Reflection

On the 25th of July, I hit the auspicious mark of "Double Nickles!"

Half-way to 60!

Waaaaay over the hill!  (If you're under thirty.)

A spring chicken! (If you're over 80.)

I turned 55 years old.  (Not nearly as exciting as the first time I marked a 5 in my life.)

But I wouldn't want to trade any of the wonderful life I've been living in order to go back.  No sir, not for one little minute!

Who in their right mind would want to repeat zits and spankings and first dates and falling off the monkey bars and gym class and...........?  Well, you get the idea.

On the 25th, I was treated to lunch at my favorite tea room by dear friends who serve as part of our church board.  Much laughter, precious cards, thought-filled gifts!

Frank took me out to dinner that night.  Then he and I strolled around the very same lake we circled on our first date over thirty-four years ago!   (I'll tell you about his gift to me in another post soon.)

The entire family blessed me with a beautiful Sunday lunch, cards, gifts, hugs and even some kisses!

The GGC family showered me with lovely cards and words of love they had carefully written.  (Which of course I greatly enjoyed - being a word person myself!)

It's late this final day of July.  I've worked hard all day.  I've squeezed my grandbabies and "patted" Noah.  I've enjoyed a great Bible study; led by my own dedicated husband.  Had a time of prayer with dear friends of GGC.  Talked with my girls and even some extended family.

But reflecting just a moment with you, faithful reader, felt important before moving on to August. When pondering just what to say, I thought I should share with you a poem that had impact on my life as a young teen-aged girl.

 The Road Not Taken

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim
Because it was grassy and wanted wear,
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I,
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

Robert Frost

May the Father bless your choices in the coming days.  And may those choices lead you forward on the path HE has prepared!

Resplendent Roast

"This roast is as tough as shoe leather!!"

Grandma Miller (Mom's mother) said this nearly every Sunday afternoon until I was about twelve.

She frequently threw in, "Those green beans are so stringy!  I don't even know how we'll eat them."  And, "Yes, I baked some rolls.  But they're a sorry excuse for yeast rolls if you ask me!"

Mom would begin reassuring Grandma. "It's going to be fine, Mama.  You're worst roast is always better than anyone else's!"  (That was no exaggeration!)  "These green beans are beautiful!  I don't see any strings at all."  "The rolls look like they're ready to float away!"

I could count on her diatribe each time we ate Sunday lunch at Grandma's.  (Unless, of course, we went to Blanche's Boarding House in downtown Pensacola!)

A steady stream of complaints would begin emanating from her tiny kitchen just as each platter or bowl of steamy deliciousness arrived at the dining room table.  She stopped the negative reports only long enough for Dad to ask the blessing.

Then it would start again until every plate was filled to the edges with her "inferior" cooking.

As our forks sliced through the roast like hot butter and ice cubes clinked in the frosty tea glasses and yeast rolls began melting in our mouths, all you could hear were sighs of culinary contentment!

Then compliments would begin rolling in from every corner!  We each offered reassurance for Grandma that we found every item on the table to be truly delicious!

Grandma Miller had learned to cook while growing up on a farm in Indiana.  She knew exactly what she was doing!  Both with her cooking and her complaining.

There are two measures for a roast dinner in my adult life:

1. Did I use an "Aunt Dorothy" roast?  (A cut of meat just a bit more expensive.   Mom's perception was that Aunt Dorothy was the only one in our extended family able to afford such meat.)
2. Does it smell like a "Grandma Miller" roast?  (That magnificent fragrance that wafts heavenward when the lid is removed for the first time! Causing your mouth to water and your heart to be thankful for taste buds!)

Last Monday night as I prepared family dinner, both criteria dovetailed beautifully.  The two roasts in the oven were good cuts, well-marbled.  And it smelled divine all the way out to the drive.   I could hardly wait for everyone to arrive.

But when I lifted the first roast from the pan to begin slicing, panic hit!

Normally, I have to use a second meat fork and sort of scoop the meat on to the platter because it just falls apart in tender morsels.  Not Monday!

I stuck the first fork into my beautiful "Aunt Dorothy" roast and held up the entire thing like a.......like a........  Well, like a huge piece of brown shoe leather!

Before anyone could see the horror, I dropped it back into the roaster.  It took some effort but I managed to extricate the fork from said piece of meat and tried to skewer the other roast; hoping against hope for a better result.

TWO PIECES OF SHOE LEATHER!

By this time, Joy had slipped over to assist.  (She's the real Rachel Ray in our family.)

"What happened?" she asked.  Somehow managing not to laugh out loud as she attempted her own version of "Stab the Rubber Roast." 

"I don't know,"  I really was dumbstruck.

Then it hit me.  After dashing in from work to hurriedly get dinner started,  I had put the oven on 350 degrees out of habit.  You can not cook a tender roast on such a high temperature!

"What will we do?"  Now Kristin was whispering with us.  "I can run to Publix and get some chicken."  When all else fails, serve the Gospel Bird!

My frustration was mounting!  "Let me get the electric knife.  We should be able to slice it thinly and pour on the au jus for camouflage."

I'm sure I saw a wisp of smoke coming from the straining motor as the electric knife attempted to saw through the unyielding bovine bounty.  The girls and I looked at one another in shock.

Part of me wanted to burst out laughing.  But the other part was hurt and embarrassed that my beautiful dinner was ruined.  And how long have I been cooking?  Um, let's see.........over thirty years!! 

Who can't make a decent roast dinner after thirty years of practice?!!!

Fortunately, I had some left overs in the refrigerator.  So we snatched those out and scrambled to get them reheated.

Joy grabbed a sharper knife and once again attacked the edges of both roasts.  It required some serious elbow grease, but she started the salvage process with a few slices from each one.

I began dishing up the vegetables, potatoes and bread.  Moving around the kitchen like someone in a daze.

We quickly placed every possible option on the table then called for the fellas and babies to join us.  The dining table is in our kitchen.  Getting all the high chairs, daughters, sons and sometimes a couple of guests squeezed in around it takes some Jedi maneuvering.

Finally we were settled.  We reached to join hands for the blessing and that's when it happened.

To the surprise of every adult at that table, Spencer called out, "I pray!"

We looked to Poppa at the head of the table.  Frank smiled and said, "Okay, you pray buddy."

Heads bowed as the two and a half year old said reverently and sincerely, "Fahver Jeshush.  Tank you for a food!  AMEN!"

And with those eight simple words, Spencer turned "Shoe Leather Disaster" into "Resplendent Roast Dinner" for me! 

We did laugh til our sides ached when the unsuspecting Meagan (who didn't know about the electric knife failure) tried to cut her first piece of roast.

And the platter of left over ribs and chicken cleared out pretty quickly.

No matter.

A sign hangs over our patio door that reads, "We may not have it all together.  But together we have it all!"

Shoe leather roast, stringy green beans,  failed yeast rolls...........and family laughter.  Who could ask for more?



 

Cornered

I absolutely hate feeling cornered!

Sometimes I even have to deal with small amounts of claustrophobia. 

Like the day during our renovations that a cord under our platform wasn't co-operating.  John and Frank had used every "fishing" technique at their disposal and still couldn't access the evasive electrical cord.

When I came down to the auditorium, it was already 6 PM and I was done for the day!

They couldn't leave until the cord was accessed.  And neither of them could squeeze under the platform to reach it.

The quickest solution was painfully obvious.
 
So I got down on my belly.  Pin-pointed the EXACT location of the cord. (It was about ten feet beyond the opening.)   Took a deep breath.  And began inching my way under the incredibly low platform.

Frank kept his hand on my ankle as long as possible.  He and John both kept up the verbal encouragement.  And I kept my eyes FIXED on the cord!

No looking around.  No giving in to my brain as it screamed how ridiculous this was.  No thoughts of panic.

Nothing more than, "This is helping the men you love.  Get the cord.  Then Get Out!"

I acted like it had been no big deal once I was out and able to stand up.  I casually brushed off my slacks to camouflage my trembling hands and said, "Alright, let's go home!"

The calm exterior totally fooled the men I was trying to impress.  But my insides were quivering!

(Actually, while rehearsing this for you my palms became a little sweaty and I've taken several deep breaths!  Whew!)

The point?

Sometimes life (more specifically - the enemy) will corner us.

We instantly feel trapped.  Things begin to close in around us.  We feel totally alone.  And if we believe that there is no way out, We Will Panic.

I've never made a single brilliant decision with fear as my motivating factor! 

But when I do sense that I'm being cornered by darkness, I begin to make some choices.

I try to readjust my thoughts and focus on the ultimate goal.  I rehearse the truth of scripture instead of the lies of fear.  I force my brain to believe the best is possible - whether it looks possible or not. 

And I listen for the words of encouragement coming from wonderful friends around me!

A great scripture became powerful for me many years ago.  Psalm 124:1 says, "If the Lord had not been on our side......."

No matter how dark that corner.  No matter how restrictive my place of difficulty.  No matter how impossible the outcome.  I Am Not ALONE!  The Lord is on my side!

And remembering that one truth has kept me moving.  Kept me sane.  Kept me from making some stupid, fear-filled choices!

Whew!

He is on your side, too!

Quiet

One Quiet Hour!

That's what I just enjoyed.  One entire hour of total quiet. 

No phone.  No TV.  No Facebook.  No one else around.

Just me, the dogs and my thoughts.

Now that hour happened to be sandwiched between birthday celebrations of last week,  (Abby turned one last Sunday and John turned 27 on Tuesday)  and company and bridal showers and celebrating the Fourth with a community cookout sponsored by our church.  AND the impromptu sleep-over for seven teen-aged girls that will fill my living room in just a few minutes. 

I needed one quiet hour!

Tomorrow morning at 6 AM, we'll be there to cheer as John and Frank begin a 125 mile bike ride.  (They are raising money for the seven girls from our youth group who will participate in a mission trip to help inner-city youth of Miami.)

Sometimes an hour is all you need.  Especially when you know that the busyness of life has purpose beyond your own wants and desires. 

Sometimes an hour gives you enough time to take a deep breath.  To regroup.  To remember why you're doing all you're doing.

I think that's what the Sabbath was originally intended to provide.

Then again..........when you miss too many Sabbaths; when you rush right past the quiet hours.......then you need...........VACATION!  (Frank and I are planning that for the end of August!)

Just a quick thought from one crazy, busy, happy pastor's wife tonight!

Hope your week is blessed with many quiet hours!

Hello, Germany!

Okay, I could use a little help today!

Earlier this year, one of the young men from our church showed me a blog tracking device that I had no idea even existed.  With two little clicks, I'm able to see the number of people who have read Embrace the Grace each week.

(For over two years  I thought probably half of the people identified as ones who "follow" might read occasionally.  What a pleasant surprise to find out I was sorely mistaken.)

And with just another click or two, I'm able to see what countries have readers.  Because I've always loved traveling, this is especially exciting for me.  There are readers in such far away places as: Lithuania,  Russia, Philippines, India, and even China!

Frank spent three weeks in China the year after Meagan was born.  He fell in love with the people, the country, the history, especially with Hong Kong.  He came home and promptly promised to take me there some day.

Imagine my joy when I started seeing readers of Embrace the Grace who live in CHINA!  Frank and I go there via internet each week now.

But this week something puzzling showed up on my report.  It showed a HUGE number of readers from Germany.

I haven't been to Germany recently.  I don't know anyone currently living in Germany.  I don't think I have a long lost cousin there.  So..............why the jump?  If you are one of the marvelous German people who have stopped by this site, PLEASE clue me in.  I want to say THANK YOU!

Right after graduating from college I did get to visit Germany.  I was part of a team headed to Greece to assist missionaries for the summer.  It was the trip of a lifetime.

Dr. James Ferrell, who had traveled extensively over the years, led our team.  During one of our earliest planning meetings he pitched a brilliant idea.  We could leave a week early.  Fly into Germany.  Rent a car.  Then drive through Europe experiencing some of the wonders we'd read about all our lives.  Then catch a boat from Italy to Greece.

As education/missions majors we were thrilled with his proposition and jumped on board immediately! 

The "car" was little more than a skate board with a roof.  We slept two nights on the road while taking turns driving.  Several of the stops were just that, STOPS.  Jump out of the car.  Take pictures.  Walk quickly all the way around the site.  Dash to the "facilities;" whatever those may be.  One more picture.  Grab whatever food was available. Cram back into the car.  GO!!

Of course, we all suffered with diarrhea at some point.  Sorry if that's offensive, but every traveler knows it's part of the experience.

I'm not sure what medicine we found at the "pharmacia" but it caused me to fall sound asleep - on a cement dock somewhere in Italy.  (Evidence that when you're young, you can sleep anywhere!)

Right after we left the airport in Germany, I pleaded with Dr. Ferrell and the others to stop for a photo op next to the first road sign we came to.  It was something we did in our family.  We didn't have many pictures at amusement parks (too expensive.)  But we took lots of pictures next to the signs heralding the names of the cities we were visiting.

The team graciously indulged me.  (Maybe they just wanted to stop the whining,  "Puh-leeeeese?!")

"Oh, there's a sign now.  Please stop!!!"

Dr. Ferrell made a split-second, Bond-esque driving move and screeched to a halt on the side of the road.  I jumped out and stood next to the huge sign with the name of the first city on our journey.  I flashed an equally huge grin.  Felt the wind from the cars whipping by on the Autobahn.  Had no idea how dangerous this was.  Ginger snapped the picture.  Back in the clown car and on our way.

I could hardly wait to see that first city!

We drove for over two hours - continuing to see the sign with the city name.  I became puzzled.  This must be a capital or something for them to put the name on the Autobahn so far before you actually reach the city.  On our interstate highways, you would only see the name of a city about sixty miles before getting there.  Hmmmmm.

Finally, the light dawned.  The sign I stood in front of was, "Ausfarht."  (Everyone reading in Germany is already laughing.)  I'd never seen Ausfarht, Germany on a map but I could hardly wait to see it in person.

The problem?   Ausfarht isn't a city at all.  Ausfarht is EXIT in German!

Yes, the first photograph of my European tour is of me standing next to...............an EXIT sign.  Oh, what a savvy traveler was I!

I do have another, less embarrassing memory of Germany.  We got off the Autobahn and bought bread and cheese at a roadside stand.  Then we found a bubbling stream with an open, grassy area next to it.  Trees towered over our little group as we sat right on the grass and enjoyed our bread, cheese, and sparkling water together. I remember it like yesterday!

So here I am, thirty-five years later with another German puzzle to be solved.  If you have information that can bring enlightenment, PUH-LEEEEEESE share in the comment box.

I'd be MOST appreciative!

Just a Thought

"No Fair!"

"He's not playing nice!"

"It wasn't her turn!"

"That's mine - give it back!"

"I called it first; make him move!"

Sound like your house now that school's out for summer?

I remember those days.  But eventually, children DO grow out of their fierce sense of fairness...............or do they?

Actually, I hear phrases like this pretty often.  Not from children but from adults!

Their verbiage is more mature.  More acceptable.  More politically correct.

But it still stems from the same root.  The root of selfishness.

Attitudes and behaviors that we accept (even expect) from toddlers, creep along behind some people their entire lives.  Sabotaging relationships right into their adult years.

It's like the impeccably groomed business woman.  She marches out of the marble tiled restroom. Dressed in Gucci.  Clicking along the hallway in her Jimmy Choo stilettos.  You want to be just like her.

UNTIL you catch sight of the three foot piece of toilet tissue fluttering behind its secure location on her heel!

(I saw you cringe when you envisioned her!)

When I encounter someone living selfishly I want to hug them and say, "You don't have to live like this!  It's not necessary to constantly play head games and try to look out for yourself!  Don't you see the pain this causes you AND everyone around you?!"

But if they don't wake up with the hug, my human nature kicks in.  Then I find myself wanting to shake them out of the stupor of stupid behavior and choices!

(I know, a little harsh coming from a mild-mannered pastors wife, right?)

But if you could follow me around one day seeing all the people wounded by the selfish choices of others, you'd be a little indignant too.

And it gets worse.  When people live focused on making life better only for themselves, they typically end up being the most unhappy individuals you've ever met!  Trust me, I encounter them routinely.

Have you heard the phrase, "People wrapped up in themselves make a very small package!"?  Good one, right?!

A long time ago I heard someone paint this word picture...........
"What I hold out to others is of great importance.  I try to avoid filling my arms with judgment, unforgiveness and harshness.  Instead, I try to intentionally reach out to both friend and foe with love, acceptance, encouragement.  Then, even if the other individual shoves my "offering" back in my face, I'm covered with love instead of judgment.  Acceptance instead of unforgiveness.  Encouragement instead of harshness."

That's a picture I want for myself!

And when I don't trust my own heart to honestly reveal selfish behavior, I go to a friend.  A true friend will tell you if the toilet paper is trailing behind your shoe!

If you find yourself yelling out the back door, "Do unto others as you would have them do unto you!"  Stop for one moment and ask, "Am I practicing what I preach?  Do I treat others with the respect and appreciation I feel I deserve?"

Odd post for a lovely summer's day, I know.  But just one that bubbled up out of me today!

Hope your response is "AMEN!"   And not,  "Oh, Me!"

What an Impact!

Heritage is what we receive.  Legacy is what we leave.

Frank and I are at the halfway point in this exchange. 

We've always been fascinated by historical accounts of families and how a path chosen by an early patriarch or matriarch would set a tone that flowed down through many generations.

Early in our marriage, Frank read a comparison of two families from the 18th century.

Susanna Wesley had an unwavering commitment and faith in Christ.  Her prayers and life decisions are credited with influencing sons John and Charles, the founders of the Methodist church.

As the historian went on to recount, their lineage includes public servants in nearly every arena of life.  Ministers, congressmen, judges, doctors, teachers.  Scores of children born into the heritage of Susanna Wesley had a heart to live well and contribute to society.

But there was another family of the same time period - the Jubals - who had a totally different perspective.  The patriarch of the Jubal family made his living as a horse thief.

When studying their lineage, one quickly finds societal trouble-makers of every sort.  Bank robbers, scam artists, outlaws, prisoners, train robbers, the list went on and on.

It didn't take much for the writer to draw a pretty clear conclusion.  Heritage and Legacy are very important matters impacting all of society!

As I said, Frank and I are at the halfway point right now for our family.  We are currently both the "grandparents" and "children."  (Since we're fortunate to still have parents living.)

Father's Day highlights this truth for Frank each year.  He has always had a strong desire to impact others for good.  He feels the weight of that privilege/responsibility even more deeply now that we know Spencer, Abby and Noah.

Every so often, God pulls back the curtain to let Frank know he IS doing a good job.........

This week is Vacation Bible School for us.  Of course, Frank and I are there each night to cheer on the team and pray for the children to be reached.

Spencer is right in the middle of all the excitement.  At two and a half he's too little to fully participate, so he stands by Mommy.  But he's watching, listening and drinking in as much as he can.  I even heard him trying to recite the theme scripture last night!

The first evening, Frank wasn't feeling well.  When Joy asked what was wrong, he just said tummy trouble and sat down.

But the grandson misses nothing.  He peered up at Frank and asked, "You tummy huht, Poppa?"   

"Yes, buddy.  My tummy hurts a little."  Frank smiled into the big blue eyes; touched by his concern.

Without hesitating, Spencer put his chubby hand on Poppa's tummy, bowed his head and whispered, "Jeeshush.  Jeeshush."  No sweeter Name.  No more precious petition.

Spencer simply, with child-like faith, prayed...........just as his dad, his grandads, his great-grandads, his great-great-grandads.

In calculating, we discovered that Spencer and Abby are both FIFTH generation Christian children.  (I'd actually love to record the story some day of John's orphaned grandparents who were brought to America by a Christian organization.  They were later adopted by God-fearing families.)

Decisions made over one hundred years ago by people like that now set the tone flowing down to our treasured grandchildren.  The task before Frank and myself?  Keep the faith strong and vibrant!

I can almost hear someone saying, "That's great for you and your family, Sheri.  But my family tree resembles the Jubals more than the Wesleys."

Then Be the Change!

Make a determination that whatever your heritage may have been, your legacy will look different!  It's totally possible for you to impact the lives of those not yet born!

Susanna Annesley-Wesley was the twenty-fifth child born to her father.  It was said that her parents didn't have very high expectations for her.

But at some point in the journey, Susanna came to know Christ.  And oh, what an impact for those after her.  Oh, what an impact for the world!