mom would call us in.

     If we cruised long enough, we'd spy bikes parked with kick-stands digging into lawns. We'd add our Schwinn to the group and head for the backyard where they might be dividing up teams for a round of "Cops and Robbers on Bikes." The most coveted achievement of neighborhood bike rides was gaining permission to ride to the nearest drug store for candy. It was roughly 2 miles away and visited frequently by car. But, by bike, without a parent, was a feat reserved for biking legends. I only got to go once but I stood taller than my 4' 8" for a week.

     There were several hills in my neighborhood and I tried to plan my rides so that I descended. The heat of August often found us standing on the pedals and pumping our way up the hill with sweat. Those truly defeated were off the bike and walking it up to the top. But down... ah, now that was a treat. 

     I'd speed up before I hit the crest of the hill knowing the ride down would be that much sweeter. And sweet it was as my blonde hair blew behind me in waves and the humid summer air raced across my freckles. I coasted down the hill with hands free, balanced and loving the freedom. No work involved here. No pumping pedals. No shame of walking. The only threat was hitting a rock and skidding to a messy finish line. Without question - Coasting was the best.

    

     The other day, I was reminded of coasting. Of how easy it was and how good it felt. This time, though, when I thought of coasting, it brought me guilt. I've been coasting. And I feel the need for speed. I'm a woman who told Jesus she'd devote her life to him. And in many ways, I have. And in many ways, I've coasted. My life is a comfortable mess. My relationship with Him is still strong, but I'm sensing a "coasting" when it comes to others. You see, I serve where it feels good.

I lead studies with women in my church. Fellow bike riders, so to speak. 

I socialize with people who share the same faith and lifestyle. Their kick-stands land in the same yards. 

I've been given directions to the store and the responsibility to show those who are lost. Do I?

I've trusted in his help on the rocky roads, but I've forgotten to encourage others wobbling on tired treads. 

It's time for me to quit coasting. I've just been enjoying the ride. I must be ready to stand when called and face the hill.  The time is near when I'll feel eternity's freedom blowing across me and I'd like to see familiar faces smiling beside me. On your mark, get set...

     

Hidden Treasures

     Sometimes, a surprise pops out of the most unexpected places. Right now, I'm in Florida for a few days. We inherited my parents little patio home and have spent many exhausting hours giving it a good cleaning and face lift. This trip is a quick one to buy replacement mattresses.
     The garage has not been on my priority list of places to spruce. We cleaned out quite a bit in there, but I noticed 3 boxes taped up and sitting quietly against the back wall. I'll get to those another day, I thought each time I saw them.
     Yesterday, I opened the first box and it was immediately clear this one came from the skilled care center down the road. Both Mom and Dad stayed there for the final six months of Mom's battle with cancer that ended the summer of 2009. It was a wonderful place with beautiful facilities and caring people.
     When we visited her, I quietly watched as a female housekeeper tip-toed into her room as she appeared to be sleeping. The lady gently placed clean laundry into the dresser drawer trying not to disturb Mom. Then, as she turned, Mom's arm lifted and she waved her fingers as a "hello."
    The housekeeper brightened saying, "Oh, I thought you were sleeping! How are you today?" She moved toward the bed and leaned over Mom. "I have to see my favorite girl." Then, she placed a sweet kiss on Mom's forehead.
     "Love you," Mom said as the lady moved toward the door.
     "Love you, too." And then she was gone.
   
     A quick little snapshot of Mom's loving spirit while she waited for heaven. And a memory that warms me still.  It rides beside another memory of perhaps a year earlier. The diagnosis had just been given and my family quickly flew down to visit. On the day of our arrival, Mom was beaming at us at the door. She looked beautiful with makeup and hair styled. The next day, she stayed mostly in her room entertaining us there. By day three, she slept off and on most of the day while I tried to cook her favorite foods to entice her to eat more. She lived on Ensure, a drink packed with vitamins and protein. My favorite memory of these last days happened in a few seconds one evening and she didn't even know I was around.
     I took a tray to her in bed and she sat up smiling at my attempt at love on a plate. A love language she had passed on to her only daughter. "I forgot the salt and pepper," I said. "I'll be right back." The kitchen was only a few steps away and I quickly returned. When I reached her door, I saw her sitting with her head bowed.
     A whispered voice - the same voice that sang lullabies at night, read Old Yeller to me and my little brother one summer and offered sage advice through my tough times - was praying.
     "Thank you God. Thank you for this food that my sweet Wendie fixed. Thank you for my family that I love so much. I trust you Jesus. And I love you so much." I didn't even breath. I felt like I was intruding on an intimate moment. She spoke to God with such love. I backed away from the door silently. It wasn't until I heard the "Amen" that I went in. She smiled at me and I fought back tears.
     So often I encourage people to never give up praying for loved ones to know a personal surrendered life with Jesus. Although she always believed in Jesus, she didn't give her whole life to him until she was in her late 60s. But when she did, it was whole-hearted and she never looked back. She studied, worshipped, served others whenever she could and took any opportunity to tell others to follow Him.
   
     So, when I opened that box of items from the facility, I couldn't help breathing out "Aww." On top was a little Bible with a homemade cover and on the front she had placed a heart. Because that was where she placed her heart. As I opened the front pages hoping to see something she'd written, I saw the following words:
                   Bought by Bettie Witherbee to carry in her purse - keep God close! October 15, 1997
     Written in different ink:
                   3/2009 Don't carry in purse- but keep God close. I love God!
 
     Thanks Mom... I see your fingers waving.

Summer Morning in the 60s

     I'm lost.

     When I allow myself, I can fall completely into a nostalgia world. It's the 1960s and my mind is happily consumed with remembrances. It feels slower. Lazy in a good way. People didn't value hurriedness then as they do now. Summer was a luxury we looked forward to in the new green month of May and grew bored with in the August humidity. Our first week out of school held the promise of Pop-Tarts in front of early morning kid shows. 

     Weekdays invited us into the clubhouse of the Captain as he jingled his keys on that big metal ring. He'd hang them up and greet us warmly as Mr. Green Jeans sauntered in to join him. Dancing Bear never spoke, Bunny Rabbit was silent but mischievous, and Mr. Moose created ping-pong ball rain. Captain Kangaroo didn't holler, act wildly or use flashy graphics. He may have been corny, but we looked forward to him every morning.

     On Saturday, my younger brother and I would be the first ones out from under our cowboy blankets and in front of the color console television. Sometimes, the test screen would still be on with a mysterious Indian head. 

      Then came the shows we'd waited for. Tarzan swung through the jungle saving Jane, Boy and Cheeta from elephant stampedes and crocodile jaws. When the mean hunters in domed safari hats threatened to catch Tarzan in nets, he would let loose with a cry to the wild animals who would run to save him. In my mind,  Johnny Weissmuller is forever the wild man of the jungle. Later, we'd stand on the swing set outside and practice our Tarzan yells. My brother was convinced our collie responded, but I think it was more to get into the shade.

     We barely had time to stir our Nestle's Quick into our milk before hearing, 

"Kelloggs, 'The Greatest Name In Cereals', presents: The Adventures of Superman. Faster than a speeding bullet! More powerful than a locomotive! Able to leap tall buildings in a single bound! ("Look! Up in the sky!" "It's a bird!" "It's a plane!" "It's Superman!")... Yes, it's Superman ... strange visitor from another planet, who came to Earth with powers and abilities far beyond those of mortal men! Superman ... who can change the course of mighty rivers, bend steel in his bare hands, and who, disguised as Clark Kent, mild-mannered reporter for a great metropolitan newspaper, fights a never-ending battle for truth, justice, and the American way! And now, another exciting episode, in The Adventures of Superman!"

     That was the cue for my brother, blanket tied around his neck, to jump off the sofa landing with a belly whop onto the stuffed ottoman. 

     After making sure the world was safe for another week, we whistled along to the next introduction waiting for the smartest dog on television to lead his boy to a heart-warming adventure.

     By then, the percolator was done and Mom sat on the sofa in her gingham robe sipping Maxwell House. Dad had already downed his cup while reading the paper. He was outside, trimming with metal hand clippers before joining the other dad's in a lawn mower symphony. 

     It was now officially Saturday morning and we hurried to dress in play clothes. We didn't want to miss the kick-ball game or Cops and Robbers on bikes. It was summer after all, and we couldn't waste a minute. September would arrive in a blink. But, until then, we'd fill our days with heroes, shady lemonade stands and daydreams.

Thankful Thursday #3

Storm clouds moved past us this morning and now the sun is promising a clear day in the 70's. That's something to be thankful for already. What an odd spring we've had with temps in February that resembled Spring and then back to 30's. It's almost like the thermometer is on a pogo stick. (Do kids today even know what that is?)

Picking a few things today that I'm so thankful for. The first that comes to mind is my one and only son, Josh, who's sleeping away in his bed at the moment. He hasn't been home to visit since Christmas, so my heart is glowing! Our family loves spending time together doing whatever. And that's why I'll be hurrying through the list today so I can get on with the day!

#2 My phone. Love my iPhone. Most do, right? But, today I'm going to the store to swap it because I've worn out my "home" button. Wow. Maybe I need to stop checking on everything so often! Anyway, because I was smart for once and bought the Apple Care, I can take it in and get a new one. Until I upgrade in a few months! Apple rocks. 

#3 This one will leave you scratching your head and thinking I'm pitiful. I only use this when it's absolutely necessary, but when I do, it's nice to have something to make the work easier. I recently bought a new iron - nothing pricey or elaborate. But, how nice to have an iron that glides, doesn't spit stained water on my white shirt and heats up. Oh, and the spray starch helps us appear so put together!

#4 Staying with the Domestic Diva theme here, I'll throw this one in the mix. I'm so thankful for tips I find on the internet. There are recipes I make that call for a tablespoon of tomato paste. Even the little cans are too much and it kills me throwing all of that away. So, I found a great idea. Spray a plastic ice-cube tray with non-stick spray, spoon the paste into the squares and then freeze. Pop them into a plastic bag, place in the freezer and then you have them to throw into soup or recipes! 

Your turn! What are you thankful for today?

Thankful Thursday #2

Well, lookie there - it's Thursday again! And you thought I forgot. Time to show a few more little things I'm thankful for. And then, you add your own.  I really enjoyed hearing from you last week - great examples of what you love. So, take a minute and think of a few more things that make you thankful.

Fresh flowers on my counter! I love all of them, but today I splurged on pale pink carnations. Sigh~

My trusty wind-up solar  Emergency Radio. It has NOAA stations too, a flashlight, and even a port to charge your cell phone. Now, just hoping I don't have to use it for weather!

Yep - I made a lemon meringue pie last night for company dinner. Yum! I borrowed the recipe from a blog I love - My Own Sweet Thyme (She's a Kentucky Girl!)

My Birthday present last month and I'm loving it! Now to find some Lend Me Friends to share with...

What I'm hearing outside right now. "Thump, thump, swoosh!"My favorite neighborhood coach is always ready to shoot a few with the six-year-old next door. Gotta love my man!

Ok, Y'all - Your Turn. Don't disappoint me!

Feeling Blue

I love...I said LOVE to entertain. Now, as far as cleaning the house in preparation, that's another story. Ah, to be loaded and hire that out. But, to plan the decorations and menu and then put it all together - well, that's something that makes my pulse quicken.

I had dreamed of having a Blue Dinner Party. Not blue as in sad. I adore the color Aqua. Like the shade of water in the Caribbean. It makes me happy and I thought it would be such fun to put together an outdoor dinner party with that color as the theme. So, a few years ago, I began planning. Along with shopping for decorations, that was the most fun. I even had invitations printed! A real splurge.

I picked the date, mailed out the invites and then it hit. The most extreme heat and humidity we'd seen in years. Even tough outdoor types were whining and staying in air-conditioning. Sick to your stomach heat. Hey - what could I do then? The invites were out and the guest list was set. So, we trudged on.

The deck above held the drink/appetizer table so they could all mingle there before we ate. Needless to say, they were troupers for sitting in the afternoon sun. I didn't make them stay there long.

Underneath, we moved the patio furniture over to the driveway for later star gazing.

On the patio, we set two tables. (And had the box fan plugged in - what a classy touch!)

I found some fun paper plates that drove the whole decor. I used the versatile white plastic table cloth roll under my placemats. I found the glass pebbles at a craft store and picked up the small vases on sale which I filled with blue hydrangeas. The napkin rings were easy. I stitched some white elastic into rings and then  hot glued the white glitter star on top. A tie-in to the star gazing mentioned above. Being a scrapbooker, I made the place cards with my computer, a stamp, and beach shell cut-outs. The food was on buffet tables  so they could feel free to go back for more. My adorable daughter agreed to make "puffs" to hang overhead along with our patio light strings.

As the evening sun set, the air cooled and the conversation flowed easily. Our guests lingered for a relaxed night of food and friends.

I'm getting a hankering for another Blue Night at our house. I have all the decorations, so...

 now the big question - what date can I pick that won't be sweltering, storming or unseasonably cold? 

Anyone feeling blue besides me?

Thankful Thursdays

I've been trying to train my attitude. Anyone else? Cranky complainers are just not fun to be around and I certainly don't want to be a lifetime member of that club. Oh, I can snipe with the best of them, but what a drag. Not only for those subjected to the comments, but for the complainer as well. My southern momma used to say that was just "being ugly." Next thing you know, you feel weighed down and washed out.

So, I've decided to find things to be thankful for. It's really pretty easy. And it's becoming a habit that lifts my spirit, makes me smile and opens my day for good things. There are days when I'm thankful for BIG things in my life. We all have those. Healings, miracles, job offers, sales of houses, etc. But, most days, it's the little things that I'm noticing more.

I'm going to try to share a few of those little things with you blog readers on Thursdays. Feel free to chime in and add a few of your own. You might catch yourself smiling!

Today I'm thankful for:

A free Mocha Frap from Stabucks for my birthday!! Yum!

This cute sign to welcome Spring in my hall bathroom.

Our adorable pal, Woody, who gazes out the window while we eat supper. (Such a good pooch!)

And this tiny silver box that a friend gave me years ago. Just big enough to hold a dainty necklace. (I love the butterfly perched on top.)

Ok - Your Turn!

Just in Time

Many walked by the hill that day as they hurried about their business.They were on the road heading in and out of the city. The morning was slipping by and there was much to be done. They had no time to gawk at those on the hill. Besides, they’d seen it all before.Thieves, murderers and crooks paying for their crimes.

If they had paid attention, they would have watched guards laughing and gambling. Not an uncommon activity. They would have heard sobs from those gathered - not an uncommon sound. They would have seen blood stained crosses holding convicted men - not an uncommon sight. But, they had places to go and things to do. They didn’t notice. Until the sky turned dark as night in the middle of the afternoon. Noon in fact. Was a storm approaching? Should they seek cover? Many continued on hoping to avoid what might be coming.People looked at the sky over and over again. For three hours.

For three hours, Pilate paced in his opulent quarters wondering about his wife’s dream.

For three hours, members of the religious council conferred with each other over decisions made and allegiances sealed. 

For three hours, hiding disciples wept.

Then...a shout from the hill. 

The earth rumbled and shook.They heard the roar as dirt moved beneath their feet and they dodged bouncing debris. They watched in terror as huge rocks split like eggshells. Women shrieked and children cried out in panic. The noise was loud and angry. The rubble flew and dust clouded. Panic prevailed. And then, it stopped.

People stood up, dusted themselves off and moved on.They slapped one another on the back in congratulations.“Praise be to Yahweh,” they said. “He saved us from death.”

For three hours that Friday.

Stormy Sunday

Usually, on Sunday morning, I'm entering my church about now. Ready to see good friends, share smiles and hugs, sing praises and listen to a message that I need to hear. Sundays are good medicine for me.

This morning, I'm sitting at the kitchen table in dim light watching the stormy clouds hang and drift. Nothing alarming - just a little thunder here and there. The dishes are done, the washer and dryer are doing their rhythmic thing behind me and the dog is snoozing on the sofa. I didn't stay home because I'm sick or busy. I just felt the need to be here.

I'm alone. But, not really.

I'm never alone. I know so many women with small kids and busy lives feel that way. I can remember when I was in that arena and thought I'd never be in a bathroom alone. Privacy was a long lost friend. We women are born nurturers and spend most of our waking hours hoping to attend to other's needs. We feel good when we can see smiles and hear sighs of contentment. It's good. Yet, even then, we sometimes crave that time when no one needs us right this second. When we can turn all the noise makers off and hear...quiet.

So, today,with the exception of my canine companion who needs nothing right now, I'm alone. But, as I said, I'm never alone. I have a gentle companion who is always with me. He seldom raises his voice. He usually whispers quiet encouragement to my soul. He isn't a show-off. But, he's always there. If I'm not listening or looking for him, I often miss him. I can forget he's even around. To be honest, I even ignore him sometimes. It's amazing he's still with me.

But he never, ever, ever forgets me. He made me a promise to stick around forever. Even when I'm ignoring him. And I know I can count on his promises. He's not one who says one thing and does another. He's passed the test. Proven himself over and over again. When even my dearest people let me down, I know there is one I can count on. And I run to him. Often, running with tears.

He's closer than a brother, a constant companion, a teacher, encourager, and guide.

He knows my thoughts.
He sees my heart.
And he loves me completely.

I'm spending this stormy Sunday morning with Him.

(John 14:15-27)