The Girls

Last night I attended the visitation for my great-uncle Arliegh.  He passed away this past weekend at the ripe age of 96.  I'm not big on funerals (I cry too much) so the visitation seems less daunting plus I only had to bring one darling instead of three.

It so happened that my beautiful sister and her husband were also attending.  At events such as this, when dealing with life long residents of an area, there are always people who know me but I have no clue who they are.  We stood by Grandma Pearl and made conversation while different people came up and said hello.  "Oh, you are the girls!"  was heard more than once.  The one that nearly broke me was,  "Oh, you are Peggy's girls."

We are Peggy's girls.  For as long as I can remember, Grandma has introduced or reintroduced us a the girls.  My aunts called us the girls.  Old teachers called us the girls.  It was who we were.  I certainly don't mind being lumped together with my beautiful sister.

Plus calling us the girls gets Grandma off the hook for remembering our names.  I am sure she curses my parents for giving us both S names.  :-)

A Little Perspective

I see a green five gallon bucket.....Daniel sees a fun time of splish-splash

I see a stick.....John sees a sword, a gun, a light saber...a bow and arrow....

I see a tree.....Elijah sees a chance to see how far he can climb

I see a ball...Daniel sees a game of fetch with himself

I see a mess...the boys see the most fun they have ever had, ever.

I see peanut butter and honey (again)....John sees a gourmet lunch

I see a pile of dirty laundry....the boys see great outdoor adventures from the backyard

Sometimes, I need a little shift in my perspective.

The Thief of Joy

"Comparison is the thief of joy"  so sayeth Teddy Roosevelt or Dwight Edwards (depending on your Internet source).  As a girl who strives to look for the bright side of things I am struck by how often I rob myself and others of joy by comparing.  Most often I compare in my head, as I drive, talk, interact with the world.  I check off how my hair is not as good as hers.  How my outfit is definitely not the latest trend like hers.  How my van doors require muscle instead of magic.  How my home is not nearly as Pottery Barn as that one.  How my kids behave better than those but not nearly as respectfully as those.  And on it goes.

God has a word for it.  Sin.  This past Sunday Pastor Randy continued his sermon on the seven woes. In Matthew 23, Jesus warns the Pharisees of their utter blindness to their sin.  On Sunday Pastor Randy looked out to the congregation and asked, "What are your blind spots "  I said a quick prayer right there and went on with the business of trying to keep John quiet and Elijah from staring behind him.

And then, "Comparison is the thief of joy" kept ringing in my ears.  Comparing is my blind spot.  I do it so often, we all do, that is has become expected, normal, part of the culture.  "It's just who I am and God made me."  

Except that it is not.  God desires us all to have joy, which is only complete in Him.  When I waste time comparing/coveting/whining I am robbing myself of the joy of contentment and celebrating all the blessings God has given me.  This is a slap in the face of a God who has given me more than I deserve.  Ouch!

Paul instructs us in Hebrews, "Keep your lives free from the love of money {or hair styles, or clothes or cars or behavior of children) and be content with what you have, because God has said, “Never will I leave you; never will I forsake you.” Hebrew 13:5

I don't have a tidy ending here.  Just my observations and confession and prayer for improvement.

What makes a miracle?

There is a lot of talk of miracles around these parts lately.  Mostly due to the fact that my dearly beloved, beautiful sister is with child.  Once a doctor told her and her knight in shining armor that being with child would not ever happen for them.  EVER, or at least not until they were 100 years old (literally).

Is her pregnancy a miracle?  Yes.  {I love God, who can do any thing, at any time and laughs in the face of those who say, "Never."}  I am not diminishing the awesomeness of  this little baby but....

I also happen to believe that the three little people on Shebal Avenue and three little people living at my house are miracles too.  All placed in our family to teach us, stretch us, and refine us.

I believe I am a miracle.  I came along 10 months after my sister and nearly killed my mom in the process.  By the statistics I should be a smoker and a drinker.  I should have been a pregnant teenager who dropped out of college.  But I am not those things, because God is a God of miracles.  He snatched me up out of more trouble than anyone will ever know. And I am so thankful that He counted me worth it.

Spring is a miracle.  The trees grow leaves.  The grass turns green.  Flowers spring up out of the ground.  All because God told them too.  And then ice comes, snow falls, branches crumble but none of them damage our house.

But the best and biggest miracle of all is that the Holy Spirit lives in me, in my beautiful sister, in my husband, and my brother in law, in Elijah and prayerfully in all those other little people (and big people) we shepard each day.  It takes a miracle for our eyes to be opened, our hearts to receive and our lives to be transformed into one who follows hard after Jesus.

So, what makes a miracle a miracle?  When God reaches down from Heaven and touches a life.  When God perfectly forms a baby.  When the unexpected happens, with no other possible explanation.

Bringing up Grandma

I keep looking for the book that will explain, in simple terms, how it is I am to raise my Grandma.  I know she is already a grown woman but many times she feels like another child I am sheparding through life.  I get to raise her with my beautiful sister, who truly does most of the hard work.

It is an interesting mix of gentle voices, honest pleas, and straight up demanding.  Grandma called on Thursday night to tell me her TV wasn't working.  Again.  We have been dealing with the saga of the TV for no less than 8 weeks now.  For whatever reason she had cable in her old apartment but no such luck in the new one.  So she was left with a digital tuner, antenna and two remotes.

This was just too much.  Used to routine, the two remotes caused many a late night phone call for help.  A couple of weeks ago, my darling man went out and bought her a new digital TV.  He connected it while Grandma marveled at how slim it was.  Her old TV weighed more than all my children put together!  One remote....problem solved.

No such luck!  The terrible ice storm, wind, rain, clouds, a passing truck all mess with her reception.  Phone calls ensue.  I understand.  When you are 87 and live alone.  TV is all you have to fill the quietness that surrounds you.  Being alone with your thoughts can be dangerous when you have lost a husband, three daughters and feel slightly abandoned by your other grandchildren and friends.

So, back to Thursday night.  With as much gentleness and honestly as I could muster at 5:30 I told Grandma it was time to look into paying for cable so she would not have to worry about if the TV would work.  She agreed and I got on the phone to set it up.  She got on the phone too and then called me back later, after having run the plan by at least 2 friends to make sure it was the right choice.  "It's too expensive.  Laura said it was $70.  Another friend said I just need to program the TV and then it will work."  The straight up demanding voice came out as I set things straight on the cost and the problem.  The next morning we had cable installed and so far I haven't had any phone calls about problems.

 I am sure a new problem will arise soon enough.  Prayerfully that book will come out soon so I can know what I am supposed to be doing!