Dreams

I had a dream last night that left me a little shaken.

I dreamed I was in a vehicle with several people and we were driving down a highway. There was another vehicle behind us and we were going to our destination together. Suddenly we heard some loud noises and as we looked off to our left, over a grove of trees about a mile away, we could see planes and helicopters flying in, dropping bombs. Our country was under attack. The rest of the details are sketchy, but the dream went on for some time. And I even woke up, went back to sleep, and the dream continued. I remember feeling fear and worrying about family members. At one point in the dream, Logan was backing my van out of a parking space. He had Maddie and some other children with him, and for whatever reason he HAD to go and take these kids somewhere. It wasn't an option to not go. I watched him back the van out from a 2nd story apartment window, and after they had driven off, I retreated to a closet with a hidden door in the back where, apparently, we had been hiding out.

I know this dream is weird and the details are bizarre, but here is the point of this post.

I woke from the dream and Jerry was not in bed. And for just a few seconds, I wondered if we really were under attack and if he had gone to gather the kids. And then I wondered if maybe the rapture had happened and I was left behind for some reason. And for just a few seconds, my heart raced out of control.

And then I realized that there are people in other countries who live that dream every single stinking day. They never know when they might be separated from their families. They don't know when the helicopters are going to appear on the horizon, dropping bombs onto their city. Their fear is real. Mine was a dream.

I am not anti-war, please don't take it that way. I believe we have good reasons to be fighting.

But I am also very grateful today for a country that is safe.

My Mother

My mom was in the hospital last week. Basically her dementia is increasing. The on-call doctor let her go home on Sunday. Basically she fooled him into thinking she was ready.

My sister and I are struggling with her doctor, who seems to be a push over. He is not forceful in what he tells my mom, it's more like he suggests some things. He didn't seem overly concerned today that by 11am she had taken all of her meds for the entire day (this is a lot). Or that she didn't take any meds at all for 2 days last week.

My mom is becoming more belligerent. She told the nurse she didn't want her coming to the apartment anymore.

She is not impossible to talk to, but it's getting to be that way. She says stuff that is so off the wall. Last week she thought Maddie was driving my van and that my sister was out of town on a trip. She forgot that she had a car, unless she was just pulling my leg and I'm not really sure which it is.

There are times when she is very coherent and sounds strong. Most of the time she seems to be covering things up.

These memory/medical issues are just a piece of the puzzle. Another piece is her apartment which apparently looks like a trash heap according to my sister. There is one place to sit in the living room. The couch is full of knick knacks. The walls are full, the tables are full, the floor is full. At this point it isn't piles of things like you see in the hoarding shows. But it is all of her treasures spread everywhere. The walls are loaded with pictures. She has several chimes hanging on pegs by her front door, including one with motorcycles. Yeah, my 73 year old mother is really into Harleys. I seriously am dreading the day I have to go visit her. I remember what it felt like to move her into there and to have to see all of her junk. It made my blood pressure rise and made me nearly ill. And my sister says it is now 10 times worse.

All of these behavior changes in my mom make me crazy. When I am talking to her on the phone, it feels like I want to take the phone and throw it. I just can't seem to get off of there quick enough. I am not handling her craziness very well.

But it is causing me to do lots of thinking about myself. And my family. And my dad. She was never like this when dad was around. Of course that was 26 years ago. She would never have junked up our home like that.

Her behavior makes me angry almost. Maybe more than almost. But why am I angry? Why do I feel physically ill in the midst of her junk?

I wonder if it is because I am losing my mom, who honestly has never been much of a mom. She did a good job keeping our home clean, keeping my dad happy, and keeping us kids clean and fed well. But when it comes to the emotional care-giving, it just never happened. So I don't have a whole lot invested in this relationship. But even as it stands, she is the only mom I know. And I am losing her. And I seem to be coming to the reality that any phone conversation I have with her could be the last. Not because she is close to death, but she is slipping into oblivion quickly. And when I think about losing my mom, I realize that she is the last bit of my dad that I have. And that makes me even sadder.

There are so many thoughts swirling in my head. I'm not sure any of them make sense. But I'm trying to listen closely and process wisely. And see what God is trying to teach me in the midst of this valley.

It's Quiet Here

It has been so quiet here the last couple of days. I suppose part of it is that Jerry is on vacation this week, so no church/job type things happening. And Logan has been in band camp from 8-5 every day, and then working a couple evenings. But it is eerily quiet. Like the calm before the storm.

I am assuming that calm is the routine that will begin next Wednesday when school starts. I like that routine, so I am ready for it.

This year will be bittersweet. Logan will be a Senior, and our lives will be filled with senior-y type things. I am excited about that, but hoping I can fight the tears so as not to embarrass that boy. I fought the tears on the way to registration last week. We took separate cars because I had to also register Maddie. And when he got out of his car in the high school parking lot, he asked why my nose was so red. I just avoided the question. He doesn't get it and I don't expect him to get it. But I know every Momma gets it.

Quiet. I should soak it in, bottle it up, and save it for a crazy day.

So Very Worth It

We started hanging out with teens in January 1988.

In March 1994, Jerry took his first full-time position as Youth Pastor. That title took us to 3 different churches over 10 years.

Youth ministry is not very rewarding. It is fun, simply because teens are fun. But the rewards? They are few. It's not one of those jobs with instant results. You teach and you talk and you eat and you camp out and you play crazy games. And you hope that something, anything, is sinking in.

And so many times you watch them walk away from your ministry at the end of the night, and go right back to living for the world. No matter how fiercely you told them to live for Jesus.

And it is frustrating. It makes you want to pull your hair out sometimes. It makes you question why you are even doing what you are doing. Why waste your time when no one is listening. Why pour yourself out, only to have the kids suck you dry.

And then every great once in awhile, you find out that is was all so very worth it.
I am grateful to have kept relationships with so many of our teenagers so that I can see the impact that my husband's ministry had on them.

One Day At A Time

August has arrived with much anticipation.

This is the month my son will start his Senior year of high school. My daughter goes into 7th grade. It's the same building as she was in last year, but somehow 7th grade says 'junior high' to me. I think it's because of the way I grew up.

Also this month Maddie goes off for her last week of church camp.
Logan will start marching band camp soon.

My dearest friend in the world, Margo, is coming to visit from Michigan on August 21. I have not seen her for 4 years. I am so excited about her visit.

At the end of August, I will begin attending weekly meetings to prepare for the Hickory Grove Great Banquet weekends in October and November.

August 3rd marks the anniversary of my first date with Jerry. So much I could tell you about that date, but won't. Suffice it to say, I was a little surprised we had a 2nd date.

Also in August, I have a niece and a mother-in-law with birthdays.
We have a few special things going on at church, as always.

But the most important thing that August brings is our 25th wedding anniversary on the 11th. Seriously? 25 years is a long time. And you have to be old to have been married that long. What gives?

Being of the female species, as the months have drawn us closer and closer to this day, I have spent some time thinking. And in those thoughts I caught myself wondering how we made it to 25 years. Not in the way of, "this marriage is barely hanging on." But in the way of, "Wow. That time went by so quickly in some manners." And so if anyone ever asks me how we made it to 25 years, I have my answer ready. One day at a time.

And isn't that how we get to anywhere in our lives? We just do today, and then we'll do tomorrow, and then we'll do next week. And before you know it, time has crept up on us and we are celebrating a milestone!!

I can't help but think of the cheesy song, "One Day At A Time, Sweet Jesus." And now I'll be wishing that I hadn't thought of it because the song will be stuck in my head all day.

I am excited to celebrate 25 years. It is fun to remember that day. It is scary to realize how quickly it's come. And a little scary to think about what the next 25 will bring. I am 45, so if we make it to 50 years, I'll be 70. Ouch. I think I'll just take those years one day at a time, too.

Things That Make Me Happy

1. Those first home-grown tomatoes coming off the vine. They are all good, but those first ones are a treasure.

2. Dead snakes. I almost always turn around to go back and look twice. I almost always clap. Today my daughter saw one and I wasn't in the car ---- she clapped for me.

3. Laughter. Especially pure, unplanned laughter.

4. Having all 4 of my family under the same roof. Those days are numbered, I know.

5. Worship music.

6. Friday lunches at Raunchy Burrito with my husband, the love of my life.

7. Friends. Real friends. The kind you can be ugly with.

8. Coffee. Specifically a good old-fashioned caramel mocha latte.

9. Chocolate in any form.

10. Belonging to Jesus. There is nothing more comforting.

There are other things that make me happy, but this is a good start.

Contrast

Spent the weekend at Women of Faith in St. Louis. I was amazed as I watched Patsy Clairmont, Marilyn Meberg and Luci Swindoll. Marilyn is 70, Luci is 76, and Patsy is probably in her late 60s. They are still very sharp in their mind, joyful in their attitude, energetic in their step. I so want to be those women. I want to be sharp and joyful and energetic. Even as Luci talked about some of her health problems, she was grateful that they weren't more serious. She gave thanks that the doctor only told her that she needed to lose 80 lbs. before he could do knee surgery. She was grateful that it wasn't cancer or diabetes, etc.

I so want to be that.

The weekend was such a contrast to my real life. I am dealing with my Mother, whom I did NOT call last Monday. I felt I needed a break for one Monday. I tried Monday after Monday for the last 7 weeks. And it never got better. Constant negativity and complaining and refusal to see herself in reality. Taking that break from her was hard - because of the guilt and the fear that I would feel the repercussions. But that didn't happen. I called her this morning and it seemed like she is back to her old self. Which isn't exactly peachy, but it is much better than it has been in the last several weeks.

My Mother is 73. But she is nothing like Luci or Marilyn or Patsy. She is grouchy about her life. She is slow to move. Her mind is not to be trusted anymore. She has no joy, no energy. I do not want to be like that.

And we are again dealing with Jerry's Dad, who is also 73. He was in the hospital last week. He only goes when he can basically no longer put it off. His pastor and wife had to take him to the ER because he was in St. Louis and too sick to drive home. They did some tests to find out why he was losing blood again. It stems from an old surgery and they can not fix it and he will have to do blood transfusions for as long as he lives. He came home last Wednesday and is already very sick. He was sick over the weekend again. Weak. Losing blood. But refusing to go to the hospital. He is ready to die. The man is only 73. It is pitiful. His children are angry with him for not wanting to fight for his life. He has a grandson who is 2 years old and who will have no memory of his PaPa, unless PaPa decides he wants to stick around. It is frustrating. And Jerry's Mom is not pushing him to get to the doctor. I think she has pushed and fought for so many years that she is worn out. I do NOT want to be like that. I do not want to be ready to give up at 73.

When I look at Luci and Marilyn and Patsy and see how they are still giving and blessing and doing, all for God's glory, I realize how sad it is that our parents have allowed themselves to get to this state.

I don't want to be like that. I want to be more. I want to be a blessing and not a burden. I want to make my children and grandchildren laugh, not make them crazy with frustration. I want to sing praises to Jesus until my very last breath leaves this body. I don't want to use my breath to grumble and be pitiful.

If you are around when I am 70 or 73 or 76, please hold me accountable to my dreams.

Boring Info

I hate when I go so long between posts. On the other hand, I really try to wait until there is something interesting to post about.

VBS consumed me last week, and most of the week before. It is a great week in the life of our church, but it is always so tiring. We had 159 different kids that attended sometime throughout the week and over 80 adults who volunteered. It's just a crazy fun week. But now I'm trying to get my mind set back on the usual stuff.

Summer is supposed to conjure up images of sipping lemonade, kicked back in a chair, maybe reading a book, watching children play in the park or at the beach, sunsets, and you know all the pictures.

But my Summer has been swamped with a full calendar, at least in my head. I started a Bible study on Wednesday mornings which is going terrific. We started a weekly small group in our home last night, which also went great. We are starting to kick in to that swim-meet madness. We have one tonight that is nearly 2 hours away, ugh. Tomorrow is Bible study and then I head directly to Mt. Carmel (45 min from here) to take care of some things for my new secretary position for Hickory Grove Great Banquet. Saturday is an all day swimming meet about an hour from here. Maddie leaves for her first camp of the Summer on Sunday. Which is also Father's Day. On Monday I am driving to St. Louis to pick up one of Logan's friends who will be here to visit for a week. Next Friday, I leave with 17 women to go to the Women of Faith conference in St. Louis (still have some details I need to attend to for that trip). The Thursday after that, our friends from Missouri will arrive for a fun, long weekend! We will be squeezing a trip to Moonshine in, as well as finding time for their daughter to take Logan's senior pictures. They will leave on a Monday, and on Tuesday I will take Maddie to St. Louis to meet her best friend and head back to Harrisonville where she will stay for a week.

There are some other things that will take place amidst all the things listed above, but you get the general idea. And those details just get us to the first week of July. I have learned in my old age that I just have to deal with the 'next' thing. If I try to process too many events at once, I get overwhelmed and stressed out. I just set my radar on the next thing and push 'go.'

Not sure what happened to those lazy, hazy, crazy days of Suuummmmer. There's not much time to be lazy. But the busy days do get a little hazy and make me feel crazy.

Boundaries

Sometimes I have to be careful what I say, because I never know who might read this one day. But boundaries....wow.

Aren't boundaries interesting? After doing the Boundaries study back in 1999-2000 (could it have been that long ago?), I am so aware of boundary lines that are wrongly crossed over.

Usually we talk about boundaries in the sense of someone being in your personal space. We all know those people. When they talk to you, they are just inches from your face. Or they can't talk to you without touching you. They just need to back up!

But from our study, I remember boundaries also meaning things we take on that don't belong to us. We tend to want to carry other people's burdens around. And as Christians, I think we are called to do that from time to time. But I'm referring to the things we let other people put on us, not those we tend to voluntarily pick up. This is usually most evident in families.

And then there are boundaries that just say, "This is not your territory. You need to back out of it. You really don't belong in this situation."

Boundaries. Good lesson to remember.

Roller Coaster

It was like a scene from a movie. Sunday afternoon, after nap time, Jerry and I sat down at the kitchen table with notebooks, calendars, post-its, ideas, plans... ready to do some planning and general catching-up on life. We each got about 1 sentence out of our mouth and his phone rang. I knew from his words that our little meeting was over.

A lady at our church has a son in the army stationed in Louisiana. He had been killed in a one-car accident on Saturday night and she had just received word via the military showing up in her front yard. Because he was in the military, there is red tape to go through. The next 24 hours were pretty consumed by trying to get all the facts of the accident, finding out when the body would be transported, going to the funeral home to plan the funeral, going to the cemetery, meeting with military personnel. Etc. The family asked Jerry to be with them for most of those moments. Which is truly an honor and privilege for him. But for me, I have to fight off that selfish monster that lives inside of me. I had to fight off being disappointed that we had finally, finally, finally had a little time to ourselves, only to have it interrupted in the first few seconds.

But this is his job. It is the life he loves. And I love it for him. He does it so well. He is great at caring for people. And when tragedy hits, I am so glad he is there for people. Except when it interrupts my plans. But not really. My plans aren't that important. People are important. But still, see, I had these plans.

So do you see the war raging inside of me.

But God is such an incredible Lord. In the midst of the Sunday night tragedy, Jerry made a short trip to the church to look up a song for this lady because her son wanted it at his funeral. While at the church, a family showed up thinking we had Sunday night activities. Those had all been canceled because of our high school graduation. So Jerry spent a little time visiting with this family anyway. Their middle school son had been wondering about baptism and communion and this gave him a chance to ask Jerry some questions. It also gave him a chance to pray for salvation. How cool is that?!?

And last night, Jerry and I went to talk to a lady and her daughter about baptism. The lady is 40, the daughter is 7. At the end of all that, Jerry led them both in a prayer of salvation. How sweet!

So the roller coaster is going to be a trip that is about 2 weeks long. Jerry has a funeral this Saturday, a wedding next Saturday, 2 sermons in the next 2 weeks, 1 Wednesday night study, Logan's 17 birthday and a special trip that he doesn't know about yet, a church picnic on Sunday evening, new pews arriving at church next Tues-Wed-Thur (it takes a few days to get them all set up), the kids' last day of school is tomorrow, and I am trying to do a bunch of stuff for VBS in the midst of all that. Our lives look insane over the next 2 weeks. But as I told someone on Saturday, "We are a roller coaster family." Of course I was describing our love for riding roller coasters at amusement parks. But perhaps it describes the way we live also.

Dead Snakes and Duh! Moments

Some of you know I have this thing about snakes. I don't like them even a little. But I have an obsession of sorts. Sometimes I dream there are hundreds of snakes and I have to get through/around them. I grab those snakes and fling them away so fast they don't know what hit them. I'm always the hero in my dreams.
My obsession has grown more intense since living in the cornfield. Between here and Vincennes, IN is a highway that has several wooded areas we pass through. I have often wondered how many snakes are slithering through those woods as we drive by.
Tuesday night was a glorious moment for me. We were driving south of town, heading to dinner with friends. I think I actually clapped when I noticed a dead snake on the road. It was my first dead snake of the season. I sort of keep count. I know. You are really starting to wonder about me. It's just this thing I have. I don't like snakes.

My Duh! moment came yesterday. This Summer at church I am leading a Women of Faith Bible study called, "Discovering God's Will For Your Life." I've started working on the lessons, getting everything ready. The more I work on it, the more excited I get. I am anxious to get started!

I am currently talking to God about a really big decision in my life. Trying to discern what He wants me to do. Trying so hard to hear Him clearly. Trying to factor out all my human lists of pros and cons. And then the Duh! hit. "I have a great idea Dianna. Why don't you go back over those lessons you've been preparing. Read your own notes. Look up those Scriptures. Duh!! Remember it is about discovering God's will for your life."

Seriously, I've been living for Jesus for about 22 years. You would think I'd be better at it than this. Oh well - I certainly do provide plenty of entertainment for myself.

Kind of Like a Train Wreck or Seeing is Believing

You know how we have that instinct built into us? The one that causes us to keep looking at an accident, even though we don't really want to look. But we can't make ourselves turn away.

Jerry and I experienced that in a way this weekend. Same concept, different circumstance. We went to St. Louis to help move my Mom. And even though it was a horrible, awful experience, we can't quit talking about it. So allow me to talk some more.

Seeing is believing... I will attempt to describe some things here, but without seeing it for yourself, you will think I am exaggerating. Cross my heart, I am not.

We moved my Mom from her 2 bedroom apartment to a much nicer 2 bedroom apartment. Nicer, but smaller. The new complex is for 55 and over, all one level, brand spanking new. Very nice. But smaller.

My sister knew it was smaller and she tried to tell my Mom that she needed to downsize. You see, my Mom is a hoarder. She did not have this disease when we were children. It began about 8 years ago, at least that is my guess. And it is only getting worse.

Keep in mind that my Mom lives alone, in a small 2 bedroom apartment. She goes virtually nowhere. She hits the grocery store about once a week, the doctor about once a week, and every garage sale within a 75 mile radius (okay - I did exaggerate that one). She doesn't really have any visitors. I have a cousin who checks on her a couple times a week. She has a friend who she goes to lunch with about once every 2 months. My Mom wears the same 3 shirts over and over. Are you getting the picture? She is 73 and basically does not have a life. This is the life she has carved for herself though. Choices she has made.

Here is some of what we found:
*5 toilet bowl brushes (yes, only 1 toilet)
*15-20 empty plastic peanut butter jars
*2.5 loaves of bread (one woman, that much bread would go moldy in my house of 4)
*a drawer full of nylons (When asked, her response was "for when I go to church". She doesn't.)
*25-30 turtle neck shirts (in a drawer)
*30 - 35 sleeveless shirts (in a different drawer)
*an entire drawer full of belts, most from the 80's
*5 plastic buckets with lids, in her back bedroom, and she did not know what was in them
*10 plastic buckets with lids, in her back closet, many of them had wrapped glassware, votives
*25 pairs of jeans
*2 large, large closets completely full of hanging clothes (more than my entire family owns)
*about 10 pair of white tennis shoes, most look new
*several pair of high heel, dressy prom-type shoes - the woman can barely walk in tennies
*wall pictures stored behind and under her couch because there was no wall space left for hanging
*15 boxes of Jiffy corn mix, all expired
*some over-the-counter meds that expired in 2003, and some in 1999
*several enemas, even though she takes meds for diarrhea (sorry if that is TMI)
*a washed out bag with holes, the kind that holds grapes in the produce section
*used Ziploc bags in most every room, several of these
*a large jar of buttons, she hasn't sown in years - can't even see well enough to sew
*a box of 8 track tapes
*more make up than my sister and I have used in the last 5 years
*about 25 bottles of various types of lotion
*an entire cabinet of jewelry, like a stand up cabinet
*also a drawer with jewelry stored in egg cartons (remember - she goes nowhere)
*12 curling irons

Okay, I am tired of recalling all the stuff we saw. This is only scraping the top. You would not believe it unless you saw it. It made for the MOST stressful 2 days of my life. No kidding. No exaggerating. I could physically fell the stress taking over my body. And the stress wasn't just because she has so much stuff, but because she wasn't willing to get rid of any of it. There was no physical way it would all possibly fit into the new apartment. There was much gnashing of teeth, and several moments of near weeping.

I am grateful that she isn't a 'paper saver.' I've heard of people hoarding junk mail and newspapers for decades. Thank goodness my Mom doesn't do that. I am sure this stems from growing up poor, but she didn't do this when she was younger. It is like she is a little child again, very unreasonable and doesn't comprehend what is being told to her. She also got delusional on me and I didn't do very good in being patient.

My adoring daughter gets the award for bringing the best comical relief. My Mom had a wall picture stored under her couch. It is one of about 5 little cherub angels with wings and all their genitalia showing. I tried to tell my Mom how unscriptural that picture was, but it was really a waste of my breath. When Maddie unloaded all the pictures at the new place, she set them all up on the front porch as a sort of art show. That is because there was no room in the apartment. But in an effort to keep things PG-rated, she took some blue tape and applied it to the picture to give those angels some pants. That made me laugh!

You've GOT to be Kidding!

Beware...this is a rant.
And it is also a great view of The Life of a Pastor's Wife.

Last Sunday we had 2 baptisms, so Jerry moved the pulpit off of the stage. He takes it off about half of the time anyway, just because he likes it that way. And it changes things up once in a while.

On Wednesday, as we gathered for Worship Team rehearsal, Jerry noticed that someone had moved the pulpit back onto the stage. He asked the janitors, they knew nothing about it. No one else there had a clue. So he took the pulpit and moved it back off of the stage because we have 3 baptisms this Sunday.

He went into the church today to turn on the heater for the baptism water. Guess what? The pulpit had been moved back onto the stage. Again, he called the janitors. No, they hadn't touched it but had noticed it was there when they cleaned over the weekend.

So, Jerry moved it back off of the stage so that people will have a clear view of the baptisms tomorrow. I think there is a 90% chance he will show up at the church tomorrow and find the pulpit center stage.

Seriously, is there anything more petty? There probably is, but I'm having a hard time thinking of what it might be.

What a bunch of crap.

Speaking of crap, the rotor rooter people came and cleared our drain pipes of tree roots yesterday. We're back to flushing grandly.

Relational God

Sometimes life is ironic, hard to explain. My last post was about my brother. My last 2 posts have been about death.

On Easter Sunday a lady in our church found out her younger sister committed suicide in her dorm at University of Maryland. It was 23 years ago, to the day, that my brother took his life. This lady from our church is devastated - she was close to her younger sister. Her heart is broken. She is going through the range of emotions that are to be expected. Anger. Grief. Shock. Loss.

This is one of those times that we know God is taking our painful experiences and using them to help others. I think my friend has found some comfort in knowing that I understand her every emotion. I think she will be able to trust Jerry and I with what she is thinking. If I had not gone through suicide with my brother, I could listen to my friend, but not relate to her.

Our God is relational. He is not there just to listen to our list of complaints and wants. He is there for a relationship with us. It's not good that we have crap in our life. But it is good to watch Him use the crap to help others.

Speaking of crap... I need to get off of here. I think we have tree roots clogging the pipes in our yard and things are backing up in the house. Oh - what a beautiful day. hee hee ha

Never My Words

I hated that every time I looked at my blog, my last post was about death. It's been almost a month since I posted. And now I've finally thought of something new to post. And guess what? It is sort of about death. So sorry to the 2 of you who actually read this. Wait, I think I remembered a 3rd one who reads.

I love Facebook. It is so fun to find old friends, family, neighbors, acquaintances. I recently found a friend of my brother's whose name is Tom. I wasn't sure it was him, so I sent a message that said, "I think you were a friend of my brother, Eddie's. Is that you?" He wrote back and said, "Yeah, that's me. I miss Eddie a great deal."

The first thing that struck me when I read those words was that those were never my words. Not in 23 years.

On April 12, 1986, my brother chose to leave this world at the end of a shotgun. My Dad had been gone for 3 years, 1 month, and 2 days. My Mom was a widow who came home at the end of a fun day with friends to find her baby son laying on the floor in a pool of blood. My brother left behind his teenage girlfriend who was 3 months pregnant.

I've never thought that I miss him a great deal. I've only thought that he was a spoiled brat and a huge jerk for leaving my Mom and his girlfriend and baby. I've thought what a coward he was.

There's no point to this post except for confession I suppose. The problem with my brother was that I had no good memories of him. Oh maybe when I was around 8 or 9 we had some fun together on hot summer days. But from the time I was about 12 or 13, he was nothing more to me than a jerk, a spoiled brat and a nuisance. I never got a chance to know him in adulthood. I may have liked him if I'd had that chance.

If I have felt pain over the last 23 years, it has been for my Mom, my brother's girlfriend and his daughter, Heather.

Are there people in your life who you would not miss if they left today? Are you a person who would not be missed because of the way you treat others? I don't want to be that person. I don't want my absence to be a sigh of relief.

I'll try to come up with something more cheerful for the next post!

In The Face Of Death

Well, it's that time of year again. I'm not talking about the flowers bursting out of the ground or the trees budding. I'm not talking about the chirping of the birds outside the window in the mornings. I'm not talking about the excitement in the air as we all smell Spring arriving.

I'm talking about March 10. Tomorrow will mark 26 years since my Dad left this earth. That seems impossible. I'm only 17, how can he have died 26 years ago?

No matter how many years pass, every time March 10 rolls around, I relive the day.
My brother-in-law woke me early in the morning, and I thought he had messed up. I thought he meant to wake my brother up for school. It took me several minutes to realize he was telling me that my Dad was really bad and if I wanted to see him alive again, I needed to get to the hospital.
I remember the family starting to gather at the hospital.
I remember standing outside my Dad's room talking to some pastor named Clyde. He told me he had read some Psalms to my Dad.
I remember my Dad yelling out for my Mom.
I remember him telling me to sit down and be quiet. I don't remember why, it was pretty out of character for him. He seemed angry but I don't know why.
I remember leaving the hospital around 7:00 to go home and get a change of clothes. And I remember on the way back, looking at the clock at 8:05 with a weird feeling in my stomach.
I remember walking through the hospital doors and being greeted by some family friends, along with my brother, and they were all leaving. I don't remember the exact exchange of words, but I remember it feeling weird.
And I remember getting to my Dad's floor, getting off the elevator, starting the walk down the hall, and then my sister appearing. She told me he had died a few minutes ago (around 8:05) and asked if I wanted to see him. "No!", I told her. She figured that would be my answer, but they hadn't taken him away yet just in case.
I remember sitting at my kitchen table that night with my Mom, and then going out to 7-11 to get her some sour cream potato chips.
We tend to remember the weirdest things.

This last Saturday I looked in the face of death. And I knew I was looking at it the whole time. A church member's Mom was dying. She was diagnosed with cancer last year, did a good job fighting it, but couldn't starve it off when it returned in January. She was drawing some of her last breaths on Saturday.
As I stared in the face of death, I couldn't help but feel a bit of joy thinking that in a very short time she would be dancing with Jesus. Actually her salvation isn't a sure thing, but there is good reason to believe she knew Jesus. And this morning when she left this earth, I hope she traded her oxygen tank for some dancing shoes.

Rest

We've returned from our 5 day retreat.
Sleep. Read. Eat. Nap. Read. Talk. Eat. Nap. Walk. Eat. Sleep.
That's it.
The meals were near gourmet. The B&B that housed this retreat was immaculate. Every room had its own fireplace. Each room also had its own library of Christian reading material and CDs. Found some great books.
I am amazed that we could have been in ministry so long and not known about places like this one. And they aren't the only one - there are several. People who understand that ministry truly is a battleground. People who want to give pastors a week of 'retreating' from the battle. For free. No catch. No sales pitch. Just pampering.
Please tell your pastor(s) to Google "Deer Ridge Ministries." It is the best gift you will ever give him. There are also links on their site to other similar places if Illinois is too far to travel.

Now I find myself wanting to retreat at home. Retreat from the computer and the phone and the noise. Aaaahhh, what a sweet sweet week it was.

Just Ask

When is the last time you asked your pastor, "How can I be praying for you?"

You have no idea how much it would mean to him, and to his family.

Many people consider it the pastor's job to be praying for his congregation. And I can assure you that for Jerry and I, it is a privilege when we get to pray for our people.

But I am guessing that very few people ever ask the pastor what prayer needs he might have.

There is your challenge. Just ask.

Hoping For 50

My sister has had almost 32. I've had almost 25. My parents only got 28. Tomorrow Jerry's parents get to celebrate 50.

50 years of marriage. Amazing. And honestly, there were times I thought this day wouldn't come because of some of the health issues Jerry's Dad has dealt with.

50 years of love, children, struggles, fighting, laughter, tears, loss, seasons, holidays, weddings, graduations, funerals. 50 years of life. Amazing.

50 years of being committed to sticking together no matter how dark the days get. 50 years of choosing to love no matter how irritated you are. 50 years of speaking volumes with just a glance. 50 years of comfort given by a single touch.

I am hoping for 50. Not that I think we won't make it that far because of life struggles, but more because I know that life is sometimes cut short. My parents only had 28. I don't want 28. I want 50. And even 60.

Jerry made a video for the anniversary party. As I watched the pictures flash by from their dating days to the days where they held their grandchildren, I couldn't help but wonder what our pictures will look like. What will it look like for me to hold my grandchildren? What a fun thought.

Tomorrow will be so much fun. I am excited to be related to someone who is celebrating 50 years of marriage. That is not so common in this day of flaky commitments. Grand day, indeed.

Snow Days

We received our first real snow of the season. And by 'real' snow I mean something more than a dusting. We only have about 2", but it is beautiful.

The children of this town are miffed about this snow. It came on a day that they already had no school. They feel have been robbed of a snow day.

When I was in school I hated snow days. I hated missing school. Going to school was my social time. I hated being off in the summer and longed for that first day of school to return. I couldn't wait to be with all my friends again. Going to class was a small price to pay for getting to have fun all day.

So today may be a rip off to the children of Southern Illinois, but for me it is perfect. I had already planned to be home with the kids. I get the beauty of the snow without the interruption of my schedule. Bonus.

Godzilla Strikes Again

Last night we had Worship Team rehearsal. My 12 year old, Madeline, is on the Worship Team. We were between songs and Maddie took a seat on the steps of the stage. She layed backwards on the stage without paying attention and WHACK! She hit her head on the monitor. It was loud, some people showed concern, others of us sort of laughed knowing that this was a typical baby Godzilla thing for her to do. She reached up to tell us that it kind of hurt her head. She pulled back a bloody finger. That caused her to reach up again and pull back a bloody hand. Within a few seconds blood was dripping from her head as if someone had opened up the faucet. She started to freak out and dropped to her knees crying. I'm grabbing her chin telling her that she is okay and our heads tend to bleed a lot and we just need to get to the bathroom. I try to look at her head and see the blood pouring out and decide it is a good time to scream for my husband who was up in the sound booth. He came running, carried Maddie to the bathroom, and we applied wet towels and pressure. No stitches were needed, but I could use some advice on how to get blood out. She ruined several articles of clothing. Being a junior high student and enjoying some good drama now & then, she opted to stay for church. She loved the attention that the bloody clothes brought her. She is fine this morning, just a tiny cut to her head. Godzilla strikes again.

A New Beginning

Not sure why I'm here. Not "here" on this earth - I know why I'm on earth. But not sure why I'm blogging. I don't have any profound thoughts to share. But maybe I can give you a different view to life in the church. Or life in a cornfield. Or life as a Mom. Or life as a selfish person who has to submit to Jesus daily in order to not spin out of control.

Whatever the case, I'm here. Let's see where this road will take us.