Twice on my trip to Kentucky, I was invited to dine at the home of one of the most adorable Sunday school teachers. Cloaked inside her petite exterior is one of the biggest hearts I have ever met. A heart that has been equipped with the gift of hospitality which made my own heart do flipper-de-loos each time I crossed the steps into her adorable cottage style home.
Lovingly known as “Miss E” to some, she has a personality that draws near. (On a side note, she is a teacher (not just on Sundays), and I have long been drawn to other lovers of learning.) Her humble home just exudes “Come on in. Sit a spell. And the proverbial Southern favorite, “Y’all eaten yet?”.
On that last one, she didn’t have to ask because we were invited there for that very reason. Well, that and of course, good old-fashioned girl time. One night we even had dinner and a movie – a chick flick with pizza and tissues. All girls will get that combination.
Clearly a proud momma, her decor consisted of artwork done by her very talented children. Rooms filled with a delightful mix of family heirlooms and inviting, cushioning chairs beckoned my soul to slow down and relax. All of it beautiful without being showy.
But there was something present that the eye could not see, but the spirit could certainly feel. This home – this communion of souls – was filled with the grace that only can be found when God’s love is present.
One moment will be forever etched in my memory. For our first dinner it was requested that we bring our own beverages to accompany the meal. Grabbing our favorite drinks – a Coke in a bottle and McD’s sweet tea in the Styrofoam cup – we happily arrived feeling we were allowed to add something to the evening’s experience.
As we gathered at the table, Miss E informed us that we could place our beverages in the goblets already on the table. One among us protested that wasn’t necessary. In a gentle but firm reply, we were informed that at her home we WOULD NOT be using those containers.
As my Mama would say, “We are not common people”. That old saying was fitting here. We were not just guests. No! We were beloved sisters in Christ – blessed with the gift of friendship.
Looking back, I realized that someday that’s how it will be at Jesus’ table. Imagine it! He will want only the best setting for his girls. All the junk (rage, bitterness, fear, worry, doubt) we allow into our lives really doesn’t belong at His table anyway. I don’t think Jesus cares about the quality of the china, but he does cars about the way we approach the table. It is the effort that we give to each other through his grace that matters. If that (like Miss E’s glasses) is how we come together, then the dining will be divinely appointed!
Not so long ago at the table of one sweet lady, I was served with Southern hospitality and dined, grace-filled, like royalty.
Comforted to know I really am, and thankful to have been reminded.
Miss E and I waiting for my train to arrive
The morning I arrived in Kentucky, I was whisked to a cool, dark soccer field. Still groggy from my three in the morning pick-up at the train station, my sweet friend opened the locker room to allow me to freshen up. I spent the next two hours huddled under a blanket (who knew it would be that cool in Kentucky?) watching one of the most motivational coaches I know work with her soccer team. (And that is a pretty big compliment coming from this coach’s daughter.)
While shivering, oops I mean, sitting, my ears heard the song of an old familiar friend. Somewhere hidden in the trees surrounding the field was one of our favorite songbirds – the messenger of hope to our family – the cardinal. I had to smile because I was listening to the red bird’s melodious song while watching the preseason practice of the “Lady Cardinals”.
Joy – pure, unadulterated joy – filled my soul and spirit as I took the field to share with those darling girls what it means to create a legacy. The reason for my happiness was simple. Among the foliage was a little piece of home.
Later at breakfast, I shared with Coach B of how God (and in our hearts, Reed) sent the songbird in one of our darkest hours. She, like many others who have heard the story, was moved by the cardinal coming at exactly the moment when we needed him the most. I am sure that our server (another one of my sweet Kentucky sisters) was wondering what in the mayonnaise was going on at that table. We did create quite a ruckus praising God for his sense of humor of putting a cardinal lover together with a coach of the cardinals.
After breakfast, it was time to head over to the B&B to rest and relax. Upon stepping out of the car, I was taken by the beauty of the inn, the sounds of the South, and the smells reminiscent of my childhood. My eyes were drawn to the front porch lined with inviting rockers. I knew I would be spending every chance I got right there.
The front porch at the Woodford Inn
A flash of red appeared in the corner of my eye. Immediately, I knew what was happening. For me, that is a God sighting – when he allows the red bird to remind me I am loved. I couldn’t help myself, but I began to hit Coach B on the arm. I am certain that she thought I had lost my marbles. I had only “known” her for 7 hours, and here I was smacking her to grab her attention.
Photo found at wunderground.com Credit given to cshirsch
All I had to do was point to the corner of the porch, and she understood. Honestly, hitting her was my only option because I couldn’t speak. The lump in my throat was that big. God called me to this place, and like that moment five years ago, he sent “Reedy” to tell me that all of this was a part of his bigger plan.
With tears in my eyes, I couldn’t help but smile that the young man I shared in my legacy story earlier that morning was “present” in the red wings of God’s love.
For those unfamiliar with our family’s story, below is the wording from the card we had made for Christmas in 2008.
The cardinal is a beautiful bird with gorgeous red plumage and an equally inviting song. There is an old legend that says that the cardinal was once a white bird, in fact as white as snow. The cardinal came to the cross on Calvary’s hill and sang to Jesus at the base of his cross. The cardinal sang with all its might to his Maker and Master. During his song, Jesus’ blood dripped onto his feathers, and henceforth the male cardinal has been his brilliant red color.
As many of you know, our children have received a bird Christmas ornament every year. Each of the children receives a different bird that has some significance to their lives. Reed received the blue jay because he loved to watch the blue jays eat sunflowers outside his bedroom window. Sawyer has the cardinal after he received a gift from his godparents that had a cardinal on it, and he loved it. Erin has the chickadee, because Kandy was so excited to have a little “chick” in the house. Cloie gets the American goldfinch for while pregnant with her a goldfinch came to the family’s feeders for the first time. Each of the children’s birds had visited our feeders except for the cardinal. No matter how many different ways we tried, we just couldn’t lure a cardinal to our backyard.
Then the most unspeakable horror happened to our family. We were deep in the midst of our grief when the most improbable and impossible thing occurred. Exactly one month following Reed’s death, a male cardinal landed in our backyard tree (with no feeders filled), and he started singing the most beautiful song our ears could hear. But it took the faith of a young man to realize that a miracle was happening. Sawyer realized the red bird was a message from Reed to tell us that he is doing just fine in Jesus’ arms. See Reed knew exactly which bird to have Jesus send to get our attention. He also knew how deeply hurt Sawyer was at that point in our journey, and he knew which bird would be the one, above all other birds, Sawyer needed to see. (It probably didn’t hurt that he sent a bird that was his favorite color.) Well, some may call it coincidence, but we choose to
Believe in Miracles!
I have been filled with the busyness of momma days in the last two weeks. So magical were these days that I almost needed to pinch myself to prove that they could be real. Two weeks ago I embarked on a trip to meet someone whom God had placed into my life in the most remarkable of ways. The mission took me a little over 900 miles from home to share my family’s story, but also led me to a new band of sisters that only could have been orchestrated by our mutual Father above. Among those sisters was a friend that I never knew that I needed.
The “pinch me” part of this story involves a person who has no idea that she had any role to play in the rest of the story. Somehow I have to believe that Ann Curry’s desire and heart for a good story would want to know how she introduced me to a friend – well, sister of my heart.
For the most part, I live a sheltered life, yet I am finding since I began to share my story that God is calling me farther and farther from my comfortable home on the Minnesota prairie. Included in that stretching is the use of social media sites to share the story of my family’s loss and God’s steadfast faithfulness throughout. I am not blind to the ways that people use these sites in evil ways, but in my story, God can (and does) use them in ways beyond our imagination.
This story is the gospel truth.
Even my own imagination couldn’t have embellished this one. Here is where Miss Curry comes in. She is a journalist whom I trust and find very engaging. I decided to follow her on Twitter about the time of the Newtown school shootings. After watching parents awaiting the news of their children, I was transported back to my own moment in the school’s media center awaiting the news of my sons. The resurfacing of my deep hurts caused me to languish for days reliving the pain of losing a child. A few days later I learned of Ann Curry’s prompting to ask folks to complete 26 acts of kindness in memory of the lives lost. Blindsided by the deep tentacles grief can use to suffocate your heart, I needed something to refocus my energy, releasing grief’s stronghold. Using #26acts, an online army compelled by the force of love began, led by our “General” Curry. I was one among the ranks.
So too was a new friend I didn’t know God needed me to meet.
One of those doing acts of kindness was a Coach, whom I later learned lives in Kentucky. She posted something that she had done as one of her acts, and I decided to follow her on Twitter. In turn, she began to follow me. Much later, I posted about comforting a woman in the Wal-mart bathroom as one of my #26acts. Ann Curry re-tweeted my tweet, and the response I got from others melted my heart. One of those responses “Thanks for reminding us that compassion doesn’t have to equal dollar signs” came from this coach. It simply blew me away.
From that moment on, our “friendship” morphed from one of liking each other’s tweets to a mutual sharing from our morning devotions. Months went on like this where we discovered we were a lot alike -both sports nuts, both teachers, and both women of faith.
Without sharing all the minute details, she was brave enough to follow God’s prompting and reached out to work with her church to bring me to Kentucky. I had the opportunities to speak twice, which was wonderful. However, it was by “doing life” with them, that I learned what God was truly calling me to do – love others, opening my heart to a whole additional set of sisters.
The mystical thing about this whole story is I went there to meet a friend and to bless others, but I realized that a part of my heart was transformed as I was equally blessed in return.
Not long ago, my heart was so broken, fractured and splintered, I wasn’t sure that I could ever feel joy and love again.
I am so thankful that it didn’t take long for God to show me through the kindness of my friends and neighbors that His love was and is always present. The reminders came in a flood of acts of kindness. That continual filling of my spirit allowed my broken heart to be stitched back together with a profound awareness that love leads you in fantastical ways to do amazing things.
In some ways, I think their kindness allowed God to re-wire me with a greater capacity to love. My newly stitched heart led me to a wonderful place far from home – where my newfound sisters in Christ live. Among those is one whom God led to reach out and show me a new path for His love.
So today I am thankful for a place called Kentucky, Ann Curry, and all the friends God has given me.
Well, um . . . none, if you are referring to coffee. Southern-style sweet tea is another thing altogether. I am almost embarrassed to admit how much sugar goes into a gallon of that, but today, I am talking about java – the caffeinated lifeblood for many. In my entire life, I have probably drank about 11 sips of coffee. The last time I tried coffee in my middle 20’s, I became violently ill with the stomach flu and have never touched the stuff again. (There was no direct correlation between my illness and the 3 swallows of coffee I drank that day, but let’s just say the experience left a lasting impression. )
My loathe opinion of coffee has put me in some awkward situations as an adult as it seems many friends want to hold impromptu meetings at one local coffee shop or another. Not my idea of a good time, as the smell sometimes is too much for me. However, I do regularly meet for “coffee and show-n-tell” with some of my favorite octo- and nonagenarians at our favorite gathering spot. I just order a Coke while we visit and share the latest project of our heart and hands work.
Fortunately, I didn’t allow my dislikes to sway my decision to attend “Coffee with Ingeborg” in which the writer Lauraine Snelling would attend clad as her famous book character Ingeborg Bjorklund. During “coffee”, we would have a chance to visit with the determined Ingeborg (and other characters) as well as enjoy wonderful Scandinavian goodies, music, and entertainment.
So what does a non-coffee drinker do when she has the opportunity to “meet” one of her favorite characters? She invites along her sisters-in-law who also have the same addiction to the book series AND who happen to be non-coffee drinkers. We all decided to put on our big girl pants and dive in – even if it meant proving the old adage “Misery loves company” true.
I won’t give away too much about the day, because I believe “Coffee with Ingeborg” might be a regular event for the author. I really detest spoilers; so, I won’t ruin the mystique for the next attendees. We enjoyed the atmosphere, hearing the guests’ questions and the stories shared in response. It was somewhat like a homecoming for me as well, because all of my new writer friends (sans one) were in attendance. Warm smiles across the aisles and later, genuine embraces reminded me that we had been brought together once again as part of God’s miraculous plan.
With my vivid imagination and child-like faith, I could almost picture the novels’ characters aging in time and their children constructing the very building (a memorial hall) where we were visiting. While purely fictional, those characters are based off the faith-filled, hard-working, salt of the earth immigrants that settled the lands of the plains. Even the adorable bathroom curtains were a reminder of the yearned for landmarks that legitimized towns. The dainty lace depicted rolling plains with a schoolhouse and church replete with steeple – both believed by the settlers were necessary to create a better life for their children. Such was the way of the prairie!
We had a delightful afternoon. I cherished the time spent with the sisters (as we seldom do anything together without our kids). We thoroughly enjoyed all seven Norwegian delicacies lovingly prepared by members of the local historical society. And we washed them down with water. Thankfully, imbibing coffee was optional. It’s a good thing too, because if it was a requirement, I would have been looking for a nice houseplant in one of the corners.
I have four email accounts (don’t ask) for different purposes. To say I get a large volume of emails each day is an understatement. Today I am thankful for one such message received a few weeks ago. It was a “mass mailing” list to which I subscribe from one of my favorite authors. It arrived at one of my busiest times (packing a truck and camper for a weeklong vacation/family reunion for 2 parents, 3 kids, and one supersized dog.) I plopped on the couch in exhaustion that evening as I decided to “catch up” on my correspondence.
There it was – an e-mail from Lauraine Snelling. As far as favorite authors go, she is right up there in my top four. Her Red River of the North series transports me back in time to the homes of my favorite Norwegian immigrants. My wearied eyeballs came alive when they saw, “Mail from Lauraine Snelling”. (Okay, I know it is probably from an assistant, but Hey! It seemed pretty personal to me.)
I was hoping for an announcement that would proclaim the stage play based on her books set in North Dakota would be upcoming, hoping, I could get my hands on some tickets. What I saw instead almost made me drop the computer because I wanted to jump and dance around the living room. (Did I mention earlier that I was exhausted? That didn’t really happen.) The jewels of the email were two-fold. Number 1 – a writer’s workshop where she would help writers to hone their art AND Number 2 – Coffee with Ingeborg (more on that in a later post) to which I squealed with glee. (THAT really did happen.)
Immediately, I contacted the number listed, sent a message to my sisters-in-law (who are also huge fans), and crossed my fingers that I wasn’t too late on either opportunity.
I wasn’t.
I had the most wonderful day last Thursday once again back in North Dakota, transported to the fictional town of Blessing which has been adopted by the very real Drayton. I spent a day with Lauraine and eight new friends (I seem to have a way of collecting them) learning more about what I didn’t know that I didn’t know about writing and gaining some valuable insight.
Upon arrival, my thoughts were centered around Lauraine Snelling – I mean, THE Lauraine Snelling – such that I was giddy with excitement.
Among my favorites, I have to admit that she is no Dr. Seuss (of course, I have to wait to heaven now to meet him), but after spending the day with her, her ranking in my favorites moved right on up. Look out Beverly Cleary! In a one-day workshop, she answered many of my questions and self-doubts, but she also affirmed I am doing some things well. I learned that she has many of the same struggles that I do (losing a child, life getting in the way, the need to take breaks, her love of God, and the most important one – she is a HUGGER!)
It was the latter two that stole my heart. Very early in her instruction, she spoke about her “conversations with God” which often were when she told God what she wasn’t going to write about something such as historical fiction (the very thing for which she is most famous). As she spoke, I could feel the joy in my heart dance. It was the first time I had been at writer’s event where God was so openly shared. It felt like a homecoming because, she, all my new friends, and her book characters were God’s friends too. What a game changer!
The second shared character trait was discovered at our first real break of the day – LUNCH! After a visit to the salad bar, Lauraine walked around the room and “had to lay her hands” on each of us. Just a quick squeeze of encouragement and thanks! She wanted to personally tell each one of us that she was so thankful and happy we attended.
Later when she spoke on grief and how it changes everything. I sat with tears in my eyes across the table from her. She was no longer – TEACHER, but became the friend who walks in the shoes I walk – GRIEVING MOTHER.
At that moment, I knew that God had brought me to the point of exhaustion the day I received that email; so that I would have this very encounter with her. His message (through her words that day) was loud and clear. Do not be discouraged when you feel you aren’t getting enough writing done. Do not be despondent when you feel that you should accomplished more. Press on knowing your story is touching the lives of others.
So to my husband who said it was okay to drop everything and go off for four days, thank you for that gift. To our cousins, aunt and uncle who embodied the gift of hospitality in the Blessing books, thank you for taking in this little traveler. To the people of Drayton, thank you for adopting Blessing as your own. To my new friends, you are treasured. To Lauraine – well, actually to God – THANK YOU for bringing this blessing of a woman into my life.
I couldn’t be more BLESSED, and hoping that last hug we shared won’t be the last!
Hey Dad –
I spent some time away this past weekend. Much of the time it was just you and me, and we had a lot of time to talk. I will confess that more of the time I talked, and you listened. Together we spent some time in worship. That is the amazing thing about travel time. I can make a joyful noise to my heart’s content. There were much appreciated quiet times. It was during those silent moments that I was moved to tears. Your creation just does that to me.
Home is something that has been loosely defined by this girl with a nomadic past. My version of home can be the moment in a conversation where I realize how blessed I am by the company you have given me. Home will always be the emerald coast of Florida’s panhandle with snowy white beaches and all the memories and people of my childhood. The sanctuary of home is eternally wherever Daniel and our children waltz the delicate dance steps of life. Uncovering the treasures therein, my garden is one of the places where I feel closest to you; so home has to be found there as well.
I didn’t realize until my trip this weekend how much I realized that North Dakota feels like one step away from you and thus home. Sometimes, I think that heaven’s gate is just around the next field. I think my affirmation came when the tears began to well up in my eyes just marveling at the expansive sky and verdant fields. No place on earth does that to me like a highway in what some aptly call “God’s Country”.
I want to thank you for all the places I call home, and most specifically today, for the place called North Dakota. Thank you for a sky so large your breath is literally taken away by its beauty. Thank you for rich and fertile soil that grows such beautiful crops. That same rich soil is where we chose to return the shell of our son. His earthly resting place is in one with such beauty where ducks fly over, deer frolic, and prairie grasses whisper in the wind. Thank you for fields of sunflowers that could make any heart leap for joy. I praise you for the people of the Dakotas who are truly some of your finest masterpieces.
Thank you for creating the people that brought me to and who keep me tied to that prairie land. First it was my parents who transplanted a Southern girl to the plains and who created family all those miles away. Then my heart was lovingly anchored there by the Dakota boy I married as well as our extended family who keep me dreaming of the next visit.
Humbled, rejuvenated, connected, but most of all, loved, I am so thankful for the time I spent in the Red River Valley this weekend.
Thank you for creating North Dakota as a place where my soul finds rest.
Love always,
Your Daughter
Dear Manny & Nora:
I never had the opportunity to meet you in person, because you had already gone home before I came into your family. My family and I just spent the weekend wrapped in love in North Dakota surrounded by ninety of your children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren, and even one great-great granddaughter. That was only the number of those who could attend this year, and a few of your cousins and second cousins came along too! I had such an amazing experience (as did my whole family) that I wanted to write to you about the family reunion. To the Dakota prairie we all travel as if spellbound for the lure of the sacred water gently calling our names like the siren song, only in our journey we wash up in the arms of a loved one saying, “I’m so glad to see you.”
Eighty-two years ago, the two of you were young and starting out a new life together, not knowing what legacy you would leave in this world. The first description of that legacy would be a whole lot of family. Whether by blood or marriage, we number well past one hundred and twenty-five. After shaking the sheer overwhelming nature of headcounts, the only thing you feel is love – that holds us all together with heaven’s gossamer when we are away from this place.
Remaining Sisters (aka Queen’s Court)
You raised a great group of kids, and your grandkids are amazingly talented people in all facets of life – hard workers and excellent parents. (Of course, I am pretty partial to one of your grandsons.) Your sons married wonderful wives, and your daughters are the thread that holds this family together. Like the reunion t-shirts proclaimed, family is cherished here. Based on my personal observations as granddaughter-in-law, you raised people to love God, love each other, have fun, be lighthearted, eat and cook well, laugh heartily, enjoy life’s little moments, and make music with your voice and your heart.
I would have to write a book on the beauty of it all, but in a nutshell this is what I experienced over the weekend.
- Piles and piles of rich foods (lovingly prepared, savored, and devoured) – including recipes passed down directly from you.
- More hugs than I think have ever been recorded. Some in greetings, some in farewells, but most, just because we were so glad to be together.
- Tears of joy and tears of sadness for all of life’s miracles and heartaches.
- Laughter that had to bring joy to the heavens.
- Prairie winds, sun, and storms – which brought us together in more ways than one.
- Swapping of old stories and family lines (who is related to whom and how)
- Teenagers coming out their shells and emerging as beautiful people – ready to carry the torch of family for future generations
- Godchildren and godparents
- Healthy competitions and gentle ribbing
- Quality time spent fishing, visiting, eating, playing cards, or gathering around the campfire
- Babies and septuagenarians
- Relationships strengthened and built
- Handmade love lavished on the little ones.
- Gifts that made thousand mile journeys.
- Superheroes – those who made cabbage rolls, Ironman protecting us at supper, and who could ever forget Spiderma’am
- Legends – best cinnamon rolls in the world, first fish caught, and jokes that never get old
- Singing around a campfire (or in a makeshift group out of the storm), but singing just to be together.
- Songs in memory, in tradition, and in tribute.
- So many pictures that we should all have eye troubles for a while
- Reunion traditions – old and new – fashion shows that rival Paris runways
- Sadness for those unable to travel and for those who have gone to join you, followed by happiness because we are cloaked in so many happy memories.
A small gathering
We have weathered life’s journey well. We have sojourned through the celebrations of births, baptisms, graduations, and weddings, mourning tragedies, deaths, and defeats. Together we have hated cancer, loved each other, and rejoiced in gathering. As we prepared to leave that sacred and blessed time, it took at least an hour to say good-bye. There were that many necks to hug, and I can only imagine that it will take us that long to enter heaven because of the hugs awaiting our arrival.
In case they don’t know already, we will just have to show all of heaven how we do things – Nowatzki-style!
Photos by Amy Schuler, Jason Schuler, Sawyer Stevens, and Emily Currier Nowatzki
I had the pleasure of having breakfast with my almost ten-year-old nephew this morning. In a houseful of people gearing up for a family vacation/reunion, a quiet conversation is rare. I’m so glad it happened. After exchanging pleasantries of “How did you sleep?” and “How did you NOT hear that storm”, my sweet boy revealed where his heart is at today.
If you ever experience quiet moments, you will “hear” much about a person’s heart, and at the very least, those things troubling their mind. So it was at Grandma’s table today. In between bites of banana bread, K explained that he was sad that he was in a level of swimming lessons below where he and his momma thought he should be.
What a precious moment for an auntie! I don’t believe in coincidences, but I do believe that God orchestrates the timing of where I need to be when I need to be there. Today was proof positive. I shared that I never finished swimming lessons at his age because I hated getting my face in the water. My husband shared that I still hate it which is why I use a snorkel all the time. I can swim for miles with my adaptation. I also told K that no matter what level becoming a strong swimmer is important (because it could one day save his life).
But this is where the conversation changed . . . as a teacher I have seen so much emphasis placed on numbers that I think it has filtered over into everything that our children do. Scratch that, numbers have become a filter in how we all see life.
Warning – this is a soapbox issue for me! Hear me roar!
To the student who didn’t score as well on the test: That number written on that paper or letter from the standardized test company doesn’t define who you are. It doesn’t define your future – no matter what anybody says. It may prevent you from attending certain universities, but given today’s economic climate, it might not. Even if it does, bloom where you land anyways. Remember it is you, and not the university, that is the product of which to be proud. I don’t know a single adult my age that goes around spouting their test scores, because frankly, nobody cares because that number isn’t what makes you successful. It’s just a number.
To the kid who works hard every day to practice, but doesn’t score the winning shot/goal/touchdown: The information recorded in the books is just a number. What you do matters. The old saying is true. There is no “I” in TEAM. Every member of a team is important. To me, numbers of assists always tell me more about your willingness to be a part of a team. I know it might not feel that way, but the skills (persistence, dedication, loyalty, perseverance) you learn from being a part of group are far more critical to your future development that what is written in the scorebook. It’s just a number.
To women everywhere who worry about the scale: With tears in my eyes, I am telling you unless you need that thing for medical purposes, go right now and THROW it out. I have so many friends that talk about losing those extra 10, 20, or 50 pounds. If you want to do that for you or your health, go for it! But if your motivation is because someone else’s definition of beauty doesn’t include those extra pounds, it is all rubbish! I am going to be honest with you. Your size matters much less than the character of your heart. Sometimes, I wish I could remove my eyes just so you could see what I see when I see you. I think you would be shocked if you did. All you would see is beauty! It’s just a number.
To those who focus on the calendar age: If you had nothing left to contribute, God would have taken you home already. There is a reason for your being here. I know you may not be as spry as you once were, but I am not looking for spry. I like many other women are looking for mentors to love us, to remind us of God’s truth and promises, and to share with us your life (including mistakes and wrinkles). That matters! Even if the world standard is newer, faster, or stronger, I have found more quiet strength in sitting hand-in-hand with eighty and ninety year olds than anyone could ever imagine. Age – It’s just a number.
I didn’t give my little nephew the full brunt of this rant, but I did ask him three questions.
- Does which swimming level you are in define who you are?
- Does which swimming level you are in make us love you anymore or any less?
- Does which swimming level you are in change that you are loved child of God?
Sitting there with bedhead hair and Angry Birds jammies, his twinkling eyes told me he knew the answer to all three. I pray every day that all the world will know that while numbers are fun (for some of us), for much of life, they are just numbers.
Thanking God today for banana bread and little boys.
PS – By the way in God’s eyes, you are absolutely, positively one of the best “numbers” He’s ever created!
Aruba, Jamaica, ooh I wanna take ya
Bermuda, Bahama, come on pretty mama
Key Largo, Montego
Baby why don’t we go?
Jamaica
Up north to the town, Leeds
Um? Kandy?
That is not how the song lyrics go.
Yes, I would agree with your assessment. And No! This isn’t one of those times when I actually couldn’t understand the words and used my imagination to make up my own. I will assert that my own lyrics are sometimes much more entertaining than the originals.
Actually, this time I made this version as I was walking down a partially gravel road (3rd St S to be exact) in Leeds, ND last night. I was walking from Great Aunt Mary’s house to Lorraine’s (Daniel’s mom) house following an amazing supper on the front lawn – labor of love of three generations of Nowatzki’s.
The meal was caught, cleaned, battered, fried, prepared, eaten, and washed up with “all hands on deck”. While sitting on the lawn, I could feel deeply, an overwhelming sense of joy overcome my heart.
I have to confess that I was incredibly excited for our family reunion and seeing all of our family, but I have been carrying around an aching sadness. I have been yearning for the vacation we had planned to take this year for Reed’s graduation (much like the ones in the beginning of the song). Sadly, a myriad of reasons put the kibosh on that plan.
So going to one of our “homes” (again I was excited to do) is the only vacation we are taking this year as a family.
After that multi-generational dinner – which was less about filling my stomach and more about replenishing my soul – I took that short walk to have a quiet conversation with God.
Rested and relaxed, I realized this is truly what a vacation is meant to be.
No stress. . . no worries. . . and filled with things loved. (Of course, I love the sea too, but this time God granted me insight into the vacation I needed and not the one I wanted.)
As I walked, I thought back to the last couple of days and all the things I didn’t see on travel sites and travel brochures.
- Little kids running between houses with imaginations longer than the hours of the day
- Sun-soaked hair that shows hours spent playing outside or at the city pool
- Cousins that have never met having sleepovers and making instant connections
- One sweetie catching her first fish (and it was a whopper) and teaching her the fine art of telling a fisherman’s tale
- Taking a late night trip to the train station to pick up a cousin I had never met
- Hugging everyone many times a day
- Having a special “graduation” moment for Reed wrapped in the loving arms of my cousin, Amy
- Walking everywhere, seldom with a destination in mind
- Quilting and sharing lots of love and memories
- Three o’clock chocolate breaks
- The goofiness of teenagers
- Late night sessions of packed tables with stories being swapped in every direction
K’s first fish – photo bomb courtesy of my girl, E.
No agendas . . . other than to love each and every moment.
In the few block walk, I confessed to God that I needed an attitude of the heart adjustment. Instead of worrying about what I thought I wanted (dare I say I thought I “deserved”), I began to appreciate what I have (a message resonating with me in many aspects of my life). I’m glad that in just a few short days, He showed me that what I needed to have a revival of my spirit He had already provided. Perhaps it would be best to get out of my own way.
For the first time in a long time, I don’t feel encumbered by all my worries. Today, I am thanking God for family reunions, soul refreshment (by letting go), and of course, dusty dirt roads.
One of the things I like most about myself is my love of nature. I can sit for hours in my garden watching bugs, flowers, the sky, and just about anything else that goes on out there. Nature and creation fascinate me. That healthy sense of curiosity is probably one of the driving forces to me becoming a science teacher.
The more time I spend in God’s word, the more I realize how much nature is tucked into the verses. With each new discovery in verse and in nature, I feel like I am drawn closer to God. On a recent trip out to a friend’s farm, my senses were on overload.
Heaven and earth are full of your glory . . .
The sky was filled with blue gray skies as a small rain had just dampened the parched ground. The smell of rain permeated our vehicle. That is an amazing smell. Is it one of the smells of heaven? The prairie roses were thick in the roadside ditches. But the best part was the witness of a tiny escort as we drove down the lane to their home.
A flicker of bright gold feathers boldly flew right in front of us until we reached the house. I was captivated by the flash of colors and the bold courage of one so small. Even my husband remarked at his beauty, later confessing that it was the second time in a week that he had witnessed one escorting us. (Apparently, I had nodded off in the car the first time; so, he had a private audience with the little friend.)
Photo: thefixer/Flickr
I was on heaven’s cloud nine taking in all the sights and sounds of beauty on the prairie. Gorgeous doesn’t even seem to begin to be a big enough word to convey the scene.
Later that evening as we were preparing for bed, I shared with my sweetie what joy I felt in my heart. The goldfinch is our little Clo’s bird (the one she receives as an ornament each Christmas). The first one appeared in our yard, shortly after the loss of Clo’s twin in utero. I have always seen that first appearance as a sign of God’s promise of hope. I didn’t understand it at the time, because we didn’t know that we were still pregnant with the other twin, Cloie. Something about the bright cheery color of the male plumage just exudes hope.
It was during our bedtime conversation that my husband shared the earlier encounter with the other finch. Revealing a piece of my heart, I told him that each time I see one darting about, I think of our other tiny little girl. Teary-eyed, I explained how I wonder if she is as spunky as her sister and if she too holds a bundle of energy inside a head of curls and face full of freckles.
While I will always have notes of sadness in my life’s song, I cannot help but be filled with soaring bars of hope each and every time I see a goldfinch fly.
Sing to the Lord a new song;
sing to the Lord, all the earth. Psalm 96:1 (NIV)
If creation will let me, I am going to be singing along.
kandynolesstevens 