Do you know? Have you heard?

One of my favorite rooms in our home is an unfinished room in our basement that contains the furnace and hot water heater.  Ductwork is visible through the unfinished walls and ceiling.  A single lightbulb is affixed to a ceiling joist. It's also our "office" of sorts.  A real cozy place with random pieces of carpet on the cement floor and our grandkids' artwork taped up here and there.  My husband's desk and our printer are down there as well as file cabinets full of all manner of stuff that probably has very little significance.  And there are several shelves of books, MANY MANY BOOKS, that we've collected over the years.  

Generally I just go into that room to print things off. Our printer is so slowwwww that I have quite a bit of time to sit in the chair that's down there and just gaze around at the book titles and artwork and multi-patterned floor coverings.    

Nice way to pass the time and help me forget that I'd like a newer, faster printer.  

Every now and then I'll run across something that I consider a treasure.  
A few days ago I hit the jackpot:

Holy Bible, King James Version. With my mother's handwriting on the "presented to" page.  She even used my formal name, not "Bunny".  You may notice that the book is pretty fragile, being held together by tape.  















I hadn't seen this book for years and of course it transported me back to Christmas 1965, the date I received it.  I'm certain that 10 year-old me politely appreciated the gift.  It replaced the children's Bible that she'd given me on my baptism day a few years earlier.  

However,  17 year-old me came to really love the gift. 

If you've read very many of my blog posts you are aware that I lost my dad to leukemia a few days before Christmas in 1972, when I was 17.  I made the statement last year in my Christmas post that  "The typical stuff of Christmases past went out the door that year. And in came Jesus."    

But I didn't really elaborate on the "in came Jesus" part.  

I spent a lot of time alone during the weeks that led up to Dad's death.  In the evenings before bedtime I would be swept away in sadness.  I would pray through my flood of tears, asking God to give me strength because I just didn't know how I could live without my father.  

And during one of those prayer times I opened my Bible and read 
words that leaped off the page and into my heart.  I underlined these words.  I even memorized them in King James text. 

                                                                      Isaiah 41:13                            

And Isaiah 40: 28-31, which in modern translation says these words:

 Do  you not know, have you not heard? The Lord is the everlasting God, the Creator of the ends of the earth.  
He never grows faint or weary, and  there is no limit to His understanding.  
He gives strength to the weary and strengthens the powerless.  Youths may faint and grow weary, and young men stumble and fall, but those who wait on the LORD will renew their strength, they will soar on wings like eagles; they will run and not grow weary; they will walk and not faint.  

It was the very first time I experienced the Bible as the living word of God.  "In came Jesus", through the presence of God who spoke to me through His words that soothed my soul and brought me hope and strength.   

I experienced the Immanuel, God With Us of Christmas as these words told me that God would "hold thy right hand, saying...Fear not I will help thee".    "There is no limit to his understanding" told me that He understood my tears, he understood my pain.  "Those who wait upon the Lord will renew their strength" encouraged me to just wait on Him, trust Him,  and He would be faithful to give me what I needed to face the uncertain days ahead.

Opening this old Bible, seeing the words of truth that I underlined all those years ago..... I can't find the words to describe just what that meant to me.  Forty-five years ago as a heart-broken little girl God gave me a promise that He would be my strength, He would hold my hand, he would always, always understand me.  And He has kept his promise.  

Do you not know, have you not heard?    I pray you will know and hear.  I pray you will open the living Word of the One who created you and loves you more than you can imagine.  If you're wondering where to start, you can't go wrong with the book of John in the New Testament.  Or.....the Christmas story..... Luke 2:1-21.  

Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.  The best gift ever.  The Living Word.

  



               

Time well spent

This is what's left of a gift from my dad.  He bought me the entire set of encyclopedia books, but this is the only thing I kept after Google came into being.  Partly because I'm a word geek, but mainly because of the inside note you see here with his handwriting.  1968.  These items will never be found in a landfill.  Treasures.


My dad was a cabinet maker.  
Probably self-taught. Probably out of necessity.  He built pine cabinetry for various family members' homes.  His mother's kitchen was outfitted with some of his handiwork if I remember correctly.  Our own kitchen as well as the two other rental homes he owned also featured his kitchen cabinets.  

Functional, no-frills, not one ornate feature.  

One could describe the entire B.T. Krisher family that way.  

Daddy enjoyed working with all types of wood but walnut was his favorite.  He really appreciated the dark rich tones, textures and patterns in the grain.  And since he also loved his wife and daughters and family he built several things for each of us out of walnut lumber.  Desks, a little wall cabinet with shelf, book case.   I can say with certainty that none of these pieces of furniture would have been considered HGTV worthy.  But they were beautiful to his family.  We loved them.   Because we loved him. 

I was looking inside the doors of my wall cabinet just a couple weeks ago and discovered that the sliding door panels were made of strips of wood held together with red duct tape.  Red.  Duct.  Tape.  😁 Bear in mind that it was built in the 1960's.  The tape still holds. 

The bookends pictured at the top of this post are my favorite of his handmade gifts to me.  And, yes, there is red duct tape on the inside of the bookends.  

The desks have all for the most part fallen to pieces.  Mine is propped up against a wall in our family room with the wall cabinet sitting on top of it. Two of the desk legs are what you might call fractured beyond repair.   If there were a mild gust of wind in my family room the whole set-up would collapse.   My heart won't let me get rid of it.  My fingers almost wouldn't even type the last four words of the previous sentence.  

Some of the best times of my childhood were spent in that workshop behind the house.  Just Daddy and me.  As daughter number 4 and the last failed chance for him to finally get a son, he included me in most all of his woodworking projects.  Holding the lumber while he used the table saw or circular saw, holding the end of the tape measure, bringing him tools, helping him clamp and glue.  

Good times.   

Speaking of time...today I bought a new clock for our living room.   As I was unpacking and inspecting it, a long-forgotten memory flooded my mind.  

My dad once built a little clock for our home.  Out of walnut.  He crafted a 12" square piece of walnut and polished it up nicely then took the guts from an old clock to use for the mechanical part.  No duct tape was used this time.  And the clock worked.  I had it in my childhood bedroom on top of my desk.  I haven't seen it for years, have no idea at all where it ended up. Hadn't given it a thought until today.  

It was one of the last projects he tackled before he passed away.   It was a clock, yes, but today it occurred to me that it was more likely he was wishing he could give us time.  Which, with his leukemia, was something he was unable to do.  Our time together was oh so short.  A clock was as close as he could come.  A reminder of the precious nature of time.  

I'm not sure why this memory waited until now to come to me.  But I do know it's Christmas season.  

Many of us are making attempts to fulfill our children's "hopes and dreams" with the purchase of some trendy item that will end up in the back of a toybox somewhere, forgotten quickly.    

Or we're  struggling to find a gift for that older parent who has "everything".  

Let me offer the best suggestion ever.  Give them yourself.  Give them time with you. 

When it's all said and done and you're looking back at the years that have passed I can completely guarantee from experience you'll wish you had more time. 

 I wish I could find the clock.  But these are treasured memories of a simpler time with the man I was privileged to call Daddy.  

Time well spent. 

The year that changed Christmas forever

1972, my senior year of high school.  I was 17.  Dad had been battling leukemia for close to two years and it had been a roller coaster of both physical and emotional health. Mom continued to work because, well, she had to support us financially.    They celebrated their 37th wedding anniversary in late October and then of course the calendar was leading us on into Thanksgiving and Christmas.   

Thanksgiving that year was uncharacteristically cold and for some reason Dad started interrogating  me about my ability to change a tire during the 4 day break from school.    I assured him that Mr Campbell taught us the fine art of changing a tire during my freshman year of driver's ed.  This information didn't satisfy him and he simply insisted that we go out into the driveway so that I could prove to him that I could change a tire.  He was pretty weak, and it was bitter cold.  But he made his way out there and watched me, giving me step by step instructions.  Mission accomplished, I passed his test and we went back inside the house to warm up.  

Between that day and early December his health took a nosedive and on December 5th I watched as Mom, my brother-in-law, and my sister loaded Daddy up in the car to take him to the hospital in Salina.  I watched them drive away and as I walked back into the empty house, I had the overwhelming feeling that he wouldn't be coming home again.  

Over the next several days Mom stayed with Dad at the hospital and I went about school and my activities as much as possible, visiting him as much as I could in the evenings.  The weather was just horrible with snow and ice.  Mom had the good car in Salina, and I was driving the old Ford F150 red pickup, which we called Zip because its maximum speed was about 40mph.  Would you believe that during that period of time I had multiple flat tires on the pickup? Changed them all except one which was changed by a sympathetic passerby.  (Side note: I had never needed to change an actual flat tire before and to this day I have never ever changed a tire again)

I put up a little Christmas tree in the living room and tried to work up some holiday spirit.  But my heart was breaking little by little as I watched Daddy grow weaker and weaker when I went to visit him. He passed into the arms of Jesus on December 19.  Our hearts were relieved that his suffering was over, and our hearts were also broken into pieces at the same time.  

Christmas that year was not Christmas as we'd ever known it.  And it never would be again.   

The title of this blog post indicates that Christmas was changed forever. Changed, but certainly not ruined.  Not at all.  Far from it.  

In fact, you might be surprised to know that my heart learned exactly what the real meaning of Christmas is during those last two weeks of Dad's life.  

I spent a lot of time alone during that time.  Changing tires like Daddy had taught me to. Going through the motions of life as best I could.   Crying out to God with tears flooding my face.  Praying like never before.  Deep excruciating sadness like never before in my young life.  

The typical stuff of Christmases past went out the door that year. 

And in came Jesus.   Wonderful counselor, mighty God, everlasting Father, prince of peace.  Bringing comfort and strength that I desperately needed.  Loving as only God can perfectly love. Bringing hope even in the midst of deep sadness.   Immanuel, God with us.  God With Us.  What could be better than the very presence of Christ in our lives?  I can assure you from experience....nothing is better. 

Since 1972, the holly jolly, ho ho ho, giddy exuberance of Christmas never really happened for me again.  Losing someone you love will do that.  But it has been replaced by all is calm, all is bright, heavenly peace. Immanuel.  God with us.  The real deal.  Right there in a manger.  

  

I just have to wonder about that day.

Consider this scenario for me please:  A woman in her late thirties finds herself with an unplanned pregnancy.   The details surrounding her situation are sketchy. She does not choose to keep this baby for reasons that are only hers to know. And not ours to judge.  The known facts are that is she is in this country illegally, has no money, no health insurance, an unplanned womb occupant, and has had no prenatal care. Not an easy situation for anyone to be in.

At twenty-four to twenty-five weeks gestation the baby is delivered by emergency c-section.  The third trimester begins in week 28.  This baby.... aborted fetus.... you get the picture.  Eyes fused shut, skin so delicate that he can't be touched by human hands without harming him, APGAR score is 2 (TWO) and by 5 minutes is all the way up to 4 (FOUR).   If you are a little vague on the meaning of APGAR scores, google it.  This baby was in deep deep trouble.  Weight was 1 pound and 10 ounces and he was about a foot long. 

Imagine you are in that surgical suite looking at this fragile tiny piece of humanity who for all practical purposes is about to leave this world without immediate medical intervention and even then.....??  There is no insurance, there is no money to pay for heroic medical intervention or even a baby aspirin.  

But decisions were made and this baby was quickly transported 150 miles by medical helicopter to a NICU.    Whisked away from a womb that couldn't keep him, struggling to survive, needing a miracle in the worst way..... even though he had no one with him at the time who called him their own.  No one.  Alone.  I have to wonder if the doctors and emergency personnel on board that helicopter had at least a fleeting thought that this trip was not going to end well, if the phrase "waste of time" entered their minds, if the fact that the cost of saving this life was going to be astronomical and there was no one to pay for it except the taxpayer dollar.  I hope not, but I can't help but wonder what went through their minds on that late-night trip.   

In the course of the next three months of his life, the little fellow had blood transfusions, pneumonia, brain bleeds, possible seizure activity and all the other routine experiences of an extreme preemie.  He avoided any surgeries, and his little heart..... was very healthy and strong.  His little heart wasn't aware that he had no visitors.  No one called to inquire about his well-being.  No pictures were taken of him because.... ???? no one wanted pictures of him.  But I would never ever say no one wanted him.  I would never ever say that any baby is unwanted. 

 After three months of life in the NICU  the birth mom officially relinquished her parental rights.  That's where the story begins for my youngest grandson.  He went from a near-abortion type experience to being a cherished and adored member of our family.   Adoption --- it's a beautiful thing.   If you're my facebook friend you've seen pictures of him with his parents. (yes, I know, MANY pictures of him)  His parents' happiness oozes out of those pictures.  His happiness does, too.  He's approaching two years of age now and developmentally right on target.  He is a little miracle.  I thank God that his little life was spared.  And I thank God that in that surgical suite almost two years ago..... I can't even go there without getting teary-eyed.   Many details are unknown to me about the day of my grandson's birth, but I do know that someone did the right thing, made the right decision, and I am deeply grateful.

What if?

Historically, I have been what you might call the Queen of What If.  This condition started early on in childhood but  escalated quickly the very first time I held my first baby in my arms.  

What if....I break her?  What if....she breaks me??  

Worry.  What if.  By the time my husband or children walk through the door 15 minutes later than I've anticipated?  Well, I've already started the grieving process, just knowing they're in a ditch somewhere.  

In this particular day and age we are bombarded with opportunities to just wallow in worry.  Especially if we allow ourselves to get sucked into watching The News.  On any station you pick, it's going to bring you down down down.  Just the intonation and delivery of the news by television commentators will spark your What If tendencies and make you miserable.  I feel like a lot of television journalists can make even good news sound bad.  Who needs that?

Do yourself a favor.  Turn your TV off.  

Would you consider that life is better than we're led to believe?  Would you look around and find the good?  Seriously, it's everywhere.  It really is.  Make a list, you'll be amazed!

Back to the What Ifs.... sometimes they do come true.  Sometimes things do go horribly wrong.  Sometimes our lives are broken. We long for peace.  We need peace.  We won't make it without inner peace.

And we have access to that peace.  The Prince of Peace.  He's there for us, we're getting ready to celebrate His birth in a few weeks.  Jesus is peace, and Christmas should remind us of that fact.

But today is Thanksgiving and I learned something new recently in a Bible study I'm part of.  Peace starts with thanksgiving.  Being thankful activates trust in God.  The action of thanking God in everything, everything, reminds our hearts that God's in control.  We can trust Him.  He has never failed us.  He will never fail us.  In fact, He cannot fail us.  He knows the beginning from the end, the "Big Picture",  and even when we can't see the good, it's there.  We can trust Him with every part of our lives, and that brings peace.  

We can choose thankful prayer over wallowing in anxiety and worry.  This demonstrates trust in God.  "Concentrating on Him instead of being absorbed by our circumstances tells the Lord that we believe He is able to override and overcome even the most difficult issues.  This kind of faith catches His attention, and he responds by activating His peace within us."  (Priscilla Shirer, Armor of God)

Please believe me when I tell you that peace is there for the asking.  Thankful prayer will bring you peace.  It's that simple.  

What if... today's the day you reach out for peace through thankful prayer and trusting God!  It's the perfect day for that.....Happy Thanksgiving!  

Can I hear you now? Pretty unlikely.

So my dad had lots of admirable qualities and features that I would love to have inherited.  Hearing deficit wasn't one of them, but it seems that's the one I received.  No big deal, no complaints really.  I've found that there are kind of unexpected perks to having a bit of hearing loss at times.  😉  Might as well make the best of it, huh?  

And like every other unpleasant physical condition, it's always a good idea to find the humor and laugh at yourself occasionally.

Several years ago while shopping in a local Walmart store, I heard my name called over the PA system.  "Benita Coffman to aisle 2 please".  Having just recently moved from a really small town to big old Wichita it took me by surprise to hear my name like that.  So I didn't respond immediately, thinking I'd heard wrong.  But then a few minutes later, same announcement.  After the third time I began to wonder what in the world  was going on, so I timidly made my way to Aisle 2.  

After reaching that aisle, I saw a store employee and walked up to her.  She looked at me and asked if she could help me.  I tentatively said "I'm Benita Coffman".  Which elicited a puzzled look from her face.  About that time the announcement came over  the PA again.  I could hear it clearly this time.  "I need a stock man to aisle 2 please.".  Well.  What do you know.  Ineeda Stockman.  Not really my name.   That was embarrassing.  Then I said "Oh, never mind" and quickly walked on down the aisle.   Good grief.   

The wonderful thing about Walmart is that there's no real high standard of behavior for their customers.  But still.  I was pretty mortified and swore that something of this nature would NEVER HAPPEN AGAIN.  !!!  

And I vowed to never again listen to any PA system messages in any retail store while shopping.  Just ignore it, Benita.  You cannot hear well enough to deal with that kind of stuff.  Face it, no one will EVER be calling your name over the PA in a retail store.  

A few years later during my lunch break from work I decided to leave the building and go to Walgreens.  Just wanted to get out of the building for a bit and buy some much-needed snacks for the break room.  And so of course I strolled through every aisle of that store because there might just be new hair products or some fantastic AS SEEN ON TV product screaming "buy me".  

But I didn't hear the "Buy Me" message.  What I did hear was this:  "Benita Coffman to customer service".  No way, not falling for it.  They just need a stock man to customer service.   I continued shopping and of course the message was repeated.  I kind of shivered with horror as I recalled that one day at Walmart.  Not happening to me again.  Ever.   I made my way to the checkout counter and again heard my name.  By this time it was becoming pretty difficult to not say something to the checkout employee but....NO WAY.  

I quickly paid for my purchases and practically ran out the door and got into my car, feeling proud that I handled this little situation way better than that Walmart fiasco a few years prior.  Nothing wrong with my hearing.  They needed a stock man.  You know, old Ineeda Stockman.  

As I entered my workplace after lunch break I was met by a recently hired new nurse who frantically said "Why didn't you answer your page at Walgreens?  We needed you back here right away!!".  Apparently she overheard me talking about my lunch plans to go to Walgreens.  Uh oh.  Happily, it really wasn't as emergent as she was inclined to believe and when I told her and the rest of the gang why I ignored the page based on previous Walmart history, everyone got a good chuckle out of it.  

Laughter is okay.  Laughter is therapeutic.  Laughter is actually a pretty good way to deal with silly situations that try to reduce one's self esteem to record low levels.  Might as well laugh.  😊

I still don't listen to overhead announcements in public buildings.  I may end up wearing a hearing aide soon, but I will forever refuse to respond to anything that sounds like my name coming out of a loudspeaker in a store.  Nope. I ain't doing it.  

Energizer Bunny? Hardly.

This past summer I accompanied my husband on a work trip to Seattle.  It seemed like the perfect opportunity to visit what I'd heard is one of the  most beautiful places on earth.  

I heard correctly.  It is.  Beauty everywhere you drive. 

But the truth is, I didn't do any driving.  No wheels for this old chick.  The hubby had the rental car during the day so I was pretty much sequestered in the hotel which was in a lovely  area about 15 miles from his workplace.  And 15 miles equaled a 90 minute drive time for him to and from work.  Yes.  90 minutes for 15 miles.  Just one way.  It was a total of 180 minutes, THREE HOURS drive time each day for him.  Which served to extend my sequestered hotel time to approximately 12 hours each day.  


So I took the opportunity to learn how to use Snapchat on my phone. Valuable skills.  Perhaps skills that will add depth and appeal to my resume.  

Or not.  

Hey, I'm not looking for a job anyway. 
 R-E-T-I-R-E-D.  Don't you forget that. 

Re: snapchat and this picture.... Just to clarify, there was no mini-bar in the hotel room.  And to further clarify, I don't really drink.  

No complaints with the no-car bit, my feet work and Lord knows I need to rise up out of my chair and use them more often.  So I did log a lot of steps during that week along the walking path near the hotel. Lots of beautiful scenery but zero stores or shops or even a Starbucks anywhere near the walking path.  Just office buildings and techie type work places everywhere.  

After a couple days of taking ridiculous Snapchat pictures of myself and doing laundry and walking the same lovely path over and over, I decided to exercise the Uber app on my phone instead of my feet and get a ride to a quaint little shopping center a few miles away.  Sounded like a great way to spend several leisurely hours until the Mister got home from work.  

Have you used Uber?  It's an okay way to get a ride, though we found out it can be pricey depending on the time of day in Seattle.  Rush hour to our hotel from downtown Seattle one way?  $75.00  😲 But from the hotel to this little shopping area it was pretty reasonably priced. 

Shortly after ordering a ride I found myself in a car with a very pleasant man whose language skills didn't include fluent English.  And  me with my hearing deficit.  Delightful combination.  Plus he was new to the area and the route was complicated with road construction re-routes.  Imagine that.  It was a cumbersome trip and I was ecstatic to finally open the door and depart the car.  At the intended location, though the driver ended up dropping me off towards the back of the shopping center at the service/delivery entrance near the trash bins instead of the customer parking up front.  Why, you ask?  I have no earthly idea.  Language barrier.   

Country Village, Bothell, Washington.  So quaint, so lovely, so many fun shops to stroll through.  I parted with quite a few coins but mainly I took photos because it was just so picturesque.    

         Isn't it lovely?  I bought coffee and a scone and wandered around taking one picture after another after another after another.                                                                                    

  

And I learned something about my new Samsung phone's battery capacity.  It ain't so very whippy when you've been taking one picture after another after another.  Then posting them on Facebook.  And using the battery-depleting Snapchat app.  And using the Uber app to summon a vehicle.  And using Google to find Country Village shops because your Uber driver doesn't understand what you're saying.  

Why is battery life on my phone of any consequence to this story?  Because.... in order to return to my hotel I would have to use my Uber app on my phone to request another car.  And after only a little over  1 leisurely hour spent at Country Village I glanced at my phone to see the battery was down to 2% which meant it was on the verge of shutting down and leaving me stranded. Though I was nowhere near being done with my leisurely shopping trip,  I found it necessary to quickly order up an Uber car and then shut off my phone to try and preserve battery.  

Then I stood out by the front of the shopping center at what I thought was the main entry road.  There were several different entry roads to choose from.  Which posed a problem.  I didn't know which entrance the driver would select after the first Uber driver dumped me out at the service/delivery entrance.  I didn't know what the car looked like because I'd shut down my dying phone before checking on the model/color of Uber car.  Or how long my expected wait would be.   And the driver couldn't call me because my phone battery was dead and wouldn't start back up.  And....if you aren't where you're supposed to be when Mr. Uber arrives, they leave and charge your card for the trip.   Oh.  My.  Word.  

So there I stood, looking closely at every one of the many many cars that were driving by me.   No one showed any interest in looking at me.  I get that a lot.  😏  Finally I looked way across the parking area to the far entrance and thought I saw a white Prius driving slowly while the driver glanced here and there.  Typical Uber driver behavior.  But the distance between me and that car was substantial.  And I am not what you might call fleet of foot.  Long in the tooth, but not fleet of foot.  With no other real option, I did what I never do.  I ran after the car, which had now made it deep into the interior of the shopping center proper, even further from me.  Great.   Let's be honest, no one who saw me at that moment would have defined what I was doing as "running".  More like a panicky waddle.   Plus I was carrying more than a few bags of stuff I'd bought during my brief time shopping.  

The driver of the white Prius eventually looked my way and motioned me to stop where I was.  I think the sight of my panicky waddle frightened him a bit or perhaps he was thinking "don't make me use my CPR skills, lady".  He then started to slowly drive toward me.  Sure enough, he was an Uber driver.  With the trademark lack of fluent English skills.  At that point I didn't even care if I was the rider he was supposed to pick up.  I just got in his car and prayed that he'd take me to the hotel.  He looked at me and spoke words that I loosely interpreted as being my name.  Close enough anyway.  

Made it to the hotel.  Very happy to open the door to our room, drop my bags on the floor, and flop into the closest chair.  Oh, and plug my phone into the charger.  The entire leisurely shopping adventure ended up whittling a mere 2.5 hours from my 12 hours of sequestration that day.  But it was an eventful 2.5 hours.  

In response to the eventful experience I could have chosen to become more athletic,  working out and running marathons so that next time chasing an Uber car would have been easier.  Instead, I purchased an external battery type phone charger that fits easily in my purse.  No more dead phone batteries. Problem solved.   

Very awesome little gadget.  Get yourself one.  

Right there

June 8, 1993 is a date long past.  Twenty-four years ago.  It's a day I will never forget.  Not because of some national historic event or holiday or  family birthday.  

My mom at age 78 went to heaven on this date.  Her heavenly birthday.  She was hospitalized for two weeks because of weakness and congestive heart failure. Her condition quickly deteriorated, so quickly that there really wasn't a clear cut cause of death. Four months earlier she had fallen and fractured her hip.  Her heart apparently didn't recover.    

We were all taken by surprise when she went downhill so fast and passed away. I worked at the small hospital where she was a patient.  Those last two weeks I kind of just stumbled through the days, trying to hold on to hope that her condition would turn around.  Going through the motions. 

But she didn't have that turnaround.  I left the hospital after she passed and drove home through a flood of tears.  Completely broken-hearted.  Sadder than sad.  

 It was an abnormally cool calm day for June. For whatever reason I remember wearing a heavy sweatshirt that day. I pulled into our driveway and slowly made my way from the car to a chair on our back deck.  Didn't have strength to make it into the house just yet.  As I sat there with tears flooding, a very gentle, very warm breeze wrapped itself around me.  I could feel it moving the tears from my face.  It just felt like the presence of God wiping the tears from my eyes and holding me close.   I remember feeling at that moment like God was telling me Mom is with Him, all is well.   Even now, 24 years later, I remember exactly what it felt like.

In the days that followed I could make it through the daylight hours pretty well but once the sun went down it was like a heavy cloud of sadness would just settle on me.  Often I would find myself going out into my yard and looking upward into the skies, at the stars and moon, just staring at the sky with tears flooding,  missing my mom, longing for heaven.  Just wondering.... how far away.... 

A few months ago I read this from a devotional book by Beth Moore.  The scripture was Acts 7:55: “Look,” he said, “I see heaven open and the Son of Man standing at the right hand of God,” words of Stephen as he was being stoned to death.  Beth continues:  "Stephen, the very first martyr; heaven was opened up to him and he saw Jesus at the right hand of God, on his behalf. What I want you to understand is that Heaven is right there.  We look up at the sky at night and the expanse of stars.  He is literally just an open window away from us, sitting on His throne.  His presence is in us and on us.  God upon His throne is just that near.  We just can't quite see it yet."  

God....is just that near.  

Sometimes He feels so far away, especially when we're in the midst of deep grief and sadness.  But ....He is so very near.  We are literally surrounded.  "just an open window away from us".  He's in the warmth of a gentle breeze.  And the silent beauty of a starry sky.  And the graceful flight of a beautiful butterfly.  And the sweet smile of a baby.   All of creation surrounds us with his undeniable presence.  Right there. With us always. 

I leave you with this quote that I treasure from Oswald Chambers:

"There will come one day a personal and direct touch from God when every tear and perplexity, every oppression and distress, every suffering and pain, every wrong and injustice will have a complete and ample and overwhelming explanation."  

Until then.... keep looking up.  Heaven is right there.  

Rev 21:4  He will wipe every tear from their eyes...

no more death or mourning or crying or pain.

  

Cookie-induced nostalgia. What? Yes.

So as you may or may not know, we have a new family member.   Another "J" for the J, J, and J family.  J # 4.  I'd call him Tiny J but seriously, he weighed 10 lbs 13 oz.  I'll just call him adorable, sweet, precious.  It's safe to say I'm pretty much saturated in grandbaby bliss at this moment.  It's real.  It's ethereal.  It's indescribable.  

The day after Tiny Baby J was born, I decided to do something special for his mommy.  For crying out loud, she just gave birth at age 38!  To a quite large infant!  So I decided to bake her some cookies and take them to the hospital.  Her favorite cookie growing up was homemade gingersnaps.  I made them a lot.  At a pretty young age she learned to bake cookies & baked them fairly regularly.  She bakes a really good cookie.   How I loved walking in the door to be greeted by the awesome aroma of gingersnaps in the oven.  

Pinterest is my friend and I use it abundantly, but for these cookies I needed the exact same recipe that we used.  It was quite a search, but I uncovered a plethora of interesting items in the process.  

This is an old recipe card that my mom

used to make her heart healthy casserole after she experienced some heart issues in the early 1980's.  The circled items were her favorite combination.  So yummy.  Interestingly, my youngest daughter felt like she needed to autograph the recipe.  Apparently using her "might be a doctor someday" signature.  😉

On the back of the recipe card our oldest daughter wrote us a note.  In handwriting that might be used by someone trying to convince their parents that they have nothing to worry about.  Was she home before 10:00?  I would say she probably was. Had the youngest daughter written this note....hmmm.  Maybe not so punctual with the 10pm bit.  I could tell stories.  I will not.  You're welcome, youngest daughter.  😉

Finally found the long lost recipe.  Does the book look familiar to any of you?  I bet it does.   The copyright date is 1968.  I'm not certain but I think perhaps this was a bridal shower gift to me from my sister Lois.  Maybe? It sustained a lot of maltreatment from the cooks in our home.  Mainly the three of us females.  The Mr. did use the book once.  To bake oatmeal cookies while I was working evening shift.  Abysmal failure.  He cooked the oatmeal before adding it to the dough.  I did actually consume one of the cookies.  And lived to tell.  Barely. 

Check it out and drool: I wish I had one of these cookies right now.  Mmmmmm good.

But this is the most special treasure I uncovered in my search for the recipe:

What is it, you ask?  It's a shopping list written by my mom a few days before she entered the hospital and passed away.  May of 1993.  The last handwritten item I possess of hers.  I love looking at her writing.  I can see her hands as they wrote the words.  I can hear her voice going over the list with me.  Her hands touched this paper.  Then handed the paper to me.  Wow I miss her.  It's just a shopping list, for goodness sake.  Nostalgia can invade so unexpectedly.

Hand-written notes, hand-written anything is such a thing of the past.  But I believe our handwriting has "voice" and is an extension of our heart.   It's why I have such a hard time disposing of the multitudes of greeting cards we've received over the years.  

Perhaps we should all take the time to write more notes to those we love. Hand-written.  You never know the impact it could have one day when notes and photographs are as close as we can get to being in the same room again, close as a hug from the past.  

And of course, it goes without saying, we all must eat more COOKIES!!

Nurturing. And waiting rooms, part 2

So it all started here.  1976.  My first baby, tiny little blue eyed girl.  Stole my heart and introduced me to a new experience:  Nurturing.  Prior to this moment, as the baby of my family, my nurturing experiences were limited to furry kittens.    AKA Smelly Cats.   

 This baby girl taught me a lot about being a mommy and loving someone more intensely than I'd ever loved anyone before.  

And then there were two.  Just now this very minute for the first time I noticed how little baby girl had hold of her big sister's finger. Awwww.  Be still my heart.   My sweet baby girls, and yep, the nurturing just continued on.  

Nurturing is consuming in a beautiful way.  Fulfilling like no other experience.

But the years passed....My girls grew up...  Our nest emptied.   

And then....

 A new dimension of nurturing.  Grandbabies.  

Grandnurturing.  💓💗

Letting the mommies do the hard stuff while grandma just does the fun stuff.  Sending them home after feeding them stuff like sundae cones for breakfast. Or whatever else they might want to eat.  Letting them stay up late.  And bathe together in my big whirlpool tub.  And share grandma's bed for sleepovers.  Lots of babysitting these three.  Best times ever.

But they all, even the littlest one,  are in grade school now.  Busy busy busy.  Not as much time for Grammy B.   And so....now what happens to my nurturing skills?  





Houseplants?  My old puppy?  
Just  not the same.  Not the same at all.




But about the time I had resigned myself to pouring all my nurturing abilities into plant life and my dog, we received quite the surprise.  

Another grandbaby!  Our youngest girl and her hubby are expecting a baby boy in September,  and if you read my blog post entitled "The Doorkeeper of the Waiting Room" you'll understand why this is quite the surprise. https://grammybe.blogspot.com/2017/02/the-doorkeeper-of-waiting-room.html In fact, just three days after that post we learned the pregnancy news.  😍🙌  I just can't stop smiling.  God is so good!!  

Drumroll....(mommy said I couldn't post this blog till baby was born):

I am so excited, so VERY excited to tell you that it's September and Mr. Joseph Eugene has arrived.   10 pounds 13 ounces of cuddly wonderful cuteness!!  Thank you, God, for unexpected blessings and perfect timing.  

So.... I'm entering Phase 2 of Grandnurturing.  My doggy and my houseplants will suffer a bit.  But my grammy arms are ready.  Ten pounds and 13 ounce baby?? Better join the gym, Grammy B.  😁