Love Is......

When I was a little girl I enjoyed those cute little "Love Is...." comics. They were adorable! I thought it was kind of strange that they were naked, but that is beside the point.

I have read 1 Corinthians 13 so many times over the years. I have used it as a guide, a reminder of all that I should be to those that I claim to love.

Now, in case you haven't noticed, I LOVE my family. LOVE. LOVE. LOVE.

I have been married to the SAME man for almost 25 years. I think that one the reasons we can boast that is that measuring stick in 1 Corinthians 13 I was talking about. I have to look at it and say, "What am I doing?" sometimes. Can't claim we have had perfect times all the time, but love never is perfect.

And I have 2 exceptional children.

I really do.

Not playing.

I have had the opportunity to pay attention to other people's offspring. And I can assure you there is a lot of "Thank YOU Jesus!" coming from me.

I think one of the things that makes me different from other people is I can see their faults (just as I am sure they see mine). I am in no way blinded by the fact they are my children.

And I say children, when really they are adults.

Adults I can be proud of. Adults who don't have any major regrets.

Some parents boast in the fact that their children have run wild and are doing things that, as parents, they should be embarrassed by.

My children are godly examples to me.

I know how blessed I am.

I don't live a charmed life. I just live life. I live it to the best of my ability by keeping Him as the center.

And I hope this doesn't sound boastful, because I know where the credit lies.

You see, I know what love is.....

I have a life full of it.

Thank You, my sweet, sweet Savior. I am, among women, most blessed.

Let Me Entertain You....

Several months back I was relating a story I had heard to Bro. Wood at church. I told him how Bro. Darryl Bennett had picked up a man on the way to my brother's church and ended up giving the man a Bible study which resulted in the man being baptized.

I mean, how awesome is that?

That Sunday Bro. Wood showed up with a visitor.

I was fascinated by this gentleman. Bro. Wood had picked him up and I began to talk to him and was intrigued by his apparent English accent. So I asked him where he was from.

He said he was from Douglas.

He had an intensity, and everything he talked about was so interesting that I was left wanting to hear more.

"Do you know, people think I'm crazy?" he said. I was afraid he may be more sane than most of us would ever be.

A few days later I saw him again at the bakery across the street from where I work. He was sitting alone at a table and I went over to say hello. He remembered my name and the names of the others at church.

And he began to tell me stories. One in particular was about the devil coming to his door one night when he was living in Tennessee.

I was enthralled by his stories, mostly because most of the world would listen to him and think, "What a nut!"

But, I guess I'm a nut enough to wonder, "What if it's true?"

I saw him several more times over the course of the next couple of weeks.

One morning when I arrived to work he was sitting on the curb outside my office. He had plugged his laptop into one of the outside plugs and was typing away.

He immediately began to tell me a story about one day when he was walking through town. He said he was down that day, thinking about everything and the Lord came up and put his arm around his shoulder and began to walk with him.

He said he asked the Lord what he was doing, and the Lord told him He just felt like he needed a hug.

Then he said the Lord told him He needed to leave because He had things to do and He was gone.

He looked up as the Lord left and he said the sky was full of angels. Thousands of angels.

I began to talk to him and I told him, "You know, that's what I want. I want to see the spiritual things that are going on around me. And I pray all the time that God would open my eyes to see things around me."

Then I said to him. "I want you to pray for me when you pray, that God will use me."

His eyes got big and he just stared at me for a minute. Then he smiled at me and said, "From your lips to His ears."

And he thanked me for wanting him to pray for me. He told me that I was a good woman.

I told someone about the incident and they voiced my thought on the whole thing. "I think he was an angel."

Maybe so. I will never know, I guess. I have only seen him once from a distance since that day, but I still think about him and the stories he told me.

And I know, believe me. I have been a nurse too long not to think "Ok, he is schizophrenic."

But, then the other side of me says...."But what if he was an angel."

The Word talks about us entertaining angels unaware. I believe in His Word and its there. So, that means it is true, it can happen.

And even if that was not the case in this instance it allowed me to believe in the possibilities.

I still long for Him to use me, to show me the things they saw in Biblical times when they believed in possibilities and saw those possibilities come to pass. I want that. I want to experience everything He has for me.

Thank You, my precious Saviour for reminding me again how great You are. I know if You did it before You will do it again. And I want to be a part of whatever You have!! I love You today more than ever. Thank You for loving me.

For One More Day

Several years ago I was called to jury duty and I brought a book in along with my car keys. These were the only things you were allowed to bring in.

I finished the whole book waiting to be called in. And it touched me in places that I have never been touched before.

But, there were places it didn't touch because those places weren't there yet.

We had an estate sale at my parents house last weekend. My daughter was in charge of gathering up stuff from our house to sell at the same time and one of the things she brought was the book.

I saw it laying amongst the stuff we were spreading out on tables and I grabbed it up.

"I don't want to sell this."

The book is called "For One More Day" by the author Mitch Albom.

It is a story about regret and the chance to right a wrong.

It is the story about a man who didn't fully appreciate what he had until he no longer had it.

It is the story about the love of a mother.

One line says, "...I realized when you look at your mother, you are looking at the purest love you will ever know."

The last time I saw my Mother she was sitting in a wheelchair at St. Pat's hospital in Lake Charles, Louisiana. She looked frail and tired and was on her way to dialysis.

I bent down and hugged her one last time and told her "I love you SO much."

And I walked away in the arms of my son, weeping because I knew it was goodbye. Not the last time I would speak to her, but the last time those arms that had held me countless times over the course of my life would ever hold me again.

A few days later I was in my office when my husband came in and closed the door.

"Your Mom is gone."

And suddenly I went from being the spoiled baby of loving parents to a grown woman with no parents at all.

Nothing has ever been the same.

Every day there is something I want to tell her. Every day there is something I want her to tell me.

Just for one more moment, one more hour, one more day.

There are so many things I want to make sure she knew.

She was a good mother. The best mother in the world. I can say that with all certainty because I know she loved us with all that she was. She would be the first one to tell you she wasn't perfect, but that is to be expected.

I can still hear her laughter echo in my heart, and her belief in who I am and what I was capable of was so strong it held me up at times. She was honest with me, more honest than anyone else has ever been. She had no problem telling me I was making a mistake and although some would resent that, I suppose, I needed that honesty knowing only someone who truly loved you would be that honest with you.

It has been 13 months since I last saw her face. 13 months since I heard her voice or felt her embrace.

What I would give for one more day.........

Life Lesson # 758

I had a very strange experience today. Leaving the church after prayer service I pulled out of the church drive onto the highway at a normal speed.

Ok....maybe I was a Grandma....

And this Tahoe came barreling over the hill.

Now there was NOTHING coming when I pulled out, but by the time I got on the highway and looked in my rear view mirror they were gaining on me at a rapid rate of speed.

So I punched it.

About the time I punched it I passed the exact spot that I saw my son laying crumpled at after he was hit by the truck.

And I was struck anew by how fast life can change, how precious life is.

I know when it happened I called my brother, but I didn't call anyone else until the next day because I knew how upset they would all be.

And upset they were. As sick as my mother was she wanted to come back here and take care of her boy.

So, this weekend something happened to me that should have made me really sad.

Now, I'm not going to say it didn't bother me, but probably not as much as it should have.

I have learned some very important life lessons in the past few years.

One was learned standing on the side of the highway looking down, and two more were learned standing by open graves. There are some things in life worth fighting for. Love is one of those things. And, boy....has my life been filled with great love.

I spent a good part of Saturday afternoon laying on the couch, alone in my parents house. Just thinking, remembering, and weeping for the loss of my wonderful parents. Letting go of the house seems like shutting a heavy door.

And as I came home I was blindsided by something that I still don't understand.

And I probably never will.

Today I was reminded how different my life could be this very second. I was reminded again what really matters, and what really doesn't.

I don't have time in my life for foolishness. I don't have time. Each and every day is ticking away and I refuse to be sucked into stupidness. Let me share something with whoever may happen upon this little blog of mine.

I learned some things in my life the hard way. It is the result of those hard lessons that I am the person I am today. Not the person I was 31 years ago. I have grown up, put away childish things, and realized I have a choice to make each and every day. My choice is happiness. My choice is happiness.......

Life Lesson # 758. Expect the unexpected. And then suck it up and keep on keeping on. After all, the sun is still shining, even behind the clouds.

Landmarks That Last

I don't know who taught Hansel and Gretel, maybe they used their own ingenuity, but throwing down breadcrumbs was probably not the brightest idea. I know they were small children, but maybe with some instruction there would have been a different ending to the story.

It will be Father's Day this weekend.

I realize that mothers play a pivotal role in the lives of their children that cannot be duplicated.

So do fathers.

There are things we should learn from our fathers that we can learn from no one else. Things such as work ethic, honesty, firmness and loyalty.

I know plenty of people that have not had that role in their lives and turned out fine, let me say that from the outset. I also know of people who have had wonderful fathers and turned out, well, less than fine.

That is beside the point I want to make today.

Proverbs 22:28 says, "Remove not the ancient landmark, which thy fathers have set."

We use landmarks for directions, especially in the South.

"Turn left by the tree shaped like a Y and look for the house with the big rock in the front yard."

I honestly cannot tell you turn on this street and then on this street. I give directions based on things that I see. That is how I know I am on the right path.

Our children need landmarks in their lives. They need to know they are headed in the right directions or they need a point of reference to get them back on the right track.

They need to see, as fathers that you have set "landmarks" in your lives that will stand the test of time. Not bread crumbs that may be gone as soon as they are spotted by a hungry bird.

They need something they can put their trust in, something they can rely on to always be there, be constant.

I was choosing a picture to represent my Daddy for my facebook profile to honor him for Father's Day. I have several on my profile, but the one I chose was of a day he set a very distinct landmark in his life.

It is the day he was Baptized in the wonderful Name of Jesus for the Remission of his sins and also the day he was filled with the Holy Ghost.

That landmark is solid, built on the Word of God. It will stand the test of time.

My Daddy was an honorable man, he was a strong man, and he was a leader to our family.

But he still had to follow the plan of God. By doing so he was saying, "I have redirected my path. This is the starting point for a new way of life."

And through the Word I know that if he ever lost his way on this new path he could easily find that landmark, a place of repentance.

Did you know, fathers, that everyday you make choices that affect you, AND your children. The way you chose to conduct yourself, to live your life bleeds over into those most precious to you.

Are you on a path that you would want them to follow? If you were gone tomorrow, would the landmarks you have set up in your life be able to stand the test of time?

Thank You today for my earthly father. He was a good man and I am blessed to have been his child. But I also thank You for allowing him to recognize that he WAS a man, and he needed YOU in his life. I am clinging to that promise that as long as I continue to run this race, following the right path, one glorious day I will see Your face. Even so, come Lord Jesus.

When Grief Becomes Your Enemy

I may have to roll up my sleeves on this one....It's going to take some work.

I would say that I met grief a little over a year ago now with the death of my father.

But that's not exactly true.

I think I was first introduced to grief many years before that as I watched my vibrant, successful parents become enthralled in health battles that they simply lacked the strength to fight.

I cannot count the times over the years I have backed out of their driveway sobbing because the grief of losing them even before they were gone was so overwhelming.

I do not believe for a moment that I am the only person on the face of the earth who has lived with grief as a constant companion. I also will not be so arrogant as to say my grief far surpasses anyone else's.

But the whole deal is, it's my grief.

It's that grief that has allowed me to remember wonderful things, to laugh, to smile, and to feel that love that I know that my parents had for me.

And in that sense grief became my friend.

It helped me on the road to healing, helped me to look at the positives in such a painful situation.

At some point, though, everything changed.

It has been that grief that has me wide eyed into the night, that haunts my dreams and colors my happiness.

That grief that allowed me to begin each day with the knowledge that I had lost but I had also gained had turned on me becoming a vicious enemy instead of a tender friend.

And there reached a point when I realized what had happened to me because of this great, consuming grief.

I realized I was broken.

I was a broken person. I may have looked ok on the outside, and I went through the motions of living, but there was something so wrong.

I lost my ability to feel the things I was supposed to feel anymore without the color of grief staining everything like the sun trying to shine pure through a stain glassed window. I could see the brightness, but it was discolored through my pain.

And I thought about David facing the loss of his son, on the floor, crying with sackcloth and ashes.

Until they told him that his son was gone.

Then he cleaned himself up, he ate.....he went on with his life.

It became time for me to pick myself up and go on.

It became time for me to put the long night of weeping behind me and realize it was morning, and time for some joy.

That thing that I thought was my friend to help me through a difficult time became my enemy that wanted to remove any happiness from my life, remove any laughter.

Without me even realizing what had taken place I had allowed this grief to almost render my vessel useless in its brokenness.

Oh maybe I wasn't broken in two, but there was such a crack in my life that even when I would go to church and get filled back up it would all run straight back out.

Here is the wonderful part.

One day I got back on that potter's wheel and God took my brokenness and He REMADE me. All of those imperfections that made me unusable were folded back into the clay in His hands and they have made me an even better vessel, one that has many more uses.

That enemy that wanted to destroy me played a part in making me stronger than I have ever been, opened up a whole new ministry for me and gave me more determination than I ever thought I could have.

I have MORE to go to Heaven for now, because someday I can dance on streets of Gold with my Daddy and he will have BOTH legs, and I can worship beside my Mama and her body will be whole again.

And all the pain, all the grief, all the loss will be worth it because there will be someone else there that has been touched through my circumstances.

No, I'm not the only one who has lost. But, no one else has gained what I have gained.

I know my grief will reappear as long as I am in this earthly vessel. But that's OK.

I have another friend Who is bigger by far than anything that comes up against me. And He is willing to fight for me when I am too weak to fight for myself.

He is my family, my closest Friend. My Life, My Love, My All.

*Thanks to Bro. Marc Wood for obeying God tonight. I began the blog before church, and I knew when I left it up that it was meant for me to finish after. What a blessing tonight was for me.*

We Have A History.....

Once upon a time the pieces of two lives converged to make one and through that life there began a family.

Centuries have passed but what began way back when continues on. And laying beneath markers across this soil and beyond are what remains of the life's that made me who I am.

And for the most part I don't even know their names. Not that the names have the most significant draw of my imagination, no, it is the countless stories those lives possessed that I may never hear.

Yet, they are my history.

Denise and I stopped at a Revolutionary War Cemetery recently. Many of the graves had stories written right on them, though some we're too worn to understand. But each life and death had meaning to someone all those years ago.

In the midst of the cemetery stood a brick fence with an iron gate. Inside that fence was Mary.

Beloved Mary.

Daughter, wife, mother.

Loved and lost too soon.

And that grief that drove her husband to erect a monument there for her extolling her virtues spoke to my heart.

The story it told was of love. Great love.

I am in the middle of writing my history. And through the choices I make stories will be told of my time here on earth.

Or not.

I have the opportunity to leave a legacy that generations will remember or just leave.

Forgotten till someone stumbles upon my grave and wonders who I was.

I want to make every day count. I want to be remembered for my faith, my prayers, my love.

I want my history to inspire someone else to go as far as God will take them, to follow His lead even when it is not the popular way, because I want my history to reflect it is the best way to live.

There may be things in my past I regret, but never do I regret my walk with Him.

I have a history. And tomorrow I have the chance to add to it again. I chose to give tomorrow to Him.