Great Gifts

What do the following have in common?

• A Reader's Digest Magazine
• Six Pink Roses
• A Tomato Plant

Well - to the casual observer - nothing! 

But when you've studied a woman for many years the way my husband has studied me, these things have a LOT in common.

In fact, just last week I said to the good man, "Honey, bring home a surprise for me, will you?"  (Hey, I said he's good.  Not perfect.  Sometimes they need a little prompt.) 

It was supposed to be our day away from the office but hadn't really worked out that way.  So when he got home, he had a lovely bunch of roses and a Reader's Digest magazine for me.  Truly great gifts!

Of course, I immediately responded with a little squeal and a big hug for him.  (Appreciation is important in every relationship.)

He then announced to Gracie and me, that my final surprise was hidden and I would have to find it.  The search began but also ended quickly when he went to stand by the front door.  (Not so good with surprises either.)

I opened the door and discovered a tall, healthy tomato plant proudly sitting beside my geraniums.  A careful inspection revealed that the plant is loaded with tiny tomatoes already forming.

Well, you know this gleaned another hug for the preacher from his pseudo country girl.  Can't help it, I love tomatoes and watching things grow!

For some reason, it seemed important to tell this short story today.  But to also bring balance to any inaccurate picture of an always peaceful, present producing, hug providing couple.

Frank and I are totally normal people, I assure you.  We disagree. And sometimes our disagreements turn in to full blown arguments.   We prefer to say that we have "volume discussions!"

When our marriage was in its younger years, I often looked at other couples and surmised that they probably never had a cross word.  If they disagreed at all, surely they quickly kissed and made up before anyone could get their feelings hurt.

That wrong image of perfection often caused me to feel discouraged about our own relationship.  We were both firstborns.  Headstrong.  Visionary.  And seldom ever wrong.  (Or so we thought!)

I would often sit in church rehearsing the argument we'd had in the car on the way in to the parking lot.  Certain in my heart that no other couple (young or old) struggled like us.

But there's a reason trash cans sitting by the curb each week are opaque.  No one wants their trash seen by other people.  It's sufficient just to know that we all produce it.  And we're thankful that there's an easy way to clear it out of our homes.

That's what I think I'm supposed to share with some precious heart out there who mistakenly believes no other marriage has to deal with "trash" times the way they do.

Trust me, dear one, there are no perfect marriages!  Every honest relationship has moments, disagreements, hurts.  And we're all thankful other people don't have to see those times. 

So take heart!

And I'll even tell you the easiest way for clearing the trash times out of relationships.  Let me share a quote with you from Ruth Bell Graham.  "A Happy Marriage is the union of two good FORGIVERS." 

Yep, it's the easiest way to have a healthy relationship with anyone.  Especially with your spouse! Choose to forgive - quickly; frequently.  Kick those trash moments to the curb and don't allow them to sit around stinking up the place.

Forgiveness really is a great gift we give ourselves!

Blessings!





 

Stand Still

Our latest project is at a Stand Still!

When my dad came to visit at Thanksgiving, he asked a dangerous question.  "Sheri, what do you and Frank plan to do out here?"

He had stepped outside the new back door off the newly closed in dining room (formerly known as our back porch.)  He found new dirt, a dozen new stepping stones, and a new project just waiting to be started.

I'm a choleric personality and I ALWAYS have a plan for what I'd like to do next.  Fortunately (after living this long) I've learned to try and balance my choleric side with the gifts of patience and pacing things.

The answer to Dad's question came easily. 

"Eventually, we want to pour a concrete slab and add a screened porch out here.  But that's a long time away.  We need to save a while before jumping into a project like that.  So for right now, we're re-purposing these stones we had around the koi pond as a back step.  It's working okay.  The room turned out great, didn't it?!"  I turned his attention back to the lovely dining room.

(Dad had graciously helped start the room project two years ago while visiting.  Since Mom died, we've noticed he enjoys blessing his kids when he knows what it's going toward.  I wanted him to hear again how grateful we were for his gift toward the dining room!)

And with that brief exchange, Dad and I headed out the door for our next appointment.

Later in the day, Dad approached Frank who hadn't been part of our earlier conversation.  Fortunately, he and I have discussed our dream plans many times.  "Frank, how much will it cost to pour that concrete and put a screened room on there like Sheri wants?"

Frank isn't as delicate with financial matters and my dad as I am.  "I'm not sure Dad; but I'll call a friend right now and find out."  Which he did immediately.   Several men in our church are involved in construction and they usually know a man who knows a man who knows......

Within hours, Frank had a quote which he promptly shared with my dad.

At breakfast the next morning, Dad took a deep sigh.  The kind of deep sigh he usually takes when he's reaching deep into his wallet, and surprised us both.

"Sheri, Frank told me what it would cost to get you a back porch.  If Raymond can do it for that,  go ahead and get them to do it.  I'll send you the money for it.  But now you KNOW that's going to be your Christmas present - for a long time to come!"

We all laughed loudly as I jumped up to give him a big hug.  (Of course, we knew he meant it was Christmas, Birthday, Anniversary, Easter, Fourth of July......... all for a very long time!)  Frank and I expressed our appreciation again and again during the rest of his visit.

The project ran into several glitches along the way.  The first was pretty serious.

Our house is not near city water/sewage lines so we have county water and a septic tank.  When the builders put in the septic tank, they did not expect future owners to have a parent who would want to help said owners expand the house.  Therefore, the tank was put the closest required distance from the back wall.  

As soon as Raymond came out to measure for the concrete, he discovered the problem.  Our proposed location would have the new porch sitting right over the septic tank.  Which, of course, is not allowed.  We pondered this for several days.

Finally, we determined that the porch could just go on the other side of the dining room.  (Have you guessed the next glitch?)  Yep, that meant our back door was now on the wrong side of the room!  Never a dull moment.

A few other conundrums got thrown in along the way.  But as I write this post,  Gracie and I are sitting on the very porch we dreamed about.  Enjoying cool breezes and a bug-free hour thanks to the screening.

So why the title "Stand Still" you may ask?  So glad you did.

Because, we are indeed at another stand still.

Ed (also a builder) came over last week to measure for our new door.  While he graciously offered to put it in at no cost, (yes, we do have amazing friends) we must purchase another door exactly like the one on the east side of the room or it will look like a haphazard mess.

While we have some money ready to designate for the door, the one we need has gone up in cost a bit.  And the saving parties (that would be us) are also saving toward their upcoming trip to Israel (that would be three weeks.)

It took no time at all to decide that the door can wait!

Frank called Ed and shared with him that we plan to add the extra door later this summer.  We couldn't control the timing nor resources; so, it just seems like wisdom to wait.  Ed understood the "stand still" perfectly.

And this morning as I pondered the new phase of our project, I was reminded that standing still isn't always a bad thing.  In fact there's a great passage of scripture that tells us to ".....stand still and see the salvation (help or answer) of God."

In fact, it proves to be a great reminder for me concerning several prayer "projects" I'm focused on right now.

I cannot control the timing of an answer nor do I have the resources to fix the situations.  But if I can resist fretting and choose instead to stand still (wait patiently for HIS answer) it will all work out much better.

Our heavenly Father DOES know the best timing for each answer and His resources have NO limits.

Now that's a project stand still we can all support!

Jerusalem!

It's time!

I can hardly contain my excitement!

Four weeks from this very Wednesday, Frank and I will get off a plane and step onto the soil of the Holy Land!  (Well, more likely onto concrete.  But you know what I mean.)

Many years ago, my mom learned about the phrase uttered often by Jewish people in ancient times, "Next year in Jerusalem!"

This shout of declaration apparently referred to their desire for being in the Holy City. (I looked it up and have a longer explanation at the bottom of this post.)

Any time we talked about a dream, something we longed for or even a disappointment, Mom would end the conversation by throwing her hand into the air and shouting in her best Yiddish accent, "Oh well!  Next year in Jerusalem!"

For me, it stuck.  And I've heard it again and again in my heart over the years.

Now.  Finally.  At long last.  It moves from a "dreamed for" event to - It's Happening!

My heart beats faster and my ears perk up with every news report mentioning Israel.

Some have asked if we're concerned about going to the Middle East with so much turmoil.  My response, the Middle East has been in turmoil for almost 3000 years.  And I don't mean that to sound flippant.  Those who have traveled there tell us Israel is well protected and dangerous areas are completely off limits to tourists.

(Even for tourists like my husband who makes friends everywhere and often gets invited to some interesting spots.  Caution is very different from fear.)

As we read guidebooks and watch travel videos, we see this phrase a lot:  "Israel, Welcome Home!"
And I must admit, it feels a little like that in preparing ourselves.  A little like going home.  Israel is a nation I've read about and followed almost every day of my adult life.

I've memorized portions of the Sermon on the Mount.  Now, I'll stand on the Mount!

I've sung countless times about the Via Dolorosa.  Now, I'll walk that road.

I've taught about David and Goliath.  We'll visit that very valley.

I am named for a rose that originates in that region of the world.  I'll experience its native habitat.

I've directed re-enactments of the Last Supper.  We'll see the very room.

I've followed Jesus' example of water baptism.  I'll put my feet in the Jordan River.

I've pondered his agony in the Garden of Gethsemane.  I'll be shaded by similar trees.

I've taught my children about the power of the cross.  We'll quiet ourselves at that location.

I've celebrated the empty tomb.  We'll peer into a cave marked as His tomb.

And since the first time I read of people standing at the remains of the Western Wall of the Temple to pray, I've longed to stand there.  I'm crying now just thinking about being able to place the names of my children in a crevice of that wall.  It seems like it must surely be an incredibly sacred experience.

I'm overwhelmed!

Anticipating things is such a wonderful part of life.  Especially when we anticipate things we know will take place.  I think of all the times Mom's eyes would sparkle as she shouted, "Next year in Jerusalem!"

Now it's my eyes shining as I call out, "Next MONTH in Jerusalem!"



*Extra information I found explaining the phrase -
              "But our phrase also offers a more majestic sense of hope. The uttering of "next year in Jerusalem" is a way of expressing solidarity with Klal Yisrael, the entire Jewish community, past, present and future. "Next year" encapsulates that continuing flicker of hope that has sustained Jews for centuries past in the midst of despair. It also offers hope that the Israeli nation of today will find peace and that Jerusalem will remain a potential future haven."

Winter Sunshine

I've been working like crazy today but it's been in relative silence.  An unusual and pleasant change.

Mondays are my catch-up day (as a rule.)  If at all possible, I work from home.  It allows me the luxury of focusing on one thing at a time.  AND at some point I usually manage to finish laundry.  (Since clean underwear is a relatively high priority for us, that's a bonus!)

Today has been devoted to wrapping up the final loose ends for a marriage retreat we have this weekend.  Hopefully, it will be an amazing event for those attending!

The sun has finally peaked out again in FL.  But I know most of you are still bundled to the hilt with hats, gloves and scarves.  And if you could live to be 100 and never again hear the words: ice, snow, over-cast, sleet, record lows, winter storm..........you'd be quite happy!

So I'm posting a little humor today for those of you bravely battling the "BLAHS" brought on by Ol' Man Winter.

Last Monday, a knock came on my door.  When I opened it, a handsome little four-year-old burst in shouting, "It's a BOY!  Noni, it's a BOY!!"

I glanced over the top of his blonde hair to see Joy smiling and shaking her head in disbelief.

She had just said to Spencer and Abby while driving to my house, "Don't tell Noni what the baby is!  It's a surprise.  We'll tell everyone when we're together tonight for dinner."  (They had gone as a family that morning for the ultra-sound that revealed the gender of the new baby.)

Spencer was just too excited to hold in the great news another minute!

Joy had suspected this would be another boy all along.  Spencer will have a brother.  Abby is quite content to be the big girl.  Of course, John is pleased. 

Seems only their doctor is disappointed.  He's wanted them to have a girl and name her "Fiona" ever since he delivered the first Schreck baby!  Sorry, Dr. Maml

So by July, we'll have a total of FIVE grandbabies!  The boys will still out-number the girls at 3 to 2.  Bottles, diapers and pacifiers will be the real gold around our houses.  And deciphering toddler talk will continue as our favorite form of entertainment.

Everyone is talking now, including Noah.  He waited a while because with Abby and Spencer to let people know what he wanted, why should he bother?!  Smart kid!

In addition to his favorite, Chetsch (catch) he's added the following:
       Tease - Please
        Danks - Thanks
        Bup - Up
        Bawh - Ball (used for chetsching)
        Tuck - Truck
     
Still nothing sounding like "Noni" "Poppa" or "World's Best Grandparents" just yet.  But we'll keep you updated.

Of course, Spencer and Abby add to their vocabularies daily.  But this stage has its difficulties, as well.  They know exactly what they're saying.  And to them, the words they're using are exactly like the words we've taught them.

Only, their version of those words sounds a little different to our adult ears.  And, oh the exasperation when they have to repeat it three or four times for the slow, puzzled adults!

For example, almost every time Abby comes in to my office I hear this -  "Ina daw, Noni." 

After multiple tries (and utilization of the interpretation skills of her mom) she finally helped me understand that she wanted to draw.  "Ina daw!" Well, of course that's what she meant!
  
Perhaps that little key will help you decipher the conversation that followed.

"Hep daw my naym?"  "K'noo daw a kiss mas tee?"  "Wook Noni!  It a nake!"  "K'noo daw my hand?"  "I donna hope oo!"  (Big Smile!) "Ina mint peas!"  (If you read this blog as a tool for studying English, I apologize!)

What Abby meant to say was,  "Will you help draw/write my name?" "Are you able to draw a Christmas Tree?"  "Look, Noni!  I drew a snake!"  "Can you trace my hand?" "I'm going to help you!"  (Big Smile!)  "I love your mints, Noni.  May I have one, please?"

Our favorite Spencer story happened just recently.  John had gone in to pray with him before bedtime.  The two fellas were both draped over Spencer's tiny bed while John patiently listened to his son recount all the adventures of the day.

The stories were rather lengthy and John (being tired) had zoned out a bit.  But he perked up just in time to catch his then three year old son spreading his hands in exasperation, shaking his head in disbelief and saying, "Dad, it was.....  It was....  Well, it was just wediqulus!"   (You guessed it - "ridiculous!")

Danks for taking time to stop by today.  Peas, come again.  Here's hoping you chetsch some good weather soon.  That you daw closer to a friend.  And that your 2015 winter experience won't be too wediqulus! 



        

Catch Up

Sometimes life just catches up with you!

That's what happened to me last night.  Life caught up and I spent one of those miserable, mid-life, sleepless nights.

• The kind of night where you will your tired mind to stop churning.  
• You shift to a more comfortable position.  Repeatedly.
• You try to breathe in rhythm with your peacefully snoring husband.  
• You pray for everyone you know.  And a few you don't.
• You get up and wander around the house a while.
• You read.
• You get back into the bed and stare forlornly at the ceiling.
• You elbow your husband because he's snoring and you're wide awake!

None of the usual Sunday afternoon treats caused my insomnia.  Believe me, I carefully reviewed every possible culprit.  There had been no caffeine;  no chocolate;  not even the delightful Sunday afternoon nap.  Nothing that would normally throw me off my routine.

Many of my friends describe having difficulty falling asleep at night.  (Thankfully, that's never been a problem for me as long as I limit the things I mentioned above.)  In fact, devotions have to occur rather quickly when Frank and I turn in for the night, or he'll be saying, "Amen!" all alone.

He says I start out with a quiet little purring sound.  That's the cue for him to go to sleep quickly; before my purring can turn into the full-on sounds made by freight trains and fog horns.

I feel sure he exaggerates!

It's not unusual for me to wake up in the middle of the night and not be able to go back to sleep.  But getting there in the first place is rarely ever a problem.  Until last night.

While pondering life in the way we do between 1 AM and 3 AM, I came to a few conclusions.  We've had several weeks of walking with people experiencing tragic loss.  One of my dearest friends received a difficult medical report. There were a couple of unexpected announcements that jolted us.  Dad's wedding required some serious emotional adjustment.  And all those things take time to process.

Difficulties arise when we just keep rolling from one situation into the next; expecting our beleaguered souls to keep pace.  Eventually, we all have to sit down for a moment and breathe.

I've told this story before but it bears repeating.

A missionary to Africa felt called to reach a particular village no one had attempted to visit because of its remote and dangerous location.  He engaged the services of several top guides and native travelers; all accustomed to the terrain and climate.

This man took on the challenge of reaching the village with great fervor.  He headed out; determined to bring Good News to those waiting people.

The group trekked for three days; pushing ever deeper into the jungle.  Machetes and small hatchets were the only tools that could clear a space big enough for the single-file line of brave explorers.

Dawn arrived the fourth morning and the missionary came out of his tent ready to hit the trail again.  Surely they were close now!

But he stopped in his tracks as he looked over the campsite.   Absolutely no one appeared ready to advance.  The entire band of guides and assistants were all lounging around the campfire.   Instead of gearing up,  they were chatting and laughing quietly. 

The missionary approached the leader and asked, with much irritation, what exactly was happening.  Didn't they realize they were wasting valuable travel time?  The sun would be fully beating down on them in just a few hours.  It was time to get moving!

"Ah, dear friend," the guide patiently intoned.  "We have been traveling for three days.  We've moved rapidly through the jungle.  Today we must wait for our souls to catch up with our bodies!" 

Not sure if you've found yourself there lately or not.  But it certainly is a great story to tuck away for use at some point in the future.

I originally posted this without the proper conclusion and I regret that deeply.  While teaching English I often harped on the importance of leaving the reader with a good conclusion.  Well, here it is -

Another book that I read annually gave me a better ending for this post.  The writer's name is Mark and he tells about an experience he had as a teen-aged boy. "Immediately he spoke to them and said, 'Take courage!  It is I. Don't be afraid.'  Then he climbed into the (storm tossed) boat with them, and the wind died down.  They were completely amazed."  The extra passenger was, of course, Jesus.

The storm may be howling all around.  But I choose to stop flailing.  I'll quiet my heart and invite Jesus into the boat.  Only HE can calm the storm.  Time with Him provides courage.  He silences fear. 

And He always leaves me standing absolutely amazed!

Blessings!

Winter Weather

I hope you're staying WARM!

The weather across most of the United States is crazy!  While watching the news reports, I feel very much like I did as a little girl growing up in Pensacola, FL.  The pictures of snow drifts and skidding cars are incredible.

Only now, after having lived in NC for 25 years, I have no misconceptions about it being beautiful or exciting.  I know the dangers.  I understand the effort required just getting to work.  I've experienced the concern when snow storms hit three Saturday nights in a row and people can't get to church! 

I also know what it's like to have small children cooped up in a 1000 square foot home for days on end!  Hang in there, Mommies!

I know the exhaustion of gathering clothes; dressing said children in layer after layer; and sending them outside.  After all the layering, bundling and boot-tugging, moms invariably hear a knock on the door three minutes later, "I fwoo! I'na come back in! It cohwd!"  Tiny blue lips and chattering teeth.

Or my personal favorite - which always seemed to happen just as I zipped up the last of three snow suits, "I gotta go bafroom, Mommy!" "Oh, me too!"  Sigh!

There is no great word of encouragement today - only sincere empathy!  And hopefully a smile in the middle of this tough winter weather. 

My plan is to write a good long post tomorrow about attending my dad's wedding.  The synopsis?  "A lovely time was had by all!"

Praying safety for you, dear reader.  May you enjoy plenty of warm chicken soup, hot tea, snuggles and giggles by a crackling fire!

(So sorry about the mysterious, empty post of the 17th.  I have no idea how that happened.  Perhaps Abby and Spencer were attempting to make a guest appearance.)

The Brown Dress

My dad is getting married on Saturday. 

We're happy for him and grateful for the sweet lady that God has sent into his life.  Christine is someone he has known for years.  They share a common circle of friends.  Likes.  Dislikes.  Faith.  All these  should help them as they transition back in to married life.  

They've asked Frank and my brother-in-law to conduct the ceremony.  We'll all be there to mark the day and celebrate with them.  

While pondering the changes that are coming and wrapping my head around things, I remembered a story from childhood that was an important moment for me.  Thought you might enjoy it too.

I went through a serious phase of being the tall, lanky girl with knobby knees.  The only time in my life that I was skinny.  Not the cute-sie, petite kind of skinny.  Rather the clumsy, awkward, no-shape, big feet, slump-shouldered kind of skinny.  It wasn't pretty, I assure you!

Add to that ungainly time the fact that my dad insisted all my dresses should cover (or nearly cover) those protruding knees; for modesty sake.  This, in an age when no dress covered any knees.  (Mini-skirts were all the rage - even for women who had no business wearing a short skirt.)

I can not tell you the number of times I would come out of my room only to hear, "You jumped a little far through that dress, didn't you?!"  Which being interpreted meant, "You grew another two inches this week and that dress is too short now.  Go change into something longer."

It never crossed my mind to argue with Dad.  No one argued with Dad.  I just turned around and changed.

Keeping up with a kid that just kept growing was probably a hardship for Mom.  She did the best she could to make cute skirts and "fashionable" dresses.  (Slacks were also unacceptable in their thinking.)  Maybe that's why I'm a little bit fashion-challenged still to this day!

So, you get the idea.

My best friend, Ruth, was two years older than me.  She was beautiful!  And I wanted desperately to eventually grow up (Ruth was a mature 11-year old) to look just like her. 

Ruth's mom worked at the department store in Town and Country Plaza.  (Our closest version of a mall in Pensacola at the time.) Occasionally, Ruth and I would get to spend Sunday afternoons there while her mom worked.

It was a veritable Mecca waiting to be discovered; in my little-girl thinking.

Murphy's Department Store had the classic soda fountain.  That's where Ruth and I would sit in a booth and eat lunch - all by ourselves!

Wooden stairs that made a great sound as you tromped up and down.  A toy section; hardware; children's clothing; fans and a few window air conditioners.  Those were all downstairs.

Ruth's mom ran the fabric department upstairs.  That's also where you found shoes and women's/men's clothing. 

While the store seemed massive to us, it was actually rather small by today's standards.  And no one had ever heard of children being snatched.  So Ruth and I had total freedom to wander every aisle.  Test out toys.  Talk to customers.  Stand in front of the fans and hear our voices vibrate with the air waves.

You know, the entertainment of children before IPad.

We also tried on clothes.  Since both our moms made our clothes, we probably enjoyed this part of the day most.

That's where I found The Brown Dress!

On that Sunday afternoon, I stepped into the small wooden dressing booth as an awkward, klutzy kid.  But I stepped out of that tiny space - a lovely lady!  (At least that's how I felt.)

The dress was just like one I'd seen a girl wear at school.  Made of scratchy polyester, it had short sleeves; perfect for year-round wear in FL.  Four flat buttons offered multiple choices for a neckline.  White horizontal stripes, a solid brown collar; the cutest little belt that actually created the illusion of a waist on my skinny self.

And miracle of miracles - it topped my protruding knees in a way that would easily meet Dad's requirements!  I was in love!

It really must have fit well because Ruth's mom offered to put it aside until I could ask Mom and Dad about buying it.

One little problem, this fashionable dress cost a whopping.......$7.00!

Doesn't seem like much now but please remember that many workers earned $1.25 an hour back then.  That dress represented over half a day's work for my dad.  And somehow I knew that.

I remember my palms sweating as we rode home from church that night.  The dress could only be held until the next day.  If there was any hope of the dress being mine, I had to ask.  If I was going to ask Mom and Dad about it, the time was now!  (Funny how big things can become in the mind of a child.)

Those are all the details that I can vividly recall.

Somehow I did muster up enough courage to tell them about the brown dress being held at Murphy's Department Store.  Mom took me there and I tried it on for her to see.  She approved.  And somehow, Dad scraped together the $7.00 needed in order to purchase my extravagant, dream dress.

(Yes, I'm crying as I write about it almost fifty years later.) 

Why?  Because I sensed the sacrifice that purchase represented for my parents.  And I appreciated it.  Even as a nine year old kid; I genuinely appreciated their gift to me.

And..........I felt important to my daddy.

My dad doesn't "do internet" he's never read my blog.  So, I'll print a copy of this one and give it to him in a card.  I'm sure we'll both cry when he reads it.  

Every little girl should be privileged to feel that way at some point while growing up. 

But if you don't have a memory like my brown dress, please know that your Heavenly Daddy loves you even more.  He sacrificed His own son to demonstrate how important you are to Him.

It would do us all well to take a moment today and express our appreciation for His great gift of love.