Category: Memories

Looking at the Same Things

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“They are new every morning; Great is Your faithfulness.” Lamentations 3:23 (NKJV)

I have found out from living in various places that you can become accustomed to a place.

Growing up in Oil City, PA, I took for granted the Allegheny River and Oil Creek flowing through our town. The hills and the change of seasons were things that just happened, like clock work. They had always been there, so they would always be there.

When I married and moved to VA, I was amazed at seeing the Atlantic daily. I was in awe of the vastness of the ocean. It was an adventure, but I missed the hills of Oil City. I missed knowing where everything was. I missed home.

Eventually we left Virginia and moved to Japan. A foreign country with such a vast history was fascinating to me. The noise, the crowds, the trains, the language and the writing, each so unique and incredible to me. We eventually moved to our permanent quarters which looked out to Mt Fuji in the distance. I thought I would never tire of seeing this sight. Yet, after a few weeks I would open my blinds and continue on my day. Yes, we lived on a plateau overlooking Sagami Bay with Fuji looming behind that, but, it was home and life went on.

A few years later, we moved to the coast of Maine. Again, magnificence out our door. Lobster boats, the rock bound coast that challenged the Atlantic ocean in a different way than Virginia. The absolute cold and snow, the boundless beauty of this area. It was breathtaking and yet, during the summer I would be frustrated with tourist as they slowly made their way around the loop road. I would sigh, and say, yes, those are rocks, those are waves crashing, but I am on my way to the base, keep moving. I was accustomed to the sights.

I did the same with the view from our house in San Diego. The Coronado bridge, the bay, Point Loma, the sunsets painted by our Lord. Yet, it was home, dishes were done, meals cooked, laundry done.

It finally occurred to me that although sights capture your attention and are new when you first arrive, they become commonplace when you see them daily.

I thought of this today as I drove home from the store. The leaves on the trees lining a driveway for a farm shined brightly in the cold sunlight. It caught my attention and I asked forgiveness for taking such a beautiful view for granted.

Each day with our Lord is new. Each day is filled with fresh mercy and grace and forgiveness. How sad that our Creator wakes the world up, each place painted in a new way for a new day and we just drive down a road thinking about something entirely different.

This world was created for us. For our habitation, for our enjoyment, for our adventures and we grouse about so much.

Lord, let me see each day with Your eyes. Refresh my sight to see Your glory. Amen.

External Scars

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We all carry scars on our body. I have several. One is where I fell on a sickle cut branch and broke a stick off in my leg. It ended up circling around my leg and coming out the same hole it went in. But, that’s another story.

Another scar is from when I slipped in a parking lot area and fell on a spike laying on the side of the road.

Later on I received a scar after cutting some bread and cut my finger instead.

Yes, we all carry scars. Each scar has a story behind it. Some of the stories make you grimace and some are just wonderfully funny stories. Scars show a life well lived.

External scars can be talked about for the most part. They are noticeable and can become conversation starters.

There is another type of scar though. These scars are the ones not seen. Looking at a person you can never tell what internal scars they have. Broken hearts are not readily visible, nor are trauma scars, emotional scars, scars from grief or scars of rejection. Each of us also carry those scars. It’s just that we hide them, tucked away in our inner being.

What if those internal scars revealed themselves? Somehow showing the slight bump or thinner skin like the ones I talked about? How would we deal with them?

I have heard that I have great insight. Ha! I think any insight I may have is first of all, from the Lord. Secondly, any insight comes from internal scars that I carry with me. Sometimes it is referred to as the school of hard knocks, I personally refer to it as life.

One of my favorite scriptures is Psalm 139:14, “14 I will praise You, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made; Marvelous are Your works, And that my soul knows very well.” (NKJV)

Each one of us was created in our Mother’s womb. Carefully knit together by the hand of God. He lovingly created our lives, knowing that the form developing in the womb would one day be scarred, internally and externally. It’s not what He desires, but, we are in this world. We fall down, we get hurt, people hurt us. With each bump and bruise we recover, but we are not the same.

Some external wounds take time to heal, and leave a reminder of what happened. Some internal wounds do the same, taking a season to heal and leaving a tender area in us. Since the internal wounds are hidden, they sometimes are never fully healed.

Isaiah 53:3-5 talks about our Lord and how He came to heal us, externally and internally. “He was despised and rejected—  a man of sorrows, acquainted with deepest grief. We turned our backs on him and looked the other way. He was despised, and we did not care. 4 Yet it was our weaknesses he carried; it was our sorrows that weighed him down. And we thought his troubles were a punishment from God, a punishment for his own sins! 5 But he was pierced for our rebellion,
crushed for our sins. He was beaten so we could be whole. He was whipped so we could be healed.” (NLT)

Sometimes it’s easier to believe that outer injuries can be easily taken to the Lord. It’s easier to say, I believe, and wait to see a healing done to our bodies. It’s the internal that we keep hidden that is harder to believe for. We hide that broken heart, that broken spirit, the trauma, the emotional abuse, it’s not something we can talk about. Nonetheless, we need to take that to our Lord. His stripes that He bore for us, heal our entire person, inside and out.

I encourage you, if there is something in the recesses of your heart that is hard on you, take that first little step and let our Lord look at it. He can and will heal you.

“He heals the brokenhearted and bandages their wounds.” Psalm 147:3 (NLT)

If Only My Legs would Move

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I love music. I love dancing, but, my feet do not move and so I stand stationary with a slight sway and sporadic hip movements. I have always longed to dance freely and I think, as a child, I did.

Somewhere a switch turned off and since then, I sway.

Each St. Patrick’s day there is a yearning deep within me to do a jig. I can feel it rising up and yet, nothing. I sway, longing to move and dreaming of someday being in Ireland. I have thought if I could get to Ireland and get in touch with my heritage, I could jig.

There was a year in our family where we celebrated many weddings. My sisters danced and had a wonderful time. I watched, aching to join in. But, my legs would not move.

In worship, I see people moving, dancing before our Lord. Again, I sway. I have actually prayed that the Lord would loosen my feet, loosen my legs and let the joy I have deep inside overflow into dance. It must be one of those prayers whose answer is Wait.

So, wait I do. I imagine when I get to heaven I will hit the gates dancing. I will be filled with such joy that I will not stop dancing. I will do a jig with my parents, I will do a dance with my child who is there, I will joyfully bounce with David, and do jazz hands with the apostles. With Jesus, I will do a waltz, allowing Him to lead me sweep across heaven, swirling and twirling. I wonder if Joshua would do a tango?

We took a dance course. It was fun, but like higher math, it did not sink into me. So, I remain a swayer yearning to explode joyfully before the Lord. Until then, I will wait and ponder on this scripture.

“Praise his name with dancing, accompanied by tambourine and harp. 4 For the Lord delights in his people;  he crowns the humble with victory.” Psalm 149:3-4 (NLT)

Memories

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“Train up a child in the way he should go, And when he is old he will not depart from it.” Proverbs 22:6 (NKJV)

Growing up, my home church was a cathedral on the hill. The spires are seen as soon as you drive into the city. For me, when I see them, I know I am home. They are a welcoming sight, they hold a lifetime of memories for me.

Today my sister posted an article and photo of the inside of the church. It has recently undergone a renovation inside. This will be the main Catholic church in town. The population has shrunk and although I grew up with four Catholic churches within the boundaries of the city, now this church will be the primary church for people. All of the churches were beautiful and it saddens me that this landmark is the only one to be used for services.

As I looked at the picture my sister posted I marveled at how it looked. Four stained glass windows were still in place above the altar. The stained glass in the church is breath-taking. The paint on the walls surrounding the windows has been restored to the beauty of when it was built in 1864. The gilding has been restored in either silver or gold, could not tell from the photo.

I remember staring at the stained glass during each service. It kept me occupied when, as a child, I was too bored to pay attention to what was going on. If we knelt, I would carry on imaginary conversations with a family of ants that didn’t exist except in my mind.

Thinking of all of this, I realized that the scripture in Proverbs came to life for me in a fresh way. My parents took me to church each week. Church was a part of my life. I attended the church school. You could say my young life was centered around the church.

As I grew, although I went in a different direction as far as churches go, I did not depart from my upbringing. I was trained up in the way I should go.

Clouds

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When I was young my sister’s and I would often lay on the ground and study the clouds. We would each see different things. The challenge was to get the others to see what you saw.

Later on, Dale and I would do the same with clouds. Looking at them and laughing how we each saw something so different.

I haven’t stopped to look at clouds in a while. Early this evening I was actually in a position to do so.

Above me, there were several different types of clouds. Suddenly I saw one cloud moving. It was if this cloud was moving in a crowd or down a road. At first I thought it looked like a circus train moving behind vehicles.

As I watched that cloud move, it occurred to me that it looked like a crown. The light shine behind it and into my mind came the song “The King is coming”.

The words echoed in my mind, The King is coming, the King is coming, I hear the trumpets sounding and now His face I see.”

The song continues and at the end it says, Praise God He is coming for me.

As I finish writing this, the evening clouds are forming and just a small patch of blue hangs in the sky. Someday I will be able to see the other side of the sky wrapped in my Savior’s arms.

One is Silver, The Other Gold

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Years ago, I wrote a post on friendships. I based it on the old Girl Scout song, Make new friends, but keep the old, one is silver and the other gold.

In it I talked about seasons of friendships, how sometimes they wane and sometimes they are a vital part of your life.

oAs we had recently moved to the east coast after many years on the west coast, I talked about my friends from there as golden friends and I pondered if the friends newly made would move from silver to gold.

This morning was Bible Study morning. As I looked around the room, in the back of my mind played that old girl scout song. It occurred to me that I no longer put people into categories. I no longer held people at arms’ length waiting to see how the relationship would play out. Having been burned by women in the past, I held people at a distance, not wanting to reveal much of me and therefore keeping myself shielded from possible harm.

Although, in theory, this is a good safety practice, it can also isolate you. Yes, I have had women that I thought were dear and close friends for years hug me only to realize they had a hidden dagger in their hand that was used to wound me. These wounds would be in words that tore me down and made me feel less than, or they would be instances of broken trusts, or just being left to ponder what I had done.

I don’t say this to elicit pity, I am just being honest. I could spend my time thinking of those times, and like an animal with a thorn in it’s paw, I could lick it until it was raw and growl at anyone approaching me to help heal the area. What I have learned through these situations is I have grown in each instance. It does make me cautious when choosing friends and I still hold much close to me, but, these circumstances have all produced growth within me.

The Lord heals the bumps and bruises we receive emotionally. By His Holy Spirit we are transformed and made whole. The Lord will slowly cause a recovery of my spirit and shortly after that, I can pray for those individuals regardless of the pain that was caused. I know this happens because, I pray for their health, for their well-being, instead of praying they meet a mac truck head on. (C’mon, we have all been there)

Friendship is such a gift. To meet someone and to allow them to touch your life is a treasure. Women need one another. Yes, we can talk soul-mates and best friends in husbands, but women need women. We sharpen each other. We laugh. We realize that what we experience is something we all at one time have experienced. We support one another.

The Bible study this morning was filled with women who are golden to me. They reflect the beauty of the Lord, they minister freely. They support freely. They lift one another up.

I am grateful for the golden gifts of friends.

“The heartfelt counsel of a friend is as sweet as perfume and incense.” Proverbs 27:9 (NLT)

My Recipe Box

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One of the first things I did after getting engaged to Dale was to visit his Mom holding a stack of index cards. I then went through her recipe box copying recipes from her.

A few months later, my sisters gave me a shower. They had a recipe box for me and it was filled with recipes from all my relatives and Dale’s relatives. Some just signed their names, some wrote little notes on the back and some added additional ideas for the recipe. It remains one of my most cherished gifts.

With the internet I now find I hardly go to my recipe box or my grange cookbook. I just go online, search for what I want to make and go from there. This evening, Dale had a men’s potluck. Today was one of those fall days where you long for the past. I woke up thinking how I would love to have spent the day in Old Town Alexandria, VA with my youngest. She’s lived in Charleston, SC for years now, but the thought of pushing a stroller and browsing through shops and sharing lunch like we did long ago, just sounded wonderful.

But, getting back to the potluck, I wanted to make something that had a history to it. I decided on homemade baked beans. I searched my recipe box (you knew it was going somewhere, right?). Inside were scraps of paper, worn notebook paper, deposit slips with recipes on the back and the usual recipe cards, many with different handwriting than mine.

The baked bean recipe is on a note size paper, the bottom a bit frayed and the sides of the paper bent in many directions. I remember when I wrote it down. I sat in the kitchen of my mother-in-law. I sat in a chair at the table and she dictated the recipe to me. It was from the woman who taught her how to cook. The recipe is close to 100 years old. When I taste them, I taste home and hear the echoes of family reunions in my mind.

After fixing the beans, I pulled out my grange cookbook. So many tried and true recipes in there for me. Today it was pumpkin cake for the guys. As I leafed through the pages of the cookbook, there were again pieces of paper thrust inside. There were notes scribbled on the pages, don’t use this temp, it will dry out. Add more sugar to this one. Don’t ever make this again. Things like that.

It was a nostalgic morning for me today. Some recipes were from our time in Japan. It was like I got them yesterday, I remember the first time I had the Korean beef and realized I hadn’t made it in years. There was a hobo sandwich recipe that my sister had sent me in a letter while we were overseas. Hobo sandwiches were made in the hospital cafeteria when she and I worked there before I was married. Several cheesecake recipes that I swore I would make often and now I just remember the person writing the recipe for me and forgot how the dessert tasted.

It was a wistful morning for me as my mind traveled back in time to people and places that once were home.

Psalm 143:5 says, “I remember the days of old. I ponder all your great works and think about what you have done.” (NLT)

I never imagined all those years ago that my life would be so full. Eating is a part of life, it is a necessary thing for our bodies, but it is also a social event for us. Memories are made around food. People bond over food. Opening that recipe box today was like opening a scrapbook. With each bit of paper, with each signature, my life’s history opened up to me.

Anxiously Waiting

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“For our citizenship is in heaven, from which we also eagerly wait for the Savior, the Lord Jesus Christ,” Philippians 3:20 (NKJV)

I love when we are expecting visitors. When my sisters and niece came to visit a few years ago, I was already watching for them minutes after they had left Charlotte, NC, which is an hour and half from our home.

When our daughters are coming in, I text them consistently asking where they are, just so I can picture in my mind how far they are in their trip. I usually want to have food ready for them when they arrive, so I finally ask them to let me know when they are a half hour away so I can make finishing touches on the food, and then I sit by a window waiting impatiently to see their car drive up our road. It’s not that I worry, no, I am just anxious to wrap my arms around them and make my mother’s heart happy.

When Dale was in the Navy and the ship was scheduled to come in, I would be one of the first ones to the dock, with the girls, waiting for my ship to come in. They would be in a battle group and the destroyers would come in together. Dale’s ship had markings on it that distinguished itself as the one I was looking for. I would watch the bay waiting to see it. Minutes passed like hours and often, since it was way before cell phones or computers we depended on a recorded message to give an approximate time of arrival. Often too, the time was delayed at the last minute and I would be stuck with two hungry children wanting to be home instead of on a windy pier.

Lately I have had the song “The King is Coming” going through my mind. Along with that oldie but goodie I have had “I’ll Fly Away” in my mind. I haven’t sung either in a very long time, but both make me so excited.

There is one arrival I am anxiously awaiting. I have been looking forward to this one since 1977. “Don’t let your hearts be troubled. Trust in God, and trust also in me. 2 There is more than enough room in my Father’s home. If this were not so, would I have told you that I am going to prepare a place for you? 3 When everything is ready, I will come and get you, so that you will always be with me where I am.” John 14:1-3 (NLT)

Today as I walked, I looked into the bright blue sky that was dotted by just a few clouds. It’s a glorious fall day out. I love these kind of days. The leaves are starting to turn yellow and red and enough leaves have fallen in the woods around our house that I could see a bit of the paths the deer walk.

This was a wonderful walk and I thought, the Lord could return today. We don’t know when He will arrive, don’t know the day, the hour or minute. Only our Father in Heaven knows. So, today, I realized that even for this event I am impatiently waiting. Wondering how close that trumpet will sound, how long until I can run to Jesus and throw my arms around Him making this heart of mine so very glad.

Gift of Friends

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“As iron sharpens iron, so a friend sharpens a friend.” Proverbs 27:17 (NLT)

When Dale and I moved to the upstate of South Carolina, I was amazed at how many people had friends for decades. Families were close together and able to visit one another. People have family Sunday meals with one another. Friends go back to childhood in many cases.

I know such things exist, but basically being in military towns we often were the ones who were a bit different. Our family was distant. Old friends were distant. It was something we are used to.

Today we had ladies Bible Study at church. Afterwards we all went to lunch together. As I sat there I listened to conversations. There was history in each conversation. I loved that.

After leaving San Diego we struggled to feel like we belonged. We were used to our way of life. We had our church and church family. We were a tight knit family. We all knew each other’s history. We had seen the good side and the not so good side of each other. We knew one another and there was a history with us.

I had actually thought when we arrived here that the feeling of belonging would not happen again. I was settled in that thought. The Lord proved me wrong when we first walked into our church. I have never felt the love and acceptance so quickly as I did with this group of people.

So, today, as I listened to the other women talk, I realized that, although we have only been here eight years, I belonged. This group of women have held me up, made me laugh, given me joy, prayed for me and became an extended family to me.

I am so grateful for my friends here. They are truly a gift.

A Mother grows up

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Mothers nurture, it’s an instinctive trait in most women. I know it was for me. When mothers are born, it is an unbelievable event. You look at the little baby in your arms and all of a sudden you are a mother badger. That has always been my animal of choice in describing my need to defend and protect my daughters.

As the children grow, which they do quickly, mothers lag behind. I know personally I have straggled behind, not willing to catch up. I have dragged my feet, declaring that I still need to be there for my daughters in all areas. Not necessary, really.

Yes, I know that I will always be Mom to them. I will be available for them if they truly need me.

This week as I started to send our youngest daughter an anniversary card I looked at the card. On the front is a lasso type rope around the words Happy Anniversary. I picked out the card because their wedding had sort of a cowboy theme underneath the southwestern beauty of their wedding. Mentally I looked at the card and knew it just happened a few months ago.

No, fourteen years ago this evening (October 2nd) we watched as our daughter went from Miss to Mrs.. It happened quickly and yet I could see the moment that she was no longer just ours, but his.

When I realized that it was their 14th anniversary I retrieved Dale’s and mine wedding book. Inside I have what we did for the first 20 anniversaries. I wrote just a few words each years as reminders. Under the year 14 for us, I wrote, Dale in Rhode Island, Cathi in San Diego. Dale and I recounted the events around our 14th anniversary. His Dad had passed away in early January that year. We went to Pennsylvania and hours after the funeral we drove Dale to Pittsburgh so he could fly to Rhode Island for a school for the Navy. I stayed with his Mom for a couple of days and flew home to our girls.

Looking on the list I noticed how many anniversaries he was somewhere and not together. Such is life as a Navy couple.

As Dale and I talked about our fourteenth anniversary, we talked about how old, wise and mature we were. Without noticing the proverbial brick landed on my head. A Mother grew up.

It hit me. The young woman that we watched 14 years ago is not the same woman she is now. She is a wife, a mother herself, half of a couple who have been through and survived much in this short time. My baby is grown up. It is now time for me to grow up.

I no longer need to fret over her. Yes, I can always love her and worry, but I no longer need to be that helicopter, wondering how she is, and what is going on. I can watch from a distance knowing she has this.

I once bemoaned the fact that the girls did not call daily. Dale looked at me as only a father and husband can and simply said, “Didn’t you raise them to be strong, independent women?” I answered that I did. He then said to me, “Then what’s the problem? You did well.”

So, as I start on this path of a grown up Mom, I look to our Lord. I have known their whole lives that I have only been blessed for a season with them, but our Lord is their Lord. He will be the One to guide and direct them. He provided strong men of God for my girls. He has blessed them in many ways. Now, this foot-dragging Mom is now getting out of the way, but not completely.