Tag: Memories

Christmas Eve

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“13 And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God and saying: 14 “Glory to God in the highest,And on earth peace, goodwill toward men!”15 So it was, when the angels had gone away from them into heaven, that the shepherds said to one another, “Let us now go to Bethlehem and see this thing that has come to pass, which the Lord has made known to us.” Luke 2:13-15 (NKJV)

This time of year evokes memories. This time also pulls people into self-evaluation. How did I handle this year? What could I have done better? What would I like to see happen in the new year arriving next week?

Today it will be just Dale and I. We are doing last minute things around the house in anticipation of Little Man arriving the day after Christmas. So, today for the most part is a normal Saturday. Tomorrow we will go to church and celebrate the birth of Christ. It will be a quiet celebration for the day.

As I write, I wanted to say, Merry Christmas to all who are reading this post. At the beginning of this year I was struggling to write. This blog is almost a year old. The comments, the encouragement and the readers of this blog have given me gifts throughout the year. Your kindness and support hand me a treasure. Thank you for this year.

May this Christmas season be filled with blessings for you. May our Lord touch and heal areas that loom in the background of every day life. May joy become a daily presence in your lives. May laughter give you release and hope and increase your faith. As you celebrate through this season, may our God give you the desires of your heart.

Again, Merry Christmas and thank you for all you have done for me.

Christmas Carols

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“Suddenly, the angel was joined by a vast host of others—the armies of heaven—praising God and saying,

14 “Glory to God in highest heaven, and peace on earth to those with whom God is pleased. Luke 2:13-14 (NLT)

Everywhere you go you hear Christmas Carols. They begin in October in stores, so by December you don’t really notice them, they are part of the background noise while shopping.

I happen to love Christmas music. Today I thought of different seasons in my life and how Christmas music has affected them. When we had our first Christmas in Virginia, “I’m Dreaming of a White Christmas” brought tears to my eyes. It was the first Christmas away from Pennsylvania and I missed the snow.

In Japan the song “I’ll be home for Christmas” made me cry each time it played. For three years I did not like hearing that song. I just wanted to be home, with my sisters and with family. It was strange to be in a foreign country and celebrate Christmas without talking to family and laughing over the day.

In Maine, we had plenty of snow and we were home in the States once more. We could easily call home and hear familiar voices at the other end of the phone. Our oldest enjoyed her first, second and third Christmas there and life was busy and happy.

While in San Diego Dale worked or was gone for several Christmases. “Merry Christmas, Darling” by the Carpenters truly hurt my heart.

After our second was born (and Dale was away) “Away in the Manger” brought floods of tears. Remembering the humble birth of our Savior, but also holding onto a three month old baby and being in a big city where I knew there were babies with no place to rest their heads. It broke my heart as I clung to my baby while her older sister chatted away.

Music brings memories instantly. You can hear a song and know what you were doing when it plays. A first dance (Turn around, Look at me” by the Lettermen. A first date, “Maggie Mae” by Rod Stewart. A song played at your wedding, “Sunrise, Sunset” from Fiddler on the Roof. Your first dance as a married couple, “Silhouettes on the Shade”.

Each of those songs evokes a strong memory complete with feelings and smells. The same with Christmas Carols. Memories of past Christmases. They form part of the season. They mold your memories.

And although the songs I play bring back memories and smiles, there is a song sung daily over me that keeps me going, even though I do not hear it or know the words. “For the Lord your God is living among you. He is a mighty savior.
He will take delight in you with gladness. With his love, he will calm all your fears.  He will rejoice over you with joyful songs.” Zephaniah 3:17 (NLT)

Our First Christmas

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“31 As the Scriptures say, “A man leaves his father and mother and is joined to his wife, and the two are united into one.” Ephesians 5:31 (NLT)

Forty seven years ago, Dale and I were preparing for our first Christmas together as a married couple. We were in our first apartment and preparing to move into our second apartment on the 26th of December. Emotions were high as we had just received orders for Yokosuka, Japan the following April.

I think Dale started buying me things in early November, and he could not wait to give them to me. Each night coming home from work, he would meet me at the door and excitedly tell me of something he’d bought. He would be anxious to give it to me and before I could take off my shoes, he would be bringing an unwrapped gift to me.

He was so cute and I had to urge him to keep something for me to actually open on Christmas day.

I was no better. That year I got him a race track, complete with a stick shifter, and bank curve. It was huge.

I did wait though, for the actual day to give it to him.

I had dreams of us picking out our first tree together, but, he was able to go to a section of the base where he cut down our first tree. It was a huge Charlie Brown tree. With our one string of lights and one package of ornaments,it was very bare. The dollar angel we had hidden at a store until payday so we could buy it, perched precariously on the top branch.

But, after it was decorated, we thought it was the most beautiful tree ever.

Christmas day came and we were like kids on that day. At the end of the day, the presents were all in boxes, the tree was down and outside on the curb. The next day we put everything into our new apartment and left for a late celebration of Christmas with our families.

The first Christmas with just the two of us passed quickly. Little did we know that it would be our last Christmas actually spent in our hometown. Neither did we realize how special that Christmas was for us. Being newlyweds, we were still in the glow of youth, and marriage that was not difficult. We were carefree, and looking forward to all the possibilities of what the future held for us.

Forty seven years later, we are older (obviously), and we show the bumps and bruises of life. We think fondly on all our past Christmases. Some very festive and full of gifts and laughter, some a bit leaner, some with just I.O.U.’s under the tree. What was consistent on Christmas was the celebration of the birth of our Lord. He was with us through each and every Christmas, the full, the lean, and the empty.

His love was what has held us together, sometimes only His love. Christmas is a time for reflection. The ornaments we hang each have a story. The decorations could tell stories if they could talk.

Each corner of each room hold memories, Christmas and throughout the years. As I sit writing this, so many memories of Christmases past race through my mind. The time has passed much quicker than I thought possible. Each Christmas has been the most beautiful, most wonderful, they blend together. In each thought, though, is the glue that has made Christmas wonderful, my family. The same silly stories, the jokes, the laughter over memories, the smiles over gifts, the ahh’s of favorite candy given. The excitement over stockings. All of those harmonizing together and threading through each memory.

Thank You Lord for the precious gift of You, and the reason for this season.

Stay Classy

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Fifteen years ago as Dale and I were driving to meet friends for dinner, he announced that we would be moving. As I was the one driving in rush hour traffic on a Friday night, this was a shock to my system, especially since I almost missed our exit.

At that point, we had lived in San Diego for 25 years. We had raised our daughters there, we had had many experiences there. After hyperventilating on the freeway, I got us to the parking lot of the restaurant. I sat there looking at my husband, only able to ask, “What?”.

As we kept our friends waiting in the restaurant, Dale slowly explained what his day had held. He had had a very busy day with lots of news for him professionally. I sat holding on to the steering wheel trying to absorb what he was saying.

We were going to move, to the east coast, after 25 years. We went into the restaurant and broke the news to our friends. I still remember the conversations, the shock I felt and the anticipation that was growing in me.

The move didn’t happen right away, but it was looming in front of us. During the time of waiting, the Lord taught me many things. I was surprised that I had more than a few moments of panic at the thought of leaving. I did not expect that. We had never planned on being in California for that long. But, as I have relayed before, the Lord told us in 1982 that we would be in San Diego until He was done with us there.

As the move was delayed often, I always told others that I would believe we were moving when I say the big moving van back down our driveway.

Today, on my facebook memories I saw this, “on this day 13 years ago, After two years, the big truck backed down my driveway today… I believe it’s time to go. Stay Classy San Diego….”

I smiled to myself. I had gone to the store to get water and snacks for the day. Our house was visible from the road below coming from the store. I glanced up towards home and there, sitting in our driveway was a big moving van.

In some ways, that day seems like it happened yesterday. Sometimes it seems like we have always been here. It’s funny how memories are like that.

The Lord did move us. He orchestrated the time, the move, the lessons learned while living in our home overlooking the freeway and San Diego bay. For 24 of those years He provided beautiful sunsets out my kitchen window. The sky painted differently over the view of the Coronado bridge.

“A man’s heart plans his way, But the Lord directs his steps.” Proverbs 16;9 (NKJV)

For years I had longed for the east coast. I wanted to see seasons change. I wanted to be on the same side of the country where I was born and grew up. I did not want to grow old in San Diego.

“I” wanted many things. The Lord had a plan and in His time, He saw those plans through. We often want to rush those plans the Lord has for us. His timing is the perfect timing though. San Diego held so many trials and problems and tests for us. We were weary of it all. Now, thirteen years later, I look back and thank God for all we experienced while living there. Friends, sunsets and food is all missed. Once more the scrapbook in my mind of our life in San Diego is always available. I can open it up, remember and be thankful for all we experienced there with our Savior.

God is so good. He is faithful and just. I will rest in His plans.

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)

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.

A Memory kind of day

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“Your own ears will hear him. Right behind you a voice will say, “This is the way you should go,”
  whether to the right or to the left.” Isaiah 30:21 (NLT)

Today is one of those rainy days. The kind of day where pajamas call to you and a blanket is yearning to be wrapped around you. They will have to wait a few more minutes this evening as I write this.

My mind today has been filled with snippets of memories. Japan has come to mind as has Maine and San Diego. Each memory has been brief, but poignant to me.

A family in our church has just returned from an extended mission in Asia. This morning we briefly talked about Asian food. She is hungry for food from that region. I told her we understood, as we are continuously looking for good Japanese food. It’s hard to explain what we are looking for though. It is food that first fills your senses with the greeting and the particular smell of soy, barbecuing to a certain crispness and the smell of seaweed all mingled together. It’s a scent you carry with you and in earnest we look for.

Another couple has relocated from CA, a familiar area to us. She was also part of the conversation and I mentioned Mexican food. She smiled and agreed with me. Although the south has many incredible dishes, Mexican dishes are not part of the ‘must write home about this’ category.

A little later a friend mentioned lobsters and how her eight year old son long ago asked for a lobster. We talked about the price and how it is only on a luxury meal where you get lobster. I recounted how we knew lobster-men in Maine and our oldest cut her teeth on lobster. It was a shock to her little system, when at three years old we moved from the coast of Maine to the other side of the country.

I find it funny that most memories center around food. But with meals come conversations and conversations lead to friendships and family. We always said while serving in the Navy that God cuts the orders and Uncle Sam paid for the way there. For 21 years the Lord directed our steps. He told us to turn to the left, or to the right. He guided us in the way He wanted us to go. He never failed us.

Because of this, we now have deep impressions in our minds of times and places and people He brought into our lives. The memories today are precious to me, but I confess, I wish the Lord would now direct us here to the places that food would take our taste buds back to what they remember.

Genesis 2:1-3

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“So the creation of the heavens and the earth and everything in them was completed. 2 On the seventh day God had finished his work of creation, so he rested[a] from all his work. 3 And God blessed the seventh day and declared it holy, because it was the day when he rested from all his work of creation.” Genesis 2:1-3 (NLT)

With each day there was a boundary established by God, day, night, sea, land, seed bearing fruit, trees, birds, fish. Each creation had a boundary. Then He rested.

For the past two weeks, I have not given myself boundaries. I did not schedule time to write or really exercise. I enjoyed the company of my daughter, her husband and our Little Miss. Each day held it’s own excitement and adventures, even if it was just sitting on the couch watching television and playing restaurant. Each day gave me memories to cherish.

Now, we are home. Today I awoke with determination to get back into full swing of schedules. I have half succeeded. Laundry is finishing, most of the groceries are put away, and although writing has been on the forefront of my mind, these words are my only accomplishment.

I tend to be pretty hard on myself when I am not in a regimen. I look at numbers in my statistics on my blog, each time reminding myself that stats are just numbers. That does not always work for me, because with each number I see a person that has reached out to me. Each person who reads what I attempt to say is a gift to me, after all, they have taken time from their day to see what I have tried to say.

When my stats go to ‘0’ or ‘1’, I chide myself. I see in my mind a finger pointing at me and scolding me for not being where I think I should be. There are a lot of “I’s” in these sentences. It is then, that I remember that this blog is a gift also. My words do not come without a lot of prayer and my Lord sees the entire perspective. This blog belongs to Him and only through Him can I write.

So, after pushing myself to get back on track, fretting and stewing that I am not back where I think I should be, I have heard a gentle voice whispering, “Chill out! I’ve got this.” Followed by my thankfulness that I serve a God who understands me.

Signals

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It is raining again today. The temperature is still in the mid-80’s so it is warm.

Dale and I ate our lunch outdoors again. We sat on the screen porch and listened to the gentle rain falling on the other side of the screen. It was a quiet rain, a soothing rain. The type where you want to make soup for dinner or just curl up with a blanket and rest.

The falling rain reminded me of being in our hometown of Oil City, PA. I thought of times past when we were getting ready to head back to school. When you could feel in the air that summer was winding down and soon books would be what was focused on.

A rain that signals the beginning of the end of summer. Now, I am not a summer person. I much prefer the cooler seasons. But, there is something melancholy about the end of summer. The rain starts and although you know there are still a few weeks left of heat and humidity, the late summer rains carry a signal that soon the leaves will fall and the wind will hold a chill.

The days will grow shorter, nights longer and long sleeves will be part of the wardrobe. This year I feel the end of summer more than most other years. Although I am not a summer person, this time heralds the end of carefree vacations and days at the beach for so many. The days of fresh produce and summer fruit. The lightness of the season. Summer is laughter and playfulness.

Soon, as the stores are all displaying, school will start. Each package of new crayons with sharp points, highlighters that are crisp in color, notebooks that are new and not tattered, pens still in their package waiting to be opened forecast a more somber time. A time to sit still and listen. A time to learn and read. A return to the rote, the have-to’s.

Yes, that all hit me while munching on a sandwich and talking with Dale. Sometimes that which is not spoken carries the most weight in the mind. But, for now, it is only the beginning of August and yes, I am retired.

“And He changes the times and the seasons; He removes kings and raises up kings;
He gives wisdom to the wise And knowledge to those who have understanding.” Daniel 2:21 (NKJV)

Ouch! In a good way

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When we lived in San Diego I became involved in prayer ministry. A group of us would meet an hour before church each Sunday and pray for the service, the pastor, the city, and any pressing needs we may have.

A lot was crammed into those hour prayer times. It formed a bond with many who were part of the team. Some of my favorite memories happened during the hour before church.

When we moved to South Carolina, I attempted a couple of times to pray before church. Some time while living in the low country and then once we moved upstate, here.

I became discouraged here as I truly didn’t know people of the church well. I could see the faces of those who sat in each seat, but I didn’t know the people. I prayed for the service, which I could figure out, and then I wasn’t familiar with the city to pray for the community.

San Diego was easy to pray. I knew that to the west was the Pacific, and I knew what suburbs were against the water. North was towards Los Angeles and so I could pray for the north county, for the marines on Camp Pendelton , and for the communities north of the church. East was the mountain towns that eventually lead to the desert. South were the communities close to the border of Mexico. I knew the direction to face and how to pray. I was confident in those times. I knew the city, I knew the people, I knew the church.

Change in location shifts your confidence. At least it did mine. I have always had the desire to pray and to lead prayer. I have been to prayer conferences where I have learned so much. Nothing in my desire has changed, nothing in my knowledge has shifted, yet, moving cross country disoriented my focus and confidence.

This morning at church our Pastor preached an incredible sermon. It was titled “When God’s People Pray”. The message was encouraging, and yet at the same time it produced an OUCH in me. I knew everything he was saying and in fact, I have said a lot of what he said at different times in my life. Prayer is important.

I felt it was time for me to return to what I had been doing long ago. That was the ouch part. But, it was a good ouch. More like a jab to the heart of me to prod me to do what I know how to.

The message was so encouraging also. For years I doubted why I liked to pray. Was I really called to lead and teach in this area? Or, was it vanity on my part for being asked to teach and lead so many years ago? Those two questions have plagued my thought process for a very long time.

I have not stopped praying. I wouldn’t know how to do that. Part of that stems from my Catholic roots and the prayers I learned as a child. I continue to pray for my Pastors, for my church, for the city we live in (although I still have no clue which direction is which)

Today our pastor talked about what the prayers of the saints are. They are incense to our Lord. The tears we cry while praying are put in a bottle with our name on it and written in the Lord’s book. God keeps track of our prayers. As I sat in my chair, I remembered all the tearful prayers I have prayed over the years. They have been perfume to the Lord and He takes notice of what we pray.

I have not relayed as well what was spoken today, but this is one sermon that will not leave me. It struck a chord deep within and something shifted back to me. The prodding that took place realigned what had shifted in the move across this country. I felt my confidence start to return in this area. I left church full. I received fresh bread in the words spoken. I was renewed.

I don’t know how I will put into practice what I relearned today, but I hope in the Lord to guide and direct me in His perfect way. We serve a great and mighty God. He cares for us. He listens to us. He hears our prayers.

“In those days when you pray, I will listen.” Jeremiah 29:12 (NLT)