May hits different every year

No one tells you, when your mother is gone life changes forever, but it does. Life is different now. Fourteen years ago mama physically left us for her heavenly home. 12:01am May 1st. I will admit I have shed a few tears over the last couple weeks but it is merely a longing. 

This was her favorite time of year. Mama loved when she could get her hands in the dirt and plant things, move others, trade varieties & colors of flowers with friends or family. She loved the extended light during spring & summer; she needed it like she needed air. She walked out of bed in the mornings straight to the windows to let the light in. She often "lunched" with lifelong friends. When at home, she walked around completely content doing the things that needed to be done, usually humming or listening to her radio. She did not shy away from home improvement projects just because she was alone. She usually would jump right into a painting or sewing project. Sometimes she called one of her children for back up.  

I miss her. I miss her smile, her touch, her quick wit and how she could make everything right again. God gave her many gifts. Her gift of hospitality made everyone feel at ease and comfortable. She was also very discerning. She was straightforward, never mean spirited but told you what you needed to hear. When I needed her, she was always there. I could be upset or worried and her near perfect common sense could always settle me. She struggled on occasion with trusting God supremely, her words not mine. "I tend to worry", she would say (and she certainly did). However, when it was important, really important, she was your rudder in the storm. Her feet were set on solid ground. 
When things were hard, she would say with 100% confidence, "we will figure it out" and we did. 
When my racing brain had a million ideas at once and I needed to get them all out, she wisely said, "why don't you write all of that down. Organize on paper what is most important and we will work on it together later." I figure that bought her some quiet time, but it also really helped me organize my thoughts. 

Her Mother's Days were always a whirl of activity. It was not a day of rest. The church we attended held "Memorial" on the second Sunday in May which meant there was food to prepare and flowers to get on graves of her loved ones. She woke most Mother's Day at dawn and a cake was soon in the oven. By late afternoon she would finally have time to sit and listen to her childrens offerings to her. Sometimes she got a homemade card, or a foot rub (which she loved). She always wanted time with us, just time. 

Today is not a sad day. I choose instead to be grateful, humbled by the sacrifices she made for each of her children, her steadfastness, her sense of humor, her deep-rooted faith and trust in the Lord. 
I will open the drapes, first thing and feel the sun on my face. 

She was usually right.

 December 21st, 2025.

Today would be the day. She would have called me by now and after we chatted a minute or two, she would remind me today is the shortest day of the year. After today they begin getting longer. You won't really notice it before about mid-January. She would have called each of her children on this morning. She hated dark, loved the sunshine. 

Every morning she woke at home, she walked through the house opening curtains to let the sun in. When you were sick, she opened the curtains around you, "this will help your feelings", she would say. 
She was right. It makes sense that in her state of dementia, she was a "sundowner". She began to get agitated and nervous. We tried to counter that feeling with every light in the house on as a distraction. Sometime it worked, sometime not. 

I love this photo I snapped on my phone after Don finished the fireplace project. The sun streaming in from the back. 

It is no wonder I love the sunshine so much. I do the same thing with the curtains, I do not close them until dark. I don't know what it is but it feels like my soul doesn't breathe until the sun is streaming in around me. I miss those days when the phone rang, my mother on the other end of the line "why don't we run to Bright Star and have lunch?" After I minute or two it became apparent despite all I needed to do that day, I was going to lunch with my mama. It was futile to try and reason about all my duties for the day. All those things will wait, she would say. She was right again. The clothes waited, the messy closet waited, so did the dishwasher. Just waiting until I returned. I'm so glad I listened and spent that time with her.  Mama was a happy person. Usually smiling, and in a good mood but on those dreary days, she needed help. She would call and simply say, "I have the mulle grubs, where we going?"

An hour or two with her daughter usually did it. (although, it probably would have been the same with one of the boys) Most often I got to be the one. 

The older I get the more things I find, she was right about. Taking the time to sift the flour three times in the pound cake, makes it high and light. She was right. Sometime, just listening and not arguing your point when in a disagreement with a loved one- just listen, don't get offended so easily. "Hush, you may learn something and you will definitely defuse the anger aimed at you." 
From the time I was a child, not everyone is going to like you, and that's perfectly okay. She was right and it is okay. 

I miss her at Christmas more than any other time, I think. Our childhood home at Christmas always smelled of something fabulous. Usually a German Chocolate Cake was made and she hustled to make everything wonderful for her children, for all the people she loved. I guess it's her joy I miss the most. Joy in her salvation, she never worried about her life ending. Joy in the choices she made along the way, she trusted and lived in her decisions. Joy in her station in life, never regretting where she came from or why they had so little. She was not perfect as none of us are but she was amazing and kind, loving and true. You could trust her with your life. 
This time of year, she wanted all her people around her. If she had a busy day, she would say, "dinner is just beans, cornbread and slaw, but I need you here with me." She only wanted her people around her to be happy. She was right. It's all that matters. 

So, today we rest and renew. We were blessed with time with family and friends over the last few days. I'll be watching & waiting for the longer sunshine days. Like my mother I feel it to my soul. 

Sometime, you just need a little sugar.

Sometime the most random things pop in my head. I believe they are referred to as "core memories" today. 

I am always struck by the fact I have lived much longer than my daddy. Daddy died at 53 years old, far too young. I am also amazed at how much guiding, love, discipline and living he left with me. He was a smart man, could do about anything with his hands and was one heck of a brick mason. He didn't get to finish high school, simply by virtue of the times he grew up in. Despite his interrupted education, after a stint in World War II in the Navy, he landed a good job. He was one of the hardest working people I ever knew. He didn't need much sleep and loved to hunt and fish. He fiercely loved his people too. 

I am the youngest sibling and the only girl. I was a daddys girl. Not that my mama didn't love me and I loved her, it was just different with daddy and I. Maybe because we were more similar in personality (which we now know is a smidge of ADHD.)
Sidenote: I am sure I nearly drove my mother to drink at times. I never shut up, was never still, always wanted to know how to do things and she was so very patient with me. I remember her saying to my brother Crant, "just take her outside and keep her busy for just a few minutes." Which he did, where she could catch her breath. Bless her. 

Daddy was the disciplinarian that could talk to you and make you feel two inches tall. I always cried and swore I would never do whatever it was, ever again. Mama, also a disciplinarian was concerned more about things like our behavior toward others, manners and care of our bodies. Did you bathe? Did you brush your teeth again, you ate raisins. (Yes, I had to brush my teeth after a tiny pack of raisins.) We got sweets only on our birthday or a holiday. However, daddy did not share mama's dedication to eating no sweets. If you ever want to know where I got my "a little bit sneaky", I think I know.  
~~Recently, as my mama would say, "I was dragging". Not go-to-the-doctor sick but not well. I did not stick my head in the studio all week, which is not at all like me. My husband kindly attended to me last week but in my head, I thought "he has no poptarts to offer". What's wrong with him? 

When I was a child, if I was sick daddy would usually stay home with me because he had more seniority at work. It's hard to stay sick when you get the opportunity to stay home with your daddy too. Once mama took my temperature one more time, wrote down directions and kissed me (going over what daddy needed to do for me to survive the day) she was off to work. Daddy was dressed ready for the day, shaved, mustache trimmed, smelling of Old Spice. He would tuck me in on the couch, turn on cartoons or something I liked, while he made breakfast. He came back in the living room with a sly smile on his face. Did I want Poptarts or Fruit Loops to go with my breakfast? Wait, what? (I'm pretty sure daddy was confused because I never saw a box of Fruit Loops in my mama's cabinets, in my life) We aren't allowed that garbage. 
I watched daddy stride out to his truck and return with a box of pre-sweetened cereal and a box of Poptarts. (I can hear my mothers words in my head, "that stuff is pure garbage")
I thought maybe he was afraid of mama, but later realized he simply chose the path of least resistance. (I was probably about 9 when I realized he was much smarter than I gave him credit for being)  Who cares anyway, I have Poptarts. 
I would drag my blanket to daddys chair to share. I piled up in his lap on one knee while he ate cereal and I ate warmed Poptarts while we watched cartoons. His coffee sat on the hearth beside his chair. Can I have another? Sure you can.  
Best sick days of my childhood were the ones spent with daddy. While mama was the one who was always there when fevers ran so high we hallucinated, she bathed our bodies with cool cloths, held our head while we were sick and worried over us healing properly, sat up night after night at the hospital looking over you. Then daddy got the light duty days, but she would have it no other way. 
I'm not sure if he ever told her about the sweets or if she just knew because I'm guessing I ricocheted off the walls after all the sugar. He put the sweets away before she got home. If she knew, she never said a word. 
Those days are long behind us now. Mama and daddy filled all the parts of me to overflowing and gave us the very best childhood we could possibly have had. When society today would have considered us poor. I can't even imagine it being any better. Did they know what a wonderful job they did? Did they know how much we took in and retained to share with our children? Did they know how loved we felt?
I sure hope so because some days you simply need a Poptart.  

Fried pies and growing gardens.

 I watched the dirt fall back from his shoes in clumps, first this way and that, as he pushed the plow through the rich, unturned soil. The mule had done this a time or two, and they moved in unison in our old garden spot. I followed behind every step he took, waiting for instruction. "throw the big rocks to the side we just finished, baby" he would say. We will come back and gather them up later. I could not been more than eight or nine. I would get a five gallon bucket from the garage and gather those big rocks into the bucket, to move from the garden. Daddy watching over me but not doing it for me. 

Daddy always knew when it was time to plow the garden. The smell of the deep, rich soil filled my nostrils as I walked behind. I'm sure mama was relieved to have her house to herself to finish her weekend chores, on those summer Saturdays. My brothers would often be helping in the garden or doing something else daddy requested done. We were all "outdoor" kids but I suppose all kids were back then. 
Daddy and mama would linger over the dinner table in the weeks before plowing, deciding what and how much to plant. Mama knew how much freezer space was available and depending on her obligations, how much time she had to devote to harvest. The boys, bigger than myself would do a lion's share of the tending, while daddy was at work. 
I still remember the lingering scent of his aftershave on his neck when he came home and quickly changed into work clothes. He seemed to hurry a little more in early summer to get into the garden after work. He loved those fresh vegetables and while I never remember doing without anything I needed, I'm sure the garden was a necessity for us. It was for most everyone we knew. Daddy gardened big, even leasing land to farm on. We raised hogs every year as well. You slaughtered in fall every year and we had an abundance of fresh pork, daddy made sausage so lean mama had to add fat to the pan to keep it from sticking. He fished incessantly, he loved it. We always had fish in the freezer. 
There was an abundance of family surrounding us and everyone shared what they had. The closest being Uncle Lattie & Aunt Jim, they had pear, peach and plum trees, cattle for a while and we got eggs from his chickens. Mama and Aunt Jim would have us gather the fruit and make jams and jellies that day. (tackling the other fruit on another day.) Often mama and I would take extra jars and more fruit home to knock some of it out later.  Aunt Jim made delicious fried Peach Pies. (One of my Daddys weaknesses) 

One day Aunt Jim called looking for daddy. She was not very happy, I could hear it in her voice. Seems she had made fresh pies that morning and about five of them disappeared. ? ? When we were kids, no one locked their doors. Kind of hard to even imagine now. 
Daddy would go by Uncle Latties to sit on the porch and drink a cup of coffee. Apparently this particular morning, Aunt Jim made fried pies and they had somewhere to be, early. The pies were cooling on paper bags on the counter. Fresh coffee was made and just sitting there. I believe the story goes, he got himself a cup of coffee and stood there and ate a pie. He said they sure were good. He ate another couple sitting on the porch sipping coffee. Grabbed a second cup and a pie as he walked out the door to go down to Charlie Vines. When he came back by to leave their coffee cup, he ate his fifth pie. 
I can just see her counting those pies and fussing under her breath. I also think it's hilarious that she knew exactly who would have eaten five pies. When the story got back around to my mama, she said "surely not, Jim" "how could he eat 5 pies at one time?" . . . but he did. He admitted it and promised not to do it again, with a smile in his eyes. But he did say, it was kind of her fault for making such good pies. My Aunt Jim loved my daddy but I bet she felt like choking him that day. She never managed to stay mad at him at him for long. 

Life was very simple back then. In summer, we played from sun up to sun down with chores intertwined between. I do not ever remember chores feeling like work. Things were expected of each of us, a particular behavior, depending on your age and gender. (As I was the youngest and not as strong as the boys) The boys cut grass, cleared brush, chopped wood and all the heavy duty things I could not do. We all worked in the garden and everyone learned to cook. Both my brothers are good cooks, thanks to mama & daddy. We hardly watched television at all, but then again we only had three channels. We looked forward to seeing cousins on the weekends and playing in the woods. We fished about any time we wanted and mama and daddy both excelled at nature trivia. They shared their knowledge of how things grew and where they came from. Mama was an avid reader. Daddy worked hard at Hayes International but he also was a brick mason (on the side), could do about any kind of woodworking and he made knives from scraps at work. If you wanted a knife that lasted, you would have one of daddys made from the high grade metals that came off the fighter jet scraps. I still have one of his knives, gifted to me by a cousin. 
It seems so cliche but life was much simpler then. Evenings were spent in the living room together, watching television.. In spring we would shell peas sitting around the table and mama on the couch with a huge bowl in her lap. We played board games and cards too. Daddy raised peanuts and often had a large pan in the oven roasting to eat while we shelled peas.   
I have many memories of time together playing, working and laughing so hard we cried. I learned hard work is worth it, expectations on me, made me work harder and gave me coping skills and love was constant and true. 

Those were the best days of our lives and on my not so great days, that is where my mind goes. 
I've always felt God allows us memories to sustain us until we see them again. In the grand scheme of things, it is but a short separation. 

When you are covered by the blood

 

This post is not a lifestyle post so much as a documentation of an event, for our grandchildren to read one day. This way they have a timeline.

Most anyone that knows us, knows Don is a heart patient. (5X CABG in July 2019) He has done fantastic for almost 6 yrs. Back in February he had random chest pains. (Quite unusual for him, as he had never ever used a single nitroglycerin for anything) He kept having them, every few days. They did not last long, from a couple minutes to 10 minutes was the longest. Off to our cardiologist we went. They did a few blood tests, a physical exam, talked with him and then scheduled a heart cath. (If it walks like a duck and quacks like a duck. . .)

Once they got in there, his heart looked great. Like great for any age man, not just an older man. Our cardiologist even had another cardiologist in the cath lab come in and look, in case he had missed something. "Do you see ANYTHING I may not have seen?" He saw nothing and noted Don's heart looked great.
Meanwhile, in the early days of his chest pains I felt a nagging to check something. I discounted it as my brain racing trying to figure out what was wrong. (I'm a classic over-thinker and have a need to figure things out.) Finally after he was home and rested I talked to him about it. Some thirty odd years ago Don was diagnosed with sleep apnea. He went for his sleep study and before he could get home the next morning, they called and said "send him back" he must have a cpap, now! (He stopped breathing over 40 times every 30 minutes) It was severe.

He wore that mask for the next few years while I felt I was sleeping with Darth Vader. (Exactly what it sounded like) He tired of the mask and decided to have the surgery they offered at that time. Which was probably very early 90's.

Treatment for Obstructive Sleep Apnea~ [It was called "Uvulopalatopharyngoplasty" or UPPP.] Quite common surgery at the time, it involved a resection of the uvula, tonsils, & part of the soft palate to enlarge the airway and reduce apnea episodes. It was horrible for him! If you think about them removing skin and tissue from the throat to make more room. I believe he told me about day 10 or 12 post surgery, "I have to get better to die". He had to use liquid tylenol, he ate soup and soft scrambled eggs and his throat completely scabbed over. I nursed him back to health and he all but completely stopped the apnea episodes. We thought we were done. What we could not know is over time, aging, weight gain, muscle laxity, etc could cause you to begin the process over again. Now, it is 2025 and he has been snoring like a freight train coming through the middle of the room. Add chest pains. After his heart cath the cardiologist decided it may just be micro-vessels clogging and gave Don a new medication to help clear them out. Yet, the chest pains continued. They have since stopped and I'm sure the new med helped. Unlike his forty yr old self, he agreed to retest for apnea. So we requested a new sleep study. Gone are the days when you must sleep in a clinic overnight covered in wires all over your chest and neck. They mailed us a pack and he applied it to his chest, a lead on his finger and slept in it for three nights. Then we mailed it back to be diagnosed and he informed me if they wanted to do "that" surgery again, he was not a candidate. He would prefer to go on to Jesus. I assured him they no longer do that surgery and they had other solutions, even the cpap machines are better now. Well, he has severe apnea again. A cpap has been ordered and soon he will be in a newer, sleeker model. Here is the God part, if he had not had chest pains how would we have known? OSA shortens your life, causes blood pressure issues, heart attacks, stroke and can cause the early onset of dementia. No chest pains and we would not have known? I watched his symptoms increase as he slept too much, was tired all the time and was beginning to forget things. I'm watching to make sure all these things get better as his body finally gets what it needs. If you are suffering any of these symptoms or snore badly, please get yourself checked for OSA. It is so easy now to do the sleep study and treatment is much easier. If not for the chest pains and the urging in my spirit, what could have happened?

Psalms 91:4 He shall cover you with His feathers, And under His wings you shall take refuge; His truth shall be your shield and buckler.

There's only 24 hours in a day

 

There are days and dates which seem to make life a little harder. We usually experience a pause for memories, tears and longing. It makes me wonder if that is why God only allowed twenty-four hours in a day. Maybe to keep us moving forward. There is something about the date that haunts us all- the years we will miss, the conversations we no longer have face to face. 
Today it has been forty-seven years since daddys passing. It blows my mind I have lived so much longer than he did. That I am now more than a decade older than he was at the time of his passing, yet I learned so very much from him. He taught me to fish, showed me how to wet a hook, he taught kindness, tolerance for what was different, respect and most of all unconditional love. Almost fifty years later I still retain the belief system he instilled in us. He was not perfect but he was a man of integrity, and fiercely loved his people. I always imagine I will see him first when I get to my heavenly home. I still remember the solid, unwavering tone of his voice. 

I am thankful we had mama much longer, I hope she knew how much she was loved. She would have been 100 years old Sunday. Both dates were tossed close together by life, intertwined forever in my head. I believe I say this every year, but God has been so gracious to us. After mama's passing beautiful memories flooded my mind. 

After she died, this memory came to mind as I drove home from the hospital. She needed to bake a cake. She was waiting for family driving in for a couple nights & she always did her best to feed them well. I remember the half panic, half laughter on her face when she could not remember if she added the salt or not. It's such a tiny amount of salt, will it be noticed?    But the perfectionist in her could not leave it alone. I tasted the dry flour mixture w/my finger- no salt flavor. She tasted the flour, and we began to giggle. We continued our tasting until we were out of clean fingers and her head dropped back and she laughed so hard she could not catch her breath for a few minutes. We did add that 1/4 teaspoon of salt and she baked that sour cream pound cake. More perfect than the cake everyone enjoyed was what God allowed, those memories of better days. Those years before suffering the ravages of her brain betrayal by dementia. During the last couple years of her life, I feared I would never remember those good days, the wonderful childhood days and adult days with her. Times I had not thought of in decades continued in a constant rotation over the next few weeks, in my head. Is our heavenly Father not completely amazing? He gave us this ability to remember, while often painful it still soothes and sustains us. While all these years later I still miss her terribly, I am forever grateful for the time we had together. 

Then, just the other day this memory came to me. Mama used to say pretty regularly, "you can't have anything nice when you have children", I thought it was a bit contrary at the time. (Then I grew up, had children and knew exactly what she meant) She only meant with children in the house, things just happen. One of her children had a knack for breaking things, more than the other two, but I won't call him out here. He flipped over the end of the couch to show me what he could do and busted her floor lamp. If memory serves he did it twice, to two different lamps. He jumped up (like when he played basketball) and touched the kitchen ceiling and knocked the cover off the light-all over the kitchen floor. There was also the "innocent" cutting down of the hedges bushes, she did not want cut. How did that happen? She used those hedge bushes to whip our behinds. (Save your gasps in disbelief, it was a different time then. If you got the switch to your legs, you likely had earned all of it w/your poor behavior.) 

She also always kept slipcovers on the furniture. These were not the slipcovers you see today. They were absolute perfection made by a wonderful lady, Mrs Higgins, who lived near relatives of ours not far away. You would have thought they were the original fabric because she fit them to your couch with precision, took all the pieces away and in just a few days would call and say, "put your sewing machine out, in case I need to make adjustments." She would come put the covers on. She and mama would critique her work and make any adjustments they needed, most often they were perfect. Mrs Higgins made draperies for the first home Don & I built, she was much older by then but still did amazing work.

Because Mary had three rambunctious children, she threw sheets over the chairs and the couch to protect her investment. Mama was not interested in wasting money, she was very frugal. Yes, those sheets stayed on the furniture most of the time. If a car came rolling up the hill, she would go to comb her hair and que one of us to grab the sheets off the furniture. My daddy hated those sheets. He would complain and argue they would not stay straight and squared when he sat down. They bunched up and it certainly bothered him. (which explains a great deal about my ocd tendencies.) Mostly,  he sat down in his chair mumbling under his breath about the stupid sheet. Once he grabbed that cover off and started to sit down when mama gently stopped him. She simply said "look at it, Fat", she meant the sheet. (Because most all mothers and wives know, our husband & children all say the same thing, "I'm not dirty, I'm perfectly clean".) So, daddy held the sheet out and looked it up one side and down the other. He then gently spread it back on the chair and sat down, without another word. I don't remember him ever complaining about those sheets again. 
Today while thinking of them both, I am reminded this is not our forever home. Thank you Lord! Truth is, I don't remember either mama or daddy complaining about much. They were well satisfied with life. One twenty-four day at a time. 

I Miss Those Days

 

I miss those days when they were little and a play telephone made them happy for weeks. She packed it in her bag with her stuffed animals when she went to her granny or mamaws house, where she could reach me.  
I miss those days when I walked out in the cold and picked up some of the carrot and raisins we had left for reindeer, because they always checked. I actually miss the Tinker Toys in the floor. 
I miss those years he got little cars and "men" from his latest phase. (When school started back I had to pat him down because he stuffed them in his pants to take to school.) Skinny little boy w/bulges all around his body, as if I could not see them. I had to hold a straight face until he got in the door at school. 

I miss those days when we baked on Christmas Eve until we were punchy. They were all still at home and it was wonderful, we laughed & laughed. I would announce we were also making "nougat" and they all groaned! It always amused me. (my almond nougat recipe made 125 pieces (or more) and they had to be individually wrapped) They hated wrapping it but they didn't mind eating it.

I miss those days when they fought with the cousins over who would have their granny spend the night. She acted like she didn't care- but she loved them fawning over her. She always read to them on Christmas and watched every Christmas cartoon they wanted to watch, played games and she made over whatever they had made or colored for her. I miss the laughter coming from their rooms when she was there.

I miss the little handmade gifts my children had for me. Precious little treasures they created because they had no money. I still have many of them tucked away safely. They are dated and named by who made them, for my grands one day to see. I hope my children see them again and remember. Maybe we weren't perfect parents but we tried our hardest. I hope they remember that. Especially because they will make mistakes too and it's important to know you put forth your best effort.

I miss those days when they took money to "santa shop" and I prayed they shopped for someone else and not themselves. In they came w/a single pencil or paperback book for themselves and gifts for others. Success! Thank you Lord, they do have caring hearts for others.

I miss those days, walking in the back door at mama and daddys house and smelling all the fabulous food she toiled over. She always had a favorite dish for each of us. I miss the fire in the fireplace my daddy built. (Sometime he built a fire and we had to open the windows because it was so warm but daddy thought everyone should have a fire burning on Christmas.) I miss those days when we made it home in the evening, lit the tree and listened to the low din of their day, as they laughed and played w/their gifts. Those days are hard, sometime chaotic and always needed to be followed by about ten hours of sleep. But they were the best days ever. If you are there I hope you can realize how fleeting they are and soak up every minute.

I pray this year, you have the Christmas day you need. It may not be perfect, everyone can't be there but relax, they won't remember whether it was perfect or not. You can visit with them another day and on that day, it will also feel special. See your old people today, it's important. I miss those days with all our family here, there are seats no longer taken. The children are at their own homes and we will see them all over the next few days but most of all, it's the celebrating of Jesus. It hasn't changed, that is our constant. Oh, what a gift.

Broken but still useful

 

I pulled this mixing cup from the kiln yesterday. My first thought was disappointment. The glaze ran and it's stuck to the "cookie" I used to protect my shelf.  I will figure out the why another day. The cookie did it's job though, it kept a glaze mess from my shelf. Now, how to get it off without destroying it. . . This is requiring thought as well. I have several options and while I am tempted to simply take my hammer to it and begin chipping away, I think that would certainly destroy my hard work. 

I say this all the time but there are so many parallels to pottery and your faith life. 

We make a plan, carefully thought out and execute the plan but often times life (as in pottery), it doesn't work out as we planned. Where was God in the plan? Did I consider or pray on the outcome before I made it? Was I listening for his guidance?

To some it may seem trivial or even ridiculous but to a Christ follower and believer, we have the opportunity to choose each day whether to go out on our own (free will in play) or seek guidance and trust in what or how the Lord directs us. 

I find I always think of my daddy when I create pottery. Because he always said, "we do the best we can at the time with the information we have, baby. When we know better, we do better." He fully believed that and I am thankful for the lesson. Because it allows me to be satisfied with the end result, to rest in my decisions.  Daddy never doubted his prayed over, thought-out decisions. He seldom did things haphazard and without giving them great thought. Yet, if something went wrong, he tried to teach us to learn from it as he did. That, in and of itself is a gift. 

We also have to consider, sometime we can do everything right and things still do not turn out like we would want or desire. That's just life. Life is not always fair. There are still untimely deaths, still cancer, still pain, sorrow and disappointment. Sometime life is plain hard. 

Even after several protocol based attempts to remove the cup, it failed. It broke where I had hoped it would not. Isn't that just like life?  

                                   

How do I begin to analyze what went wrong? Well, I'm getting older and that means there is a smidge of wisdom, some experience always helps. My ability (sometime in question, if I'm honest) and there may even have been a momentary urge again to just toss it in the trash. Back to wisdom- when I glazed this piece, I followed the same protocol from wedging the clay to the final product. Did I get in a hurry? Did I count my coats of glaze like I usually do? Maybe I added and extra coat by mistake. Possibly it was too close to a heating element. Clearly, something did not go as planned. 

Look in the cup, what do you see? 

Pieces chipped away on the bottom outside but it sill holds water, it still stands straight up. I can use it. It may simply hold brushes or be my wet sponge pot by my pottery wheel. It's all in how you look at it, just as daddy said.

I know this- God still uses us in our broken state. In Acts 9, on the road to Damascus we see an example of this with Saul. God cleans us up and clothes us in righteousness, gives us insight and laser focus. He sets our feet on the right path. We simply must be willing to follow in obedience.

We each have a choice, every day. Will we choose to listen and be obedient even when we feel beaten down and broken? The last few years have been hard, struggling with health, new diagnoses, watching others struggle with life problems, but we know we are not alone.  I used to sit in the embrace of my earthly fathers shoulders. He was strong, unwavering and stood behind me no matter what was ahead. How much more does our heavenly father love us and stand at the ready to protect and guide. 

We simply have to give up our will and lean into his. 

 

A Wonderful Weekend

 I've always said the Lord allowed pottery in my life when I had no idea what I was doing or how I would do it. I had NO intention of starting any kind of business, I only wanted to enjoy the days I have left on earth and I knew it was what I was supposed to be doing.

Once the Holy Spirit starts working on you, it becomes so much more. Through much prayer and contemplation I stepped out. I trusted because I knew he would meet me there. He equips those he calls, you know. You will be broken, unequipped (you think) but then he opens the doors you need, he sends the people you need for encouragement, he sustains you and strengthens you. It is not always easy but the process is necessary. Because he grows us from those deep places of insecurity and doubt. The peace that has come from this journey following two separate kinds of cancer has blessed me in ways I never imagined.

I happen to believe, there is no true peace without God. True peace is a holy process. It is often a journey filled with raw emotions and pain but only through prayer, the surrender of self and the power of God is peace found. The world will not understand your peace. You will have to get over that.

We enjoyed a busy weekend at the Helena Buck Creek Festival. It could have been a long, tiring weekend but it wasn't. We had some amazing conversations with people who shared the love of Jesus right there in my booth, surrounded by pottery. The young ladies who joined us from Gospel Light Baptist were precious and I was quite proud to see them sharing the love of Jesus, and plan of Salvation with others. I was also encouraged by the reception they received from many young people. (I watched from my seat, as young people gladly spoke with them as they shared their godly message.) I met a young couple and we talked about cancer. He is two months out and all clear from Leukemia. Praise God! I discussed with a young father, how the world is changing so quickly and we have to continue to set goals and standards we believe in, for our children. Let them run in a field and play, let them be children but train them up with a firm foundation in Christ. I love meeting parents with their shoulders squared to raise their children in the love and admonition of the Lord Jesus Christ.

It reminds me, as children we had great adventures. We played outside most days. Cartoons were allowed on Saturday but only for a little while, then mama shoo'ed us outside. "It's hot" I would say. "Sit under a tree" she would say. There was no nonsense in Mary Lou's household. I soon got tired of sitting under that tree and went off to play. There were forts built, bicycles to ride, tree climbing & creating fairy houses around the roots of huge Oak trees. We enjoyed many tree house adventures, high in the old Beech tree. A big rope swing hung in the front yard and daddy checked it each spring to make sure it was acceptably strong. We also worked. We worked in the garden and got everything in for some great eating in the fall and winter. By most standards today, we would have been considered poor and a garden was a necessity in the south. I never felt poor. Summer vegetables are a short season and when they come in, it must be done right now. My brothers were older and worked harder than I did. I was the corn silker. Daddy would say, "I'm sorry baby but you are the most patient with the corn and you do it right." I hated doing it right but I did it. Understand, daddy did not have to tell us twice. It was understood what your role was because he made it clear the first time, he encouraged me with his compliments and he trusted me to do the work. I must have cleaned the silk off thousands of ears in our kitchen sink each summer. Then they went in the freezer. Daddy always reminded me how well I did, when we ate that corn in December or January. I cherish the memories of those carefree days of working the garden and tending things with mama and daddy. Sitting around and shelling peas and listening to them tell stories of their childhood.

This weekend- Yes, we talked about pottery. I can talk all day & night about pottery but when God allowed me this ministry, I knew He would sustain me in ways that I might not even understand. Just like working in the garden as children, I did not always understand why I had to do it but I trusted my daddy. We were fed from that garden, where we sacrificially gave our time and energy under his and mama's direction. I loved to work alongside my parents and brothers. I will never forget those days and the lessons learned. The benefits of the time we gave and the love we shared is immeasurable. The message of the gospel is the same. We are called as his children to give, to love, to grow, to go out and share the love of Jesus and salvation through him.

I also pray that if you do not know my Jesus, you step out to find him.

And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus. 

Philippians 4:7

If only we had someone to trust with our decisions?

 I create pottery from stoneware clay and recently I made this bowl. While most often I know what I want it to be and it comes out close to the vision in my head (or even better), this one did not.

Sometime your hard work doesn't come out like you planned. It is lacking in color or something distorted in the firing, it's not what you envisioned and it's quite disappointing. I'm a smidge stubborn and I might make a second one even and try to make it my vision again. What you can't see in the picture is a pink cast in the glaze. I am not crazy about pink.

This bowl, well. . . It's not my color choice. It's okay, just a little "off" for my taste. It doesn't happen often but when it does, I have a choice to make. Leave it alone or add some color and refire it. Either way, I will be satisfied in my decision. I pray over everything in my life, so I prayed over this last night and I know what I will do now.

I know people, (we all know people, maybe you are one?) who have trouble making decisions. I was raised by a daddy that said, "make the best decision you can at the time, with the information you have. When you know better, you will do better." I've followed that thought process all my life. In other words, trust your decisions. Daddy and mama gave us confidence in their rearing and encouragement to trust our decisions. They presented us with a working example all our lives of decision making, by trusting in Jesus and make our decisions based on prayer and study of Gods word. I hope they knew how solid their example was because I've felt it all my life. Like anyone else, I don't always make solid decisions~ I'm human and make mistakes. All the time, I make mistakes and missteps but I usually find in hindsight I did not trust where I should have been trusting at the time.

Have you ever lost sleep over a decision? Isn't life just like that? We have a decision to make and we fret over it, or we lose sleep thinking and pondering on it. Personally, I don't think that's what Jesus wants us to do. I believe, we come to him with our petitions in life and lay them down. Do you know someone or are someone who has a tough time with decisions? As a younger woman I didn't always trust my decisions and then looking back on life, I realize that was a time when I stepped away from trusting Jesus, yet again. See, that's the key. It's the entire answer, there isn't another one.

Matthew 11:28 says, "Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest". This is suggesting we humble ourselves (admit where we were wrong, admit we can't do it alone, admit we are uncertain) and hand it over to the one who can. Jesus. Why do we make it so hard? Jesus is saying, let me bear that for you. Let me hold it and know what to do, how to handle the problem, give you solutions. 

You may be thinking, but you are talking about a piece of pottery!? 
Yes, and I trust Jesus with everything. There are no decisions with him that are too small or too large.
I find so many comparisons in life with Christ and my pottery. Are we not refined in the fire, just like the pot? It's a process of purification in life as in that kiln for my vessels. A human vessel is one who is willing to be used for Gods glory in their life. 
We don't learn many life lessons when things are going great. It's when it all falls apart and we are on our face, not knowing which way to turn that we find the answers in Jesus. Scripture tells us when we don't even know what to pray, God intercedes through the Holy Spirit. I've known times when my only utterance was the word Jesus, over and over. God is always faithful. 
I remember being younger and giving the Lord a problem, then taking it back (because somehow I thought I could do better) then giving it to Him again, taking it back again. 
As I matured in Christ I have realized I can never solve the problems, I need him daily, sometime minute by minute. 
I am reminded today of the love of my earthly father, he would have laid his life down for me at any time. How much more does the God of heaven and earth love me? My mind can't contain it.
Here's what I also know today, just like the bowl I made, I will be useful and serve a purpose. Unlike the bowl, I have a choice each day (free will) to reject Christ' urging through the Holy Spirit (even if it's uncomfortable) or accept the challenge set before me. It all comes back to trust. 

I will trust today and I hope you will too. 

Gifts & treasures

 

When I was a child I was never a "baby doll" girl. I think I had one baby doll all my life and she stayed dressed and in a drawer in my dresser. I didn't have much need for her. I did have a Barbie doll however. I loved that Barbie doll with her coifed hair, blue eye shadow painted on and tiny waist. I remember those teeny-tiny high heels that went on her feet and how difficult it was to keep up with them. 
The Christmas I received the Barbie, I also received 2 separate outfits. Mama and daddy were quite conservative in their spending and I knew my having those two extra outfits were likely all daddy. He had a soft spot for his little girl. I'm pretty sure I could almost here my mother saying, "getting the doll is enough, Fat" and he probably talked her into the clothes. 
I played with that doll all the time, I took her to my friends homes and we played Barbies. 
One of my friends, being an only child had several Barbie dolls which I just drooled over. 
Even though I may have coveted her dolls just a smidge, I still loved my doll. 

If you remember those days, the clothing came on a cardboard cutout and it usually had the shoes clipped into the cardboard, maybe a soft drink bottle or handbag with it. It made a complete outfit and suggested a 'day in the life' of Barbie. 
Well, a day in the life of Leisa at ten or eleven was without more clothes for the doll. I believe it was another year before I received the carrying case. It was shiny black plastic, with pink and purple writing on the outside in big swirly letters, saying Barbie. I spent time with sewing scraps from mama, trying to make my own clothes for her. It was primitive at best but did reveal my love for sewing, like my mother, my Aunt Lora and my Mamaw. 

I often went to spend the night at my MaMaws, my daddys mother. I would take my little bag with a change of clothes and my Barbie w/her single hot pink high heels. Mama would warn me to keep up w/her shoes, before I walked out the door. Those darn shoes were so hard to keep up with. They were micro small and locked on her high heel shaped feet but if you bumped them, the slipped off. 

My Mamaw had her sewing machine sitting right in the living room surrounded by this huge sewing table. Well it might not have been huge, it seemed huge to me as a child. Many days or nights she would sit and sew and I would either stand at her side and watch or contently sit in the old squishy couch by the big floor stove and listen the the hum of the machine. It was the old kind with the hand wheel you had to turn to get it going. I can still hear that sound in my head. Mama had a Singer like that too. Mamaw did lots of different kinds of sewing, mostly as I grew she made quilts but she taught me how to embroider. 

She had this quilt square almost as big as the living room, that pulled up to the ceiling, until the ladies came over to sew. Then she would have me drop it down by it's cords and they would gather chairs all around it and begin working on the quilt that was attached to it. I often stood right beside mamaw because I was fascinated by what she could do. She would instruct some ladies, they must have been learning. Others just kept working because they were seasoned quilters. There were world problems solved around that quilt square, prayers, laughter shared and many stories. It was about the only place I heard her tell stories of when she was very young. It was as if the quilts just pulled those memories out for her to display. Then they went away when the sewing stopped. She was a very talented woman and tough as nails, she raised eight children-five boys. She could cook up a storm, she worked hard all the time and she sewed beautifully. 
I would organize her quilt squares for her next quilt. She taught me how to stack them correctly where each quilter could grab her next piece easily and start sewing without worrying if they were in order. She would have them all stop and survey their work on occasion, looking at the entire picture. Mamaw gained perspective on the project by taking in the entire picture. I witnessed many quilts made on that old square. 

It was quite unlike Mamaw to do things after dinner. She usually settled in early and was in bed early but this overnight visit she sat back down at the sewing machine. She had colorful little quilt squares in her hand. Some of those squares were purchased and sometime they were washed and ironed from old hog feed or cow grain sacks with their tiny print flowers on them. She told me to choose a couple pieces of the same color. I picked out two squares that were white with little cutout circles with stitching that created flower shapes. She told me to bring my Barbie to her. I was beside myself with excitement.  
I stood beside her and watched as she took out her soft fabric measuring tape and measured carefully. She cut the fabric I had chosen and in no time she had made me a little dress for my doll. I had never seen her do this kind of "tiny" item work. You know that Barbie waistline was so small but it fit her perfectly. She hand attached little snaps down the back of the dress. I was so proud of that little dress. 
Looking back, I know her arthritis often made her legs and hands ache. I knew she loved me. I had many times watched her heat an old iron on the wood stove, then place a folded towel on her legs and put that hot iron on the towel to ease the pain. She would rub that iron up and down that towel until she got some relief. Making that little dress was likely a whim and she must have felt good that day, no arthritis pain. It was a moment with her I never forgot. 

I can still see her sitting at the sewing machine working on my Barbie dress. I can see her hands laboring with love over those quilts she made, along with other friends, trusting they knew what was to be done. Her stepping back to survey the whole picture. 

It reminds me that my problems are small, that I only see a small snippet of the problem but God sees the whole picture. It is necessary for me to trust and know He desires the very best for me, he always will. He desires I stay close(obedient) and have confidence(trust) in his care. He brings me joy in ways I could not have imagined, he comforts me when I fall. I am never alone. He uses others to minster to me as he uses me to minister to others. 
He is an amazing Father. Thank you Lord for grandmothers who shaped us. 

Bragging on Jesus today (and medical update)

 

I almost posted this on social media just to let people know their prayers were being answered. Then I decided to have a better record of what happened I would create a blog post instead. 

A little background. Almost twelve years ago I had a knee replacement on my left knee. I had waited almost eighteen months to have it as I was helping my brothers care for our mother. I walked those eighteen months with the help of an unloading brace. I could barely walk without the brace. It was a miraculous piece of lightweight technology. By weeks end, I would be getting to hobble and limp but a quick visit by to see Mr Don Green at DonJoy (he would make adjustments to the brace) and I walked out standing tall again. Finally, three months after mama died I had total replacement on the left. 

Since childhood and through childhood illnesses our doctor used to tell mama we had the strongest central nervous systems he ever saw. Our bodies bounced through illness that made most children gravely ill. Our bodies bounced back from breaks, strains and sprains. We never knew why and I often wonder now if it was simply a praying mother. 
Fast forward to adulthood and we all three seem to have some auto-immunity issues. Some worse than others. Mine seem to be minor but they are there. My doctor explained that even in mild form, it is sometime as if your own body is fighting you. I have joint pain, swollen joints and I choose to keep going because, well. . .  I refuse to take every drug they offer. I have always felt that God supplied every need we have on this planet. The cure for disease is here, we simply have to discover it. Yes, and sometime that may mean medication but not now, not for my symptoms which I would describe as moderate at worst. 

Back to that knee replacement over a decade ago. After surgery it immediately became evident that something wasn't right. It didn't want to bend. (Later I would explain to Don, it felt like someone had gone inside my knee and bound it tight w/tape and rope.) What I would learn with therapy was I had budding scar tissue and adhesions. As my surgery was done, my body felt invaded and began to form adhesions which was causing me problems in bending and extending the leg. An average therapy session meant stretching and manual manipulation of the knee only to get less than a 65 degree bend. This went on for months and months. They tried contraptions on my leg that I slept in, my leg was bent to the highest I could tolerate and then held there. I was supposed to sleep with this thing on my leg. I could not even turn over in bed with it on, without the help of my husband. Then a manipulation under anesthesia (MUA) and they got 114 degrees. Praise God. The manipulation was on Friday and I was sent home w/a machine to bend the leg (CPM) I was on the machine all weekend. By Monday when I went back to therapy, adhesions had already grown back. They were floored! As one therapist after the other tried to manipulate my flexion on the knee, massage it, move the kneecap... they were just amazed. They said, "this can't happen."  "I've never seen anything like this in my life." 
Finally in three or four weeks when we got my leg, through great pain and work to almost 90 degrees, I asked the doctor to release me and let me live my life. He was disappointed and wanted to clean the knee up again and try again. I said no. 
Remember the scene in Sleeping Beauty when Maleficent covers the castle with thorns. That's how I imagined my knee. They grew from Friday to Monday. 

It's been almost sixteen months since I ran from a neighborhood dog and leapt to my porch, tore my meniscus from the bone, had a repair, non-weightbearing for 3 1/2 months. I was bone on bone when we decided in January to do the replacement on the right knee. Here's the difference this time though. 

I decided it was time to trust Jesus completely. We all struggle with trust and we leave things in Gods lap, then we take them back (as if we think we can do better), then we leave them again. Not this time. Lord, we've done this once and it didn't work out very well, is what I thought. This time, I'm leaving it in your hands. When someone asked me about my knee and told me they were praying, I asked them to pray specifically for no adhesions and no scar tissue formation. Everyone complied. They didn't all understand why but they said that's what they would pray for. 
I ask my church family to pray for no adhesions or scar tissue. I asked on my social media pages for the same. Friends agreed.
Four weeks ago today I had the right knee done. Yes, it hurt and it continues to hurt. The nerves are refiring and the muscles are so very tight, due to almost a year and a half of not doing anything. It is expected. However, from the very first day there has been no feeling of binding up or tightness that felt anything but normal. I have not felt the tight roped in, bound feeling. For those that may believe the first knee replacement was just a fluke. I have other joints operated on that also formed scar tissue. I have a thumb that is stiff and no longer bends after a cyst was removed. It bent during therapy but in the weeks to come grew tissue. It's almost completely straight. 
God answers prayers all the time and if we come to him with our requests, He does what only God can do. I will not tell you it's been a breeze, that wouldn't be true. (God never said life would be easy, he said we would not be alone, if we trust him.)  It's a tough surgery to recover from. The therapy is grueling but after three weeks of home therapy and last week my first full week of outpatient, I have a 90 degree plus flexion on the knee. They measured it at 95 at one point. I will keep pushing but most of all, I will keep trusting in the God of heaven and earth. Some say, why do you trust a God you cannot see? Because I have felt and experienced Him move in my life. I have felt him close when I thought I could not go on, he has carried me when I could barely breathe. I have experienced his divine protection and I feel his presence with me daily. I rise most days with a song in my heart before my feet hit the floor. That can be nothing but Jesus. Pray without ceasing, we are told in scripture. 
When you say your prayers today, remember he calls us to come boldly to the throne and make our requests known. He desires an intimate, loving relationship with you. Please let him in. 
If you want to talk Jesus, just ask I can tell you over and over how he has blessed me. 

Remembering Christmas past, life is fleeting.

The holidays are approaching. If that thought causes fear and anxiety over getting it all done, why not try a reset this year? I wrote this almost a year ago at Christmas. It's some childhood Christmas memories. What I do not remember of my childhood was constant running and racing to do it all. I'm sure mama and daddy were busy, they worked hard but I can't remember any overscheduling. I don't remember being exhausted as a child until I was in athletics and band. 

Mama and daddy always had time for us. They didn't overload their schedules, they said "no" to extra things often, they chose what was important. In doing that, they taught us what was truly important.
Yes, to Sundays at Mamaws or Uncle Lattie's house or Aunt Lura's for big family dinners and all the cousins. Yes to "window shopping" trips during the holidays and driving downtown to see the Christmas lights at night. They said yes to card & board games, time together walking in the woods, playing outside, fishing from the creek bank, reading together, family visits to Pensacola beach. They said yes to church gatherings, singing in the choir, special services, revival, camps and Bible studies. Down time just doing nothing because sometime your brain needs to do nothing. How long has it been since your family did nothing? 
I wish we could all step back in time for a while. 

Writing from December 2022~~ It's the morning of Christmas Eve, I can't help but think of Christmas' past. I'm sipping coffee at 6 today but my mama would have been up for hours by now. 
My room was directly across from where our Christmas tree stood all my life. It wasn't a big house and there was only one spot for one of those monster trees daddy would cut down in the woods. He would trim it perfectly on the bottom, he and the boys get it into the house into a bucket. (we sometime laughed because he misjudged the size. Out it went again to trim a little more) They wedged bricks and rocks until it was straight, then mama filled the bucket with warm water. Next, it would be expertly decorated. She allowed us kids to hang ornaments but then we left it to her to finish with tinsel. The good stuff- heavy and delicate. I can still see her hand with tinsel separated and draped over it where she spent several evenings in a row getting the tree covered. She would painstakingly lay single pieces over each branch, only about 6 or 7 per branch, (we don't want it to look gaudy) until the entire tree glimmered in the light.
If you stood back and threw tinsel at your tree in wads and left it, she could hardly look at it. (at least I know where my OCD came from) The smell of that tree would fill the house. Each night I would beg for the lights to be left on, despite mama's certainty the house would burn down. I went to sleep with that smell and the tree illuminating the living room. Christmas morning I was the first to see what Santa left. I loved that. 

I think I've always been a little OCD. Even as a little girl of 7 or 8 years old, Christmas morning I made a quick visual survey of the gifts that arrived during the night and promptly turned the two living room chairs around for mama and daddy. I tidied up around the chairs for pictures mama would not be embarrassed by. It made perfect sense to me to get them comfortable before we began opening gifts. I would run to the bedroom, wake daddy and beg him to come quickly. Mama, up for hours already cooking in the kitchen, something delicious. Daddy would get up and build a fire in the fireplace.. it seemed to take them forever. Crant and Steve would join us and then the opening began. 
We received one large gift from Santa or two smaller gifts. That was the rule. It was all we were allowed to ask for and we were always thrilled with the outcome. There was usually a surprise gift from Santa that we didn't ask for, like new clothes. Then on to our stockings, filled with fruit, hershey kisses and little snack size candy bars- Mr Goodbar, Nestle Crunch and Dark Chocolates. We always gave our dark chocolate to mama, how convenient. She was smarter than I gave her credit at the time. Santa usually left a bowl full of tangerines on the kitchen table. Once I even remember mama being so tired Christmas Eve she didn't clear the table of dishes. Those tangerines were tossed in the bowl the northern beans were in the night before. Santa is so efficient I thought. 

There was the year my brother Crant thought he would be cute. He cut the bottom out of his stocking and put a box under it. Santa frowned on teenagers trying to be cute apparently because it didn't work. Crant had the same goodies dropped thru the stocking (now bottomless) into the box. 
When I was younger I would go to my stocking where I had 3 tangerines or oranges. Strange, how come I have three and hardly any candy when my brothers have no fruit and lots of candy?  I think they both got a scolding that year and my candy miraculously appeared back in my stocking. 

Every year leading up the the holiday a huge box or two would arrive from Pensacola. My Aunt Lora had packed gifts up and sent them. Always sent ahead of schedule to assure we had them on Christmas morning. How long has it been since I thought of something far in advance to provide joy for someone else? (Humbling, isn't it?)
I still remember opening those packing boxes each year to find our individually wrapped Christmas inside to place under the tree. One year she gave me pink fuzzy slippers and a Barbie wallet. I was over the moon. I carried that little wallet until it finally fell apart. I was so very proud of it. She likewise sent things to the boys they loved and always sent mama something fabulous. I still have my mothers Fostoria candle sticks and cake plate from her sister. 

My brother Crant was always creative and gave mama something he carved or whittled at Christmas. He made some very detailed things over the years, many of which he still has. Steve was always practical and knew what mama liked. He usually gave her some act of service he could do that required no money, as none of us had any. He would clean out her car and her side of the garage or something similar. I remember him wiring mama's radio in the kitchen to speakers throughout the house when he was a teenager. She loved having her music on. He did well. There were no wires visible and if memory serves, I believe he wired it into a wall switch too. Steve was always about convenience. He had run wires under the house, in the crawl space or in the walls, it was impressive for a teenager. 

I remember making mama a "soap bar reindeer" one year. (Hey, don't laugh it was a thing back then.) We would make little animals or Santa out of a bar of soap. I added antlers, Crant retrieved little sticks from tree branches and whittle the ends where I wouldn't hurt myself. He gave me a piece of deer hide he had tanned.. I applied it to the reindeer as a skirt I believe. I decorated it and she had that moldy old bar of soap for the remainder of her life in her box of important papers. God love her, she kept everything. 

While we were all playing with our Christmas and mama was cooking, daddy was packing for their hunting trip. Mama wanted us all to enjoy the day, daddy was waiting until he could throw his gear in the truck and head out, without mama being mad at him. They didn't talk about it much. Just the bags packed and hunting gear ready to go. Waiting.. The men in the house got absolutely giddy by mealtime. Mama cooking, daddy and the boys waiting, Christmas music playing, fire in the fireplace, toys . . . does it get any better than that?

While we ate Christmas dinner there was lively conversation around the table, it was a wonderful time. There was laughter and gratitude. Then finally mama would say "Oh go on." That's all it took for the my brothers and daddy to grab their gear and go. They could hardly wait to get in the woods. I remember kisses on mama's cheek and thank yous before they ran out the door. 
Mama would stoke the fire in the fireplace, we would wash dishes together and she would settle in with her latest book from the library. I played with my Christmas treasures snuggled up to her on the couch or in the floor.  We took naps and watched Christmas shows.

There were no cell phones beckoning, no outside world flooding in questioning our time, our beliefs or values. Nothing interfering with this time together. I wonder if children get the same undivided attention from their parents these days? Are they ever unscheduled? 

By New Years mama and I were craving something fabulous to eat. Sometime it might mean a quick hamburger and fries at Mrs Dot Vance cafe, only a few miles from home. Other times it might mean a trip to Birmingham for lunch at Britlings cafeteria and some "after Christmas sale" shopping. One year, I remember heading off to Catfish King to have fried chicken, (I had shrimp) and they served up these amazing apple fritters. They weren't what you see now if you google fritters. They were a delicate hush puppy w/a slight sweet taste, not savory with tiny bits of cooked apple all through, a sprinkle of powdered sugar on top. We talked and ate, laughed and planned gardens, spring dresses and new shoes. Most of all, we shared time together. I loved those days. 

Catfish King (formerly a Theater) Ensley, Al 1961

Soon enough everyone was back home, school would start back right on time before she wanted to strangle us. Mama and daddy would be back off to work and normal life resumed. 

My children are grown, I wish I had done more "slowing down"
Have you thought of turning the cell phone off? Scripture urges us not to be self-important. For people to see Christ in us, there must be less of "us" more of Him. 
You are not going to have those precious babies for long, make memories now. Those memories have to last a lifetime. They aren't going to remember your excessive "guilty parent" buying, or how many expensive pairs of shoes you bought them. They will instead remember who had time for them, showed up for them, read to them, sat with them and listened, laughed and loved on them. 

Savor your days, make each one special. Life is short. 

It's always there but so is the Savior.

 I started reading the report and was not only confused but a smidge concerned. I had blood work done the week before and the following week it ends up in my patient portal, for viewing. It has become routine yes, but still holds me hostage until I see the endocrinologist and am assured all is fine. (I love that man. I've shared with him what a blessing he is to us, to me. I pray for him regularly.) 

His calm and reassuring manner is very much the same as my father was and likewise, my husband. He is smart, thorough and always learning more, which I find completely necessary in a doctor. There isn't an arrogant bone in his body. He reads my face each visit, I always ask questions. He innately knows what he needs to explain to me. 
I go every six months to be checked. That blip caused me concern though. It was one of my levels looking really askew and out of range. What does it mean? Can it be something pointing to cancer again? 

I hate to admit it but it kept me from sleeping well the night before. It was after much prayer and meditating on Gods Word that I finally fell asleep before my upcoming office visit. While three hours sleep is no big deal at age 25 or 30, it is huge at my age. I felt I had been run over by a truck.

As usual, he gets me in the exam room in a timely manner. As we pass the pleasantries and greetings, he assures me my cancer markers are completely nil. He starts his physical exam but saw the concern in my eyes and we begin discussing with brief breaks where he can palpate my lymph glands. They feel fabulous, nothing there. Now, my friend.. what is so concerning you today? 

He knows I tend to overthink. His first words are reassuring that my thyroid cancer is gone. Completely gone. Melanoma, which was a death sentence 20 yrs ago (his words), is now at the forefront of new technologies and treatments. I am encouraged not to fret over it too much. Whatever comes along can be managed. Simply continue due diligence in skin checks and concerning spots. 

Now to my concern, he begins explaining with his laptop in front of me, how these tests are executed, how the ratios are figured and completed. It really doesn't give the full picture. I am seeing that the standard ( or "mean") used and the ratio provided really does cause the result to be skewed. He goes on to tell me, how really if you look at my individual numbers they are very good. He did it again. Mrs Crossley, you are good. I leave the office relieved and thankful. 

Just over three years ago I prayed profoundly & consistently for "the right" Surgeon and for the right Endocrinologist and my prayers were answered. He guided me to their doors via friend and family recommendations. I am thankful every day for those recommendations. 

It makes me think. Do we not do the exact same thing in our daily walk in faith? We are faced with dilemmas, catastrophes, physical and mental limitations every day. We overthink sometime and allow the enemy to manipulate us to the point we no longer think logically. Satan is the author of confusion, it's what he does best. He wants us messed up, off kilter and confused. He magnifies every fault and reminds us of every misstep. He wants you to doubt everything you've ever known as true. Do you hear me? He wants you to doubt everything you've ever known as truth.
When you find yourself in a place of chaos, confusion, doubt.. know, it is definitely the enemy. We allow ourselves to believe his lies. Sometime he is so convincing. When Jesus is right there, saying. .  trust me. Trust me to do what your Father said He would do. He has given us a beautiful purpose for our lives. As a follower of Christ, sometime I receive answers that I am comfortable with and sometime things did not turn out the way I thought or would have wished for. I still know, like I know my name, that God is always faithful. 

When something grabs your attention and you feel fear rise in you, reassurance is needed. 

I had thyroid cancer just over three years ago and just under two years later, melanoma. There is never a day again in this life that I wake and do not at least think about it. That's what Satan wants me to dwell on.. the "what if's". He wants me thinking about the cancer lurking just below the surface, ready to attack again at any moment. That is why an active  prayer life and praying friends come in. I love and trust my prayer warriors and know I can call on them anytime, day or night. God said, pray without ceasing. 

I've said it before but cancer has been a strange blessing. We think of blessings as those times God answers our prayers in the way we want and His timing matches what we needed. All in a neat little package. That is not life though. We live in a fallen creation and we are all imperfect. I know who my Lord and Savior is but sometime I need reminding. Sometime I need him to say in a calm voice, like Dr V, "let me explain, let me show you" .. and show me He does. I have to remind myself that while the enemy can mess with my head, he can't have me. I belong to another, I have a Savior. He puts people in my path who lift me up, who pray over me. He also removes people I no longer need in my life. Maybe they are not going where I'm going.  

So, today I will choose to trust in God. Trust that He has me in his hand. Life is so much easier when you do. 

Biscuits and house shoes.

Southerners are a traditional people. We take great pride in continuing our traditions and carefully unpacking them in front or our children.
I was probably eight or so when I began standing close in the kitchen when mama cooked. I was fascinated by the things she whipped up. One of my favorites were her biscuits. My mother could whip up a iron skillet of biscuits in less time than it took to butter toast. It was like magic. She had this huge iron skillet daddy made (compliments of Hayes aircraft.) Daddy came home with several prototypes he made until he got it just right. Mama would cook in each one and tell him what needed adjusting- whether it was size, weight, everything browned too quick or too slow. I know he made several because a couple ended up out back behind the shed. When he finally got it right, she loved it. Most of the times she pinched off  "cat head" biscuits but sometime I cut them with a jelly jar. The smell of fresh biscuits permeated the entire house. She would often have a jar of plum jelly from my Aunt Jim and my brothers would get out syrup and butter for theirs. Those biscuits were a feast. I make mine quite the same these days. High and light.

You would be hard pressed to find a southern girl who wasn't trained well by a mother or grandmother and well steeped in tradition and hospitality. Recipes and traditions always make me think of my mother. A woman who grew up during the depression and had very little in the way of material things, her own mother died when she was only five. However, she mothered very well. She had aunts and other strong women, who stood in the gap to make sure she and her older sister grew and learned well.
She was also quirky, intentional and created traditions of her own. One of those would be her house shoes. In other regions of the country they may be called "slippers" or "scuffs" but in rural central Alabama where the summers were stifling and winters cold, they are house shoes.
I can remember summer days seeing three or four pair of freshly cleaned house shoes hanging on the line drying in the sun. As a child they were often a necessity as the house could get drafty in the winter and she wanted to be sure our feet stayed warm. Later on, also for comfort at the end of a long day. Mama would come in from work and slip her heels off and ask me to fetch her a pair of house shoes, fresh off the line. When she slide her feet in this signified indeed she was home. She wore them for a few minutes with her hosed feet as she either started or finished dinner. Later she would emerge from the bathroom with a fresh scrubbed face after her bath, donning her house shoes. She bought extras in varying sizes when on sale, she mended them sometime to get just a little more wear out of them. Sometime after a long shopping day she would pull a pair out from under the seat in the car, slip off her shoes and wear them home. 

I am like my mother in many ways. I slip my shoes off when I walk in the door, slide into a fresh pair of house shoes & make a fresh glass of iced tea. It signifies love and hospitality my mother shared all my life. Sliding into those little pillows of fresh, clean terry cloth felt amazing then and it still does. She kept 3-5 pair on hand in case someone else needed a pair. If you came by to sit a while and talk, she was likely going to force a pair into your hand. No need to resist, she was pretty persistent and very opinionated on the virtue of house shoes. 

She would always ask, "doesn't that feel much better than shoes?"
When in the hospital on several different occasions mama would bring house shoes for me, freshly washed of course, smelling of sunshine. She would pull them out of her purse and lay them by the bed. 
I would say one of my mamas spirituals gifts was hospitality. She wanted everyone to feel comfortable, she thought it would help an awkward or painful stay in the hospital, or give you a respite when you were mentally or physically tired, she was probably right.

As her dementia worsened and she spent more time at her children's homes, I always made sure after her shower she had a fresh pair of house shoes. I helped her prepare for bed and placed clean house shoes on her feet. She always carried on about how heavenly they felt. 

It's those old traditions she created for us, that I miss the most when I think of her. 
I guess there will be a hot pan of biscuits for breakfast in the morning to accompany the pillows of sunshine on my feet. 
Thank you mama. 

The beautiful, mundane blessings.

 

Thoughts from May 2nd--
It's a beautiful day outside. The sun is shining, there's still a little "crisp" in the air. I've listened to the ducks squawk on the lake while I sip my coffee. I feel very blessed to live here.
Yesterday was not a great day. For some reason I didn't feel normal. I woke to a fine day outside but it happens every year on May 1st. I feel completely disconnected and off. I went into the studio to work early thinking it would help me concentrate. Oh well, I had to stop anyway, a doctors appointment beckoned. I took a nap later, not like me. Then, I looked at my calendar. . .  ah, I understand now. It's been eleven years since she went to her heavenly home. 
I do not want to be sad, it serves no purpose but there I was. I sat and prayed over it, piddled in the kitchen for a while.
Thank you Lord for answered prayer. 

I remember a particular shopping trip. Mama and I slipped away often to shop together on a Saturday. Her favorite spot was downtown Birmingham, all her favorite stores. It wasn't always buying, sometime just window shopping, watching prices. We always came back to purchase when the sales started.

S.H. Kress building still stands today on 19th street

We were usually gone all day and had to have a meal out. Depending on 'cash flow' at the time there were several options considered. One was my favorite, Joy Young for chinese food. There was also Britling cafeteria, the little cafe on the mezzanine at Lovemans or the counter at S.H. Kress five & dime for a quick sandwich. Sometimes she even brought sandwiches from home and we ate in the park. 

This particular day as we began to get hungry we headed over to S.H. Kress. It was a huge building with gold letters on the front, awnings over the big picture windows. It smelled of good food when you walked in despite most of the store was dry goods. The sandwich counter over to one side with it's twisty, swiveling stools were calling my name that day. To sit at the counter and have a sandwich and a bag of chips was as exciting as a holiday. We practically never got extras like chips at home, I was ecstatic. There was a bus stop pick up directly in front of the store and often the less fortunate hung out there to wait for the kindness of strangers. 
I had my little blue plastic Barbie wallet in my hand. My Aunt Lora gave it to me for Christmas. I had a few pennies and maybe a nickel in it and a school days picture of both my brothers. But I was feeling very fancy that day sitting at the counter on my twisty seat. 
Mama ordered two egg salad sandwiches and two chips w/a coca cola for each of us to drink. The sweet waitress added a straw to mine, I was over the moon. 
We said our blessing and began to eat. Mama was pilfering in her purse and asked me did I bring any change? Back in those days, a loaf of bread was about a nickel, change went a long way.
I proudly opened my little wallet and held it out to her, she took a little change and told me she would return it when we got home. She counted out her money and motioned for the waitress while I inhaled egg salad and potato chips. In a few minutes the waitress handed mama a bag. She told me to sit tight and she went outside the store and came right back. No discussion, no fanfare and the bag was gone. 
We continued our conversation and finished our shopping that day. It wasn't until later I realized she ordered sandwiches and gave them to the people standing outside the store. This was one of things I loved about my mama. 
My mother was a strong woman mentally & emotionally, she was a spiritual woman w/great faith, despite growing up without her mother, she mothered well. She demanded certain behavior from her children, never tolerated talking back or disrespect. She would simply say "that is not acceptable." She was also incredibly smart, kind and loving, her sense of humor was sarcastic & weird. She had a soft spot for others, she loved the sunshine and being outside. I'm sure that's where I get my love for outdoors. I'm also sure God gave her the gift of discernment because she always knew when to intervene and say something or when not to say something. When all you needed was for her to sit with you, just be there- she never opened her mouth. She just sat.  
Last night to end the day on a good note I made one of her favorite meals. Smoked sausage with bell pepper, onions and potatoes. I find it amazing so many things in my life remind me of her. Today will not be a sad day. It's honestly more a longing than sadness, to see her, to talk with her again. God promises we will have eternity to be together. 
Yes there are days in life that will be filled with sadness, losses and grief. Yet, our Father reminds us of the beautiful mundane experiences we lived, the memories which continue to bring comfort. It also reminds me to love my people who are here. To listen and soak it all in. 
Today it's raining, but it will be a beautiful, mundane day for as many blessings as we can squeeze in. Thank you Lord for another day.