I Feel Just Right...

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1968

A time of turbulence in the country.  Hippie peace lovers. Vietnam soldiers. Martin Luther King Jr. assassinated in Memphis. The Beatles and The Rolling Stones. Weird cults. Rebellion. Rosemary's Baby and Guess Who's Coming To Dinner? OJ was a college star at the University of Southern California. Arthur Ashe, Peggy Fleming, and Detroit vs. St. Louis in the World Series. Jackie Kennedy marries Aristotle Onassis. Elvis has a comeback. The Mod Squad. The Andy Griffith Show, and Laugh-In. Nixon elected. Apollo 8.

In Spring of that year a baby girl was born in a small county hospital in Maryland.

That little girl was me.

Forty-three years have come and gone since then.

A lot has happened.

A lot good. Some bad. Much laughter. Some tears. Things that were a little scary. Some things hysterically funny. So many memories.

I've had a good life. Not everyone can say that... I feel so blessed that I can.

I'm glad to be 43 today.

I don't feel too old...and I don't feel too young.

I feel just right.

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Living The Moments

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Outside the window, is gray.

The day, not sure whether to continue to clutch at winter

or move towards a rainy Spring.

My thoughts center around the gray in my life.

The "inbetween" days. The "not sure" times.

What do I do with those?

I stop.

I open my eyes.

I see the moments.

I'm beginning to realize that life is made up of the inbetween moments.

Not the life shattering surprises, or the mountain top experiences,

but in the all too fleeting moments of the everyday.

I don't want to wake up, years from now, to regret.

I don't want to speed through my days only to wish I had fully lived.

Lived in the moments.

Appreciating the smoky grays of the sky on a February morning.

The warm light in the kitchen.

The sound of my son as he excitedly tells me about a book he is reading.

The dog licking my toes.

My husband's smile.

I slow down.

And I am thankful

to the One who gifts me with the moments.

 

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Gentlemen, Start Your Engines!

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Isn't it interesting how certain events in life stand out as a pivotal moment? I see the scene played out in my mind's eye, as if it just happened yesterday.

I was sitting on the floor in front of the television on that Sunday afternoon, 10 years ago. I was a new widow, still in the beginning stages of grief, as I watched the Daytona 500 that year. Alone. My husband who had been a huge Dale Earnhardt fan, got me hooked on NASCAR from the time we had first started dating. Everyone knew his devotion to #3. Now, I was the one watching the race....cheering for Dale Sr. in the confines of my living room, even as I mourned the death of my husband who had been his biggest fan. It was almost therapy for me....as in my mind, the two men were intertwined. The man and the fan.

In the last lap of the Daytona 500, Earnhardt was in second place behind Michael Waltrip. Things were looking good. Then it happened. The black car smashed into the wall. In the blink of an eye...it was over. Dale didn't emerge from his car.

I had to leave to go to evening church, not knowing if the Intimidator was even alive. I remember after the service the pastor quietly said, "I was just informed that Mr. Earnhardt did not survive the crash this afternoon. He is gone. Let's say a prayer for his family."

Gone. Not coming back. Even though I did not know this racing legend personally, to me he was a symbol of something  shared with my late husband. His death was another loss. Painful and all consuming.

The 2011 NASCAR season starts this Sunday, in the race at Daytona. A lot has happened in the ten years since the tragic accident where "the man in black" lost his life. Much has changed. In NASCAR....and with me.

The paths we walk in this life, don't come with maps. We don't have tour guides and we have no idea what the future holds. We like to think we do, but the future could change in a split second....we are not the ones in control.

I don't presume to know the state of Mr. Earnhardt's eternal soul, but when he got into his car that afternoon, I'm pretty sure he had no idea that he was going to be stepping into eternity by the time the race was over. I pray he was ready.

"I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith."  2 Timothy 4:7

 

 

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Precious Memories...And Sugar Cookies

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The young girl got off the school bus in front of the big farm house. She walked up the driveway, hearing the crunch of gravel beneath her shoes. She turned at the sidewalk that led to the tiny side porch. The door opened.....

The elderly lady stood at the door, smiling. As the little girl got closer she could smell cookies. Sugar cookies. The older woman knew that the little girl loved her home made sugar cookies, warm out of the oven. She ushered the little girl inside to have a seat at her worn Formica kitchen table. The kitchen was warm and cozy. The woman quiet and kind. The girl happily munched on cookies while telling the woman of her school day. The older lady nodded and smiled. The girl asked about the horses, that she could see from the kitchen windows. The grandmotherly woman told stories about her Petunia and Judd and their antics. Sometimes the girl ran through the backyard and over to the fence near the big, red barn. She liked looking at Petunia and Judd up close.

After the sugary snack, there was much to explore...and the woman always let the little girl explore. There was a parakeet to say hello to, in the living room. There were three steps to "no where" in the living room, near the back porch door. The girl imagined it was a secret hideout, instead of what used to probably be a back stair case to the upstairs that had long been covered up. Then there was the organ in the parlor. It looked pretty sitting in there. Formal and quiet. The kind woman even let the young girl explore her bedroom and tiny bathroom, with all the colors from decades past. The bedroom was small, but warm with braided rugs on the floor.

The little girl enjoyed her visits. Time passed, the girl got older, and her visits were more sporadic. In 1982 the older woman became ill. She went to the hospital. The little girl was now a teen. She saw her friend in the hospital bed. Someone had tied a bright pink ribbon in the elderly woman's snow white hair. A splash of color in an otherwise sterile room.

The little girl, was me. My friend was Mrs. Saylor. She was like a surrogate grandmother to me. To this very day when I make a trip back to the place of my youth, I cannot pass by her house without remembering her. She might be gone for many years now, but she lives in my memories....and in my heart.

Don't ever think that you can't make a difference in a child's life. I know you can...just like Mrs. Saylor.  All it takes is a cup of kindness, a heaping spoonful of time, a dash of a listening ear, and some really good sugar cookies to munch on.

 

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Motherhood...Are You Ready?

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Lately, I've been thinking about what it means to be a mom. I've been a mom for almost 16 years now. You'd think after that period of time I'd have everything under control, right? Neatly checking things off my to do list. I suppose I am feeling a little sorry for myself. Umm...... Most days I feel like the BEFORE picture in one of those before/after photo shoots. I wish I could be the AFTER. The mom that has it all together. The one who doesn't ever worry about a dirty house, teen drivers, late schoolwork, attitudes, boredom, muddy floors, pet fur, or laziness.

I'm not mentally ill. I do understand the difference between fantasy and reality. But, a mom can dream...can't she?

I must get like this each January. Check out my blog from last January at this time..... My own words come back to remind me that motherhood is a crazy ride, but I'm holding the hand of the One that holds the future--and that makes all the difference.

 

THE MIRACLES IN THE MUNDANE OF MOTHERHOOD

Motherhood. In my naivete’,I just knew that I’d have it covered. Puh-leeze!  I could do this….after all I KNEW children. I took Child Development classes in high school. I babysat. I majored in special education in college and took myriad number of COLLEGE level courses on the child psyche. If anyone could do this it was me. Supermom at your service. For sure.

Then reality hit. When I say “hit” I mean kind of like a baseball bat. To the head. Ouch.

I had my son in May of 1995. Just 2 days after my 27th birthday. My pregnancy went well except for the 6 week stint of barfing. Morning sickness AND evening sickness. Brushing my teeth even made me gag, but I was a trooper. I was determined to be with child AND have a bright white smile and fresh breath. So, I carried on.

My son was born 2 1/2 weeks early according to the doctors. I blame it on the fact that the evening before he was born we had a tornado in Knoxville, Tennessee. The barometric pressure dropped and I think it messed with my uterus. I’m just sayin’. Except for being born with a little jaundice, which to be honest I thought looked like a nice tan, the delivery went well  and my son was beautiful. Of course I had an epidural so there wasn’t much pain…just a lot of pushing. My husband was a big help and to give the man credit…he put up with a lot. (the fact that I had back labor before getting the epidural—well, that is another story.)

Now, at this point I was exhausted but happy. My son is a joy. I’m happy. He’s happy. My husband’s happy. We’re all happy. Then it hit. Reality. My epidural wore off and I was sore like I had never felt sore before. After several hours I decided I could get up and use the restroom. The nurse told me she would have to go with me. I told her I was a shy pee’er and I wouldn’t be able to go if she was in the bathroom. I tried to convince her I’d been peeing my whole life, and at 27 I had the procedure down pat. She told me I could pass out because of something to do with the epidural having worn off, blah..blah…. I told her that was silly. She finally agreed to stand at the other side of the door, with the door cracked open. I grudgingly agreed and went to sit down when, yes you guessed it, I started to black out. The nurse caught me just before I cracked my head on the bathroom floor. I vaguely remembered her yelling for ammonia…and my husband in a confused state asking why she wanted to clean the bathroom? This is my life. I should have known that I had just embarked on a journey that was NOT going to be a piece of cake. Only a few hours into motherhood and I was already passing out.

The next few years consisted of me listening to my little one struggle to breathe when he got bronchitis. Staying up all night and staring at his chest. Watching it heave up and down. Knowing that his tiny body was so fragile…yet, so resilient. After that scary time, it never happened again. Thank you Jesus. Then at 2 and 1/2 he was with his father, outside, when he decided that he’d get on the picnic table. He fell and cut his head on the seat of the table on the way down. Head wounds. Lots of blood. A father in panic mode. A trip to the doctors office. Stitches. I came home from work that day to find my handsome son looking like he had just took a few rounds in the boxing ring. Bruised with stitches marching just above his eyebrow. So attractive, and just in time for his preschool picture day!  That following Easter we decorated Easter eggs. Fun stuff. I made the mistake of telling my toddler that we would eventually eat the hard boiled eggs. One evening he got into the fridge when I was on the phone and preceded to eat the egg with the shell still on it. He came into the living room a few minutes later. His face, teeth, tongue and hands, all a nice pastel shade of blue. I began to freak out thinking that my baby was exhibiting symptoms of some rare disease. Until, he informed me, “Mommy, the Easter egg is good.” At that, I burst into giggles and attempted to scrub my little Smurf back to his normal skin tone as I explained that egg shells are not the part of the egg that we eat, even if it did look pretty at the time.

Over the years there were the good times and the difficult times. Bedtime stories, hugs and sloppy kisses, birthday parties. Lots of laughter and tears. Family vacations, and him holding my hand. Church choir, camps, video games, and silliness. Those of you that have sons know what I’m talking about.

When my little boy was 4 his father, my husband, was diagnosed with an incurable heart disease. He died a mere year and four months later. You can imagine the sadness. We had only just started and it was over. Just like that. Standing at my husbands grave, that cold gray day in November 2000…I felt a little hand grab mine. A little voice coming out of the body of a 5 year old, but seeming so much older and wiser said, “Mommy, don’t cry. This is only Daddy’s body here. Daddy is in Heaven with God.”  God spoke to me that day through my son. He wanted me to remember the promise of  John 11:25 “I am the resurrection and the  life. He that believes in Me, though he dies, yet shall he live.”  That day I was reminded that out of the mouths of children can come great wisdom.

The next five years were filled with normal life kinds of things. Church, school, vacations out  West, family get togethers, sleep overs at friends houses, spelling tests, and math homework, goofiness and seriousness. All of life in a big jumble. We were doing okay….me and my sidekick.

After 5 years of widowhood God brought another man into my life. A man that understood what I had gone through. Our experiences were similar. He had lost his wife a few years before. We were kindred spirits. No one wants to join The Widow/er Club, but death doesn’t ask if one wants membership. It just gives it to you.

We married in 2005. Along with this marriage I got another son and two daughters. Just as I thought I had the whole being a mom thing under control…. then reality hit. AGAIN. These children had lost their mother. My heart broke for them, just as it had for my own son at the loss of his Daddy. How does one be a mom #2?  There is no manual for it. Believe me, if there were one I would have read it. A LOT. How does one mother the motherless? I wasn’t sure how this would happen. What do I say? How do I act? What if they don’t bond with me? What if they hate my guts?  Then what?  God, in His infinite wisdom spoke to my heart.

“LOVE THEM. ADOPT THEM IN YOUR HEART. THAT IS ALL YOU NEED TO DO.  Dawn, you are my adopted child. I bought you for a price. You were redeemed and now you are mine. I love you because I choose too. Do the same for them.They need a mother’s love…not to take the place of the mother that they had….but, to show them that I am God and I will take care of them. I am their provider.”

You know what? God is good. All the time. Even in motherhood. Even in widowhood. Even in life. Even in death. Even in trauma. Even in calm. Through bloody noses, or skinned knees, through arguments, and “it’s not fair!”. Through hugs and kisses, school and projects. He remains good when I’m having a great day or when I’ve just been awarded “the worst mom of the year award.”

I like to believe that I am much wiser than I was back in my twenties. When I thought I had motherhood all figured out. When I had my own motherhood map all planned. Motherhood is messy, and chaotic, and fun, and sometimes broken. I am thankful in the midst of all my mom mess-ups that I am holding the hand of the One who promised me that He has a plan for me and a future with hope. A-men.

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White Out!

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My husband and I, and our children are visiting family in upstate New York. It has been cold here, but not really any snow (besides what is already on the ground). I've been watching the news this morning. Everyone is talking about the blizzard that hit many areas of the east coast. New York City doesn't look that bad to me, yet it is being called a blizzard. Technically, a blizzard has to do with certain amounts of snow, but a true blizzard also has high winds over 35 m.p.h.

I remember being in 5th grade in Carroll County, Maryland when the blizzard of '79 struck. Of course, as a child I enjoyed being off school for a week. My sister and I got bundled up like a couple of Arctic explorers and ventured outside to make tunnels in the deep snow.Mom always had hot tea ready for us when we came inside.

I also remember as a young newlywed, the "storm of the century" in March of 1993. The entire east coast got pelted with that monster storm. My husband and I went to bed on Friday night with just a few flurries falling. We made a bet with each other that it wasn't really going to amount to anything. We woke up on Saturday morning to a snow induced hush over our own, personal winter wonderland!

All this talk of blizzards got me to thinking about snow fall. Look at this site of the Top 10 Worst Blizzards of all time. It makes me cold just reading about them!

What are your coldest, snowiest, most blizzard like memories?  How old were you? Where were you living at the time?

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Through The Eyes Of A Child

Memories...as warm and cozy as a blanket. Memories that I am able to wrap around me, even on the coldest of days. Memories that make me smile, even now, years past my childhood. Memories that are ignited for me, when the weather gets cold and Christmas is right around the corner.

Getting the live Christmas tree from the sale at the local fire department. "This one is too skinny. This one looks like a bush. This one has a bare spot."  One year we did have a Christmas tree that resembled a pine bush. It was short and fat. Didn't really matter though, because to a child it was the most beautiful thing she'd ever seen, when decorated. Pretty glass ornaments that my mom had...blue bells, pink icicles. A ton of tinsel....which my mom had a special way of adding to the tree. She did not appreciate my sister and I throwing the tinsel on in "clumps". Why not?

My sister and I got dressed in our Christmas Eve outfits. We went to Mammaw and Pappaw's house for a HUGE family dinner. My cousins and I would sneak upstairs to the living room while all the adults were downstairs still eating and socializing. We would look to see the gifts that were addressed to us. We'd carefully shake them...try to see under the wrapping paper. The anticipation was too great!

Footsteps!!! An adult! "What are you kids doing?" Nothing, was our reply. My aunt knew we were lying...and we knew that she knew we were lying. But, it was Christmas Eve....and sneaking a peek at gifts was part of the fun. After the meal all of us went to church for the Christmas Eve service. Our church was made from stone with beautiful stained glass windows. The church was built in the 1800's and I heard that the windows had been imported from England. The candles glowing in the windows made the stained glass come alive. I have some wonderful memories of that church on Christmas Eve. All I have to do is close my eyes to see it once again.

Back to my grandparents house for dessert and the opening of gifts! It's funny the things I remember from childhood. When I was very little I got a small, brown toy puppy. His head moved back and forth and his tail wagged and then he would bark. I thought it was the neatest thing. As I got older, the type of gifts changed, but it was always the family get togethers that I loved so much.

Christmas morning was fun with all the usual excitement of unwrapping gifts, giving gifts, and the expressions on each face. I remember one year, I think I was 13 or 14, I got a miniature "boom box".  To those of you that lived in the 80's, you know that was a cool gift! Before we knew it, it was time to get dressed and start the holiday trek to family houses. One relative would have breakfast, one would have lunch, one would have dinner/dessert. This was a great way to visit, see everyone's tree, get to look at all my cousins Christmas presents, and enjoy family. I have such good memories of my growing up years.

I feel extremely blessed to have such wonderful memories from my childhood. Family, friends, church services to celebrate the Savior's birth, food, and gifts. All these things wrapped up, making a gift that my heart can open each Christmas...as I reminisce .

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Time Doesn't Stop

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As I was getting ready this morning, a thought struck me. I don't know why this particular thing hit me, on this particular morning....but, it did.

10 years.

A decade.

I'll be 52 then.

That's all true...but, what really hit me is that my kids will be gone. Gone. Gulp.

I talk a lot about my teens. How they are loud, funny, stinky, cute, silly, intelligent, serious, and all around goof balls. I sing the joy of the "empty nest". And yes, I do think I will enjoy that part of life.

Just not today. I practically burst into tears thinking that 10 years from now I will have two 25 year olds and a 29 year old. Sniff.

I really don't have that much time left.Truth be told...they are almost to adulthood right now.

And I will miss them.

A lot.

My 15 year old son was just 5, ten years ago. A mere baby. A kindergartner. We had just buried his father the month before. He dealt with a lot for only being 5. I think back over the last 10 years and how quickly time has gone by.

Then I think of how quickly the next 10 years will go by...

Graduation, college, jobs, career, marriage....maybe even grand babies.

I don't know if I'm ready for the next 10 years.

I want time to slow down for a little while. Please?

More time for holding them close, more time for hugs, and kisses.....More time for goofiness before the responsibilities of life set in....More time of just being together.

 

 

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Remembering Kennis...

 

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My late husband's brother mentioned to me the other day that this weekend would be difficult for him. You see, my late husband and his brother were twins. Their birthday is this coming Sunday. If my husband had lived he would have been celebrating his 44th birthday. His birthday coming up, has allowed me to remember... I have a picture of him from his 26th birthday. It was him eating a piece of hot fudge cake at Darryl's restaurant in Knoxville, Tennessee. We were newlyweds (2 1/2 months) at the time. Goofy and laughing--with no idea what was ahead for us. I guess it was better that way. The not knowing...

Time went on... and I also remember his last birthday. Kennis and I and our children along with his parents, had gone to a seafood restaurant in Dandridge, Tennessee. We had a good time that night. He was celebrating being 34, in the midst of a chronic illness and an incurable heart disease. I remember us all riding in the car back home. We had a nice evening together. Little did any of us know how soon life as we knew it, would change. I'm glad we didn't know what was ahead of us. I guess it was better that way. The not knowing...

Three weeks later Kennis died. Just 3 weeks into his 34th year....and life changed for all of us that knew and loved him.

Beginnings are scary. Endings are usually sad, but it's what's in the middle that counts. So, when you find yourself at the beginning, just give hope a chance to float up. And it will.

I wrote this blog two years ago as a memorial to Kennis. It was a hard blog entry to write. The memories were very vivid. I still remember them as if they just happened yesterday. It does not seem possible that nearly a decade has gone by.

For those of you that are new readers to my blog, I warn you this blog will be difficult to read.....but, it is me, being real.

In Memory of Kennis---

DISCLAIMER: Be aware that this blog entry will have some things in it that might be difficult or painful to read.

Back in August I did a blog about the memory of my husband’s late wife, Nancy.  Now, it is my turn to do a blog entry about my late husband, Kennis. This Tuesday will not just be election day, but also the day that marks the eighth anniversary of my first husband’s death.  Honestly, I can hardly believe eight years have gone by. It seems like a lifetime ago.

In late October of 2000 I was vacuuming in our living room. Vacuuming like a mad woman. My life was out of control. My husband was chronically ill. He was dying. We had a lot of medical bills. My life revolved around taking care of him….. I was vacuuming and keeping things in order because it was something I had control over…when everything else was so out of control.  On this particular evening my husband said to me in a premonition of what was to come, “Dawn come here and sit with me. The vacuuming can wait. Sit here with me because you know I won’t be here forever. I’m dying.” I in an angry voice replied, ” No, you won’t! I don’t want to hear you talk like that.” ” Yes. Come and sit over here with me.” Little did I know how quickly his words would become my reality……..November 4, 2000 was a Saturday. Kennis was brought to the hospital by me, the afternoon before with extreme pain. (He had a chronic heart condition that he had been diagnosed with the year before at the ripe old age of 32 years and 8 months) He was okay that morning and we talked and laughed. Some of his family visited and we watched the University of Tenn. play against the University of SC. After the game everyone left and it was just the two of us. Things seemed okay… Kennis called me over to his hospital bed, reached his arms up and pulled me close. “You know I love you, right?”, he said in his deep mellow voice. ” Of course”, I replied as I gazed up at him.  Moments later my husband yanked his IV’s out. I didn’t understand. I remember being confused as I stared at the crimson stains on the white hospital sheets….his voice echoing in my head….” I have to get up. I have to get up NOW! I need to exercise. I can’t just lay here. I have to run in the hallway!” I grabbed the nurses button and started screaming, ” Help me! Someone help me, PLEASE! Dear God, HELP ME!” Nurses came running in to Kennis’ room asking him questions like, ” What is your name? Who is the president? What day is it?” Sometimes he answered correctly, sometimes not. I said, “What is the matter with him?” ( I later found out lack of oxygen made him talk out of his mind.) They just shook their heads….and got some new sheets. Kennis laid back down….but not for long. He got back up. He was screaming at me. I KNEW something was terribly, terribly wrong. I screamed again as this time, my husband slumped over in the chair next to his bed.  His eyes rolled back. All I could see was the white of his eyes. At that moment I knew my husband was gone. I stood like a statue staring at him, my feet felt like I had concrete in them. I couldn’t move…even as the nurses and doctors crowded into the room yelling, “He’s coding!” I vaguely remember a nurse leading me to another room on the same floor to wait. As I waited, Kennis’ mother and father arrived. They had no idea what was going on and were escorted to the room I was in.

Much later the emergency room doctor and Kennis’ cardiologist walked in. The emergency room doctor looked directly at me….and I know how hard it must have been for him….”Mrs. Satterfield we lost your husband. I’m so sorry. I worked on him for 45 minutes straight. I couldn’t bring myself to stop even though we could never get a solid heartbeat. I didn’t want to give up because he was so young with a young family. I’m so very sorry.” At first I was confused…you lost him? Where is he at? Then I said, ” you mean he is dead.” I didn’t cry. I actually thanked him for his effort. It was all very strange, that I felt I should be polite. I guess that is the body’s way of coping with extremely painful news. Don’t think. Just do.  Though I was quiet, Kennis’ mom let out the most mournful scream I’ve ever heard. It made the hairs on my arms stand up, like with goosebumps. She slumped on her husband saying, “not my baby boy. not my baby boy. Dear Jesus, why my baby boy?” I remember at that very moment I felt worse for her then I did for myself…I lost my spouse, but she had lost her son. Thinking about our own 5 year old son who at the time was with my mother, I couldn’t begin to imagine the pain of losing a child.

Over the days that followed my family and friends were there to support me. They helped me every step of the way. They helped my son, and me to not feel alone. Life started to be a new kind of normal for us. It wasn’t the same mind you…it never would be the same, but life could be good again. Indeed, it has been good. God, in scripture, told me that He is a defender of widows and a father to the fatherless. He would never leave me. I cannot imagine what my life would have been like if I didn’t know the Lord. My hopelessness was replaced with hope. My grief was replaced with peace. It didn’t happen immediately, and there were days that were difficult…but God carried me through the most difficult times and brought me out on the other side.  Scripture also tells me, and I believe that God allows us to go through certain trials so that we can help others when they are in similar trials. I understand things now that it would have been impossible for me to understand had I not had to walk through the valley.

Shortly after my husband’s funeral I was cleaning in our bedroom. Trying to straighten things up…it was something to do, you know what I mean. I was trying to stay busy. I looked over at our dresser and noticed a piece of paper that I hadn’t seen there before. It was a scripture verse that had been written out in my husband’s own handwriting. I gently picked it up and read the familiar scrawl. This scripture was a message to me. A message from a wonderful and loving God. He gave me this message to read. A message that He had also given Kennis. “However, as it is written: “No eye has seen, no ear has heard, no mind has conceived what God has prepared for those who love Him.” (I Corinthians 2:9) What peace I had after reading that. Thank you Lord.

When I think of my late husband I think of truck driving, and NASCAR, Earnhardt, and baseball caps. Woodworking and cooking. Grill master, canning and apple pies. He loved the University of Tennessee football, and his white pick up truck. He loved his daughters and son. He’d try to fix anything and if he couldn’t then he’d fake it:) I remember trips to the Bahamas, Florida and St. Louis. I remember the week I spent with him in the big rig. (and realized I could never do that! haha.) Memories tucked away in my mind…

My life has changed much since this day...I have gone on living. I am now able to think about Kennis and celebrate his life and all that he was, instead of staying in mourning. God has indeed blessed me and I appreciate each day now, much more than I ever did.

My late husband was very much like the prodigal son of the Bible. When he found out he was going to die, I believe he began to understand God much more. His relationship with Christ changed,  as they walked together through the valley of the shadow of death. Changed in a way that I honestly cannot really understand because I've not been there. Because my husband knew the Lord personally, I have no doubt that he is with Him in heaven. More alive today than he ever was here on earth. Thank you, Jesus. Amen.

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You Can Go Home Again

As an adult, going back home is always a treat.  Going home, for me, means Maryland. I grew up in Westminster, Maryland in Carroll County. The county I knew--and the one that it has become are not really the same. What once was rural is now congested with homes built on top of each other. There are some things that have remained... Like Hoffman's ice cream store. Or the church I grew up in. My old high school, my relatives homes....... but, even these things, though they remain, have changed. The church doesn't have the same name anymore, buildings added, houses have additions--things are moved around and there are a TON more people. Home in my memory looks different, and yet I can still see the reflection of times past.

As I sat in my Aunt's backyard this past Sunday evening looking at my cousin's children and my children rolling down the hill, I was taken back in time to when my cousins and I were the young ones playing on that hill. The hill seems a lot smaller to me now than it did 35 years ago. Things remain the same, even though they are different. Time marches on. Now, I am the forty- something sitting in the lawn chair watching the kids play, and my aunts and uncles are now grandparents. Time has changed our roles in this family scene.

My aunt and I had a discussion about how things have changed. We can't expect that things will stay the same forever. People get older, move away, new people move in, births are celebrated, deaths are mourned, schools are added, new stores, churches change names....in short, life happens. The truth is I wouldn't want things to remain exactly the same. That would be weird, huh?  With all the changes over the years I've come to realize that I can't physically go back home. Not really. Not to the home that I once knew. It no longer exists. Time has taken it prisoner. It is tucked away in pictures from years gone by. I like to visit, to be reminded of what it used to be like.

It's not sad. I'm not sad. I've come to the conclusion that the word home really is about the people. The relationships. Those are what make home real. It's the collective memories of family history that connect us....that take us home. Whether one still lives in the same community he/she grew up in, has trekked across the United States, or half way around the world, home is being reminded of family. Home is shared memories of home made ice cream on hot summer days, playing wiffle ball with cousins, family gatherings at Christmas, Friday night football, baseball at the park, and grandma's potato salad. Chocolate sheet cake, wild games of UNO, trips to the ocean. Baptisms, scholarships, graduations, summer afternoon drives, and just being together.

So, even though the surroundings might change---and home doesn't look like home anymore, just know that home is there. You can go visit it again....and again, because home resides in the heart.

Moments In Time

I found out a couple of weeks ago that a friend of mine from college passed away. He was just two years older than I am. Two years. That's it. I'm sure that morning  he didn't  expect that he would be meeting the Lord face to face in a few short hours. When I saw his name in the obituaries, memories flooded back from my college days. Days my classmates and I thought would last forever. Days that end...sometimes much sooner than expected.

I have recently been asked to speak at my church's, ladies luncheon. I had been considering what to speak about. So many thoughts swirled around in my head...a million different ideas. After hearing about my friend, I started to think about my time here on earth.....and really, not just my time. OUR time. Each of us has a set amount of days. Only God knows how many there are for each of us. It got me to thinking about what my legacy will be? How will I be remembered? I've thought about this before and I think I might have blogged about it at sometime in the past. It's a hard question. To be honest, I don't think most people really want to think about it. It's deeply personal, but also a little scary. "What will YOUR legacy be?"

I'm sitting here in my home library/office. My desk and walls are filled with pictures. I love pictures. I have pictures of my son at age two. Again at age six. Pictures of my teens dressed in their Sunday clothes with smiles on their faces. The kids at a competition. My husband and I at our wedding. My grandmother when she was in her twenties. Pictures that have meaning to me. Memories. Pieces of my life, past and present, quilted together. While gazing at my pictures, it occurred to me that one day my kids will be looking at pictures of me. I will be gone. No longer here. What will they remember about me? Of course, after everything has been sifted through I like to believe that when they think about me they will have good memories. Not perfect memories...because, I'll be honest...I'm not perfect. I am so far from perfect that it's not even a dot in the rear view mirror of life. So, memories of perfection are not what my legacy is going to be about. Ever.

I believe it is our imperfections that give life meaning. You might be thinking, "Why does she want to talk about imperfections? What good is that? Does she really want to be remembered for those???"  Yes....well, at least some of them. When I sometimes get impatient with my own children, and yell at them in frustration...it humbles me. It is because of that, I am able to have empathy with another mom who is going through a trial with her own children. When I struggle to keep my opinion to myself about something my spouse did (or didn't do)...and sometimes fail...it humbles me. It allows me to go to him later and say, "I'm sorry". When I stomp my foot and shake my fist at the unfairness of life and then realize I'm not God...it humbles me. Then I can go to Him in prayer, study His letter (the Bible) to me and understand that He still loves me, even when I make daily messes of things.

Ultimately, I want my legacy to be one of relationships. Did having known me change anyone's life? Did I make a mark on things? Did I tell others by my words and actions that Jesus Christ is central in my life? That it is HE that made all the difference? Without HIM I am nothing. That is the truth. I don't say that to denigrate myself, I say it because I'm being honest. All the good and lovely things that people could say about me after I'm gone, are nothing compared to the good and truly wonderful things that Christ did (and does) for me. For us.  He is what makes my life enjoyable. My relationship with Him. Life is never easy for any of us. I'll tell you something, I've dealt with some sad things in my life. Even in the midst of my worst times, when I was ragged and worn out emotionally...He did not leave me. Or give up on me.  I hope my legacy will be one, where I took the spotlight off myself and shone it on the One who deserves it the most.

Friendship--The Perfect Blendship

I have a lot of friends. Last night I was pondering all the ways that friends have touched my life through the years. Facebook has allowed me to get back in touch with childhood friends, friends from jobs I've had, high school, college, home school groups, teachers groups, church, family, friends of friends....... People can like social media. Or not. One thing is for certain, it has opened up a whole new world of communication. There is something comforting about being able to chat with a childhood friend that I haven't seen in twenty years, yet the banter between us feels as if we just saw each other yesterday. There is something nostalgic about talking with a college dorm mate. We share memories that no one else knows about. There is a bond in my friendships that social media has allowed me to strengthen....and for that I am grateful.

I don't know if you ever feel this way....but, sometimes I wonder about my own life. How many people have I touched? Has my life made a difference to others? You know what I mean. Sure, I have family that loves me. (and that is definitely the most important) But, how do my friends down through the years remember me? Do they laugh when something crosses their mind? Do they smile when they recall a certain memory? Most people have friends that come and go throughout their lives. A few friends that are forever. Some friendships might be brief, and others are a part of you-- as if you were separated at birth. Every friendship has a reason, and each one has a season. Each is important. Through the years my friends have laughed with me, cried with me, been my cohorts in crime (not really, Mom!). They have challenged me with new thoughts or ideas, listened to me as I explained how I felt, worked with me, danced with me, shared joys, and held hands during sorrow. Advice, compassion, anger and a multitude of other emotions.

Social media has allowed me to reach out to my friends in ways that I was unable to before. I love to write, but I would have never been able to find the addresses of all these people that the internet has brought my way. Does the internet take the place of face to face relationships? Of course not. (although a lot of my friends online I DO know face to face) It sure does "bring it home" though, that a lot of people have touched my life through the years---and I've touched theirs too. It kind of makes the world seem like a much smaller place.