Only four short weeks until Christmas Day! Isn't it exciting?!!
(Some of you just glanced up at the posting date to see if this is from last year. Some of you simply shook your head in a pitying sort of way, "She's finally lost it!" And others had to go back and read the opening line again to see what I'm talking about.)
"It's Eleven Days, Sheri! December 25th is only eleven days away!"
You're right. But Christmas Day for the Hawley/Schreck/Smith/McGhee Clan will take place four weeks from now on January 16th. That's when we'll finally have everyone back in town and nothing on the church calendar.
Odd, I know. But it's just how we manage the chaos of our lives. Smiths in North Carolina. Schrecks in New York. McGhees making the rounds in Polk County.
Usually, I'm just fine with that. But this year, we have grandchildren who know a lot more about what's going on. Being around them is like celebrating Christmas for the very first time.
That's why Frank and I decided to try out a New Christmas Tradition. (I realize that it takes a few years for an activity to actually qualify for "tradition," but ya gotta start somewhere!)
It has fallen my lot to come up with many of the activities we now call "Tradition." Through the years, I've pitched my ideas to Frank and he (the more creative one) has helped them become reality.
Some of those ideas we had to let fall by the wayside because they proved pretty much impossible to implement. But don't let failure stop you from trying new things with your family. If it turns into a fiasco, slap the title "Made a Memory" on that photo and roll on to the next idea!
(There is a marvelous book by Gloria Gaither entitled Making Memories. A great resource for those of us who want tradition but didn't inherit it or aren't so creative. Don't have an idea? Borrow one!)
So, back to our new tradition testing.
My dear friend, Deborah Stephens, had shared an idea with me years ago when her grandson was just three. She chose a favorite kids' movie and made an evening of it with pizza and popcorn and pj's and hot chocolate.
I wanted to adopt her idea but I knew our oldest three would never sit still long enough for an entire movie. (Spencer is 4; Abby is 3; Noah is 2) So I pulled in the creative part of our marriage for help.
My little dream quickly escalated with Frank's help. We chose a shorter video, added some outside time, a craft and food. The parents were notified of our plan. And on the designated day, Noni and Poppa prepared by...........taking a nap!
We had everything in place before we drove to pick them up at John and Joy's house. The evening was open only to Noni, Poppa and the three oldest babies. Must confess, I was so excited!
Poppa directed the outdoor part (sidewalk chalk on our driveway) while I put pizza in the oven. You'll be happy to know that oranges and grapes rounded out my menu.
They came inside to eat and that's when I first caught on to what I had gotten myself into. The two boys spotted the nativity set we'd positioned on the coffee table. Made for chubby hands. Hard plastic to weather lots of rearranging. Bright colors for interest.
Please remember that I did not raise little boys. I raised three, mostly passive, little girls.
I didn't know that anything in the hands of a little boy, immediately becomes a weapon. From the kitchen I could hear Spencer and Noah bombing the stable by using the camel, and two of the wise men. At first I just reminded myself that this set is made for children to play with.
But when they began backing up from the table and trying to see who could hit Baby Jesus with the angel, I couldn't take it anymore. "Okay, boys! Let's stop that and come wash your hands. Noah, put the donkey and cart back on the table. No, Abby. You can't ride on the toy cart. Yes, I see that your toe fits. But you still can't ride it. Spencer, Joseph isn't in an airplane. He walked to Bethlehem."
And so it went!
I found out that Noah will NOT eat warm pizza. It has to be room temperature. Abby will stuff her mouth completely full if you don't cut the pieces just right. And Spencer only likes the cheese. He doesn't care for pizza crust. At all!
Fortunately, they cleaned out both bowls of fruit without chocking. So, I counted it a win and we moved on.
Next on the agenda was gingerbread house decorating. (Because Poppa and I didn't trust our own skills, we assembled all four houses the night before. Assembly included one decorated house so the kids knew the objective.)
The squeals of delight as we poured all the brightly colored candies on the table were magnificent!
Abby decorated her house systematically. Collecting all the items she planned to use, then commencing to embellish the small brown house. Spencer took the "More is More" approach. He covered nearly every inch of his personal real estate. Noah mostly ate everything we tried adding to his humble abode.
After hands and mouths were scrubbed clean, we put them on the couch and announced we had an early present for each one. More squealing! More grinning by Noni and Poppa!
On our signal, they tore into the wrapped packages and quickly discovered that each had a new pair of Christmas pajamas inside. A big moose on Noah's pjs said, "Merry Chrismoose!" Pink and sparkly pjs (of course) for Abby. Red and black checked "big boy" pjs for Spencer.
Noah danced around a minute then starting pulling at his clothes wanting to change. Just as we hoped! Soon all three were sporting their new Christmas pajamas. By this time, the sugar had hit and we needed a counter for it quickly.
Poppa got the cartoon ready and I delivered big bowls of popcorn and cups of decaffeinated hot tea for everyone. They sat for almost the entire video. Snuggled up with either Poppa or Noni. Munching the popcorn. "Accidentally" dropping pieces for Gracie.
By the time the video ended, we were ready to pack them up and take them back to John and Joy's house. Locating shoes and bears and passies for all three was a chore. Wrangling little bodies while attempting to put on the shoes was exhausting! And WHO created the latches on those car seats?! A rocket scientist??!!
Frank and I drove home in relative silence. I straightened the nativity only to discover that Joseph and the camel are A.W.O.L. The gingerbread houses will be on display tonight for family dinner but probably aren't edible any longer.
I think we may have a new tradition. And the evening definitely merited our benchmark phrase, "A lovely time was had by all!"
Monday, December 14, 2015
Friday, December 11, 2015
Christmas Sparkle
Christmas seems best symbolized by the sparkle in a child's eye.
You know, that wonderful expression when the tree is first lit. The moment a baby spots tinsel or a gleaming ornament. The gasp of surprise when they notice lights on a neighbor's home.
When the girls were little, Christmas morning included lots of squealing. Loud. Sometimes continuous. Occasionally competitive squealing. We always started with the lesser gifts and ended with one "BIGGIE" that was usually the most longed for item.
Squealing had to be monitored because we knew it would escalate right along with their level of surprise and excitement.
Then there were the gifts that (once opened) would render the girls totally speechless. That moment of stunned silence signaling to Mom and Dad that the gift truly exceeded the child's greatest hopes. And of course, tears would follow for us.
One year (while we were pioneering the church in Ocean Isle, NC) the BIGGIE wasn't a gift the girls were receiving at all. It was a gift they had lovingly sacrificed and schemed to give Dad and Mom.
Frank and I had no idea. We knew that our Christmas celebration bubbled with extra excitement that morning. We noticed that the girls kept sneaking glances at one another. We felt they rushed a little through the opening of their own gifts; even though there was still lots of hugging, giggling, some squealing, many expressions of gratitude.
A lone box remained under the tree once their gifts had all been opened. But their enthusiasm hadn't waned at all. Quite the opposite! The anticipation swirled all around our living room.
I can't remember the exact sequence. One daughter retrieved the tenderly wrapped package. One daughter instructed Frank and I to sit together and hold the box until their signal. There was a short introduction by another daughter and then all three together shouted, "Now, open!"
Once we had removed the lid from the medium-sized shirt box, we were confused. Carefully taped to the tissue paper inside the box were five twenty dollar bills. We looked up to see three beaming faces; each one sparkling with tears on their precious cheeks.
As their explanation unfolded, tears began to flow down our faces as well.
The sisters had talked earlier in the season about how hard Dad and Mom were both working to make ends meet. It bothered them that we hadn't celebrated our December 30th wedding anniversary for several years. (Never any money left after Christmas for anniversary dinners or gifts.) And our "dates" through out the year usually consisted of a long walk on the trail near our home.
They decided together that this year would be different!
They researched the cost for a nice meal and a movie in Myrtle Beach. Baby-sitting money, allowance and even some birthday money was stashed away for weeks. One of the ladies in our church was approached secretly and they secured a complimentary room for us at the local beachfront hotel. They even made arrangements for themselves to stay at the home of a friend.
And their greatest Christmas joy that year was not in receiving a gift they wanted. But in giving! Giving of themselves and their own limited resources to provide a lavish anniversary celebration for Mom and Dad.
I cringed this morning as I watched a news report about a woman who routinely buys at least eighty-five gifts for each of her children. She had posted a picture on social media of her Christmas tree - almost completely obscured by a mountain of presents. Seems to me she's missed the point. And I fear her children will never comprehend the real delight of this season.
Christmas Joy is best experienced in simplicity and self-sacrifice. Not in extravagance and greed. After all, simplicity and self-sacrifice were the benchmarks for that first Christmas; weren't they?
Not yet in the festive mood? Find a toddler. Watch their eyes as you hand them a shiny toy from the dollar store. Offer some coins for them to drop in the bucket of a Christmas charity collection. Listen to their squeal of delight as you make a silly face. Inhale the sweet fragrance of their Christmas-cookie breath.
Remind yourself that Christmas is best experienced not in receiving but in giving! Then get busy. Create some Joy for someone else and mark the Christmas Sparkle that awakens in your own heart!
Merry Christmas to You!!
You know, that wonderful expression when the tree is first lit. The moment a baby spots tinsel or a gleaming ornament. The gasp of surprise when they notice lights on a neighbor's home.
When the girls were little, Christmas morning included lots of squealing. Loud. Sometimes continuous. Occasionally competitive squealing. We always started with the lesser gifts and ended with one "BIGGIE" that was usually the most longed for item.
Squealing had to be monitored because we knew it would escalate right along with their level of surprise and excitement.
Then there were the gifts that (once opened) would render the girls totally speechless. That moment of stunned silence signaling to Mom and Dad that the gift truly exceeded the child's greatest hopes. And of course, tears would follow for us.
One year (while we were pioneering the church in Ocean Isle, NC) the BIGGIE wasn't a gift the girls were receiving at all. It was a gift they had lovingly sacrificed and schemed to give Dad and Mom.
Frank and I had no idea. We knew that our Christmas celebration bubbled with extra excitement that morning. We noticed that the girls kept sneaking glances at one another. We felt they rushed a little through the opening of their own gifts; even though there was still lots of hugging, giggling, some squealing, many expressions of gratitude.
A lone box remained under the tree once their gifts had all been opened. But their enthusiasm hadn't waned at all. Quite the opposite! The anticipation swirled all around our living room.
I can't remember the exact sequence. One daughter retrieved the tenderly wrapped package. One daughter instructed Frank and I to sit together and hold the box until their signal. There was a short introduction by another daughter and then all three together shouted, "Now, open!"
Once we had removed the lid from the medium-sized shirt box, we were confused. Carefully taped to the tissue paper inside the box were five twenty dollar bills. We looked up to see three beaming faces; each one sparkling with tears on their precious cheeks.
As their explanation unfolded, tears began to flow down our faces as well.
The sisters had talked earlier in the season about how hard Dad and Mom were both working to make ends meet. It bothered them that we hadn't celebrated our December 30th wedding anniversary for several years. (Never any money left after Christmas for anniversary dinners or gifts.) And our "dates" through out the year usually consisted of a long walk on the trail near our home.
They decided together that this year would be different!
They researched the cost for a nice meal and a movie in Myrtle Beach. Baby-sitting money, allowance and even some birthday money was stashed away for weeks. One of the ladies in our church was approached secretly and they secured a complimentary room for us at the local beachfront hotel. They even made arrangements for themselves to stay at the home of a friend.
And their greatest Christmas joy that year was not in receiving a gift they wanted. But in giving! Giving of themselves and their own limited resources to provide a lavish anniversary celebration for Mom and Dad.
I cringed this morning as I watched a news report about a woman who routinely buys at least eighty-five gifts for each of her children. She had posted a picture on social media of her Christmas tree - almost completely obscured by a mountain of presents. Seems to me she's missed the point. And I fear her children will never comprehend the real delight of this season.
Christmas Joy is best experienced in simplicity and self-sacrifice. Not in extravagance and greed. After all, simplicity and self-sacrifice were the benchmarks for that first Christmas; weren't they?
Not yet in the festive mood? Find a toddler. Watch their eyes as you hand them a shiny toy from the dollar store. Offer some coins for them to drop in the bucket of a Christmas charity collection. Listen to their squeal of delight as you make a silly face. Inhale the sweet fragrance of their Christmas-cookie breath.
Remind yourself that Christmas is best experienced not in receiving but in giving! Then get busy. Create some Joy for someone else and mark the Christmas Sparkle that awakens in your own heart!
Merry Christmas to You!!
Monday, December 7, 2015
Christmas Trades
Except for the whir of the washer and dryer, my house is totally quiet.
It's a bit of a miracle considering that right now, under my very roof, I have sleeping a five month old, a two year old, a three year old AND a four year old! I say "sleeping" because that's what I fervently hope they're doing!
Meagan had an appointment that required Joy's presence. So Noni gladly accepted the role of "nap director" for the afternoon. (Please note: I did offer to keep Zachariah and Joy's other charge, Tyce - six months old. But they thought that might be pushing our luck.)
Children make a definite impact - everywhere they travel.
The wall in my hallway has the signs of Noah's artistic bent. I have lost more than one piece of shrubbery to Spencer's enthusiastic Frisbee playing, "Throw it to me, Dad! I'm open!" I find Abby's hand prints on my patio door after nearly every visit. The corners of my dining room are chipped substantially due to high volumes of high chair traffic.
And last night, as I dropped my exhausted body into bed, I felt tiny crumbs congregating in various areas on my freshly laundered sheets. The reason? Three toddlers just knew there wasn't a better spot in the house for viewing a Christmas movie than on Noni's Big Bed!
"Oh my, Sheri! Did you get up and change the sheets?"
Nope!
"Did you get up and brush the crumbs into a dust pan?"
Nope!
"On to the floor?"
Nope!
I rearranged my position and went sound to sleep; bed crumbs and all! Morning is a fine time for dealing with crumbs.
If you don't want messy, then don't have family!
But please understand, it's a trade off. Those little jam hands also grab my face for kisses when my heart is heavy! The loud shrieks mean that the game of chase around my kitchen cart is going splendidly! Walls with chipped paint mean LIFE is happening here!
So what if my landscaping is a bit lopsided. The art work isn't on an easel. The tablecloth must be washed after each visit. Crumbs fill a bed. My ears ring from baby squeals and wails. All those situations are temporary. I'm involved in eternal matters. We get to be part of a life that will live forever. I don't want to waste time nit-picking about walls and fabric and windows. They all wash!
On Friday night, I experienced my very first parade float ride. (No, I wasn't eligible for the beauty-queen car in high school.) But this trip down main street beat the daylights out of any convertible ride I may have missed as a teen-ager.
Our church put a float in the largest Christmas parade in our area. We packed over 2,000 bags of candy to give away to the crowd. Each bag complete with a sticker saying, "Merry Christmas from Garden Grove Church!" And for almost two hours I sat between Spencer and Abby shouting, "Merry Christmas! God bless you!"
It was windy and quite cool by central FL standards. At one point, I tucked a blanket around Abby's little legs. She looked up and yelled to me over the music, "Why ahr we doowin' dis?" I smiled into her big blue eyes and pointed her attention out to the rows of waving, smiling people.
"Because, Precious! We want to tell all these people that Jesus loves them." Just then, she spotted a little girl about her age and squealed excitedly, "Yook, Noni! A yittle girl yike me!" She forgot how cold she was and waved enthusiastically at the other little girl in the crowd. "Merwy Chwismus!!"
A trade-off! And one well worth any inconvenience!
It's a bit of a miracle considering that right now, under my very roof, I have sleeping a five month old, a two year old, a three year old AND a four year old! I say "sleeping" because that's what I fervently hope they're doing!
Meagan had an appointment that required Joy's presence. So Noni gladly accepted the role of "nap director" for the afternoon. (Please note: I did offer to keep Zachariah and Joy's other charge, Tyce - six months old. But they thought that might be pushing our luck.)
Children make a definite impact - everywhere they travel.
The wall in my hallway has the signs of Noah's artistic bent. I have lost more than one piece of shrubbery to Spencer's enthusiastic Frisbee playing, "Throw it to me, Dad! I'm open!" I find Abby's hand prints on my patio door after nearly every visit. The corners of my dining room are chipped substantially due to high volumes of high chair traffic.
And last night, as I dropped my exhausted body into bed, I felt tiny crumbs congregating in various areas on my freshly laundered sheets. The reason? Three toddlers just knew there wasn't a better spot in the house for viewing a Christmas movie than on Noni's Big Bed!
"Oh my, Sheri! Did you get up and change the sheets?"
Nope!
"Did you get up and brush the crumbs into a dust pan?"
Nope!
"On to the floor?"
Nope!
I rearranged my position and went sound to sleep; bed crumbs and all! Morning is a fine time for dealing with crumbs.
If you don't want messy, then don't have family!
But please understand, it's a trade off. Those little jam hands also grab my face for kisses when my heart is heavy! The loud shrieks mean that the game of chase around my kitchen cart is going splendidly! Walls with chipped paint mean LIFE is happening here!
So what if my landscaping is a bit lopsided. The art work isn't on an easel. The tablecloth must be washed after each visit. Crumbs fill a bed. My ears ring from baby squeals and wails. All those situations are temporary. I'm involved in eternal matters. We get to be part of a life that will live forever. I don't want to waste time nit-picking about walls and fabric and windows. They all wash!
On Friday night, I experienced my very first parade float ride. (No, I wasn't eligible for the beauty-queen car in high school.) But this trip down main street beat the daylights out of any convertible ride I may have missed as a teen-ager.
Our church put a float in the largest Christmas parade in our area. We packed over 2,000 bags of candy to give away to the crowd. Each bag complete with a sticker saying, "Merry Christmas from Garden Grove Church!" And for almost two hours I sat between Spencer and Abby shouting, "Merry Christmas! God bless you!"
It was windy and quite cool by central FL standards. At one point, I tucked a blanket around Abby's little legs. She looked up and yelled to me over the music, "Why ahr we doowin' dis?" I smiled into her big blue eyes and pointed her attention out to the rows of waving, smiling people.
"Because, Precious! We want to tell all these people that Jesus loves them." Just then, she spotted a little girl about her age and squealed excitedly, "Yook, Noni! A yittle girl yike me!" She forgot how cold she was and waved enthusiastically at the other little girl in the crowd. "Merwy Chwismus!!"
A trade-off! And one well worth any inconvenience!
Saturday, November 28, 2015
Ode to Cleaning
Warning: If you enjoy meticulous house cleaning practices - Do Not Read This Post!! It will cause you great alarm and might even make you lose sleep due to its graphic descriptions! On second thought, if you are like my Kristin (a cleaning whirlwind) read on. It will probably serve to delight you with your own abilities by comparison!
Happy Thanksgiving!!
(If you're reading from another country or culture, please ignore that opening!)
I'm aware that I should probably write a lovely post about gratitude and counting our blessings and choosing to be thankful. Hopefully, you're already doing all of these as part of preparing for the Christmas season. But that's not today's topic.
Today I would like to confess to you that I hate cleaning my bathroom!
There. I said it. Plain and simple. I've always hated cleaning my bathroom.
I've worked multiple jobs that required me to clean the bathrooms of others. A restaurant bathroom. And even a public bathroom once. (Cleaning the church bathroom occasionally is just part of being in church leadership.) Those tasks never really bothered me.
But cleaning my own bathroom takes the determination of a Himalayan mountain climber! You've set out to conquer this monster and conquer it you will!
Now, some of you may be envisioning a large en suite sporting double sinks, a garden tub and perhaps even a bedette. Nope.
The bathroom I'm referencing is rather small by American standards. One sink, one toilet, one stand-up shower. More like the English-style water closet. Not much square footage at all. And it took me an hour and a half to clean it today!
During those ninety minutes of grueling effort, I made a few discoveries. (If you are squeamish, please remember that I tried to warn you!)
Bathroom Discoveries:
1. The counter is two shades lighter than I thought. It only appeared that dark because of the thick layers of hair spray accumulated there.
2. The grout in my shower is white, not gray.
3. The shower door does NOT have a decorative, cloudy effect as I had supposed.
4. The rubber stripping is light gray, not dark gray. And when you use a cloth to wipe away that much mold, the cloth is rendered useless and must be thrown into the trash.
5. The "shadow" under my bathroom cabinet was actually a pair of dust bunnies hopping around joyfully anytime the door opened or closed.
6. My toilet has multiple nooks and crannies that can only be conquered by a cleaner's willingness to assume the "hugging" position.
7. Hairspray also compromises the cleanliness of the wall and floor tiles directly opposite the mirror. "Swiping" with a clean cloth isn't sufficient - scraping is necessary for its removal.
8. Speaking of hair....... I kept finding and kept finding and kept finding strands of my dark brown locks. So much hair that I'm sure it would have qualified for a small wig! I couldn't see the gray hairs but I could sense them mocking me as they lurked just beyond the brown ones.
9. The shower stall is a place I only ever "see" without appropriate eye wear. Who wears glasses or contact lenses in the shower? Not me! (Refer back to point 2.)
10. It's a miracle that spontaneous combustion had not already taken place due to the excessive amounts of dust clinging to the coverings of my light bulbs.
Because some of you are empathetic, you're thinking, "Oh, Sheri! It couldn't have been that bad." It was worse!
A couple of readers are shaking their heads in total disbelief. Believe it, my friend!
Some of you (who love to clean) are just aching for an opportunity to come teach me the finer art of "staying ahead" of the project. Won't work!
I've read countless articles and books. Compiled extensive check lists. Even created a "cleaning box" filled with 3X5 cards that rotated projects monthly in an effort to keep the uninspired cleaner interested. Lost the box!
The only consolation of the day is this - the bathroom should hopefully stay clean long enough for my dad and his wife to come for a visit this week. And that causes a deep sigh of contentment.
Of course, I gleaned several object lessons while working on my project today.
1. Proper evaluation takes place only when we see the situation clearly! I look at my shower and counters multiple times each day. But without the help of my glasses, everything appeared just fine to me. We all need the help of an objective friend from time to time. Or a clear look through the perspective of Scripture occasionally. Those who think they need no help are probably a couple of shades from true.
2. No one likes exposing their faults! I would much rather tell you I learned these lessons while gardening or while caring for my practically perfect grandchildren. Having to admit that I don't clean my bathroom as often as I should is humbling; embarrassing. I don't mind admitting that I even feel a little vulnerable. But if honestly admitting my faults encourages someone else to get up and try again, then it's worth my discomfort. Others relate more easily to our failures than to our successes.
3. After we "address our issues" there comes a wonderful flood of peace and contentment. I always waste energy dreading the day that my bathroom must be attacked with scrub brush and cleansers. But once tackled, it seldom ever is as difficult as I imagined. And when the task is finished, I feel such relief and accomplishment. Mary Poppins says, "The job begun is half done!" Is there a task that you've been dreading? May I encourage you to get to it?! Clean that clutter. Make that phone call. Offer that forgiveness. Then sit back and wait for the flood of contentment that surely follows.
Well, I have a Christmas tree lying in my living room floor. Ornament boxes litter every open space. And a half dozen nativity scenes need unpacking.
With company due to arrive tomorrow, I'd better get to it! Whew! Sure glad I've already cleaned the bathroom!
Blessings!
Happy Thanksgiving!!
(If you're reading from another country or culture, please ignore that opening!)
I'm aware that I should probably write a lovely post about gratitude and counting our blessings and choosing to be thankful. Hopefully, you're already doing all of these as part of preparing for the Christmas season. But that's not today's topic.
Today I would like to confess to you that I hate cleaning my bathroom!
There. I said it. Plain and simple. I've always hated cleaning my bathroom.
I've worked multiple jobs that required me to clean the bathrooms of others. A restaurant bathroom. And even a public bathroom once. (Cleaning the church bathroom occasionally is just part of being in church leadership.) Those tasks never really bothered me.
But cleaning my own bathroom takes the determination of a Himalayan mountain climber! You've set out to conquer this monster and conquer it you will!
Now, some of you may be envisioning a large en suite sporting double sinks, a garden tub and perhaps even a bedette. Nope.
The bathroom I'm referencing is rather small by American standards. One sink, one toilet, one stand-up shower. More like the English-style water closet. Not much square footage at all. And it took me an hour and a half to clean it today!
During those ninety minutes of grueling effort, I made a few discoveries. (If you are squeamish, please remember that I tried to warn you!)
Bathroom Discoveries:
1. The counter is two shades lighter than I thought. It only appeared that dark because of the thick layers of hair spray accumulated there.
2. The grout in my shower is white, not gray.
3. The shower door does NOT have a decorative, cloudy effect as I had supposed.
4. The rubber stripping is light gray, not dark gray. And when you use a cloth to wipe away that much mold, the cloth is rendered useless and must be thrown into the trash.
5. The "shadow" under my bathroom cabinet was actually a pair of dust bunnies hopping around joyfully anytime the door opened or closed.
6. My toilet has multiple nooks and crannies that can only be conquered by a cleaner's willingness to assume the "hugging" position.
7. Hairspray also compromises the cleanliness of the wall and floor tiles directly opposite the mirror. "Swiping" with a clean cloth isn't sufficient - scraping is necessary for its removal.
8. Speaking of hair....... I kept finding and kept finding and kept finding strands of my dark brown locks. So much hair that I'm sure it would have qualified for a small wig! I couldn't see the gray hairs but I could sense them mocking me as they lurked just beyond the brown ones.
9. The shower stall is a place I only ever "see" without appropriate eye wear. Who wears glasses or contact lenses in the shower? Not me! (Refer back to point 2.)
10. It's a miracle that spontaneous combustion had not already taken place due to the excessive amounts of dust clinging to the coverings of my light bulbs.
Because some of you are empathetic, you're thinking, "Oh, Sheri! It couldn't have been that bad." It was worse!
A couple of readers are shaking their heads in total disbelief. Believe it, my friend!
Some of you (who love to clean) are just aching for an opportunity to come teach me the finer art of "staying ahead" of the project. Won't work!
I've read countless articles and books. Compiled extensive check lists. Even created a "cleaning box" filled with 3X5 cards that rotated projects monthly in an effort to keep the uninspired cleaner interested. Lost the box!
The only consolation of the day is this - the bathroom should hopefully stay clean long enough for my dad and his wife to come for a visit this week. And that causes a deep sigh of contentment.
Of course, I gleaned several object lessons while working on my project today.
1. Proper evaluation takes place only when we see the situation clearly! I look at my shower and counters multiple times each day. But without the help of my glasses, everything appeared just fine to me. We all need the help of an objective friend from time to time. Or a clear look through the perspective of Scripture occasionally. Those who think they need no help are probably a couple of shades from true.
2. No one likes exposing their faults! I would much rather tell you I learned these lessons while gardening or while caring for my practically perfect grandchildren. Having to admit that I don't clean my bathroom as often as I should is humbling; embarrassing. I don't mind admitting that I even feel a little vulnerable. But if honestly admitting my faults encourages someone else to get up and try again, then it's worth my discomfort. Others relate more easily to our failures than to our successes.
3. After we "address our issues" there comes a wonderful flood of peace and contentment. I always waste energy dreading the day that my bathroom must be attacked with scrub brush and cleansers. But once tackled, it seldom ever is as difficult as I imagined. And when the task is finished, I feel such relief and accomplishment. Mary Poppins says, "The job begun is half done!" Is there a task that you've been dreading? May I encourage you to get to it?! Clean that clutter. Make that phone call. Offer that forgiveness. Then sit back and wait for the flood of contentment that surely follows.
Well, I have a Christmas tree lying in my living room floor. Ornament boxes litter every open space. And a half dozen nativity scenes need unpacking.
With company due to arrive tomorrow, I'd better get to it! Whew! Sure glad I've already cleaned the bathroom!
Blessings!
Monday, November 16, 2015
Village of Missionaries
Twenty-four hours!
That's all it takes for a phone call; a bit of news; a choice; a life change! Just twenty-four short hours!
Last week, that's about what happened in our family village. On Tuesday evening, we got the call that a member of our church missions team was no longer able to make the upcoming trip. We needed a replacement - quickly!
Details? The trip was for ten days to work with our sister church in El Salvador. We needed someone with a passport; strength and inclination to work hard; a flexible spirit and the ability to decide right now.
As I headed out the door for another meeting, I passed by Nathan. "Hey, Nathan! Want to go to El Salvador?" My question dripped with sarcasm.
"You mean the trip starting Thursday morning?!" He chuckled.
"That's the one," I answered. "They leave in a little over twenty-four hours and we've just had someone drop out."
"What would it cost?" His curiosity got the better of him.
"Nothing. It's already been paid for. These trips are set up on such a tight budget that everyone knows their trip is transferable but not refundable." I reached for the door, then casually added, "If you think you'd be interested call me right away. We're working to compile a short list of people who might be able to make it happen."
That's how it started.
And in just over twenty-four hours, Meagan and Nathan were standing in the predawn darkness with all the other team members and their families as Pastor prayed over them.
However, that certainly isn't all the story.
Nathan had a serious desire to go and work with the team. Actually, he and Meagan have prayed about him going for a couple of years now. It just never seemed to be the right time - what with pregnancies and deliveries and such. Massively important moments for dads not to miss!
Meagan was well aware that this trip was a heart desire for her husband. And although she had one little boy hanging onto her leg and one little girl clinging to her shoulder as they discussed it, Meagan knew this wasn't something to pass over lightly.
The financial expense of the trip was covered. But that isn't all that's involved in travel. They had to look realistically at what it would cost them in time and schedule changes and missed events.
Meagan and Kristin teach music at their school, too. The first big performance will take place while Nathan is away. There was a fall festival. Nathan plays drums for church. A little boy looks for Daddy to play 'frih-bee' every afternoon.
They started making calls to his work, cancelling appointments, re-arranging commitments - all the while praying the pieces would fall in to place.
"Sure, that's totally possible!" Work.
"No problem! I'll be happy to do that in your place." Brothers.
"Yes, I'll cover for you and help Meagan with the children." Sisters.
"We can switch our schedule around and help with delivery, pick-up and play time." Grandparents
Meagan shed some tears as Nathan drove away Thursday morning. But he left with her complete backing. He also had the assurance that an entire village of "home missionaries" are carrying on with his little family in his absence.
The work Nathan and the team are doing in El Salvador is demanding both physically and emotionally. I know, I've been there. A totally different culture and schedule. Unusual foods, primitive living conditions, inability to communicate.
It can get overwhelming rather quickly if you don't keep the end result in mind. Our team is there to help equip our sister church in sharing God's love with children who need to know Someone cares!
Meagan and the rest of us are serving here at home to make it possible for them to be there. (In fact, I'll send Frank off to join them tomorrow.) Other missionaries of the village gave financially so the team could be there to equip the church in sharing God's love.
As we've watched reports about the horrors in Paris this week. It's given us greater resolve. I guess some might say we're radical. But our mission brings life!
When our team leaves El Salvador on Saturday, people will be sad to say good-bye. And the community will be left richer than when they first arrived. Our intention is to Give; not to Take. Our Heavenly Father loves and cares for each precious child the world overlooks!
And when you put Nathan's trip into that picture frame, it's easier to see why Meagan said, "Yes! You go. We'll be fine until you get home!"
Proud of Nathan! Proud of the village of home missionaries supporting him! Thankful that we have such Good News and so much Love to share with our world!
That's all it takes for a phone call; a bit of news; a choice; a life change! Just twenty-four short hours!
Last week, that's about what happened in our family village. On Tuesday evening, we got the call that a member of our church missions team was no longer able to make the upcoming trip. We needed a replacement - quickly!
Details? The trip was for ten days to work with our sister church in El Salvador. We needed someone with a passport; strength and inclination to work hard; a flexible spirit and the ability to decide right now.
As I headed out the door for another meeting, I passed by Nathan. "Hey, Nathan! Want to go to El Salvador?" My question dripped with sarcasm.
"You mean the trip starting Thursday morning?!" He chuckled.
"That's the one," I answered. "They leave in a little over twenty-four hours and we've just had someone drop out."
"What would it cost?" His curiosity got the better of him.
"Nothing. It's already been paid for. These trips are set up on such a tight budget that everyone knows their trip is transferable but not refundable." I reached for the door, then casually added, "If you think you'd be interested call me right away. We're working to compile a short list of people who might be able to make it happen."
That's how it started.
And in just over twenty-four hours, Meagan and Nathan were standing in the predawn darkness with all the other team members and their families as Pastor prayed over them.
However, that certainly isn't all the story.
Nathan had a serious desire to go and work with the team. Actually, he and Meagan have prayed about him going for a couple of years now. It just never seemed to be the right time - what with pregnancies and deliveries and such. Massively important moments for dads not to miss!
Meagan was well aware that this trip was a heart desire for her husband. And although she had one little boy hanging onto her leg and one little girl clinging to her shoulder as they discussed it, Meagan knew this wasn't something to pass over lightly.
The financial expense of the trip was covered. But that isn't all that's involved in travel. They had to look realistically at what it would cost them in time and schedule changes and missed events.
Meagan and Kristin teach music at their school, too. The first big performance will take place while Nathan is away. There was a fall festival. Nathan plays drums for church. A little boy looks for Daddy to play 'frih-bee' every afternoon.
They started making calls to his work, cancelling appointments, re-arranging commitments - all the while praying the pieces would fall in to place.
"Sure, that's totally possible!" Work.
"No problem! I'll be happy to do that in your place." Brothers.
"Yes, I'll cover for you and help Meagan with the children." Sisters.
"We can switch our schedule around and help with delivery, pick-up and play time." Grandparents
Meagan shed some tears as Nathan drove away Thursday morning. But he left with her complete backing. He also had the assurance that an entire village of "home missionaries" are carrying on with his little family in his absence.
The work Nathan and the team are doing in El Salvador is demanding both physically and emotionally. I know, I've been there. A totally different culture and schedule. Unusual foods, primitive living conditions, inability to communicate.
It can get overwhelming rather quickly if you don't keep the end result in mind. Our team is there to help equip our sister church in sharing God's love with children who need to know Someone cares!
Meagan and the rest of us are serving here at home to make it possible for them to be there. (In fact, I'll send Frank off to join them tomorrow.) Other missionaries of the village gave financially so the team could be there to equip the church in sharing God's love.
As we've watched reports about the horrors in Paris this week. It's given us greater resolve. I guess some might say we're radical. But our mission brings life!
When our team leaves El Salvador on Saturday, people will be sad to say good-bye. And the community will be left richer than when they first arrived. Our intention is to Give; not to Take. Our Heavenly Father loves and cares for each precious child the world overlooks!
And when you put Nathan's trip into that picture frame, it's easier to see why Meagan said, "Yes! You go. We'll be fine until you get home!"
Proud of Nathan! Proud of the village of home missionaries supporting him! Thankful that we have such Good News and so much Love to share with our world!
Monday, November 9, 2015
Daily Direction
"Noni, what was your fahvrot paht of the festibol?" Spencer, Abby and I were walking down the hallway at church yesterday morning. He already has the confident stride of his dad; just with shorter legs.
He was monitoring Abby's progress; pushing open doors; casually conversing like any forty-year-old would have. How did you like the fall festival we all worked so diligently to provide for our community yesterday? What was your favorite part? Did you meet anyone new? Me? Oh, I loved the bounce house myself!
These kids absolutely amaze me. And their parents amaze me even more! When did they all become so intuitive; so smart; so kind; so..... Oh, wait a minute. Someone just experienced a full-blown toddler melt down; reality remains. But they still amaze me!
I was remembering the conversation with Spencer this morning and a huge smile came on my face. What a sweet way to begin my work! And joy was needed for the tasks I had mapped out.
First on the list was to work on a vine that's gotten out of control. We have a lovely passion flower growing on our new trellis that I wrote about several weeks ago. (Yes, things are still growing in central FL. In fact, while the rest of the country is enjoying cold snaps and sipping hot chocolate, we're sweltering with temperatures well into the 90's.)
Frank started training the vine as soon as he planted it. Carefully weaving new growth in and out on the cross bars of the trellis. Lack of rain and lack of time to water it had slowed the growth. I only noticed last night that several shoots were waving about in an unruly manner. Note to self: take care of that first thing in the morning.
The passion vine produces a lovely flower with various petals that have been used since the 1500's to illustrate the crucifixion of Christ. In some regions, it grows as a wild vine.
It was my mom who first introduced me to the fragrant beauty. The one she carefully cultivated in her flower box nearest the front door was greatly prized. It brought her joy just in its existence.
As I worked with our vine on the trellis, I quickly realized how ingeniously it's designed for wandering. Tendrils shoot out reaching for a new location. Equipped with a slightly sticky residue, they tap a new spot and immediately begin forming a tight coil.
This works great until we miss a few days of training and allow them to grow any way they want.
Some of the tendrils had to be broken off. One large portion of the vine had even been "captured" by a downward tendril and was actually growing back toward the ground! The more I tugged, snapped and re-positioned the vine, the more I realized this work needs to be done almost daily!
It would have been much easier if I hadn't waited so long.
And in that moment, I thought again of my precious Spencer, Abby, Noah. Those babies are in a critical training stage of life. Just like the passion flower, they bring great joy just by being here. But training is still vital.
Children are ingeniously designed for growth and exploration. It's in their DNA! They reach out testing first one experience then another. And just like the tendrils on my vine, things often "stick" to our children before we realize it.
One of my favorite stories is about the frazzled mom who had hustled around all day preparing her home and a meal for several dinner guests. When everyone (including the guests) had finally been seated around the table, the mom invited her five year old to say grace.
"I'm not sure what to say," the little boy responded with wide eyes.
"Just say what you've heard mom pray, Sweetheart." Mom patted her darling and everyone bowed their heads.
They all smiled as the angelic voice began softly at first but finished strong, "Dear Lord............ WHY DID I INVITE ALL THESE PEOPLE TO DINNER?!"
Don't be fooled; the little ones around you hear and see everything!
Changes come to them so quickly that the easiest way to direct their growth is to work with them daily. How easily a life can be turned in the wrong direction if we aren't keeping a diligent eye open! How easily children get coiled into relationships or behaviors that never would have had a chance if only someone had caught it early! They need daily direction.
My vine will quickly change into a wandering weed without proper training and intervention. But given careful and intentional cultivation, it will produce fragrant blooms that we'll enjoy for years to come.
May that be so of our children and yours as well!
He was monitoring Abby's progress; pushing open doors; casually conversing like any forty-year-old would have. How did you like the fall festival we all worked so diligently to provide for our community yesterday? What was your favorite part? Did you meet anyone new? Me? Oh, I loved the bounce house myself!
These kids absolutely amaze me. And their parents amaze me even more! When did they all become so intuitive; so smart; so kind; so..... Oh, wait a minute. Someone just experienced a full-blown toddler melt down; reality remains. But they still amaze me!
I was remembering the conversation with Spencer this morning and a huge smile came on my face. What a sweet way to begin my work! And joy was needed for the tasks I had mapped out.
First on the list was to work on a vine that's gotten out of control. We have a lovely passion flower growing on our new trellis that I wrote about several weeks ago. (Yes, things are still growing in central FL. In fact, while the rest of the country is enjoying cold snaps and sipping hot chocolate, we're sweltering with temperatures well into the 90's.)
Frank started training the vine as soon as he planted it. Carefully weaving new growth in and out on the cross bars of the trellis. Lack of rain and lack of time to water it had slowed the growth. I only noticed last night that several shoots were waving about in an unruly manner. Note to self: take care of that first thing in the morning.
The passion vine produces a lovely flower with various petals that have been used since the 1500's to illustrate the crucifixion of Christ. In some regions, it grows as a wild vine.
It was my mom who first introduced me to the fragrant beauty. The one she carefully cultivated in her flower box nearest the front door was greatly prized. It brought her joy just in its existence.
As I worked with our vine on the trellis, I quickly realized how ingeniously it's designed for wandering. Tendrils shoot out reaching for a new location. Equipped with a slightly sticky residue, they tap a new spot and immediately begin forming a tight coil.
This works great until we miss a few days of training and allow them to grow any way they want.
Some of the tendrils had to be broken off. One large portion of the vine had even been "captured" by a downward tendril and was actually growing back toward the ground! The more I tugged, snapped and re-positioned the vine, the more I realized this work needs to be done almost daily!
It would have been much easier if I hadn't waited so long.
And in that moment, I thought again of my precious Spencer, Abby, Noah. Those babies are in a critical training stage of life. Just like the passion flower, they bring great joy just by being here. But training is still vital.
Children are ingeniously designed for growth and exploration. It's in their DNA! They reach out testing first one experience then another. And just like the tendrils on my vine, things often "stick" to our children before we realize it.
One of my favorite stories is about the frazzled mom who had hustled around all day preparing her home and a meal for several dinner guests. When everyone (including the guests) had finally been seated around the table, the mom invited her five year old to say grace.
"I'm not sure what to say," the little boy responded with wide eyes.
"Just say what you've heard mom pray, Sweetheart." Mom patted her darling and everyone bowed their heads.
They all smiled as the angelic voice began softly at first but finished strong, "Dear Lord............ WHY DID I INVITE ALL THESE PEOPLE TO DINNER?!"
Don't be fooled; the little ones around you hear and see everything!
Changes come to them so quickly that the easiest way to direct their growth is to work with them daily. How easily a life can be turned in the wrong direction if we aren't keeping a diligent eye open! How easily children get coiled into relationships or behaviors that never would have had a chance if only someone had caught it early! They need daily direction.
My vine will quickly change into a wandering weed without proper training and intervention. But given careful and intentional cultivation, it will produce fragrant blooms that we'll enjoy for years to come.
May that be so of our children and yours as well!
Monday, October 19, 2015
Needed Friendship
So, Frank and I are making new friends today. In a location where we’d rather not be. But
a place where friends are desperately needed and greatly appreciated, just the same.
He’s having a rather lengthy medical test done which requires lots of waiting. We arrived well before dawn but will still be sitting here through lunch we've been told. As we sit
patiently in the waiting area, people come and go.
We’re hapless victims forced to listen to one of those
constantly cycling news programs on the television in the corner. (I honestly think I could quote some of the
reports now.)
But the people-watching opportunities are limitless!
Oddly, one of the first people we met was another pastor of
our area. She was here to pray with
church members coming in for a similar test.
We chatted for a while; then she prayed and left.
We’ve become friends with the technician who was here when we first arrived. He has taken
special care to make sure Frank is well informed with every step. The nurses and even the desk staff are
smiling and offering polite conversation now.
Because many people are already fleeing the colder weather up north, an
abundance of different accents swirl around our ears. The air conditioning in this part of the
clinic has to stay nearly frigid because of the special equipment. A stack of blankets waits for the inevitable cold patients experience.
Varying ages, styles of dress, reading interests, reading
implements and even dispositions. It’s a
“people-watching” smorgasbord.
Some have family or friends waiting with them. One gentleman is obviously sight and hearing
impaired. It’s quite clear that his
attendant is being paid for his services.
Very little patience and certainly none of the tenderness or
attentiveness a family member would offer.
An older couple keeps sneaking nervous glances at one another. When they get caught, they smile reassuringly, pat hands lovingly, then go back to their reading material. Their mutual concern for one another is touching.
Several older men are waiting alone. I can’t help but wonder if they’re
widowed. Some have a practiced
appearance of nonchalance. But each one
has responded quickly when their name has been called. Anticipation can’t be camouflaged.
I’ve only spotted two ladies waiting alone. Women tend to be creatures of community.
We’ve even moved to the step of exchanging names with two
other patients. “George” is a military
veteran and well traveled. “Teresa” has
never lived outside this county. Both
interesting people.
The one over-riding element among all these people in the waiting area?
A palpable sense of tension.
“Tests” create a universal condition – uncertainty. If we already had answers we’d be on a different floor receiving treatment. This waiting area is reserved for those of us with questions. Lots of unanswered questions.
“Tests” create a universal condition – uncertainty. If we already had answers we’d be on a different floor receiving treatment. This waiting area is reserved for those of us with questions. Lots of unanswered questions.
Sitting here – totally helpless to make changes or to make
things move any faster – I’m aware that at our core, we human beings are all very
much the same.
Take away the masks we chose to wear. Put us in drafty hospital gowns. Ask us to lie on cold gurneys. And suddenly, we crave comfort – reassuring
touch, understanding looks, meaningful whispers – comfort.
Please note, the comfort needed in this place has nothing to
do with finances, physical appearance or social status. Whispers are free and often fleeting but
are absolutely priceless for a frightened heart.
Touches may come from an unattractive hand but the warmth provided is
all the same. A look that says, “I see
you!” can steady even the most tremulous soul.
George must have been nervous because he was very talkative. It didn’t take many comment exchanges for us
to get straight to the heart of things.
“I know some people don’t believe.
But I DO believe in God!” George's voice wavered slightly. He expected a response.
“So do I, George! And
more importantly, He believes in you!” I
whispered my encouragement. George
rubbed his nose nervously; pretty sure he swiped at a tear.
Just then, the technician called his name. George bolted up as quickly as his
eighty-year-old limbs would allow. He
looked back briefly and smiled. That
smile of gratitude made me glad I had listened so patiently.
Of course, I came today for Frank. But I think, just maybe, God used my presence in this uncertain place to create a needed
friendship for George, too.
Comfort is welcome in every corner of this world. Feel free to share some today.
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