Cornfield Chatter

Oh, Good! You're Home!!

2011-04-20T07:46:00.000-05:00

Recently my son, Logan, was asked to help out a friend by driving him to his grandparent's house which is over 2 hours from here and in another state. I wasn't so nervous about it except that Logan couldn't leave town until he got off of work that evening. This meant he would be returning home alone in the very late hours of the night/early hours of the morning. I tried not to be worried and asked him to come in and let me know when he got home.

Late that night I was awakened by a tapping on my shoulder as Logan stood next to my bed. I was very much asleep, but even in my groggy state of mind I felt joy that he had made it home safely. In a rather chipper voice I said, "Oh good! You're home!!" In my mind, I thanked God for getting him home safely and quickly drifted back off to sleep.

As I thought about those 4 little words the next morning, I found it sort of funny that even though I was so tired, those words came out with joy. "Oh good! You're home!!" I thought about the comfort and peace I felt knowing that he was back in our home.

And then I imagined God saying that as I enter heaven. "Oh good, Dianna! You're home!!"

I honestly LOVE life here on this earth, but my heart longs for home. It longs to be held by the Father. It longs for the peace of knowing I am finally home.

The Empty Chair

2011-01-22T08:11:00.000-06:00

One of the most important things for me is when my little family of 4 sits down to have supper together. We accomplish this feat about 4-5 times a week. I love when the 4 of us are sitting around the table. We almost never have one of those "TV moments" where we share our hearts or solve our problems; you know what I'm talking about. Think Ward & June Cleaver. But it does make this Momma Hen happy to have all the chicks in the nest at the same time.

Recently as I glanced around our table it hit me that very soon we will have an empty chair. Logan will go off to SIU-Carbondale in August. And there will be an empty spot every night at our table. And even though he hates it when I do things like this, I told him exactly how I felt about that:

"Logan, when you go to college in August, there will only be 3 of us at this table. One of our seats will always be empty and that is going to break my heart."

She Believes In Me

2010-11-23T06:51:00.000-06:00

Disclaimer: This post is in no way meant to be a pity party nor an endorsement for Kenny Rogers.

Almost 7 weeks ago my friend Gloria died suddenly while on vacation in Colorado. She was one of those people who was special to nearly every person who knew her. And when Gloria died, many of us groped for words to describe what it was that made her so dear.

A couple weeks after Gloria died I was going about my morning routine which includes listening to our local radio station to catch up on the small-town news. The news was over and the first song came on before I could get the radio turned off (it's a country station and we don't stomach that very well in our house). Kenny Rogers' voice blared out the words "And she believes in me, I'll never know just what she sees in me." And it hit me. Gloria believed in me. No matter what I did or attempted to do, she was one of my biggest cheerleaders. And our relationship was like that from the get-go.

We moved to Harrisonville, MO in August 1998. My husband was hired as the youth pastor at the church where Gloria's husband was the pastor. In September, I was asked to be a small group leader for a community Bible study held at our church called Hearts at Home. Gloria was in my group. At first I was a little intimidated because I hadn't grown to know her yet. But after a few short weeks Gloria shared with me how much she liked our little group and that I was the best small group leader she had ever had. She talked about things such as my ability to keep the group moving when needed, or to allow silence when needed. She puffed me up.

That was the beginning of her cheerleading me for the next 12 years. She cheered me on when I taught on occasion at Hearts at Home. She cheered me on as I raised my children. She cheered me on when I opened my business. She cheered me on as we led together on our church's women's ministry team. She cheered and she cheered and she cheered. Even when I shared a recent story with her about how I opened my mouth when I shouldn't have, although what I said needed to be said --- she cheered me on. I can still hear her say with great enthusiasm, "Good for you!"

And for some of you a cheerleader may not be a big deal. For some of you there has always been a lady in your life to cheer you on through the adventures and trials. But I didn't grow up that way. My mother was never my cheerleader. She was never an encourager or a nurturer. That is not a pity statement and it is not an exaggeration. It just is what it is.

Waking Up From The Dream

2010-11-03T17:45:00.000-05:00

A few nights ago I had a dream about a lady coming to my house for me to do her hair. She showed up here with a large bottle of hair dye. She was kind of an icky lady but not to the extreme. She was pushing hard for me to find time to do her hair. I was trying to be polite, and was trying to find a way to explain that I only cut hair for people that I knew. And no matter how nice I tried to be, she continued to be persistent and her ickyness grew with her persistence.
And that is the point that I made my decision. I didn't like this icky, pushy lady; so I woke myself up from the dream.
There. I fixed that problem. Hmpfh!
And then as I lay there thinking about the fact that I could just end a bad dream by making myself wake up, I found myself wishing we could do that in life.
Wouldn't it be nice if we could just wake up from the bad situation we are in? Wake up - - no more grief. Wake up - - no more financial problems. Wake up - - your children have a problem-free life. Wake up - - and everything is better.

Guess what? We all get one ultimate Wake Up. When we go to sleep here and wake up there, with Him, all of our problems will be gone. No icky lady. No grief. No money issues. No health issues. Nothing but love and a life with our Jesus.

Clapping my hands for happiness.

The Journey

2010-10-15T07:27:00.000-05:00

5 states. 12 towns. 16 homes and 2 long hotel stays. That is where the journey of my life has taken me thus far.

When I close my eyes, a sea of faces runs through my mind. People that I've known, spent time with, did life with.

It is honestly amazing (someone needs to invent a new word with a similar meaning) to think of the places I have been, the people I have met, the journey I have experienced. Each place that life has taken us to and through, we sometimes look back and wonder, "Hmm. I wonder what that was for?" I believe in a mighty God and I believe that He takes us through life with great intent and purpose. I believe that everything we do is for a reason. And every place I have lived, every job I have had, it has all been for a purpose.

And in the last week I have known that if the only reason we spent 8 years in Harrisonville, Missouri was so that we could know Gloria Evers, then it was all worth it.

I could never do her justice in a blog; there are not adequate words. That is not an exaggeration, just truth.

Gloria made everyone feel like they were the most important one. If she was with you, she was WITH you. She asked questions about your life and then listened to your answer. Her soul was so gentle. And I know of no other human who loved God as much as she did.

Listening to a few people share at her funeral I realized something huge. Every story was how Gloria made that person feel important, how she was there for the big events, how she prayed exactly the right prayer for someone, how she spoke the right words at the right time. And for those who know Gloria, you know it is true when I say I would not describe her as overly ambitious or a real go-getter. And so I wondered how she could be in so many places at just the right time doing just the right thing. And the light bulb came on for me.

Most of us run around doing lots of things, trying to cram as much into one day as we possibly can. We are busy, busy, busy and hoping that if we keep at it we might just find ourselves in the right place at the right time once in a while.

That was not life for Gloria. Her life was lived step in step with the Holy Spirit. She waited, and when she sensed the Spirit leading her to do something, she just did it. THAT is how she affected so many lives in just 53 years. THAT is how she made every person feel important. THAT is how she was able to love so generously. She listened to the Holy Spirit. And if she felt the Spirit telling her that she was not supposed to do something, she had no problem telling you 'no.'

She inspires us all to be better. We are so, so much better for having known her. That is not meant to sound like a cliche. It is heartfelt. My life is richer because she loved me.

I don't really believe that our 8 years in Harrisonville were for the sole purpose of knowing Gloria. There was so much that happened during that time; it was a great time for our whole family. But if somehow it WAS only for that purpose, I would be at peace with that.

The Life of a Pastor's Wife

2010-10-08T08:19:00.002-05:00

Not to offend anyone, but honestly, very few people on this earth truly understand the life of a pastor's wife. No one really gets how much pressure our husbands are under; what they feel, the burden they carry for their sheep; the attacks they come under. And truthfully, we don't expect you to understand it.

But I was lucky enough in this life to find someone who did understand. She understood because she was one, too. Gloria. She was my pastor's wife for 8 years. More importantly, she's been my friend for 12 years. And now she is where her heart has longed to be for such a long time....with her Father. This blog is my incompetent attempt to honor her life.

Gloria hated mornings. But she was gracious enough to get up early for our many shopping trips so that I could be back home in time to pick the kids up from school. It was typical for me to pull up in her driveway and have her come out with creases still on her cheek because she had only been out of bed for 10 minutes.

We spent many birthdays together. We shopped at our bargain spots, had lunch, and talked endlessly. I loved our shopping trips because Gloria shared my love for a good bargain. But she was such a good talker and a good listener. So stinking wise. I knew that whatever she said was going to be golden, and I could trust it and cling to it.

She loved singing John Denver and The Carpenters with me. I don't have many friends who will do that.

She hated thank you notes. If she gave a gift it was usually quickly followed by something like, "Please don't send me a thank you note. I know you appreciate the gift." She hated thank you notes because she was so bad at remembering to send one. Not that anyone cared. It was a funny thing about her.

Gloria loved playing Scrabble. She loved it so much that she figured out how to play alone. And she was a great competitor for me in the Scrabble category. Only one other friend proved to be so great a challenge, Sara Steinmetz. I loved our Scrabble games together.

Gloria loved diet Coke, and reading, and finding old books at the resale shops. She loved to decorate and had such a gift for it. When she came to Illinois to visit for a few days, she and I spent a day hitting all the resale shops in my town. She gathered the items as I watched in awe. In my head I didn't know how she was going to piece them all together. But she did it beautifully. My kitchen cabinets were bare on the top and Gloria turned them into something cozy and homey. I love that her touch is present in my home.

Our families spent a lot of time together. We went out to lunch many Sundays. We had them to our house to share meals, and we shared many in their home as well. I remember laughter between us. Lots and lots of laughter. One Sunday over dinner at Longhorn Steakhouse, she told a story about when her daughter Naomi was very small and they had company over. I don't remember all of the details of her story, but I do remember her saying that Naomi was in the bathroom yelling, "I finished!" over and over again because she had finished her business and needed some help :) As we all finished our meal that day, my husband Jerry got up to go to the bathroom, which was only a few steps from our table. In a few minutes we heard a noise coming from the direction of the bathroom. It was loud and as we listened, we realized it was Jerry yelling, "I finished!" We all laughed hard, but I know Gloria laughed the hardest that day. "I finished" has become a tag line that we repeat often.

Gloria was a good listener for many. A good, true friend. She was kind. And thoughtful. Creative. And oh my, what a voice. I once described her voice to someone as "it sounds like angels are singing." And now I picture her, singing face to face with Jesus. Oh the joy that must be flooding her soul. My heart is so happy for her.

When we left Harrisonville, Gloria refused to tell me goodbye. I remember her hugging me and I know she was fighting tears as she said, "I'm not going to tell you goodbye. I am just going to say 'See you later' because I know I will see you again."

We have been back to visit many times since we left Harrisonville. And Gloria was right, I did see her many times later. And she has even been to Illinois a couple times since then.

And for today my heart can not bear to say goodbye, so I say...

See you later Gloria. I love you.

Selfish

2010-08-19T06:48:00.000-05:00

I know I have a strong selfish tendency that lives within me. And sometimes I don't even apologize for it.

Today is a "no apologies" day. In our town, and even across my street, kids are leaving for college. Their parents have packed their belongings, loaded their cars, and headed out to different parts of our state. And different parts of our country.

And I sit quietly, afraid to say much, almost afraid to breathe for fear of being noticed. I am happy that I am not packing the car and setting out on a new journey. I am elated that I get one more year of my son at home. I will not brag to many people that we've been granted one more year. But I am so very thankful.

And perhaps this year is a bonus gift from God. Some of the parents saying their goodbyes today know/hope that it is a temporary goodbye. They have dreams/expectations that when college is done, their children will return to their hometown to settle down and create a new life.

I know that will not happen for us. I've known that for a very long time. When we say our goodbyes next fall, it is just the beginning of a long string of goodbyes for our family. And I wouldn't have it any other way. I know my son's dreams are going to take him far away. But for now, I will sit here quietly, trying not to breathe.

Seasons Changin'

2010-08-16T06:26:00.001-05:00

In about an hour I will be performing a long-standing tradition in our home. I'll be taking those "First Day of School" pictures. But my heart is heavy this year. For the first time in 13ish years, the pictures will be very different. Maddie will be standing solo in the pics. Logan will be in bed, getting a little extra sleep before he goes to work at the college bookstore. This is the first time in many years that we aren't sending them off at the same time or on the same day for their First Day of School. It makes me teary-eyed to even think about this.

I count myself fortunate that Logan is doing his first year of college at home. That eases the pain of the Seasons Changin'. But next year will be another new Season --- we will deliver Logan to Southern Illinois University-Carbondale and leave him there. Maddie will have her First Day of School as a high school student. Our house will be quieter with one less body running around.

I know the Seasons have to change. It is the way God created our world. But I don't have to like it.

A Tat and A Hoop

2010-08-06T15:26:00.000-05:00

Regarding the bird leaving the nest that I spoke about in the previous post...

Before he turned 16, Logan started telling us he was thinking about getting a tattoo. We told him he needed to wait until he was 16. He was having a hard time deciding on what to have inked because he didn't want to be like everyone else. He wanted something unique.

The 16th birthday arrived and passed, and no tattoo. He still talked about it occasionally but never followed through.

This week, he made good on his desire to have a tattoo. Yesterday he went with a friend to get the tattoo he had settled on - - - the Alaska state flag. Logan was born there and it seemed appropriate.

He came home last night with a rather large Alaskan state flag on is left arm. It looks pretty good, but he says it will look better in a week or so.

He also walked in with his ear pierced. I almost laugh even typing that. It doesn't really fit his personality. He looks a little odd with the thick metal hoop hanging from his lobe. It's not bad, just different.

I am sure this is his way of declaring some independence. Declaring that he is growing up. I have no issues with any of it. I just with the rest of the world wouldn't be so judgmental. But I imagine they will be.

Nest Activity

2010-07-31T08:25:00.000-05:00

I took another step this week at pushing the oldest bird out of the nest. It was a very tiny push, mind you. He had an appointment at the college to get his assignment for the work/study program. I knew he would be more comfortable if I had gone with him, but I also knew he was very capable of doing it on his own. I love being able to take care of my kids, tending to their needs, guiding them along the path. And so to let go, and let him find his own way, was not what I wanted. But I knew it was what he needed.

He did great and only had to call home once for some info on filled out the W-4. His job is at the college bookstore. Awesome! Even more awesome is that if any of his classes require a used book, he gets to borrow it for free! Score!!

It is hard to raise children, but it is even harder to let them go.

I am very proud of the man that my oldest bird is becoming. He is very responsible and easy to trust. I am grateful that I was chosen by God to be his Momma Bird.

Coming Home

2010-05-28T08:08:00.002-05:00

It happens every time, but this is the first time I've put words to it.

In April I headed to Missouri to surprise my Mom for her birthday. I planned to take her to lunch and my sister was going to meet us there.

I was driving on Highway 64 and I could see the Arch in the distance. And then I took Highway 255 to drop south and go around St. Louis. Soon, the Jefferson Barracks Bridge was in sight (known by locals as simply the JB Bridge). As I approached the bridge I noticed something physical happening to my body. And as I completed the trek across, it was as if my body took a great big long sigh. "Aaaah, I'm home." I felt different just because I was on Missouri soil. I felt comforted and comfortable. I felt at ease and as if everything was familiar.

I grew up in Missouri, and no matter where I have lived in these 46 years - Missouri has always been home. I feel it in my bones, literally.

And as I crossed the bridge in April, I couldn't help wondering if that is what it will feel like when we cross the gates into heaven. Will our bodies breathe a great sigh of relief that the journey is finally over and we have found our way home? Will we feel comforted, and comfortable - as if we have always known this place? Will we feel at ease and will everything seem familiar?

There are days I just can't way to come home!

Dreams

2009-10-03T09:14:00.002-05:00

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

2009-09-18T19:11:00.002-05:00

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

2009-08-15T08:30:00.002-05:00

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

2009-08-09T20:26:00.003-05:00

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

2009-08-01T08:33:00.003-05:00

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

2009-07-08T16:58:00.002-05:00

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

2009-06-29T13:45:00.003-05:00

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

2009-06-16T08:25:00.003-05:00

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

2009-05-30T08:52:00.002-05:00

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

2009-05-19T06:39:00.003-05:00

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

2009-05-14T06:48:00.002-05:00

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

2009-05-12T14:13:00.005-05:00

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!

2009-04-25T15:48:00.002-05:00

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

2009-04-24T09:05:00.003-05:00

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

2009-04-07T07:54:00.003-05:00

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

2009-03-09T20:03:00.004-05:00

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

2009-03-01T14:30:00.002-06:00

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

2009-02-21T08:48:00.002-06:00

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

2009-01-30T08:59:00.003-06:00

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

2009-01-19T08:44:00.002-06:00

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

2009-01-15T14:39:00.002-06:00

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

2009-01-13T09:12:00.002-06:00

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.