Visit to My Brother

Rusty's place

This past week, after attending a conference in Seward, Nebraska, Phillip and I drove up to Cody, Wyoming, to see my brother, Rusty, and his wife, Chris. This is my oldest sibling on my mom's side. He is 16 years older than I am, so I never got to know him well or spend much time with him growing up. But he was always this larger-than-life figure, a real live cowboy, soft-spoken and shy and sparing with words, who would drop in from time to time and make a huge impression on me.

As the story goes, when he was 12 or 13 years old, Rusty had to step in and save my mom from her first husband, who was strangling her and, my mom believed, would have killed her had Rusty not stopped him. After my mom divorced her first husband and married my dad, Rusty pretty much headed out on his own, working various odd jobs, sometimes on his own and sometimes with his dad. He was drafted at the age of 20 but because of bad feet did not get assigned to the infantry or sent to Vietnam. Instead he was sent to Europe. I still have a picture postcard he sent me from Germany when I was about 6 years old. It was a picture of a beautiful German castle of some kind, and he wrote that he thought I would like it because it looked like something out of a fairy tale. When I mentioned this during our visit, Chris was dumbfounded. She said Rusty never writes to anyone. 😉 (That's actually not true, as I know he wrote to my mom periodically over the years, having seen some of his letters among her things after she died.)

Rusty and Chris have a farm in Cody, where they have lived for over 30 years. Rusty works on a nearby ranch (still doing stuff like riding fence and branding calves even though he is 76 years old), and Chris is a semi-retired registered nurse. We got to their place late Monday and left Wednesday morning. Rusty had to work Tuesday, and being a true cowboy he is up and out for work early and returns late, so our hours together were few and I never got a picture, which makes me sad. The last time I saw him before this visit was at my mom's funeral in 2016. Will I see him again? I would like to think so, but at the ages we both are now, considering the distance that separates, and life being what it is, I don't know. But oh, how thankful I am for this brief visit.

I love you, Rusty.

Memory Lane

I'm doing some unpacking & organizing today--almost 18 months after moving into this house we still have so many boxes to sort through--and came across some boxes of pictures, which is not good because it slows down the unpacking as I pause to look at pictures. :-)

But it got me thinking about how it's been years since I have had any pictures printed--photos are almost all digital now. My two oldest regularly used to look through family photo albums; my youngest has experienced that less, because I don't put pictures in albums anymore. Looking through photo albums leads to telling stories about the people in the pictures and fosters one's ability to remember family events. I'm sorry my youngest hasn't experienced that as much as his siblings. One of my favorite things to do as a kid was to go through the family photo albums. I'm convinced that there are memories I have of my childhood that I have held on to because I had pictures of them.

Then there's the cultural impact of the digitization of photography--20, 50 or 100 years from now, it is much less likely that people will stumble on old boxes of pictures sitting in their grandparents' attics. That's kind of sad.

On the other hand, I guess digital photos are forever, impervious to damage from light or spills and more accessible/less likely to get forgotten in a box somewhere. And they're probably more likely to be tagged with dates and names and places, so I guess that's a good thing. I have so many photos from my parents that have no names or dates, and I have no idea who the people are. Even among my own photos, I sometimes have trouble remembering exactly when the picture was taken or who all the people in the photo are.

As usual, change and progress are a mixed bag, with good points and bad. Photos are so much easier to take and share and preserve these days, but if, like my 15-year-old, you don't have a smartphone and aren't on social media, you may not see many pictures at all, including of your own family.

(Photo by Roman Kraft on Unsplash)

Raking Leaves, Then and Now

So, you know that thing people do where they re-stage old photos years later?

Pics on left are from Nov. 4, 2009, in Bolingbrook, Illinois.

Pics on right are from today, Nov. 22, 2018, in High Ridge, Missouri.

Some things have changed.

A lot has not. :-)

We are thankful for it all.

Evan

Caitlin

Trevor

Mom and Evan

Mom

Trevor and Caitlin

























Willard and Dad weren't there that day in 2009 (Willard wasn't even born), but here they are today.

Here's the post from 2009.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Belonging

Long time no see! Not here, anyway!

I started my new job. It's been 3-1/2 weeks! I love it. Oh, how I love it. Last summer, when I got to do for a week what I am now doing all the time, my husband told me it was the happiest he had seen me in a long time. I think part of that may have been the result of coming out of probably the most difficult 7 years of our lives. But I think part of it was also the work.

I am so very thankful for this opportunity. Who gets their dream job at 53? Not many people. May I never stop being thankful for this gift.

I have been thinking about why I enjoy it so much. A big part of it is the work itself. I am a writer, and I somehow got a full-time writing job. Wow. Not only do I get to write and edit, but I get to do so in the service of my church. I can't imagine much better.

But I think there is something else at play. I have realized, finally in my fifties, that I have a very strong need to belong. I think it may come in part out of a lifetime of not really feeling like I belong. In a blended family, I grew up as "half" sibling to 10 others. My father had 4 children; my mom had 6; they had me. In a family with two "sides," it is hard to know exactly where you fit.

When I was in junior high, we moved. I was bullied and ostracized in my new school. That experience exacerbated my shyness/introversion to the point that I worried way too much in high school about being liked and fitting in. I had friends, but I think I could have had more if I had just relaxed and enjoyed people more.

As the wife of a church worker, I have found it difficult to know where I fit in at church. As nice as people are, when you're on staff, there's a bit of a wall, a feeling that you need to be on guard. It's just the way it is. So you turn to the staff for friendship. When that doesn't pan out as you hope, it can be discouraging.

Some years ago I found a group that I thought were my "tribe": confessional Lutheran homeschooling moms like myself. And in truth, they are my tribe more than about anyone else I've ever known. Which is why they became so important to me, resulting in my not handling it well a few years ago when I suddenly didn't feel like I fit there either.

Back to the job. To be surrounded by not just a few but an entire department full of people that seem to care about so many of the same things I care about has been a joy. To spend my days working with those people on shared goals, and to see those goals come to fruition, is indescribable. I know many people never get to experience that sort of reward in their work. I am still pinching myself that I am getting to do so.

I'm sure there are going to be stressors, disagreements and problems along the way. When those things come, I need to not let them make me feel like I don't belong. And if I do end up feeling that way, I need to remember that it's probably due more to something inside me than anything else. Most of all, I need to remember that in the eyes of my Savior, I do belong, and that's really all that matters.

(Sorry for the "me me me" post. This is for my friends who might be interested in how things are going. They're going great!)

Golden Moments

Often we are told to "cherish" time, particularly at pivotal moments such as a wedding, the birth of a child, or the waning of a dear one's days. But what does that mean? How do we "cherish" time? Do we say over and over in our head, "Cherish, cherish, cherish, cherish"? Do we consciously try to pay more attention to what is going on than we normally would? Do we tell those around us to stop talking to us, needing us, and giving us things to do so that we can just bask in the moment at hand?

St. Luke wrote that Mary "treasured up all these things, pondering them in her heart" (Luke 2:19). I want to be like Mary, but I struggle with understanding what it means to "treasure" and "ponder." There seems to be little time for such luxuries. Life spins itself out, the moments come and go, and suddenly 20 years have passed.

Last weekend we visited the first parish my husband ever served as a full-time church musician, from 1993 to 2000. When we first moved there we had a 10-month-old baby (he's 24 now). A few years later we had our second child (now 21). During the seven years we were there we made many friends with whom we keep in touch to this day. The last time we visited was in 2009, yet when we returned last week it felt in a way as if we had never left. So many of the same faces remained, theirs, like ours, a little more lined, with eyes reflecting years of trial, pain and joy. I found myself wanting to cherish the moments. Who knows when we will see these people again? Several dear friends are now well into their nineties. If we don't make it back for another eight years, will they still be around?

I don't know how to cherish the moments. I only know how to live them. Yes, there are special times, golden moments we find ourselves wanting to hang on to. But we can't. And that's okay. Every moment we have is given to us by God, sanctified by Him for a sacred purpose. Whether it's a baptism, a wedding, or a dirty diaper, it's still a gift of time, a moment to be lived. The baby days are wonderful, but so are the years of parenting teenagers and young adults. Courtship is magical and young married life full of anticipation, but there's also something equally profound about being able to look back as a couple from the 30-year mark. Sometimes I look around and wish I could freeze time. Life is precious, and I don't want it to be over. I don't want to get old and leave this earth while my loved ones are still here doing awesome things. I want to be around for all of it.

And yet I know there is a golden moment ahead, one that will outshine all the others. When that one comes there won't be anything distracting me. I won't have to try to cherish it. It will be the brightest, most golden moment I could ever imagine, and it will go on forever.

"Now if all my golden moments could be rolled into one

They would shine just like the sun for a summer day

And after it was over, we could have it back again

With credit to the editor for striking out the rain, very clean

And all it really needed was the proper point of view."

(James Taylor, "Golden Moments")

Hillbilly Elegy

For Christmas I got my husband Hillbilly Elegy by J. D. Vance. He read it in a matter of days and loved it. I finally read it myself. The term "hillbilly" calls to mind a poor, uneducated person living in the hills or mountains, particularly the Appalachians. It is often used pejoratively. But Vance uses the term not as an insult, but matter-of-fact-ly. Hillbillies are his people, and he describes them with both love and brutal honesty. Hillbillies are my people, too, and my husband's. I see so much in this book that I know because I have experienced it. I am not from Appalachia, and my upbringing was not as violent as Vance's, but like him, I come from country folk of Scots-Irish descent. And there is so much in this book that rings true and reminds me of my childhood. Here are a few of the things that Vance writes about to which I can easily relate:

Not knowing whether a parent is going to be sober or drunk. Scoping out the situation and then getting out of the way if it is the latter.

Lots of domestic disturbances, foul language, and yelling and throwing things. (To this day I have no tolerance for foul language or raised voices.)

Being embarrassed to have friends over.

When asked about your family, not being able to give a simple answer because between the steps and halves, it's complicated.

Being one of the first in your family to get a college degree.

Not applying to private colleges because you figure you can't afford it and you don't realize that private schools give lots of money to candidates they deem worthy. So you go into debt for the public institution when you might actually have fared better with the private one.

Having difficulties handling conflict because your history with conflict is so very negative. Early in Vance's relationship with his future wife, she told him, "Whenever something bad happens--even a hint of disagreement--you withdraw completely. It's like you have a shell that you hide in."

Having older siblings and extended family that sometimes provided the normalcy and emotional support that my parents didn't.

Having a high ACE (adverse childhood experience) score. I was not familiar with the concept of adverse childhood experiences as a field of mental health study. If you're interested in learning about it, here's a helpful link. I have an ACE score of 6 (out of 10). My husband also has a high ACE score. Vance writes, in his book, about how difficult it is to break the mold of one's upbringing. If you come from an environment of substance abuse, domestic conflict, broken marriage, unwed pregnancy, etc., you are statistically more likely to continue the pattern than to break it. I am not sure how my husband and I were able to do it. We had so many strikes against us. We still struggle with some of the effects of our upbringing. All I know is that God had mercy on us. I am sure life would have turned out completely different for both of us if the Church had not been a constant presence in our marriage the last 30 years.

Vance writes about the miracle of his being able to break out of the path that so many in his shoes are destined to remain in, crediting a perfect storm of people and circumstances that afforded him the hope and opportunity necessary to chart a different path. He concludes Hillbilly Elegy by considering the ways in which the "system" that is supposed to "help" so often doesn't, but at the same time laying ultimate responsibility at the feet of the individual:

"I believe we hillbillies are the toughest . . . people on this earth. We take an electric saw to the hide of those who insult our mother. We make young men consume cotton underwear to protect a sister's honor. But are we tough enough . . . . to look ourselves in the mirror and admit that our conduct harms our children?"

As much as Vance's book resonated with me, I had so much more going for me than he did. Yes, I had a father with alcoholism and a mother with depression. I grew up in a combined family with a lot of anger and dysfunction. My parents' personal problems led to their not giving their children and step-children the attention they needed. Yet unlike Vance, I did have two parents who stayed married. We weren't rich, but we weren't poor, and I never had any worries about having my physical needs met. In spite of his alcoholism, my dad always held down a job and paid the bills. Another parallel I share with Vance is the experience of being the child who benefits from parents seeming to figure out, later in life, how to be better parents. (In Vance's case it wasn't his parents, but his grandparents, who did so.) Perhaps it was because as the youngest, for the second half of my childhood I was the only one left at home. I got benefits my older siblings didn't. I was the one who was driven to piano lessons. I was the one, after my mom became Catholic, who got taken to church. As the only "ours" of a "his, hers, and ours" family, I was the one who grew up with both my biological parents.

I won't tell you how Hillbilly Elegy ends other than to say it made me cry, tears of both sadness and hope. J. D. Vance (who is only 32) recently announced he is returning to his roots to try to make a difference. God bless him.

Why It's Good to Have Older Siblings Visit from College

They remind you it's not all about you. Case in point below.

Scenario 1

13-year-old to his mother:

"Wanna know something crazy?"

"Sure!"

Scenario 2

13-year-old to his 21-year-old sister:

"Wanna know something crazy?"

"Do I have to?" 

And Then There Were Three

My adult children are back to school. It seems to be hitting me a little harder this year, perhaps because when they left last year there were still four people in the house. This year with the death of my mom, there are only three, and I am adjusting to yet another "new normal."

It has been an interesting month! Before the college kids left, we took a family camping trip to Big Bend in Texas. It was great in spite of a number of things that didn't quite go as planned. I have written an article on the experience that I hope will be available soon.

One of the challenges of the last month has been our car situation. Both my and my husband's cars had significant repair needs at the same time. As we tried to figure out how to address the situation both financially and logistically, a friend offered us his almost-brand-new Ford Explorer for our use (he has another car available to him). We gratefully accepted and have been using his vehicle for much of this month, including driving it to Texas! It was a humbling offer, one that showed us Christ's love in action. Wow. We planned to use his car again this weekend, as I needed to drive Caitlin to Missouri, and Phillip needed to attend the funeral of a dear aunt. Unfortunately, as Caitlin, Evan and I were about to hit the road, our friend's car started behaving erratically. So we had to postpone her return until Phillip got back with my car (which had been repaired). Having lost a day of travel time, I drove to and from Caitlin's college Saturday, a 16-hour trip. It was a long, long day, but one I was glad I did on Sunday when I was able to wake up in my own bed and go to my own church.

Both our cars are back in service, but my husband's is not long for this world, and we are only driving it around town. We hope to replace it around the first of the year.

Today is supposed to be the first day of school, inasmuch as we have a first day of school around here. :-) The principal is doing his part, but the head teacher is dragging. On top of the fatigue from all the driving, I have a sore throat. Nothing major, but enough to slow me down. I will try to do some planning and organizing today, and maybe we can start tomorrow. It is also going to be a week of cleaning and, I hope, unpacking most of the rest of what I want to unpack. We are having our first party in our new house next weekend, inviting all our music volunteers over to celebrate the start of a new season. Nothing like company to motivate me to do things around the house!

I have learned that the mice in these here parts think our house is their vacation home. We are slowly disabusing them of that notion.

I have been giving some thought to online security and privacy, something about which I have not worried much in the past. But as I put myself out there more and more as a writer, I think it behooves me to take more steps to protect my family's privacy, if not my own. In the near future I am going to revert all my public Facebook posts to private. I have set up a new public Facebook page where I plan to post my writings as well as other links I find informative, encouraging, or entertaining. If interested, you are invited to like and share my page!

 The three that remain. Photo taken last spring at Evan's First Communion. 

We haven't changed too terribly much since then. :-)

Life Update

Hello! Anyone there? Considering how infrequently I post these days, I wouldn't be surprised if the answer were no. For the three of you who are still dropping by on occasion, here's a "what we've been up to" post.  :-)

Tomorrow will be seven weeks since Mom died. I have been spending a lot of time in her room. A few people have asked if we will be moving into it (it is the designated master bedroom). Maybe we will some day, when our knees are tired of going up and down the stairs. But for right now, we are thinking we will make it into a home office/guest room. I have already started using it as a place to get away to when I need time alone to write or edit or just be. It is such a nice room, big and bright and peaceful. 

The college kids will be home in about a month. Yay! They will be home all summer, other than several weeks Trevor will be in Italy for a piano festival. We will cap the summer with a family camping trip to Big Bend National Park in Texas. I wonder if we can find any spots like this one to pitch our tent on?

Unpacking is going slowly. You know that old Benjamin Franklin quote about death and taxes? That's pretty much what has governed my life the last few months. Maybe some more boxes will be opened and some more books will find their way to the shelves after April 15. (This year I am doing taxes for a rostered, called Lutheran cantor, so there is a bit of a learning curve. :-))

I have several articles in the queue to get published elsewhere but I have no idea when they will see the light of day. 

It has become normal to see preteen boys not my own running around the back yard, playing video games in the family room, or scrounging the kitchen for something to eat or drink. Believe it or not, even though I am on my third preteen this has not been a regular occurrence in my life as a mom. I like it. 

According to Facebook, today is siblings day. Here is a picture of me with my siblings, taken at my mom's funeral:

Here's the same group 16 years ago, on my mom's 70th birthday (we haven't changed that much, have we?):

I sure do love those people.*

We are coming up on a significant anniversary in our family history. I can honestly say that we have officially moved from asking "Why did that happen" to saying "Thank God that happened." So much good has come out of it, at least for us. I don't know if the same can be said for others. I pray, if the answer is no, that will change some day. 

It's almost cocktail hour here in Oklahoma. Off to the porch! Wherever you are this Lord's day, I hope you can find a few moments to put your feet up, breathe in the Lord's goodness, and bask a while. If circumstances are such that you can't bask right now, trust that even when it doesn't feel like it, His light is still shining on you, warming, nourishing and sustaining you through the fallow time and readying you for the next growing season. His peace be yours.  

*These are the siblings with whom I share a mom. There are four more, two of whom are deceased, with whom I share a dad.

Jerry

This is my brother. His name is Jerry. He died yesterday at the age of 66.

Quick background: my father was a widower with four children. My mother was divorced with six. They married when Jerry, my father's youngest, was 14. I was born when he was 15. I don't have memories of living in the same house with him, but I do have memories of spending time with him. He loved to go fishing and would take me with him sometimes. I would hand him worms to bait the hook. When he got married he would let me come to the apartment complex where he and his wife lived and stay the night and swim in his pool. When I got a little older I babysat his daughter, my niece, sometimes.

I have several vivid memories of Jerry helping me when I was little. Once when I was swimming in his pool I panicked in the deep water. Before I even started to go under, he was there, pulling me out. Another time something started biting me inside my pants leg. Jerry was the first to hear my screams and come and help me get the pants off so as not to get more stings from the scorpion that had apparently crawled inside.

I remember Jerry's smile and his hearty laugh. He was mischievous and playful and loved to play horseshoes.

Like my dad, Jerry was a smoker and drinker. He contracted lung cancer a few years ago and underwent treatment and surgery that stemmed the cancer's progress. Last month his daughter let me know that he was going to see the doctor due to a return of symptoms. Last week he went in for a biopsy but a few days later had to be admitted to the hospital due to fluid on his bad lung. In rapid succession he was put on a ventilator and went into sepsis before dying yesterday.

My family is a patchwork. I am the only "ours" of a "his, mine and ours" family. To some extent my dad's children seemed more like aunts and uncles to me than siblings. On my mom's "side" the youngest was 7 when I was born, so I spent a good chunk of my childhood living like an only child. Once I grew up, got married and moved to another state, and my dad died, it became harder to maintain a connection with all the pieces of my family, and there have been long stretches where we haven't kept in close contact. I haven't been a very good thread to try to hold this family quilt together.

My brother Jerry is the second of my siblings to die. My father's oldest son died three years ago. I wish I had called Jerry when I first got word that he was not feeling well. I thought there was more time. There wasn't.

I have been looking through old pictures to try to find a picture of me and Jerry together. I haven't found one yet. I will keep looking.

Jerry wasn't a churchgoer but I take comfort in the knowledge that he was baptized into Jesus Christ when he was a child. I pray he was able to cling to that faith at the last. I love you, Jerry. Lord, have mercy. Christ, have mercy. Lord, have mercy.

The Family that Eats Together

Someone shared this article on Facebook yesterday. It's about the importance of having supper together as a family--sitting around the table at a designated time, eating together, and talking. Especially talking. I couldn't agree more.

I didn't grow up with this experience. I am the youngest of my siblings, and there are seven years between me and the next-youngest. I have a few memories of people being around at mealtimes, but I have more memories of being the only child in the house, and more often than not, eating supper on a TV tray while watching television in the living room. A few times a year one of my aunts would visit, and I cherished those times because when Aunt Lou came we ate around the table. Not only that, Aunt Lou made sure we prayed before we ate.

My husband and I have always had supper together, first without kids, then with kids. I don't remember our making a conscious decision to do so. It's just something we did. Then some years ago one of our pastors taught us how to do an even better job of making mealtime a family event. I wrote about that in a past blog post, but here's a summary:

1) The meal is to begin and end with prayer. Prayer is led by the Table Master (see #2) unless the Table Master assigns someone else to do so.

2) Father is the Table Master. If Father is not present, Mother is the Table Master. If the Table Master desires, he or she can designate someone else as Table Master for the meal.

3) Once the meal has begun, no one leaves the table without requesting and receiving permission from the Table Master.

4) The Table Master designates one of those dining to be the Server. The Server has permission to come and go from the table as needed to meet the needs of those dining.

5) No one leaves the table until all have eaten, the closing prayer has been said, and the Table Master has dismissed the table.

Over the years we have become a little more relaxed with the table rules, especially with the college kids. We don't explicitly appoint a Server. We don't require the adult children to ask permission to get up from the table if they need to get something during the meal. But the general principles remain: the meal begins and ends with prayer. No one leaves the table until the closing prayer is said. Our kids know this and respect it, and even our adult children ask to be excused if they need to leave the table early. (There have been a few times when they were younger that we were eating at someone else's house and our kids kept sitting, and sitting, and sitting, until I realized they were waiting for the closing prayer and dismissal.)

Also over the years, my husband has added another element to our meals: sharing time. There are some meals that are more hurried, so we don't always have sharing time, but we often do. Before the closing prayer, Dad goes around the table asking each person in turn: "Do you have anything to share?" Of course, there has been sharing up to that point. But maybe someone has something to share that he didn't get the opportunity to share earlier. This is his chance to do so while everyone is still present and listening.

There are times now when the college kids are away and Dad's schedule doesn't allow him to come home for supper that it's just me, Evan, and Grandma. Sometimes Evan and I eat at different times from Grandma, and especially when that happens we tend not to take as much time with the meal. I guess that's okay, since Evan and I still spend the majority of every day together, so there is plenty of time for sharing. We still always begin and end with prayer. But I need to make sure that as he grows up, we continue to cherish the family mealtime as we always have. I think the article is spot on. There are immeasurable benefits, not only to the family, but to the individuals in it, in making mealtime a focus of the family's life together. If it is not something you are doing in your own family, it's not too late to start. 

Listening to Lessons and Carols

Different town, different house, different sofa, different dog . . .  

Same blessed WORD.

2009

2014

Can Anything Good Come of Insomnia?

Apparently so. Two nights ago I was having one of those nights when my brain just refuses to turn off. I have learned that if I can't get to sleep in half an hour it's not going to happen for a while and I might as well get up. This time instead of turning on Nick at Nite and watching Friends (my go-to non-medicinal remedy)  I decided to write. The next morning I sent what I had written to one of my favorite online magazines. Imagine my surprise when several hours later I got an acceptance letter. Woot. My article went up on the site today (talk about fast turnaround!), so here it is in case you missed it and would like to read it.

Why I Want to Live Long and Burden My Children

You've Heard of Second Breakfast?

How about Second Birthday?

As shared in Tuesday's post, yesterday was my 50th birthday. Even so, I had expected it to be a quiet day. This is because I thought my husband was out of town. Now, before you start crying foul, please know that I encouraged him to be out of town. For a Lutheran cantor, summer affords more time for worthwhile non-parish activities and projects. This July proved to be pretty busy in that regard for Phillip. First, he was asked to serve as musician for a Doxology gathering, a program with which he has had a long association and strongly believes in but that also contributes a few extra clinks to our family piggy bank. Second, it happens that this summer is the occasion of triennial worship conferences for both the Lutheran Church-Missouri Synod (LCMS) and the Wisconsin Evangelical Lutheran Synod (WELS). Phillip was asked to teach a seminar at the LCMS event. He has previously presented at the WELS conference and has many friends and professional contacts in WELS, so I encouraged him to attend that one, too, since it was conveniently sandwiched between the Doxology and LCMS gatherings. I thought it would be an opportunity for him to recharge, connect with friends, and promote Liturgy Solutions on the eve of its 10-year-anniversary. He resisted because to do so would cause him to be away for my birthday. I pushed. He resisted. I pushed some more. Finally, he relented.

Only he didn't relent. As it happens, that crazy cantor had other plans.

This past Friday night we had what I thought was my 50th birthday party. It was wonderful. It did not bother me that it was not on my birthday on the calendar. I don't get too caught up in those kinds of details. What mattered to me was having my family all together. We went out to a delicious meal at a nearby German restaurant, then came home to presents and dessert. And what presents and dessert they were! I received some Estée Lauder eye shadow I've been wanting, both the original and the updated Broadway soundtrack recordings of Pippin (which Caitlin and I saw in New York), some new Birkenstock sandals, and . . . wait for it . . . a voucher for a 3-1/2 hour spa treatment. I was blown away!

See? Blown away. (I actually have no idea what I'm doing in this picture.)

So you can see why, in my mind, I had been sufficiently fêted. Who cares whether it was on the 19th or the 23rd? Not I. Yesterday, on my actual birthday, I woke up to hugs from my children, had a leisurely morning at home, and after lunch went out to do some shopping (my mom wanted me to pick out something from her since she can't shop for me). Then I stopped off at Starbucks for some coffee and computer time. It was while I was there that I received a call from my daughter. "Mom, we were just wondering where you were. It looks like there's a storm coming." I scratched my head a little because Caitlin is usually not a worrier and the weather didn't seem that ominous, but I told her I had one more stop to make and would be home directly. When I got home I went to my room to rest a while, having been instructed that I didn't need to worry about supper.

A short time later the door bell rang. I wondered who it could be, since I wasn't expecting any visitors or deliveries. I headed for the front door, which had already been opened by my children, and lo and behold, there was my husband, arms full of flowers, grocery bags, and cards. !!!!!!!!!!

Yes, I cried.

I was promptly informed that I was silly to think he would not be here on the day I actually turned 50. Then I was told to relax and open cards (solicited and collected on Facebook from many friends and family by the aforementioned husband) and enjoy a kir while supper was cooked for me. Supper turned out to be cheese and crackers, shrimp cocktail, Thai coconut salmon with basil on a bed of spinach and rice, green beans almondine, and strawberry-rhubarb pie. After supper, my dear ones around the table took turns sharing fond memories of their wife, mom, and daughter.

Did I mention the crying?

After a supper that was better in every way than Friday's, I looked at a few more of my Facebook birthday messages while the clean-up crew got busy. Then we settled in for a movie (this one--if you haven't watched it, you should).

Here are a few pictures from my Second Birthday.

My bartender

Two of my cooks (the bartender also cooked)

The table almost set (many of my readers will appreciate the microscope in the background ☺). 

My plate of deliciousness

If you're wondering about the rest of the story, it is that Phillip left Doxology a day early. He got to Oklahoma Tuesday night--Tuesday night! (the little stinker)--and stayed in a hotel. He's not going to Wisconsin (sorry, WELS). He will be here through Sunday, at which point he will head to Nebraska for the LCMS Institute. 

My spa day is scheduled for next week, and will include an aromatherapy wrap with a 15-minute scalp massage, a one-hour hot stone massage, one-hour spa facial, and a spa foot treatment with paraffin. I told Caitlin she needed to come and take pictures for the blog (JUST KIDDING). 

I love words, and I tend to pile them on, but words and pictures are insufficient to capture the emotions of a day that I will never forget. So let me wrap this up with a nice, pithy cliché (hey, clichés are full of time-tested truth):

FIFTY 

IS 

NIFTY!

(and my family is the best)

Blessed

Sometimes I still can't believe everything that has happened. Two years ago around this time we were coming off a period of terrible, painful upheaval during which my husband had been fired and we had spent several months in limbo, without the certainty of an income going forward and without the support of our church home of 13 years. Thanks be to God that our time of uncertainty was short-lived, as He did lead my husband to a new job and us to a new church. And yet one year ago we found ourselves facing another huge change, as Phillip accepted a position in Oklahoma and we had to say goodbye again, this time to a church family we had barely had time to get to know (but already loved). As my husband left Illinois to begin his new job, I stayed behind to sell the house. Our separation lasted almost six months, and during that time my mom, who lives with us, and who had broken her hip on Christmas Day 2012, struggled mightily with post-operative pain and rehab and, eventually, another hip surgery.

This is not supposed to be a "poor me" post. On the contrary. As I look back at all we have been through and where we are now, I am reminded yet again of the Lord's infinite and gracious mercy. Sometimes when my husband and I wake up in the morning and head out to enjoy coffee on our patio, we just look at each other in disbelief. It has been a long time since we have felt this relaxed and at peace. So tonight, on the eve of my fiftieth birthday, I ask your indulgence as I pause to take stock. How am I blessed? Let me count the ways.  

1) I made it to 50! (Well, almost.) And barring some very minor physical ailments, I am in good health (and could feel even better if I would work at it a little harder).

2) I have been married to my first and only boyfriend for over 27 years. He doesn't get enough credit for putting up with me. It isn't easy. (You people only see what I decide to share after much editing.)

3) I have three amazing children who only get more amazing every day. They are all in good health, and they all know their Savior. Two of them are in college on scholarship, and the third is going to be around for me to hassle at least eight more years. And I get to homeschool him! 

4) My husband has a job. He enjoys his work and the people he works with. I get to piddle around making a few bucks here and there doing things I like to do. We have everything we need, and many of the things we want. 

5) My mom has bounced back incredibly this year from a long period of injuries and depression. She is enjoying her days in a way she hasn't in a very long time.

6) We live in Oklahoma! It is prettier than I could have ever imagined, and yes, the mornings are like something out of a movie. 

7) We belong to a great, confessional Lutheran church with a dedicated, caring staff, faithful elders, and kind and loving members. 

8) Evan will receive his First Communion this year!  

9) We have a great house that we are renting. (We do hope to buy again, but in the meantime, it sure is nice to not be responsible. If something goes wrong, we just dial up the landlord.) 

10) Life has slowed down to the extent that we are finding time to enjoy it. As I look back over the last 15 years, it seems that so much of it was spent constantly on the go, trying to make ends meet, trying to please others, trying to prove something (not sure what), just trying, trying, trying. I don't mean that there weren't good days. There were--many of them. But they were exhausting. It is blessed relief to find ourselves in a place where there is time to breathe, time to sit, time to think, time to read, time to walk, time to watch movies and cook and play games. For so long there was no time for anything but to go on to the next thing. Now it's actually possible to make the Next Thing wait.

During some of our darkest days, a wise friend and teacher told us, "Expect blessing." When everything seems to be going wrong, it is hard to trust those words. Yet we know that in all things, even in our sufferings, God blesses, and so we cling to His promises, and wait, and hope. I don't want to make the mistake of looking at the ease of these days as some sort of reward for having come through a difficult period. We are poor, miserable sinners who have earned nothing and deserve nothing. And I know there will be hard times again. But I sure am glad for this stretch, however long it lasts, and for our Lord's grace, today and always. 

"I have said these things to you, that in me you may have peace. In the world you will have tribulation. But take heart; I have overcome the world.” (John 16:33)

Graduation Day - Outtake Edition

From the "Not Ready for Prime Time" photo department . . . .

Evan demonstrating for the camera the extent of his malaise. 

Hymnals to the people! 

No, I don't have a mouth full of cake. Why do you ask?

Clearly she learned her cake-eating skills from the best. 

 Two out of three ain't bad.

Like I said, two out of three ain't bad. (Please note who looks great in both. :-D)

There's that charming 10-year-old again. (He really was under the weather.)

Breaking the Cycle

I came across this article on The Art of Manliness blog and instantly identified with it (I think it applies equally to men and women). The author is concerned with the propensity for certain destructive attitudes and behaviors to get passed from one generation to the next and the difficulty of breaking out of such a cycle. An individual who succeeds in charting a different path for his children than the one he grew up with is called a "transitional" figure.

My husband and I have in the past talked about how we both seem to be transitional figures in our families (although we didn't use that terminology). Although we were both baptized as infants, neither one of us was taken to church in childhood. That changed for both of us in adolescence, and for both of us it was the Holy Spirit working through other people--as well as through our own baptisms--that made it happen. In my husband's case, his family moved when he was entering middle school, and the local Lutheran (LCMS) church sent a welcome delegation to his house along with an invitation to church. Over time only Phillip continued to attend, and he eventually decided on his own to take catechism instruction and be confirmed (as a high school student, he was the oldest Confirmand in his class). My story is similar in that when I was about the same age my family also moved, but in my case it was a Roman Catholic friend who invited me to her church. I had long wanted to go to church and asked my mom if we could accept the invitation. She said yes, and ultimately we were both confirmed. I became Lutheran upon marriage, and my husband and I are now passing on to our children a confession of faith that neither of us was taught as a child. We pray, and believe, that they will pass it on to their children.

Moving from living a life apart from the church to living one that revolves around the church is the primary difference between the way my husband and I were brought up and the way we are bringing up our children, and that is completely by the grace of God. But having Christ as the center of our marriage and our family has informed all the other choices we have made over the years, leading us to apply many of the recommendations mentioned in the article. We both knew what kind of life we wanted and we went about it intentionally. I don't want to seem ungrateful for the things our parents gave us. They had their own baggage, and they did the best they could with the hand they were dealt. The older I get, the more I understand how hard it is, under the best of circumstances, to be a good parent. I wanted to share the article above and a bit of my own story to encourage anyone reading who is in the process of exorcising the demons of the past to persevere in doing so. You are fighting the good fight, and God will not forsake you as you seek to change the course of history in your family.

The Waiting Place

What was I saying about time on my hands?

We are still waiting for someone to discover and fall in love with our home. It has been on the market a little over three weeks and we have had around a dozen showings. No negative feedback so far. It was reportedly on someone's A-list but we haven't heard anymore about that. I am finding it easier than I thought to keep it showing-ready. It helps that we cleared out a lot of clutter last month (we could still do more). Dusting is a breeze!

Trevor is back at school. While I was driving him, everyone here fell ill with a cold. A couple of days after I got home, I caught it, too. It seems to be hitting some of us worse than others. Yesterday was Day 5 for me and was, I hope, the low point, as I felt just awful. I am a little better today, although I am still tired and have very little voice.

Meanwhile, we got either some good or some bad news about my mom, depending on how you look at it. You may recall that she fell and broke her hip on Christmas Day, 2012. Two days later she had surgery to pin her hip with screws, followed by a long period of recovery and rehab. For a time after she got home she seemed to be getting along reasonably well. Then several months ago she started having increased pain. We went back to the orthopedic surgeon, but after taking a new x-ray he said the hip seemed to be holding fine. He said it did appear to have healed in a less-than-ideal position (the ball is slightly off-center in the socket). We talked about the possibility of a repeat surgery to do a full replacement--my mom had a previous broken hip about 7 or 8 years ago from which she recovered quite well after a replacement was done on that one. But the thought of another surgery was a bit overwhelming at the time so we decided to hold off and see how things progressed before making that decision.

Well, things have not progressed well. The pain has steadily increased. I am frustrated that it has taken so long for us to determine that it is indeed the hip that is causing the pain. For a while, since the last x-ray looked satisfactory, the working theory was sciatica. But an MRI didn't reveal any significant spinal or nerve issues. Four doctor visits later, the most recent of which was to a new orthopedic surgeon, we finally have our answer: the repaired hip bone is dying due to lack of blood flow. This is known as Avascular necrosis and is a common complication of broken hips. Why did the first surgeon not advise us that this would be a possibility, especially as my mom's pain started increasing? We might have saved several unnecessary doctor visits and addressed the root of her pain sooner. At this writing, she is having trouble walking at all, even while using her walker, without someone supporting her on the left side. Surgery is scheduled for Friday, so it is going to be a very long week. Tuesday I have to take her in for pre-surgical testing, which means getting in and out of the car several times, a very painful proposition.

It seems we have spent the last few years waiting for one thing or another. Apparently we are not done waiting--for my mom's surgery, for the house to sell, for that day when we will be together as a family again. I know that God is working these things out, as He works everything out for the children He loves. Maybe the house has not sold because we need to get Mom healthy before we move. And maybe I need to accept that all of life this side of heaven is just one big waiting room. No sooner do we get called in to keep one appointment than it's time to schedule the next. But I nevertheless keep hoping that one of these days we'll have a little time where there isn't some huge, looming date with destiny and we can just go home and sit a spell.

"And now, O Lord, for what do I wait? My hope is in you." (Ps. 39: 7)

Plenty of Heart and Plenty of Hope

Wow, almost two weeks without a post! There's a reason for that. It's been an extremely eventful couple of weeks, full of many twists and turns. I will spare you the details and get right to the part that matters: our family is soon to embark on a new adventure, one about which we are more excited than we can say.

It was about twenty years ago, in 1993, that we came to Illinois. At the time I only had one baby, a happy, healthy 10-month old named Trevor. Phillip was working full-time as a college music professor when Trinity Lutheran in Peoria saw something in him and asked him to be their cantor. After much thought and prayer, he said yes, and I decided I'd better go along to keep him out of trouble. ;-) Several things made it very difficult for us to leave Texas, not the least of which was my father's declining health (he died in 1994 of lung cancer). But we believed that God was calling Phillip to this work. So we said goodbye to family and friends as well as to our home state and headed north.

About 6-1/2 years later Phillip heard another call, this time to a church in the Chicago suburbs. By this time we had a cute, curly-headed little carrot-top named Caitlin. We had also in the intervening years discovered something called homeschooling. So this time we packed up not just a house but also a school. For the last fourteen years both operations have been humming along quite nicely here in Chicagoland. About four years in, our number increased as we were joined by a happenin' dude named Evan. Then last year we had another major change as Phillip moved his office, and we moved our church membership, to Chicago's south side. We will always be grateful for the opportunity to know and love the people of Trinity (yes, another Trinity!) Lutheran in Tinley Park and for all the love they have shown to us. Our lives have been enriched by our time with them.

It is clear to us, however, that God is again calling. And this time, twenty years after we moved north, He is calling us back to our roots, not to Texas, but to what our Southern kin might call a "kissing cousin." And we believe without reservation that it's where He wants us right now. So in the next few months we will be writing the final chapter of our Illinois story and beginning a new one in Oklahoma, at Immanuel Lutheran in Broken Arrow. We are looking forward to being closer to most of our family and to providing a warmer climate for my elderly mother. But more important, we are anticipating the possibilities for Phillip to share the Gospel through music that we are convinced await him at Immanuel. In a future post maybe I'll share a bit more about those. In the meantime, your prayers are appreciated for the dear ones we are leaving behind and for the ones we are looking forward to knowing better in the years to come.