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.  😁

Mommy

In April of this year, my friend that I wrote about in this 2016 post lost her younger son** in a tragic motorcycle accident. She has now lost both of her sons, two of her five children. She is clinging to Jesus to carry her through. My heart breaks for her and my prayers are with her and her other children.

Blog post from November of 2016:

Recently I was touched by a story a dear friend shared with me.  She is the mother of 5, three girls and two boys.  One of her sons passed away a few years ago unexpectedly when he was in his early twenties, following a seizure.   **The younger son has really struggled since the death of his brother.  He’s suffered a lot of personal tragedy as a result.  My friend knows deep sadness.  Brokenness that has brought her face down at the feet of her Savior Jesus.  Her faith has grown from brokenness.  

My friend, whose name is Nancy, has moments when scenarios of mothering “failures” invade her thinking to the point she’s almost paralyzed with sadness and regret.  Honestly, I thought that was a problem that I alone dealt with until my conversations with Nancy.  Since the two of us deal with mental anguish of this nature, I’m led to assume that most/all moms do.  Scenes that play over and over in our mind while our internal voice screams:  “Why oh why did I do that?  What was I thinking?  I failed.  I failed at my most important job”   Satan loves to use that tactic because it’s such an easy, effective way of defeating mothers.  (Side note:  don’t let him.  Don’t.  Jesus provides power to conquer that nonsense.  Speaking to myself here. Read on)

Every year when the anniversary of Nancy’s son’s death comes around, she fights deep deep sadness and grief.  Last month that anniversary date was approaching and again Nancy found herself just struggling to avoid tearful meltdowns no matter where she was or what she was doing.  The old regretful scenes were running an around-the-clock marathon of reruns in her mind.  But like we all do when the stuff of life happens, she kept putting one foot in front of the other with the usual daily routines of work and watching her grandchildren.  Just coping as best she could while internally missing her boy so badly.  

During this time, Nancy found herself needing to take her preschool aged granddaughter on a four hour errand trip, just the two of them.   This would be a healthy distraction, she hoped.   As she drove along the roadways her little granddaughter fell asleep in the back seat, leaving her basically alone in a quiet car with her thoughts.  With nothing but a steering wheel to hold onto, and nowhere to go but miles of open highway, she was swept away in sadness.  Missing her boy as an adult son. Missing him as a little boy.  Missing him.  Missing hearing his voice call her “Mommy”.  Wanting with every fiber of her being to just even catch a glimpse of him again and give him a hug.   And then, of course, replaying the scenes of regret over and over and over, wondering if there was something she could have done differently, better.  She found herself just uncontrollably sobbing, her body wracked with deep grieving excruciating sadness.  There in that car she called out in prayer to God, asking for Him to help her.  To just help her stop sobbing.  To just hold her, and give her some sort of assurance that she hadn’t been a horrible mommy.  Unable to stop crying, she realized she had to do something to change her focus or risk having a car wreck.  As she looked in the rear view mirror she noticed her granddaughter had shifted position while sleeping and was needing to have her seatbelt adjusted.  She took an off ramp onto a dirt country road and found a place to safely stop the car.  Her eyes swollen and red from crying, her face a sad mess, she turned around to the back seat to reposition her little granddaughter.  When she looked up a man had driven up, parked his car and walked over to speak to her.  Apparently he mistook her for the woman who delivers mail in that area and thought he’d just pick up his mail from her car.  She explained to him that no, she was just adjusting her granddaughter’s seat belt and then was heading on down the road to her destination.  She finished up and was turning back to drive away when the man looked at her and said “You are a good mommy.”  Then he drove away.  

That little five minute exchange with a random stranger was an answer to the prayer she’d just prayed.  God heard her prayers.  He sent an angel to minister to her needs and that angel said “You are a good mommy”.  Nancy was overcome with the presence of God as she traveled on down the road to her destination.  God was hugging her tight.  Holding her close.  Healing her wounds.  Wiping her tears.  Giving her strength to make it through the storm of sadness.  

God has ways of wrapping his loving arms around us, and he will do just that when we call out to him.  He will do whatever it takes to heal our broken hearts and make us whole again when He hears our cries of desperation.   Oh how he loves us.  Oh.  How he loves us so.  He is a good, good Father.  And we are His children.  His dearly loved, precious children.

“For He shall give His angels charge over you, to keep you in all your ways.
 In their hands they shall bear you up, lest you dash your foot against a stone.” Psalm 91:11-12

“The LORD is near to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.”  Psalm 34:18