Wedgwood and Violets

Antique lace curtains gently swishing in the hand wash cycle of my washing machine.  Tea brewed using an electric coffee maker steeping in my great-grandmother’s delicate violet china teapot.  Stevia in the impossibly small matching violet sugar bowl.  The dinner plates for the violet china set are the size we would call a salad plate, reminders that humans didn’t always expect such large portions of food.  On one of them sits two lovely slices of whole wheat toast, spray butter melting down into them, a serving of scrambled eggs from an Eggbeaters carton, and a small dish of garden relish, my husband’s concoction of finely diced tomatoes, celery, purple and green onions, and cucumber (some things haven’t changed).  A 15 year old grandson on the other side of the world, and one 10 minutes away who is about to be born any day now. 

The old and the new.  Mixed and mingled in ways never thought of by generations who came before.  My great-grandmother used tea leaves, and while those are available to me I opt for the much more convenient tea bags.  I doubt she had 1,207 varieties to choose from either.  The eggs on her plate came straight from the chicken – I use those too, but again not my only option.  Her butter was churned, fresh and rich; what I used this morning was liquid from a plastic spray bottle.  Yet the beautiful china with its delicate pattern of purple and white violets is the very same for me as it was for her.  It has survived all the packing and unpacking, moves from country to city, and being handed down to my grandmother and mother and eventually me.  A connection to Great Grand not joined by genetics but by preference. 

In many, more important, ways we are not alike.  But we share a love for fine, beautiful things and the tradition of keeping them in the family.  Her teapot keeps the tea amazingly warm without benefit of insulation or a heat source.  As I pour myself another cup, into a delicate cup and saucer from another pattern – this one my paternal grandmother’s gold-rimmed rose pattern set – I wonder if my great grandmother used this china very often.  Did she keep it in the display cabinet, only to be brought out for special occasions?  Or did she use it for an everyday breakfast when she was alone, like I do this morning?  The rose pattern was used every day I know, because Grandmother served on it every time we shared a family meal at her house.  Sometimes I use pieces of the violet or rose china combined with my own white Wedgwood fine bone china – the compliment makes a lovely table setting.  Old and new, mixed and mingled in ways never thought of by generations who came before.

But mostly the Wedgwood wins out, my daily choice, china I love and of which I have a complete set.  I wonder if it is the same in my spiritual life?  The Bible says believers are constantly being transformed by the renewing of our mind, and by the prompting of the Holy Spirit (when I am attuned enough to listen).  I observe my new Christ-nature in the same physical body as my old sin-nature, but I am happy that at this stage of life I can honestly say the new nature is more often my daily choice than the old.  Still, I let the old mix and mingle with the new at times, and there is nothing complimentary in that.  Old, unsuitable language does not mix with the new dialect of unconditional love, edification, prayers to God, and songs of praise.  Old judgmental attitudes and harsh thoughts do not mix with an attitude of working on the plank in my own eye first, and putting the needs of others before my own.  Old selfish desires to do only what I want when I want won’t work with new desires to show Christ’s love wherever I can, use my talents to serve the church, and to bring the gospel to the lost.

Carried away with my thoughts I poured more tea into the cup and stopped it just as it filled to the brim, making me lean over to sip it down to a level where I could add sweetener without spilling over when I stirred.  That’s how I handle my tea, but it’s not how I want to handle my witness for Jesus.  I want that cup constantly brimming over, spilling out into the lives of those God puts in my path, washing them in His love and plan for their lives.  Let the beauty of the Father’s pure love hold them up, supporting and bringing joy to the flower that is each individual soul, knitting a new meaningful life mixed together with the person He knitted in the mother’s womb.  Wedgwood over the Violets. 

Journey Through December - Boots and Hats

It was afternoon when Craig and family arrived at our house for the first time since landing in the states.  We got them situated in their rooms and they rested a bit before calling them to supper in the dining room.  I love having everyone together at table in the dining room.  Decorations were up throughout the house, Christmas china filled the china cabinet, and the table was surrounded by all the accents and smells of the Christmas season.  What a beautiful blessing.

After supper Grandpa announced that it was time to play Parcheesi.  When their dad was growing up whoever lost the game had to do the dishes.  They were not familiar with this been-around-forever board game but quickly picked up on it as he explained the rules.  In fact, Caleb cleaned his clock, blew him out of the water and pulled out an exciting win after being behind most of the game!  Beating Grandpa hardly happens :)

Next morning Grandpa was ready and in charge.  Time for everyone to get cowboy boots and hats.  Can’t have your grandchildren coming to Texas and not have a decent pair of boots and a good hat, especially with trips to the Ranch and Rodeo coming up.  We hit the jackpot at Cavenders.

Brown ones, pink ones, green and tan ones.  Boots with bling, boots with intricate designs, boots with holes to pull on and boots with finger loops.  Square-toed boots, pointy-toed boots.  Round-toed boots. Work boots.  Bull-riding boots.  Boots with toes that are roundish-square.  The selection at Cavenders is amazing – and that was just the boots!!

A seasoned salesman quickly sized up the situation and approached Grandpa.  “Boots for everyone!” Paul exclaimed.  I’m pretty sure the salesman’s smile could be seen from South Austin all the way to Buda.   He was extremely helpful, getting a sense of each one’s preferences and making suggestions about bling and brand and boot style. 

Rachel found hers almost immediately.  It was love at first sight.  She tried them on and from that point on during their Texas visit they hardly left her feet.  Hannah and Kerry needed a bit more time.  They are the same size and wanted to make sure each liked the other’s so they could trade at times.  Kerry selected a pair of elegantly styled golden brown ones, and Hannah’s stylish pair looked perfect on her.  Decided, we walked over to the men’s section.

Caleb was sporting a pair of very trendy square toed medium brown boots – the perfect choice for a handsome teenager.   Grandpa and the salesman were discussing the various brands and the merits of each, while Craig searched for his size in his favorite style.  Man, this was FUN!

Next, the Hats.  The boot boxes had been taken up to the register and we began the task of trying on hats.  A cowboy hat has to fit exactly right.  Then there’s the decision between a straw or a felt, a decision not to be taken lightly, and what color.  Again, Rachel spotted her heart’s desire right away – a gorgeous youth-sized pink hat.  On it went, and she wandered off to check out the selection of western shirts.  Hannah found a lovely straw with a beautiful hatband decorated in turquoise.   Caleb’s white straw really made him look the part of a cowboy – I warned him that the young ladies would definitely take notice.  Hats for Craig and Kerry, and we were done.  Almost.

Rachie had fallen in love with a pretty pink & purple western snap shirt, and I knew at once I wanted her to wear that to the rodeo.  I suggested Hannah see if she could find one, and she ended up with a blue one just a few shades darker than her eyes. As Rachel said, “We ARE half-Texan!”  True.  Now they looked it   :) 

Grandpa met our man at the register to settle up and we wandered around in accessories, marveling at the gorgeous purses, wallets and bags.  And a few secret Christmas purchases were made.   One of mine sort of backfired on me though.  I went to a gal at a different register, paid for my item and stuck it in my purse with the receipt so no one would see and spoil the surprise.  But as we began to exit the store, the alarms went off – you know the kind, those annoying sounds that alert staff someone is trying to steal.  In full view of the family I went over, showed my receipt, and spent some time with the lady behind the counter trying to find the tag that was obviously the culprit.  Finally we found it, tucked away in a zipper pocket.

Once more we began to exit the store, everyone giving me plenty of space in case I sounded the alarm again.  This time I made a clean get away and we headed out to the car.  Possibly one of the most fun mornings I’ve spent in a long time – picking out western wear for our grandchildren, and knowing it was just the start of a month-long visit. 

Journey Through December - THEY ARE HERE!!

We pulled into the parking lot of Stan’s Grill around the corner from our kids’ house in Plano.  It was Friday, December 7, and we’d just finished a 4 hour drive and had time for a quick bite before heading to the house to spend the night.  We weren’t there to visit our kids this time.  We were there to spend the night, pick up one of their vehicles and get out to DFW International early the next morning.  Finally the day had arrived – the South Africans were coming!  They’d been en route already for 2 days, and after planning this visit for almost a year we were more than ready to lay eyeballs on them, to hug and smile and link arms walking to the parking lot to begin our Journey Through December.

Our grandchildren Tyler and Reagan were upstairs, supposedly asleep.  But excitement was in the air, and though Grandpa and Grandma were tired and ready for bed they were not.  They knew better than to come down and announce they were awake but they didn’t have to.  Their scurrying feet on the wood floors upstairs gave them away.  We sat on the couch quietly for a few minutes, wondering whether to just go to bed or to make some sort of statement that they needed to bed down for good.  Grandpa chose the latter.

I listened as he walked up stairs, his cowboy boots sounding purposeful on the steps.  As he got close to the top we heard the sound of little feet moving swiftly across the floor, then suddenly nothing.  Grandpa made the rounds into each room upstairs, finding nothing but peacefully sleeping children in their beds.  He never said a word, just walked back down at the same steady pace he had gone up.  And we never heard them again until morning.

We were up early but not as early as Tyler.  No one gets up earlier than Tyler!  But he and Regan dutifully waited until they heard sounds of stirring in our bedroom, then greeted Grandpa as he opened the door.    They hung out first with Grandpa in the kitchen making coffee, then with Kimmy while she did her hair, waiting for their nanny to come and get them ready for school. 

Within half an hour we were ready.  Grandpa was to drive the kids’ Tahoe and I was to drive our truck.  No way did I want to drive a vehicle I wasn’t familiar with around DFW.  Plus I’d heard there was construction on the way and I was nervous about it, even on a Saturday morning.  This was one time we did NOT want to be late.  I wanted to be standing at the International Arrival gate well before any one of those precious kids stepped through the entrance. 

It started out pretty well.  We had cell phones, I had the truck’s nav system.  We made a few calls to make sure we agreed we were heading in the right direction.   Then we missed a turn and things started to get a little wonky.  We got back on track alright, but I could hardly keep up with the Tahoe.  Grandpa, who usually drives at the pace of a snail with the flu, was at the speed limit, and not paying attention to whether I was behind him in the lane or not.  Which was particularly problematic when we hit the construction on 114 and the lanes condensed.  He shot out ahead of me as we merged into traffic, and I found myself sandwiched between two lanes of quickly-merging, daredevil drivers who could care less that I was in a big truck.  I saw the car on the right sweep past me, then looked to my left and realized the concrete barrier was coming ever closer.  My lane was ending.  I checked my mirrors, signaled and moved to the left.  Only to be nearly creamed by a red Porsche from out of nowhere who had to be going 90.  He honked furiously as I swerved to the right, narrowly missing a small white sedan who also wanted to be in front.  Amazingly, in a few seconds I was safely merged and looking for the Tahoe.   I was shaking and not confident about where we were headed.  I glimpsed the Tahoe moving to the far right exit lane just in time to get in the right lane, only 4 cars separating us.  No way was I going to call him, my hands gripped the wheel tightly and I just prayed that we wouldn’t get separated or turned around and be late greeting our children. 

At the outer edge of the DFW complex we approached toll booths.  The Tahoe went to first one, then another, switching between those for toll tags and those without.  I got behind him in the cash only lane, only to see him whip into the tag lane.  Caught by surprise I had to remain in my lane.  Sure enough he was through his lane and pedal to the metal again before I could fish out a few bucks from my purse, hands still shaking.  I didn’t know which terminal lane to be in but thought I remembered hearing him confirm with Chris that it was “D”.  The Tahoe was nowhere in sight and as I looked for it a shuttle nearly ran me off the road without so much as a wave or a honk.  Wait, - there, up ahead -  he was exiting right towards Terminal D!  I punched the accelerator and got on his tail as fast as I could.   I was still in shock that he was actually driving the speed limit and maneuvering like he was in a road rally. 

He missed the entrance to our parking area, and started to backup.  Fortunately I saw his reverse lights come on, checked behind me and no one was coming so I too put it in reverse.  A few minutes later we were parked side by side.  I shut the engine and just sat there, stunned by the drive.  Paul came around to open the door and it was all I could do not to cry.  “What’s the matter,  you upset?” he asked cluelessly.  “Oh, just two near-miss accidents that could have killed me and the stress of trying to keep up with a speed demon who normally drives like an old Grandpa,” I said with irritation.  “Oh, sorry,” he grinned.  “Let’s go inside!”

There is only one gate for international arrivals and I began figuring out the best place to stand.  At the end of the walkway was good because you could hug them soonest there.  But I wanted us to be the first thing they laid eyes on when those doors opened, so I tested out several spots along the railing.  Grandpa is not a stand-still sort of person so he was going to wander no matter where I stood.  Finally I had it – on their left, almost halfway down.  They’d be able to go through the door and when they first looked up they’d see us!

We got coffee, and I observed to the man behind the counter that he had one of the happiest jobs in the world.  He looked at me curiously. “You get to see people who live far away and maybe don’t see each other for years greet each other!  How much fun, how exciting!” I exclaimed.  “Yeah, I guess so,” he replied, unimpressed with my perspective on his job.  I didn’t care, I was so excited.  Any minute now.

I kept holding my camera up to the door each time it opened, calculating exactly how I should position it so I could capture them under the “International Arrivals” sign.    I practiced positioning my elbow, arm, and the angle of the camera until I could do it without thinking.  About an hour and a half after we arrived, the door opened and I saw them.  Finally.   THEY ARE HERE !!!!

Journey Through December - Dallas to Dubai

Emirates Airline Flight #222 departed DFW International terminal today at noon bound for Dubai.  On it were two of our beloved children and three grands.  We weren’t there to see them off like we were there to greet them a month ago the moment they stepped out of the International Arrival area.  In that month we have grown ever closer and made memories that will never be forgotten.   We pray them Godspeed and know that other loved ones across the ocean are chomping at the bit awaiting their arrival.

As I begin my blogs about our Journey Through December, the thing that is foremost in my mind is gratitude to God my Father for this incredible time together.  We’ve celebrated special occasions, had mountaintop moments, frequent fun and lots of listening, love and laughter.   It’s almost impossible to come down from those amazing 32 days.  Life has its special moments, but this was over the top.   Thank You, Lord, for this undeserved but most precious of blessings, this Journey Through December.

Before I share the first of our stories I feel the need for a disclaimer.  My husband and I have six children between us and they are amazing.  Each of them is bright, witty, intelligent, fun, and dearly loved, and gathering their unique personalities and styles together in one room – which happened on one occasion last month – was a blessing beyond compare.  Two of them I had practically everything to do with their raising and I am proud of the young adults they have become.  We share a mutual love and closeness that blesses me every day.  However, with four of them I can take absolutely no credit for their raising.  The youngest was in her twenties when they came into my life, some of the others already married with young children.  The respect, kindness and consideration they have shown me since I entered their world has been all I could ever ask for.  To have their genuine love and affection on top of that is icing on a very large cake :) 

Next blog, a story.   I promise.

Journey Through December - Last Day

Just like that they were gone.  Moments before we were in the house at the foot of the stairs, Lola cooing with delight as Uncle Craig tossed her in the air and then into the waiting arms of her cousin Rachel. 

And then Grandpa said to Craig, “I guess it’s time.”  Craig replied, “Yes, it’s time.”  To try and prevent my own tears I piped up, “I shall say ‘Until Next Time’, not Goodbye.  I don’t like to say Goodbye.”  Hugs all around, tight each for Craig, Caleb, Hannah, Rachel and even tighter still from me to Kerry, my kindred-heart.  Then outside into the cool air and sunshine to pray as a family before we separated.  Craig’s beautiful prayer sent the words clearly into the still air, thanking God for how He has blessed us with time together, healings and thanking Him in advance for travel ease and mercies with the various drives and flights.  Our hearts beat as one in those moments, full of gratitude to God for making us family and loving us, individually and together.

We watch Heather back out of the driveway as we wave them away, returning Lily’s many hand waves and blow-kisses.  Only the precious South African family remains, and we can’t help ourselves, another round of hugs, even two or three more because we know it will be years before we see each other in person again.  Reality hits us hard.   Even as blessed as we are and have been, this is not easy.  It’s difficult.  Painful.  Sad.  Bittersweet, because we all have lives to return to.  We speak of skyping and texting and that helps a teeny bit.  We joke that they cannot all fit in the car with their luggage but they do.  Grandpa tries to squeeze in at the last minute, knowing he can’t go with them.  They too back out of the driveway, and this time we all wave – their hands out of the windows and ours high into the air above us – until we can no longer see them. 

Grandpa and I silently walk back into the house.  I remark that it is a good thing we have work to distract us, then tentatively suggest we might want to look at pictures of our time together tonight.  He says out loud what we are both feeling.  “No, I think I’ll just watch a movie; I can’t look at the pictures yet.”  I know exactly how he feels; as soon as the words were out of my mouth I knew that my heart would be too heavy for yet a few days to be able to bear seeing the pictures of all our fun and adventures and ordinary time.  Because pictures and memories are all we have for the time being.  In time, they will be enough because they’ll have to be.  In the coming days and weeks I’ll blog about each of our wonderful experiences together and I’ll remember all the pockets of love, laughter, and life lived out.  We will pray for each other, talk on the phone and visit via Skype and text via What’s App.  But for now we each are sad, quietly, privately, in our own way.   Until Next Time.

The Life of Ryan

I attended the funeral of an 18 year old yesterday.  He was a freshman at college and had been home for Thanksgiving.  He was killed in a tragic automobile accident when another forced him off the road and then kept on driving. That driver still hasn’t been found.  He left behind parents, siblings, grandparents and extended family.  Their grief is beyond comprehension.   And yet, I’ve never experienced such a beautiful combination of grief and sorrow with authentic praise and worship of God.  I felt as though I was standing on holy ground. 

You see, Ryan was Christian.  A Believer in Jesus Christ.  His parents were too, and they understand that even in the midst of terrible shock and grief God is with them.  God has a plan, even though they can’t possibly imagine what that will be.  They have hope because of Jesus.

I didn’t know Ryan, but during the service I learned what an amazing individual he was and the incredible impact he had in his few years on earth.  I saw pictures of him as a young child, and as a youth on mission trips.  I heard his church, sports, and college friends talk about how he lived life fully and with fun, how he encouraged them, was there for them.  They said he wasn’t perfect, that he would tell you all the good things about him were because of Jesus, not himself. 

As I sang through tears I asked myself if I could honestly praise God if that were my son or my granddaughter in the casket.  The conclusion I came to is this:  how I would do that I have no idea, but I would do it.  Because there is no other Answer.   God sees the full picture, the finished side of the tapestry of life, while we only get to see the knots and tangles and an occasional glimmer of gold thread.   My job is to hold firm in faith, trust in God and keep on trying to live like Jesus.

Death can come at any age.  We are powerless to stop it.  Ryan died at the age of 18.

Are you like Ryan?  Are you prepared for life after death?  It's REAL, you know.  You are going to have a different body and you will exist somewhere else FOREVER. 

Or are you like the people I know who aren’t even certain there is a God, or that Heaven and Hell are real places.  They think that whatever god you choose, or the lack of one, doesn’t matter as long as you believe it. That karma, good juju, positive energy, or just being a good person is the same as believing in one true life-saving God. 

Which breaks my heart because it’s not true.

What we believe on earth determines our reality after.  Death is inevitable.  Let it motivate you to face what really matters while you can change your future. 

Christianity is the only belief system where God reaches out to us.  He came to earth, had the human experience; He relates to us.  No other belief system has a PERSONAL God.  He wants to be in relationship with YOU.  He has a plan for YOUR life.

God showed us what He is like and why we are here.  He has a mind, soul and feelings; He created us in His image.  The Bible is His signature, written supernaturally by Him through men.  It answers questions He knew we would ask.  It was written over a period of 1,500 years by multiple people in 3 languages.  Only God could have controlled the content and kept it consistent.  

There is a mountain of prophetic, archaeological and scientific evidence to prove the Bible is God’s word, without error.  The Bible predicted when and where Jesus would be born.  Jesus proved He was God in the flesh by His perfect life, miracles and His resurrection, all of that corroborated by secular (nonreligious) history.  It matters whether you believe what is in the Bible.  There IS life after death and THAT changes everything.  (John 11:25-26)

The Bible teaches there is a time appointed for each to die, and then the judgment. (Hebrews 9:27)  There IS accountability after you die, and how that plays out depends on what you believe before you die.  Our Creator God has a right to be our boss.  You can decide not to believe that and go on living like it doesn’t matter, but it won’t change the fact that a decision is required of you.

I beg you  -  believe in Jesus Christ, give Him your life.  Read the Bible.  Not just to secure your eternal place in Heaven instead of Hell, but to change your life here and now.  It’s the most important thing you will EVER do.

Ryan believed; death did not find him unprepared.   How will it find you?

Living by The Book

Last week while some were focused on the election, real heroes were hard at work in the northeast helping to restore power to areas affected by Hurricane Sandy. 

A recent news article about the aftermath of the storm told of the crimes committed as people’s property was left unprotected.  There have been arrests for looting, price gouging, gas siphoned from cars, and cruelest of all criminals posing as relief workers who then steal from those already victimized by the storm.  “Most loathsome, perhaps, were reports of people posing as FEMA and utility workers to gain entry into homes, then sticking up residents.

Connecticut College professor social psychology Jason Nier was quoted as saying, “In a disaster situation, people aren’t sure what the norms are.  People may be looking to what others are doing in determining what their behavior may be.”  If that statement is true, it is a sad comment on how far character or our nation has deteriorated.  People may be looking to what others are doing for their standard of behavior, but there is a standard, a “norm”, and Americans used to be well educated in that standard.

The founders of America believed in a Supreme Being, a Creator God who granted liberty and with it accountability for one’s actions.  The foundation of their moral belief system is still in place today, given to us in the Holy Bible.  The first book of the Bible tells us that people are prone to bad behavior, behavior that goes against God’s desire for us and separates us from Him.  The second book and all those that follow give us a standard for behavior, to help us know how to live in community with one another.  Jesus Christ showed us by example how living by that standard works.

            Keep the Sabbath holy.  Gather regularly together in church.

            Honor your father and mother.

            Do not murder.

            Do not steal.

            Do not covet your neighbor’s house or anything that belongs to your neighbor.

            A thief must make restitution.

            Love God with all your heart, soul and strength.

            Teach your children God’s rules.

            When you eat and are satisfied, thank God.

            Love your neighbor as yourself.

            Take care of the poor, the widow, the fatherless.

            Do not lend with excessive interest.

            Be generous, not greedy.

            Pray always

            Forgive each other.

            Be ready to explain to someone who doesn’t know God why you have hope.

            Be able to discern truth from falsehood.

There isn’t anything unclear about God’s standards, and the beauty of His plan for us is that it works!   God didn’t give us His Word as a club, to beat people over the head with it.  He gave it out of love for each person, so that our life on this earth could be good and we can demonstrate His goodness.  If we would abide by the standard of the One who gave us life, breath, and the ability to have what we have life would be so much better. 

I have a nephew who lives in Texas but who is currently in New Jersey, working with a crew to restore power to the millions who have lost it.  His experience has quite different from the one in the article I referred to.  He tells of people who are patient, grateful that they didn’t lose their lives or homes or possessions, who provide the workers coffee and kind words and hot meals from their cars, and who thank those working to help them.   Those people are living by The Book.

He told us about crews from Texas and New Jersey sleeping in an 18-wheeler temporary bunkhouse.  They work together in harmony, building friendships and meshing similar skills with different accents to accomplish their shared goal.  These men too are living by The Book.   Take a look at these guys – forget about politics, it’s people like these men that have my support, my gratitude and my heartfelt thanks that in the midst of crisis they too are working and living by The Book.