Category: Memories

My Sweet Girl

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“Children’s children are the crown of old men, And the glory of children is their father.” Proverbs 17:6 (NKJV)

Dale and I are blessed to have two grandchildren, two bonus grandchildren and two bonus great grandchildren. Each one bring us joy and laughter.

Today, our granddaughter turns eight. Little Miss came as a surprise to us. She is always filled with surprises. Her middle name was given in honor of her aunt, our youngest. Like her namesake, she comes up with the wildest things. Also like her parents, she is full of the energy of them. She is blessed with a history and genetics that provide gasps and more gray hair for me. I love that about her.

My daughter did not want to give birth on Halloween. She was adamant about that. She vowed that she would hold off until November. I smiled and asked if she talked that over with the Lord. She now often quotes that we make our plans and the Lord laughs at them.

Our Little Miss came at just the perfect time. Her life has been ordered of the Lord. She is our pumpkin. Her zest for life astonishes me. Her caring and kindness oozes from her. Yes, I am bragging a bit, grandparents are allowed to do this.

So, precious one, have an awesome birthday. May you always have a zeal to meet and conquer whatever is before you. May you greet each challenge with the boldness of your Daddy. May you love unconditionally like your Mommy. Most of all may you continue to love your Creator who blessed us with you.

Out of Nowhere

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Dale’s Dad was born in 1911. He often told the story of he and his brothers and I believe a sister piled into a Model T and drove out west. I guess somewhere in Oklahoma they picked up a goat and strapped it onto the running board of the car so they could have fresh milk. He was filled with wonderful stories like this. We would laugh until our sides hurt and tears were rolling down our cheek.

Dale and I have often talked about all his Dad saw in his lifetime. The first production line of cars, two world wars, the riots of the 60’s, space travel, telephones and right before he passed away Dale and I had bought our first computer. In one lifetime, so much was witnessed.

Granted, in my lifetime, I also have seen much, read much, experienced much. It’s the way life happens as none of us live in a bubble.

What prompted the above is a random memory that somehow, out of the dark recesses of my mind, came rushing up to the front of my brain today.

I believe I was in 7th grade and I had gone to camp for our school. It was May. Camp Glinodo was a camp run by the Benedictine Sisters. There was a pool on the property and we swam all day on Saturday. Of course, I burned, badly. I usually do that. This time there were blisters forming, which is also common for me. The nuns were checking on us for the last time. I was in the top bunk and I was crying. The nuns took me into the kitchen and figured out what to do with the burns. Eventually they decided to put milk on my sunburn. I was given something to drink and Sr. Patricia sat and talked with me.

The true reason for the tears came out at that time. My older sister was going to her prom and I wasn’t there to see her. I told the nun how beautiful her dress was, and I was so sad I couldn’t see her all dressed up. The thing I most remember from that is she had long gloves with pearl buttons on the wrist. I thought she was so elegant. I related to the nun that I was allowed to try them on and that someday, I would have long gloves like that.

After talking she took me back to bed and I slept.

I haven’t thought of that in decades.I have thought of the gloves, though. This was a time when young ladies wore gloves. When we went to church, you put your gloves on. Same with any outing. I had lacy ones with ruffles on the edge. I also had plain ones.

When I married and went to the commissary (grocery store on base), it was required to wear dresses, closed toe shoes and gloves to enter. I don’t know when gloves went out of fashion, or were no longer a requirement, but they disappeared. I never owned a pair of long gloves.

Such a random thought today. It amazes me when memories hit you. It’s like a random shot out of nowhere.

The Lord created us for things like this. Memories that make up a life. Memories that bring smiles and reminders of where you came from. Memories that are etched on our hearts and in our minds.

The Bible talks about remembering. We are encouraged to remember

“I remember the days of old; I meditate on all Your works; I muse on the work of Your hands.” Psalm 143:5 (NKJV)

Changing Past Reflections

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“For we are God’s masterpiece. He has created us anew in Christ Jesus, so we can do the good things he planned for us long ago.” Ephesians 2:10 (NLT)

Just a thought for today. How often do we look at our reflection and play an old record in our mind?

You know the type of recording, for some it may be a mental 77 rpm’s, a 33 long play, or a 45rpm. Or, some people listen to old mental recordings on a 8-track, cassette, or a disc. The point being, that at some point in our lives something was said, or hinted at and we recorded it in our mind. It became a part of us. It is what we listen to when we view ourselves.

Yesterday Dale and I had a conversation. It was an interesting one for both of us. We sat down to talk about what we’d like to get accomplished in the next little bit and out poured thoughts that we both thought were long buried and forgotten.

It wasn’t an argument, it was a real conversation, a good one. The result being I have since thought of the records (I’d like to say 45’s but it’s more like the long play album of a 33) that I listen to.

I have a pretty good memory, which is good, considering my age. But sometimes with that memory I think of off handed comments said in a moment and yet they cling to me like gospel truth. These thoughts do not build me up. I use them to criticize and tear myself down. I thought I had erased bad recordings, but like a stack of records you sometimes hit upon an oldie you had forgotten about.

All of this to say, for me, and hopefully someone else as weirdly wired as me, that our Lord is in the business of erasing for good all the old recordings we don’t need. Even at my age, I still discover that God isn’t finished with me yet. He continues to hold tight to me and fashion me into someone with a child like faith. Grasping onto my Savior’s hand and trusting Him to lead me where He wants me to go.

Sometimes that path means leaving the unplayed stack of records on it’s own and rediscovering melodies sang to me by God.

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.