Friday, March 11, 2016
Sunday, February 28, 2016
A little girl stood behind the backstop...her fingers looped inside the chain link fence.
And as it grew dark the field lit up and there he was...standing on the pitchers mound.
A moment that took her breath away.
The little girl saw him every day and yet...she knew now that she really saw him. Intense, powerful, confident, handsome...
And in a moment he became so much more than just her Dad. He was now and forever after... her Hero.
Later, when it was time for a treat, the little girl stood in a concession line. "The pitcher's my Dad," she said as she pointed. "He's my Dad."
Saturday, February 27, 2016
You were beside me today, Dad. Right there beside me with your hands in the spokes.
The two fingers of my right hand were covered with grease from pulling on the chain. I held them out in front of me. My stubby fingernails were freshly painted light pink. But as I stared at them, my hands became my Dads.
"You know," I told him, "I have two sisters and a brother. I watched my Dad do this a hundred times." I looked down again at the twisted chain as the memory played in my mind. "Let me try."
My hands were patient and purposeful just like his as I moved the pedal forward and backward as each little link jumped back into place.
My hands were covered with grease when I finished, but the smile on the boys face made my dirty hands look beautiful.
So here I am Dad telling you...
Thank you for your good and special care.
I love you...
Monday, February 15, 2016
I have to choose. Everyday I have to choose because bad news comes and then more bad news and then more. I dont want to hear it so I don't listen. I turn off the news. But then it comes anyway too close to home. A nieces baby full of cancer. A father who exampled strength and hardwork facing cancer for the fourth time. My father...and I know he can't have much fight left. Cancer on skin I touch and know so well...cutting, burning, waiting.
I don't want to think about. Dont know what to say, so I pray and work and walk.
I listen to music and read and watch TV and take care of business and then pray more but it's all still there and it's ugly and it hurts and I hate cancer.
But in the moments...those moments when I open my eyes to really see, when I quiet my mind and surrender my heart God takes them captive and puts this in the sky and I know...
I know he has answers to every hard thing. Every one.
So I choose this.
Blind Faith? No! Can't you see?
I choose the promises of a God who makes mountains and paints sky.
I will cry but I will trust Him and I will choose Him.
I will choose this.
Wednesday, October 21, 2015
It's not a coincidence that you were born as God chose to breathe and change the season. This time of reds and yellows and pumpkins has always been my very very favorite. It's my big deep breath of, "Aaaaahhhhhh," time. And it's when God chose to put you on the earth to become my Mother.
I've written about you often over the years. As memories came I pecked away at the computer keys so I could remember and pass it on. and so now, for the sake of time I'll cut and paste some of my words.
"My mother spoke through straight pins held between her lips as she bent over a pattern on the floor with scissors in her hand. This memory soothed and comforted me in a way I did not expect. On her knees in the living room,pinning and cutting. And it was her foot I saw, and her machine I heard, as Chandler sat at my kitchen table and began to sew. I was suddenly filled with the excitement and anticipation of the new dress my Mom was making for me. Her love behind the sewing machine formed me as a little girl and is coming full circle back to me as a mother."
"Mary, my mother, is writing down her story. She is being strong and brave and she sends me pages that make me weep. My tears are of joy and of sadness. She tells of truths that have not been spoken to me before. She is doing it because I asked her to. I love her for it.
My friends thought my mother was a movie star. She was beautiful, and I didn't know that she was broken, but, "Fragile...Handle with care" was stamped across her spirit even then. Dad knew it, and a part of me did too.
She was given four babies to love and care for and we were her life. She played with us, read to us, sang to us, and she sewed.
She made clothes for herself like the ones Jackie Kennedy wore, but she was prettier. She made Easter dresses and school clothes for my sisters and for me. Ron was her first. Her only son and she made him a blazer. It was tan and I remember thinking, "How did she do that?" I was born 11 months after my brother. Lori followed two years after me, and two years after Lori, came our baby, Kaylynn.
I love to dance and sing because I saw my mothers joy in that place. I love stories because Mom didn't just read, she made them come alive. I love the way I love because my mother showed me how.
Mom...You were my example. I know what a Mother's heart is and what it does because of you. You gave me something precious that I was able to give to my own children. The precious things of childhood go deep in me because your were my Mom.
Thank you for music. My childhood was full of it because of you. I remember album after album being placed on the turn table. Andy Williams, Glen Campbell, Peter Paul and Mary.
The other day I just burst out singing a song for Jude. It came out of nowhere, and yet, I knew every word and note. "And the Red Red Robin goes bop bop boppin' along.” Jude wanted me to sing it over and over and over. ReAnnon finally “googled” the words. It had come from a 1960’s “Sing along with Mitch Miller” album.
"Oh, Mitch Miller." Barbara Streisand, The Sound of Music. All of it, such a gift.
And I don't remember a single night that you didn’t have dinner on the table for the six of us. Fried chicken, mashed potatoes, homemade gravy, pot-roast, meatloaf, creamed corn. All of these still comfort my soul. And I remember the expensive jars of maraschino cherries that you'd bring home just for me when you had a little extra money for groceries. No one but you could have given me these things, so from your Mother’s heart to mine and back… I love you!
And so Mom...
Time...it goes by so quickly. You'll be 80 soon and I'll be 60. So crazy to think about and yet, it's true. You were just a girl when you held me for the first time. So much life. So much love. So many memories. But know that my best...it came from you.
Happy birthday Mom. You and Fall. My favorites. I love you!
Friday, December 26, 2014
Saturday, November 29, 2014
I've been treasure hunting. Collecting things that have a past. I am going to make them new and write the next chapter in their stories for my family.
I began to sand through wood trying to erase scars and scratches when I suddenly picture the hands and feet of Jesus. The scar on his side and I remember what they mean.
I stop sanding. The nicks and notches in the old wood have become beautiful.
I can't explain how I feel making things inspired by God in this season of my life because I have never felt this before. But over and over God takes me back to this place of remembrance. He sets me on the hills where memorial stones are planted. He reminds me that my story was written by Him and he wants me to leave behind a part of His story in my history, and so...
I sand and stain and arrange and glaze and wait and check on...
And on Christmas I will give away a few, "forever remember" moments of a life written by God with a heart of great praise from a greatly loved daughter.
I wish I could show you what I'm doing... but it would spoil the surprise.
Pssss..."I'll show you later."