Ever find yourself in a place of discontentment? (part 1)

There are a large group of we boomers walking around who hear the words "shields up" and do not think of Star Wars. Crazy, I know.

"Highly Illogical Captain" My childhood only afforded small amounts of news coverage on the Gemini and Apollo space missions in a time long before social media and 24/7 coverage. Television programs provided a futuristic look at space exploration and it came to us in the form Star Trek, where mama would walk through the living room while we were encamped and mutter something like "turn that trash off."
But mama Captain Kirk is at the helm, Dr Spock is on the bridge and they've got this. "Shields up gentlemen" just before they were to be annihilated. Shields were awesome and when the current threat was over, shields were brought down. It was just about the coolest thing I ever saw and made me proud my daddy was in the aeronautics field. (Even though he never made mention of deflector shields) I'm sure it just slipped his mind. 

About mid-April 2019 I began having a very restless spirit. I felt anxious and unsettled. I could not explain it much less share it with anyone. Nothing unusual had happened that I could recall. I decided to pray over this anxiety, thinking at first it was surely my own creation. I can sometime be an over thinker, as was my mother.  Slowly but surely it became apparent to me, deep in my core that something indeed was afoot, not right, needs my attention. But what? I'm supposed to recognize this but I have no idea what it is, where it came from or why I'm concerned with "it." 
I can only describe it as a nagging feeling that would not go away.  As I continued each day thinking and praying. (still having not shared with anyone) I believe the first scripture passage allotted to me was a favorite from Isaiah. 
Isaiah 41:10: Fear not, for I am with you; be not dismayed, for I am your God; I will strengthen you, I will help you, I will uphold you with my righteous right hand. 


Another, For he will hide me in his shelter in the day of trouble; he will conceal me under the cover of his tent; he will lift me high upon a rock. Psalms 27:5 

But the Lord is faithful. He will establish you and guard you against the evil one.
       2 Thessalonians 3:3

I began praying daily over these passages.  I now knew this was not my overactive thinking.  As a mother and grandmother who always prays over her children. My prayers were more frequent but soon I knew. It was not to be my children but our house. This time was different. Now Lord, I understand.

You see I believe in the one true Living Water. Eloheim, Yahweh, Abba Father. I believe God sent his son for my salvation, to bear the burdens of my sin. The sin of the world. I accepted this call at 10 yrs of age and I remember the words I spoke in acceptance of this gift, I remember the white knuckles on the pew I could no longer stand in, I remember racing down the aisle to share my new found faith. I remember the comfort that followed knowing now I belonged to the Lamb. I am one of His sheep.

As it continued, I would often wake at night filled with prayers and scripture of how to "expect" protection. "  While certainly comforted, I was also terrified.
He will cover you with his feathers, and under his wings you will find refuge; his faithfulness will be your shield and rampart." Psalms 91:4   
What in all of heaven and earth is about to happen? Then one day as I completed my daily quiet and devotion time, it ended with "I trust you Jesus." It was everywhere Ilooked and in every thought. I would wake at night with a scripture passage I had not previously thought much on. 
Jeremiah 30:17 -- For I will restore health to you, and your wounds I will heal, declares the Lord, because they have called you an outcast: "it is Zion for whom no one cares"

Since November 2017 I had not been at my spiritual best. While in that deep pit we find ourselves in sometime where we can find no reason for the things that have happened and the losses we've suffered. We cry out to God for some semblance of understanding, please Lord... yet nothing. It's a terrible place to dwell. Yet, I trust you Jesus. I must. I was broken beyond repair but God. He met me where I was and when I didn't even know what to pray, The Holy Spirit interceded for me. Over the next eleven months I came to a place of complete peace and rest. 
Yes, God was preparing me for something. I instinctively knew Abba Father was calling me to accept instead of reject these thoughts. I also knew it would be hard. Really hard but there will only be one way and that's through it. God will be close to me and cover me with his shield of protection. 
"For my thoughts are not your thoughts. Neither are your ways my ways, saith Jehovah. For as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways, and my thoughts than your thoughts." Isaiah 55:8-9  

A few years ago we were camping and one of the grands spent the night. Pop headed off to work after breakfast. The boy and I decided to hike up the trails which were quite rough for a little boy of 6 but he was completely committed to the venture. We filled our pockets with snacks, a bottle of water in my pocket and off we went. We climbed rocks and steep trails and every step I walked before him, watching along the trail for creatures great and small, protecting my little buddy. Before we sat on rocks to rest and snack at the peak of the mountain, I checked for creepy crawleys that may bite or harm my little friend. When limbs popped in front of us, I instinctively threw up my hand to protect him. "Your arm is scratched and bleeding Honey" he said. "It's okay buddy, I'm fine."
Carefully I freed him from briars and lifted him when he reached a place he could not naturally scale. We reached the Summit of the mountain together, hand in hand. 
This is what God does for us. Every step He is ahead of us, clearing the way and when we must go through difficult paths, He is beside us. Loving us through all of it. He did not create the difficult path but He will use it. He will use it to teach us to trust Him supremely and to glorify His kingdom.  

                                                   

June 18th, 2019, Happy Fathers Day. 

Fathers day morning as I'm drinking my coffee my husband finally shared he had been having chest pains for a week and they woke him this morning at 4:30am.
Dear heaven! I'm dressing to go to the hospital and my husband, smelling the food I've prepared for Fathers Day dinner w/family begs me "Please wait. I promise I'll go if I have another pain, even one." He continued, If I go now they will test me for the next two days and I'll get nothing to eat." Against my better judgement, we waited and watched him like a hawk, had the paramedics on speed dial. By five or so in the evening, he was hurting again and off we went to the emergency room.
Life then hit hyper-speed. Through the hospital stay, the heart cath that revealed significant Coronary Artery Disease, (looks like open heart surgery is planned for Wednesday) then two small strokes followed on Tuesday, the uncertainty of his condition, the weakened spot on one side of his heart from damage...  "If he is to have stents Mrs Crossley, it will take two or three sessions with eight to nine stents. It is extensive work for significant damage" ...
yet,  I was calm.
A couple nights into the hospital stay, his night nurse was the absolute best and told me to go home and sleep in a bed. He would care for Don expertly all night. I was exhausted and reluctantly went home. There was a severe storm that night, which damaged my car but... I was calm. I swept the glass out of my seat and floor come morning, called insurance company and went back to the hospital. God was indeed providing as he promised, protection.
 
We were faced with determining what to do, stents or open heart surgery. After much prayer over a surgeon and team, we met them one by one. Donald was pleased and trusted we had chosen wisely. Now we only had to wait more than a month to allow his brain to heal from the strokes. 
It was at this point I shared my restlessness and what had been happening in the weeks before. What God had done on our behalf. Now Donald became calm and peaceful too. 

When we met our cardiac surgeon, he commented he thought it was sad that his stroke patient had a grip like a sailor and hurt his hand. I believe Don was amused. Right before he walked out, Don yelled out "we are going on vacation in a couple weeks, that okay?"
[I had hoped Don had forgotten and I could take him home and watch him for the next 6 or so weeks to make sure he was okay until surgery. But he would have none of it.] I spent several days figuring our route to the beach trying to stay within a couple hours of a clinic or hospital all the way to the beach.
We went with some of our babies and Don had a ball, me not so much. I was happy when we got home.
He could not work during this time and we all need to pay our bills and eat but I was totally at peace. God continued to provide. It was summer. The farm had to be bush-hogged, the grass cut, horses fed daily. While Don could only rest, friends & family took over the physical things I could not do while I cared for him. Our church family loved on us and prayed over us daily. Friends had their friends all over the world praying for us. One friend shared there were even prayers in Jerusalem for Don. God surely showed up and showed out through His people.
You are in a deep valley and then... you aren't. He offers up that life giving water. 

Shields up.  (to be continued...) 

Thursday Thoughts with Buttons, Tiny hoomans are loud.

I like it here. I live with my two big hoomans and they are nice for the most part. They do not sit enough for me though.
I carry my bed out of my wire house and keep dropping it at their feet to show my displeasure but they never seem to understand. The girl just takes it back and puts it in my wire house again. The old gray one doesn't pick it up, I think his legs do not work well. It's quiet most of the time here and I like it when we sit in the warm screen place and I smell all the stuff and look at the wet. I chew on my ball and get belly rubs from my person. They talk about all the wet and I think they like it here too.

My hoomans still watch all those dumb flyers. I will never understand hoomans. You can't even pet a flyer! My person still likes them and I do NOT get it. She watches them eat rock things from little houses on a stick, high in the air. It amuses her for some reason. My person calls them seeds and nuts. Oh no! Could my person being feeding those stupid flyers to keep them coming here? Surely not.
They taunt me with their fluttering around like they know everything. There are even HOOGE flyers, they sit on the wet part out from the trees. They are fat and slow and keep getting away from me but I keep chasing them back in the wet. One day I will catch those weird, wet sitting flyers. Did I tell you I hate flyers?

My hooman likes me to sit in her lap. I like to walk with her, then stretch out and relax on the couch. About the time I am getting soft rubs and belly scratches, here come those tiny hoomans. They seem to like it here too and they come all the time.
I like it when they first get here, they jump and talk loud, bounce up and down and they bring toys too. I hide their fuzzy toys where they can find them later. We play a game where I run and lick them, I jump on their legs but they do not seem to understand the game. I don't think they have been shown how to play properly. The little one crawls inside my wire house and I do not like this at all. I pitch a fit but no one seems to care, that's my house. He has sweet eyes though and touches me easy. He tires quickly of my house and goes to bother the larger ones.
There's a little larger, tiny hooman, he is older I think but his legs still work. He sits and rubs my back while they watch the big box on the wall. He is very calm and he never hurts my ears. He also walks me outside and take me to see the stupid flyers. He does not steal my ball either and he makes sure I have water. There is a fancy tiny hooman who is very different than the others. Sometimes cat noises come out of her but she looks strange for a cat?! She takes my ball, alot. I do not quite trust her, she is sneaky but most of the time she is sweet. She throws my ball again and again, for me to chase. Sometimes she hides it too, I do not like that.
There is another bigger, tiny hooman and sometime he joins the three loud ones. He smells very much like cat and he does not bother me at all. I like him like the other bigger one.
The big hoomans and the little ones eat kibble all together and I like to sit under the little cats chair and wait for things to fall. The little cat drops things for me to eat. Okay, I forgot about that, I like her again- I guess.
I do not understand the attraction my hoomans have to these small ones. I snuggle them all the time and leave things out for them to play. I leave my ball right by my hoomans sleeping place every night but instead of being happy in the morning, she stumbles all over it. It's a ball, hooman? What's wrong with you? She says words I do not understand but she sounds mad and I go under the sleeping place until she seems happier. Those tiny hoomans do not leave balls for my hooman, surely she must know I am better to have around.

[This is me. Watching tiny hoomans watch the big box. They seem to like it.]

I had a scardy-time not long ago. The old gray one was gone for a long time and my person came in when all the light was gone and left as soon as the light was back, sometimes she didn't come home at all. I stayed with another hooman friend at her place. She was nice and took very good care of me while my hoomans were gone. Soon my slow hooman came home with my person and he was even slower. I smelled all kinds of new smells on him and some scared me but I snuggled at his side for days and days. He needed my help and I followed him everywhere. He is now smiling again and leaving when it gets light again. I think he will be okay. He smells right again. He is back to playing with the tiny hoomans and watching those flyers too. They are weird but I think I will stay, they need me.

I thought I would be much smarter by now.

Recently, we had a lovely evening with some of our grandchildren.

I made their favorites for dinner, they played in the bathtub, they watched a couple cartoons while I cleaned up the kitchen, I read books, then Pop read books. I know these days are fleeting and it makes me a little sad. As we read The Wonkey Donkey and Peter Pan each for the 900th time, I know there will come a day soon when little hands will no longer want or need me to read to them. It is not this day however and we read The Wonkey Donkey one more time.

One of our sweet boys had a birthday coming up and I made his choice of cake. Once everyone was tucked into bed, I went to work on little figurine decorations for the top of the cake and worked until well after midnight. I quietly slid into bed being careful not to wake my husband. I could hear one of the children fighting mighty battles in his sleep. I'm pretty sure he was either Thor or Batman.

Just about the time I drift off, another tiny human calls out to me. He is quite sleepy and needs "snuggles." I'm guessing Thor woke him up defending against the Ice Giants. Yes, it is now 2:30 a.m. it's the wee hours but these days are numbered and I happily oblige.
This tiny human is the best kind of snuggler, he has it down to a science. He caresses your face with his little hand as if he's the grown up and you're the child. He gets as close as possible and just before drifting off his baby arm goes around your neck. Finally, we are all asleep.
Soon I hear a freight train coming through our bedroom.

I can remember my mother talking about the sheer magnitude of my daddy's snoring. She described it as "shaking the entire house" and I always felt she was exaggerating. Nope, she was right. It feels like the neighbors can probably hear it. I remember being about eleven years old when we had severe thunderstorms with possible tornadoes coming through our area. Mama always held vigil over the radio to be sure we were safe on stormy nights. Before we went to bed she had us put a pair of shoes beside our bed, just in case we had to rush out. Late that night she woke us all to go to the basement. Our basement wasn't finished but rather a large dug out spot beneath the house where the coal stoker furnace was and we had to go outside to access it. One of the boys would lift the huge cellar-like door and mama held the umbrella over us as we made the mad dash in the rain. Before we headed down there, mama would wake daddy and tell him we need to go to the basement. He agreed fully, would ask if she had all of the children up and promptly fall back to sleep. We sat in the basement in chairs listening to the howling wind and rain pelting the house, thunder and large strikes of lightning raging outside. There were limbs flying from the trees and daddy... upstairs snoring like a freight train. At this point mama was mumbling under her breath and rolling her eyes. Of course, she was concerned for his safety but Oh my word, the snoring?! My oldest brother slipped around the side of the furnace (closer to their bedroom) and pounded the end of the shovel handle up against the floor, hard enough to stir daddy. In a few minutes he joined us. Little did I know, those were treasured times together.

So, by 4:45 that morning I decided to just get up. But that's okay, I have coffee!

Again, I slip out quietly, as not to wake the tiny one and the "snorer" even though a part of me wants to punch the man right in the face.

Slipping into the kitchen I'm in stealth mode, I push the button on the coffee and begin gathering my needed equipment very quietly.. I notice something doesn't sound right, there is a sizzling sound. I glance over to find coffee all over the counter and I managed to grab something to catch it just before it pours onto the floor. I am staring at the coffee maker trying to figure out what's going on. It's not even 5 a.m. and I need this coffee.

I am wiping up the coffee off the counter and realize it's still running out.?? Maybe the little thingy that makes it run into the pot may be askew. Well, this faulty coffee maker isn't going to outsmart me- I grab a large cup to catch as much as possible before it all runs on the floor. It is only then I realize there is a chip out of the coffee pot and it's about done w/the cycle. This is critical.

As any coffee devotee would do, I tilt the pot away from the tiny hole. I prop it on some dishes stacked in the sink being careful not to lose my tiny bit of coffee. Then it hits me... glass? Darn it. What do I do now?

I actually thought of my brother who would just about trade his children for a good cup of coffee and said to myself "what would Steve do?" So, I grab a fine tea strainer and run the liquid magic thru it careful to avoid the tiny hole in the pot. Then into another cup through a clean cloth, last I run it through a paper towel.

Pleased with myself I stand gazing on my coffee, it's not even daylight yet. Did I sufficiently strain the possible glass out of my little cup of joe? I decide Steve would approve.
I sat down on the couch waiting for daylight with my journal and my tiny cup of coffee, quite proud of myself actually. I managed to save a small cup, I didn't have to get dressed to go get coffee and I woke no one. It's a win.

My only worry is possible internal bleeding from the glass that may or may not be in my cup. I prayed over that cup. As I finish the last drop and the sun begins to rise, I realize I have a small coffee maker in the camper, in the driveway.

I thought I would be smarter by now.

Lessons to be learned

I started my adult life wanting to be a teacher. It was my constant desire. After a while I settled on nursing. However, I married young and started a family and there simply was no room for nursing school or college at the time. Years pass quickly and you keep pushing those ideas back until one day you wake and it's too late. I thought on it quite a bit when I was younger but as my life choices changed and I found owning my own business to be quite fulfilling as I raised our family.

I guess what I remember the most about wanting to teach was the effect my teachers had on me.
I vaguely remember my 1st grade teacher, Mrs Glaze. My 2nd grade teacher was a family friend, making Mrs Rainwater a favorite and I hold fond memories of her still. In a time when women surely weren't valued as they should have been as leaders, I was surrounded by women of strong character and dedication to their field.
My third grade teacher made a marked impression on me. Our little country school probably didn't hold 400 children, off a rural road in West Jefferson county. It would be the place that shaped my thoughts and dreams. The last classroom on the right, almost to the playground was our home that year. Mrs Cirillo's room. She was a tall, slender woman with beautifully expressive eyes and fair skin, one of the sweetest godly women I ever knew. I watched each day to see what earrings she would wear, she seemed to have an endless collection.
She was an adventurer who found beauty everywhere she looked and explored everything around her. She spoke often of her travels with her cherished August Cirillo. She and August lived in Brazil and she taught school there for a time. I remember thinking, that's what I will do.

Among other things, I gained a love of birds in her classroom. I remember her asking if someone might build us a bird house right outside our classroom window where we could attract different species. When she posed the question to the class more like an idea not really an inquiry, I promptly shot my hand to the sky and waved violently... my daddy can build a bird house, my daddy can! [mostly because I saw my daddy as a kind of superman but he really could build anything] He was a carpenter and brick mason in his early years. I'm sure he was always thrilled when I volunteered him for things but he never complained.
Soon we had not one but two sweet birdhouses. Each built with care and a large feeding area on the other side of the long board daddy put up to hold the houses. I remember watching him outside the window and being so proud to have him put those little wooden bird homes at eye level outside our windows. We fed many birds outside our classroom that year and watched babies hatch and fly the nest.
To a child in a rural community, a dreamer like Mrs Cirillo was more like a magician. The furthest I ever traveled as a child was to my aunt and uncle's home in Pensacola. I could hardly wrap my mind around Mrs Cirillo's travels around the world. My goodness, she was practically a movie star. She told us all about people, weather, other cultures and traditions. I remember her kindness and laughter as she brought her treasures and shared them with us. I could be a bit of a talker but I was never talking in her class, I might miss something.

Third grade was apparently a "growth spurt" year for me as well. There was Mrs Cirillo assuring me, everyone else would catch up in time. She would say, "stand tall, show people who you are." Towering over my friends heads, it was great comfort at only 9 yrs old. I would later go on to have other great teachers but Mrs Cirillo was where I gained great respect and admiration for the teaching profession. I realized she answered a calling when she became a teacher, a mentor and friend to all she met.

I have friends and relatives who answered that same call, who shaped and some still do, the lives of children in their classrooms. Some adventurers, introverts, all encouragers and friends. The Bible has many verses and passages on being an encourager.
One of my favorites is in Proverbs 25, verse 11. A word fitly spoken is like apples of gold in a setting of silver. 
Mrs. Cirillo gave me a view of life I would likely not have considered otherwise. She made me think, she made me curious. I am better for knowing her. I believe it was Albert Einstein who said, "when we stop learning we start dying."

In our home, to the right of our television cabinet was a bookcase filled with Childcraft and Encyclopedia. Before the age of "google" this is what we used for reference and research. Not all my friends had encyclopedia, some went to the library to do research, some came over to use them or borrowed one. It's how we prepared for assignments and special projects. The Childcraft were a simple source for children to learn. There were more than 20 volumes in all, some devoted to fictional stories, fairy tales, craft projects and poems. Most however were for learning- history, technology, medicine and animals.

                 

Daddy read Repunzel to me over and over (it was my favorite) the year I had the flu for three weeks. Mama read poems and fairy tales to her children from the pages of those books. We poured countless hours over them for school projects. As a young mother, my children pounced into mama's lap with their respective childcraft of choice when they visited her or they agreed on Volume 3 for the fairy tales and poems. If there was a lively debate on any subject and we needed more information, mama grabbed the corresponding encyclopedia for reference. Learning was a constant in our home.

Teachers, like Madge Cirillo planted the seed for my love of reading and curiosity about other places. I have always known, being a teacher is a calling. A God-given talent which requires great personal sacrifice.
Every teacher who steps behind a desk is saying, "Okay, I have room in my heart and life for a few hundred more children. Let's do this." If that isn't a calling, I don't know what is.
Mrs Cirillo died quite a few years back at the age of 96. I can only imagine she continued learning for a very long time.
I wish I could thank her now for all the things she taught me, the curiosity she spurned and the love of travel and adventure she gave us all.

That time and place, it's ingrained in the depths of my soul.

Pensacola Florida, Gulf Breeze to be specific was where our family vacations were spent throughout childhood. Our Aunt Lora and Uncle Herbert (Uncle Hub) lived there w/their three children. Every summer we visited and spent time with family and equal time on the beach. Those vacations were pure magic for me. We lived in a rural southern community where we traveled 18 miles to the closest grocery store. Gulf Breeze was a bustling metropolis to a little country girl! My Uncle, a career Navy man, managed the local Jitney Jungle and it was less than 5 minutes from their home.

I remember the house on Dolphin Street. It was a large colonial home, it appeared like a mansion to me. Uncle Hub had a monster yard he tended with great pride. Upstairs to the left was David's room, Suzanne & Nancy shared a room that looked over the front of the house. Back to the stairs, past the bathroom straight into the master bedroom and bath. Downstairs there was a living and dining room, a hallway that led right past the downstairs bathroom on to the kitchen and through the door Nancy put her elbow through rough housing with her brother once. A nice den rounded out their lovely home.

Every time we visited my aunt was busy in the kitchen preparing her best fare for her Alabama family.  I always wanted to know what was for dessert as Aunt Lora was an amazing cook!
One visit as she pulled a fresh cake with peanut butter frosting from the cabinet (where she had placed it for safe-keeping) she realized it had ants all over it. As she and mama worked on cleaning out and containing the ants, I kept vigil over the cake now in the trash can. I was on the verge of tears over that cake and just in time I hear my Aunt say "Herbert, why don't you take Leisa and get some ice cream for tonight." Yes! Dinner is saved! .. and off we went to pick out ice cream.

You see, as children our mother didn't allow sweets very often. Actually, we hardly ever were allowed sweets. While the entire world as I saw it had sweets and dessert daily, we were brushing our teeth after a pack of raisins. Then I grew up and realized mama was pretty smart.
My Aunt Lora would see the despair in my face though, look directly at me and wink.  Her eyes sparkled with a little mischief and her "older sister" logic assured me it was handled. Mama would say absolutely nothing. I loved my aunt even more in those moments.

A couple years ago we were close enough to Gulf Breeze to run through there on the way to visit our cousins who live outside of Gulf Breeze now. The area has changed so much over the years and I feared none of it would be familiar. The old Jitney Jungle is long gone. I pulled out my gps and then I spotted Shoreline Drive and immediately I knew where I was. It took us by the old ballpark where we used to watch David play baseball. The streets I had not seen in probably forty-five years were right in front of me, I knew each turn.
The mansion I remembered is a smidge smaller, 204 Dolphin Street, now painted with green accents instead of my Uncle Herbert's lovely signature blue and a bit older. The yard is much smaller as well.
I realized apparently Uncle Hub owned a double-sized lot because there is now another home between the Craft home and the old Monzingo place.  Yes, young Jay Monzingo lived right next door and he was a bit of a character. He once put the cat in the dryer and turned it on. That cat was never right again I was told. I loved to hear my Aunt Lora tell about the escapades of her little neighbor.

Each trip I saved my pennies to spend on shells at Allen's Shell Shop, also no longer there. At the beach we slathered on Coppertone 4 to protect our skin and it did.

When it was time to hit the beach we chose either the surf or sound side. I personally liked the sound because of the possibility of food. Mama usually took sandwiches but every now and again we could enjoy bought food. There was a little burger place right on the beach, it was simply a large screened room with sand floors and picnic tables to eat on, a kitchen out back. You could come in wet from the beach to eat and the kitchen kept hungry swimmers satisfied. They served Frosty Root Beer in frozen mugs pulled from the freezer. Root beer washed down the best burger you ever tasted.
If we chose the surf side, we parked on the side of the road, walked over huge sand dunes out to the water. It was like a quest to climb and climb finally topping the sand dune and gazing out over God's amazing Gulf of Mexico. That first look out over the water is deep in the recesses of my heart- I feel the thick salt air against my face, the smell, the waves crash ashore. It feels like home.

My oldest brother spent weeks one year, fashioning a board he could ride waves on. It looked like an over-sized boogie board. He painstakingly sanded it to perfection, varnished and waxed the bottom. That board sliced through the water like a knife and would hold all three of us. At night waterlogged and tired from play I listened to laughter and tales of times gone by. I slept like a baby in this magical place.

That two-story colonial was not the first "Craft" home I remember though. There was a brick ranch with a long front yard framed by tall pine trees. I do not remember the street name, I could not have been more than six at the time. 
Several years ago this memory I've had all my life, came to me as a dream. Both families were there.  My brothers are in the yard tossing a football with my cousin David, daddy was around in the carport area with Uncle Hub looking at his lawnmower. I sat on the front steps just outside the living room with Suzanne (also the baby girl) playing. Inside the front door through the living room and to the left was the kitchen. Their oldest daughter Nancy was helping her mother make dinner, mama sitting at the table peeling potatoes. They talked and laughed as they caught up.

I have thought of this home and that day often over the years but in my dream I could hear all their voices again. I haven't heard my daddy's voice in over 40 years but I heard it as clearly as if I was standing by him. My Aunt Lora sharing her week and my mothers laughter. I could hear them all. I woke with the most amazing feeling, I can't even describe what it felt like.
I know what the experts say about dreams. "a natural physiological function that is common to every human being and is necessary for maintaining adequate mental and emotional health." Yes, I know.
I also know what Gods Word says about dreams. I feel this was a confirmation dream, affirming what we experienced as children was good and true. Though not perfect by any means, the people were honorable, loving and genuine. We weren't rich, as a matter of fact I was told more than once as a child, I was poor. I'm pretty sure those summer vacations were part of the reason I never felt it to be true.
There's a lesson in there for parents today, children do not need "things." They need  your time, they need waterlogged days and stories of your adventures. They need assurances that God's got this and no matter what happens, they will be okay. They need snuggles and hugs. They need tiny peebles and shells to hold in their hand, treasures from their day. They need laughter, so much laughter.
I know that sometimes our soul needs a lift and I believe God's unending grace blesses us with memories. We need to smell things and feel things we haven't experienced in years. Life is hard but we hear those voices for just a moment, we smell or taste something that brings the memories flooding back and it sustains us for a while.

That place, those people, they are ingrained in the depths of my soul. I am forever grateful for having had them all in my life.

I have truly been blessed and I am constantly humbled by Gods unending grace and love for me.
I hope you know that grace as well, if you don't?  I know a nice stretch of beach where you can feel it.