Where to Start? Perhaps with a little Inspiration.

The past few months have been a whirlwind for me.  The last time I posted here I had just returned from my dear auntie Verna's funeral.  Since then, I started homeschooling my nine-year old daughter, spent a week in Kansas City to celebrate my beautiful sister's amazing wedding, and had double hernia surgery.  All of these topics could spawn several posts but what inspired me to write this morning was a phone conversation with my friend and neighbor, Jacki.

She has had a similarly busy time over the course of the past year and last week came the news that her husband is fighting cancer.  That news is always shocking and I'm sure they are running a full range of emotions.  Still, if anyone can face this with grace and courage it's Dan, Jacki and their family.

She called this morning to see how I'm recovering and brought me up to speed on the latest appointment with their doctor.   She went on to tell me how she, Dan, their son Andy and his wife were at the movies together last night when they happened to run into their surgeon and his family. 

Fankly, I never know what the proper ettiquette is when you see your doctor in a social setting.  Do I make eye contact with my OBGYN (or worse his wife) when we all happen to be at the same picnic?  Nope.  I gotta admit, I don't.  Do I try to chit chat with my family practice doctor when we both end up at the same ladies night out event?  Nah.  Let's not go there. 

My own uncertainty about this made Dan's reaction to seeing his doctor all the more amazing to me.

You see, my brave and composed friend turned and walked across the lobby of the movie theater where he addressed the doctor, his wife and their two young daughters saying, "A long time ago I took my daughter to work with me on Take Your Daughter to Work Day.  It was a good chance for her to see that when I was away from my family I was doing important work.  I want you girls to know that the same is true of your father.  He has a very important job and he helps a lot of people.  He found some cancer in me a few weeks ago and now he's helping me get better.  You can be very proud of your dad."

I imagine those girls will not soon forget the way a stranger spoke so respectfully of their father.  I also know that the doctor's daughters aren't the only ones who should be proud of their dad.  Just ask Kristen, Matt and Andy.

She Danced Her Way to Heaven

Earlier this week, my dear, great Aunt Verna, age 93, passed away after a long and full life.  She was a real piece of work and we loved her dearly.  Some years ago she got her things in order and had a headstone inscribed with the words, "She danced her way to Heaven."  I believe she did!  I was nominated as the family spokesperson (that's what happens when you live out of town and can't get there in time to decline) so I wrote some reflections on her life and shared them at her memorial service yesterday.  She was a wonderful woman.  Perhaps you'll be inspired by her, as I have been.

Verna Irene Kewin was born on December 9, 1916 in Prairie Farm, Wisconsin, the eldest child of Calvin and Mathilda Kewin. She was raised in a loving home where she was soon joined by her sister, Gertrude, and her brother, Homer, who was usually called “Bud.”

She attended school in Prairie Farm and claims to have been a student there when our school colors were voted on. She voted for green and white. Gertrude voted for red and white. Verna won.

As a teenager, Verna’s parents made a big announcement. They were expecting a new baby. Soon, Bonnie Jean, a name selected by her older sisters, was born. Bonnie’s arrival put a bit of a kink in her older siblings’ social lives. Verna and Gertrude were not allowed to go out on any dates until they had put baby Bonnie to sleep for the night. As Verna tells it, her boyfriend would be rapping at the front door and Gertrude’s boyfriend would be rapping on the back door and Bonnie would not stop crying!

I’m fairly certain if one boyfriend lost patience and left, another would have surely appeared!

Verna loved growing up in Prairie Farm and all through her life she enjoyed sharing stories about life in our small town during those early years. We once took a long walk around town and she recalled how things used to be… the Farmer’s store, the governor’s mansion, Kate Reed’s Variety Store , Belle Booten’s hatshop, grandpa and grandma Kewin’s hotel and grandpa Tollefson’s blacksmith shop. Just imagine all her sparkling eyes saw in her 93 years.

Verna met and married Russell Johnson and her son, Roger, was born.  Their family moved to Michigan, then to Friendship, New York for a time and then back to Michigan. Verna and Russell eventually divorced and later, she met and married John Bullen. The two of them lived in Prudenville, Michigan in a pretty, ranch-style house with her favorite dog, a German Shorthaired Pointer named Lady.

I remember being a little girl and waiting for her to come and visit. We would all gather at grandma and grandpa Kewin’s house and wait for her to roll into town in her green car and big sunglasses. While she lived in other parts of the country, her heart was always most at home in Prairie Farm and, in the 1980’s, after John died, she returned here.

She lived in grandma and grandpa Kewin’s house and during that time aunt Gert was spending most of her time in Prairie Farm, too.  Those were fun years with all three of the Kewin girls back on the same block. We considered them our families version of “the Golden Girls.” Bonnie was Rose. Someone would tell her a joke and a few hours later, she’d start to giggle. Gertrude was Dorothy. Independent, feisty and often shaking her head at the other two. And Verna, well, Verna was our very own Blanche Devereaux complete with silky nightgowns and house coats and high-heeled slippers with a fuzzy pouf on top!

Verna loved to dance and had a long line of dance partners waiting for her each Sunday at the Red Rooster until well into her 80’s. Men seemed to be spellbound by her beauty and style. Once, when she was letting me bake a Jiffy Cake in her kitchen, she told me with a wink that, “She had never been much of a cook but she’d also never met a man who minded.” The truth was there is just one man who had complete hold of her heart and that’s her son, Roger.

Roger, if I had a penny for every time she told about how delivering you by c-section nearly killed her, we could go out for a steak dinner tonight. She was very proud of you.  She was especially proud of her two pretty grand daughters, Lynda and JoAnna and her three great grandchildren Noah, Chloe and Lianna.

Pictures of them, and nearly everyone else, covered Verna’s refrigerator. Don’t you wonder how many rolls of film she went through in her lifetime? She was almost never without her camera. Just this spring, when my family was here for a visit, she got down on the floor in a pile of children and insisted we take her picture.

That’s when Verna was happiest, when she was surrounded by her family, especially the children. Aside from being a loving mother, grandmother and great grandmother, she was beloved aunt to children in Michigan, Minnesota and Wisconsin. She was loved again by the next generation and the next and still the next. Our collective love for her has been a common thread that runs through our entire family.

She was always so happy to see Mike, Bobbie, Billy, Mary Lou Pat and Judy when they came from Minnesota. She was equally thrilled to hear from the Michigan crew. Just last week she was enjoying the company of Pam, Lynda, Amber and aunt Millie when they came to visit and Dennis was with her this week, helping to keep her comfortable. As I understand it, she spent her last days encouraging Dennis to consider nursing school.

Those of us lucky enough to have lived close to her here in Prairie Farm feel especially blessed to have spent so much time with her. Peggy was her shopping and canning partner. They enjoyed a lot of adventures and put on a lot of miles. Jay kept an eye on her and she often told me he reminded her of her dad in the way he took care of his entire family, Deanne was fluffing her hair and making her feel pretty just hours before she passed and she and my mom, Jill, shared a love of dancing and mischief. She felt a deep appreciation for everything the four of you so lovingly did for her over the years.

Verna was so proud to have lived on her own into old age and she died just as she would have wanted, peacefully and after sharing laughter and good byes with her family. People gathered at her bedside, called, emailed and sent messages telling her they loved her. And at the very end, the same baby sister who wouldn’t stop crying, wouldn’t leave her side.

Verna died exactly six years after her brother, Bud passed away. The day before, her niece, Pam, who lives in Michigan, stepped outside to call for an update and looked in the sky to find a large white cloud in a perfect V formation. She took a picture and called for aunt Millie who was sure it was a message from Bud calling for his sister.

There is a poem I like that describes dying. It says…

I am standing upon the seashore.

A ship at my side spreads her white sails to the moving breeze and starts for the blue ocean.

She is an object of beauty and strength.

I stand and watch her until, at length, she hangs like a speck of white cloud just where the sea and sky come to mingle with each other.

Then, someone at my side says, "There, she is gone."

Gone where?

Gone from my sight. That is all.

She is just as large in mast, hull and spar as she was when she left my side.

And, she is just as able to bear her load of living freight to her destined port.

Her diminished size is in me -- not in her.

And, just at the moment when someone says, "There, she is gone," there are other eyes watching her coming, and other voices ready to take up the glad shout, "Here she comes!"

And that is dying.

93 beautiful years, and not a moment wasted. And that is living.

God bless our remarkable Verna. We love you and we’ll miss you.

Lake Effect

Sirens streamed into our neighborhood a few nights ago.  Police, sheriff department, fire trucks, ambulances, dive teams - the whole works.  As rescue workers set up across the street, neighbors starting gathering.  Word spread quickly that a young child had gone into the lake. 

"The lake" happens to be Lake Michigan, a massive and beautiful body of water that brings me great joy most days.  Tonight, not so much.  Tonight our lake feels cold and teeming and dangerous.  Even though my four children are safely at my side I have a sick feeling.  It takes me back to another lake and another report of a lost child.

I was a college student with aspirations of chasing big stories as a writer and reporter.  That summer I was working at a local television station.  Eager Beaver's like me got sent out on all sorts of exciting stories - tornadoes, gas leaks, gang fights, car chases, traffic accidents.  This job was turning into a real downer.

I was ill-prepared for the emotional toll telling bad news would take on the messenger.  "Reporting live from the scene of a tragedy, Holly Paulson, Action News"  did not have the same thrilling ring as I had envisioned it would. 

This was already getting old by the time I was sent to a local lake where a child had been reported missing.  Rescue squads and crowds had gathered, including family and friends of the missing boy.  The mother was sobbing and screaming in anguish and her cries echoed over the lake.  I watched with weak knees as they methodically dragged the lake for the boy.  I wanted them to find him so I could get out of there and the family could go home and grieve in peace.  At the same time I was afraid that they would find him.  I didn't know if I could watch.  Shortly before dusk the dive team signaled that the boy had been recovered.  A quick call to the station for an update led to a shocking order, "Make sure you get close enough to the family to hear their reaction.  We'll lead with that audio."

"We" would lead with no such thing ever again because I had already decided this was the last time I'd be part of a story told like this.  I didn't want to hold a microphone to this mother, I wanted to hold her hand and assure her that even though it didn't feel like it now, by the grace of God, someday, somehow, she would be alright.

That day at the lake had a major effect on my life.  No more TV news for this storyteller.  All these years later, and gathered once again by a lake, I prayed that this would end differently.  Once was enough.  Fortunately, once was indeed enough.  False alarm.  What looked like a small boy in the lake was not.  The only thing pulled from the lake that night was a reminder that prayers are indeed answered.

Today, I'm happy to report on a story with a happy ending.  A story that would have been deemed, "not newsworthy" by most reporters.  Afterall, who wants to hear about a child who wasn't pulled from a lake?  Me.  That's who. 

These days, I'm not a reporter; just a mom who still likes to tell stories in her own way and on her own terms. 

"Reporting live, not from the scene of a tragedy but from real life, where we embrace good news and pray for the strength to handle bad news with grace and compassion, this is Holly Hess."

It's Friday Already? Wow!

This morning when we were considering our options for the day, one of my daughters said, "It's Friday already?  Wow!"  Proof that time certainly does fly when you're having fun.  We're so busy enjoying our old-fashioned summer vacation there's little time for anything else, even writing. 

During the school year, going weeks without sitting down to write would feel like torture to me.  Not so during the sweet summer months.  Sharing long, lazy days with my four children allows me to live life from a delightfully creative state of mind.  It's one of the great gifts of motherhood. 

I hope you'll check in often but don't be surprised to find that posts are fewer and farther between.  We're busy chasing the butterflies that flutter around our front yard by day and the fireflies that join us at night, collecting lake glass - smooth and beautiful - that washes onto the shore of Lake Michigan just across the street, hiding under the canopy of the red bud tree in the front yard, searching for four leaf clovers, counting stars, making mud pies, skinning our knees, racing around on our bikes, splashing in puddles, taking long walks, finding frogs, getting the giggles and solving the mystery of the cat that might be, but most likely is not, (shh- don't tell) hiding in our garage.

Having children reminds me of  the days of summers past, when time marched at a different pace and the days flowed together in a way that was long and lazy and full of adventure.  I know how fleeting those carefree summers of childhood are and I won't miss this chance to enjoy every minute of the do-over motherhood offers. That said, I probably won't have a lot of time to write these days, and, if you're lucky, you won't have as much time to read. 

June is already a memory.  Here's to July and summer's awesome, annual invitation to go outside and play.

Justice, Well Being, Knowledge and Faith

This weekend, a young woman who grew up in our church is being ordained as an ELCA pastor.  What a great day for her and the people who love her. While I don't know her personally, I do know and have great respect her mom, a woman whose story inspires me.

Life has not always been easy for the public school teacher and single mother of four.  As we all know, sometimes things just don't work out as planned.  For her, that meant a challenging marriage and a difficult divorce.  Still, you don't need to know my friend for long to know she is a woman of great strength and spirit.  She took the high road, which was also often the hard road, in order to carve out a better life for her and her family.  She's the kind of woman who makes the rest of us want to stand up and cheer.  I'm always amazed by women like her who overcome life's challenges with grace and strength.

This weekend, when her daughter is ordained, she will sit inside the church the proud mother of four grown children.  Four children raised by a woman who didn't just dream of a better life, she made it happen.  A woman who would settle for nothing less than a life of justice, well being, knowledge and faith.  Qualities she passed on to her children - the lawyer, the doctor, the teacher, and the pastor - and inspired them to share with the world.

Time Out

I have been in the zone all weekend, pouring all of my energy into a home landscaping project.  The shrubs in front of our c.1867 house are are so overgrown it looks like they haven't been properly maintained since the Lincoln administration.  We've been here two years this month.  Last year we tackled the back yard; this year the front.  I've approached this project with gusto digging and pulling in every spare moment since Friday.  I want my husband to share my enthusiasm for the demolition phase.  He doesn't.  Seems we're both having a problem being patient.  I'm intent on clearing out the old so I can move ahead with tending our new garden and watching it take shape over the coming months and years.  He wants to plant things that look mature and beautiful from day one.  We're clearly products of our "want it, got it" culture. 

We've been so wrapped up in plowing through the project that we haven't taken time to enjoy the process, to appreciate the opportunity to work on it together, and to soak up the warm spring sun.  At least not until now.  Turns out we've got company.  Over half way through "Operation Shrub Pull" I uncovered this little sweetie.  A mother Robin has made her nest in one of our overgrown bushes.  What's an eye sore to us is home sweet home to her and her tiny, baby bird. 

This discovery has really put the brakes on our project.  I can't help but wonder if God has put us in a timeout.  We've been so focused on our task that we've been blind to the beauty that surrounds us.

Time to switch gears.  Our new landscaping will have to wait a few weeks while our family lets nature take its course.  We've put down our shovels, poured some lemonade, and found a seat on the front porch.  After all, these shrubs have been overgrown for years, what's a few more days.

"M" is for the Million Things She Gave Me

It's mother's day, quite possibly my favorite day of the year.  This picture-perfect day came complete with church, fresh flowers, a brunch buffet, a nap, a walk, and plenty of precious gifts, handmade with love by my children.  Bliss.  The only thing that could have made today any better would have been the chance to spend some time with my own mother.

As a little girl, we learned a corny song called "M is for the Million Things She Gave Me" at a church mother-daughter banquet and an off-key tradition was born.  The song goes something like this:

M is for the million things she gave me.
O means only that she's growing old.
T is for the tears she shed to save me.
H is for her heart of purest gold.
E is for her eyes with love light shining.
R means right and right she'll always be. 
Put them all together they spell mother.  The word that means the world to me.

We usually call and sing this song to my mom every mother's day. It's a race to see who can call first.  This year, I had to leave a message so my sister won.  Hopefully writing about it will earn me some extra points.

My mother became a mom when she was barely eighteen years old.  She and my dad moved into a small house located kitty-corner from where her parents still live, in the house where my mom grew up.  She tells about being in her house at night, home alone with me when I was new baby.  She was scared and lonely.  She would look across to her parent's house and want so badly to go home.  But she didn't.  She stuck it out.

As a child I never realized how young my mom was.  I guess having a baby at eighteen makes you grow up fast. I was soon joined by a sister and then a brother.  The three of us meant everything to mom.  She was a natural.  She didn't read parenting books or join a mommy group.  She just seemed to know what to say and do.  I grew up in the care of a mother who was kind, fair, gentle, funny, understanding, patient and strong.  Her loving example remains the heart of our family. 

On her first mother's day, my mom was just a girl.  Today, she is mom to three grown children, all of whom have college degrees and successful, happy lives.  She's also a mother-in-law and a beloved grandma to four grandchildren. 

Growing up, we may not have had everything we wanted but, because of our mom, we had everything we needed - and then some.  It's been a long time since my teen-aged mom looked out her window and yearned to go home. Looking back I hope she knows that her selfless sacrifices on our behalf made all the difference in our lives.  This mother's day, like every other, I'm reminded that "M" is for the million things she gave me - and so much more.

Tomorrow It Could Snow

Last night I was passing through the living room when I heard the weatherman announce, "Tomorrow it could snow."  I'm nearly certain he wasn't trying to be prophetic, standing there on the weather deck, but his words struck me.  Try as he (and we) may, we can't really forecast the future.   As an unwittingly wise man once said, "Tomorrow it could snow."  Celebrate what's sunny in your life at this very moment.

You-Turn

Have you ever been traveling along in life and think to yourself, “Did I miss my exit? How did I get here?” I have. I’m going through a mini life transition right now and it’s given me pause to be both reflective and forward thinking.

Frequent readers and friends know that I am the mother of four young children and we’ve just come through “birthday month.” In our little family, there are four birthdays in one month causing cake consumption and introspection to spike dramatically.

With every passing year, birthday month seems to come faster and faster. It reminds me (in a way that is not unlike having a cold glass of water thrown in your face) that time is marching along at a pretty good clip. Life is a fast ride and when you come to a place where you need to make a lane change, you better be ready.

This year, the baby turned one. The last baby. Nine years ago I made the lane change from successful, quick-climbing career woman to mostly stay-at-home mom. Since then, having babies and parenting them has been the focus of this most beautiful and busy stage of my life. In nine years I’ve had four (difficult) pregnancies – think feeding tubes, one miscarriage, and nursed for a total of more than four years. My focus has been clear. Then, all of a sudden, birthday month happened. Now the baby is one, my breasts have officially retired (they aren’t moving to Naples, but sadly, they have headed south) and our family is complete.

Enter transition.

I barely remember the fresh-faced, newly married, childless professional woman from days gone by.  Three of my four children are in school and the baby toddler is growing quickly. It’s another new stage for all of us. What will that mean for me?

A few years ago I took a six-month, very part-time gig at our church filling in for a friend whose husband had taken an international job assignment. It wasn’t supposed to last or lead to anything. In fact, it wasn’t even supposed to register on my life plan. Guess what? I’m still here, just in a different capacity. Guess what else? It’s opened up a whole new side of me and I find myself asking, “How on Earth did I get here?” I’m developing programming, being published in devotionals, facilitating retreats and being fueled by a really cool energy. It’s as if a whole new world of possibility has jumped up and shouted, “Surprise!” It makes me wonder if going off track has led me onto the right path.

Yesterday, my friend, a business psychologist, asked me to help her prepare for an upcoming coaching session by being her guinea pig for a strengths assessment tool. What she didn’t realize was that her “favor” was more like an answer to my prayers. This is exactly what I need at exactly the right time. Maybe it’s the right time for you, too.

Identifying our strengths is a good idea. Honestly assessing what we're good at, what feeds our soul, and how we can incorporate those things into our lives is good spiritual housekeeping. As women, we are usually aware of how we present our physical self to the world and, when things change, we adjust our strategy. We get our haircut, do something about our waistlines, and slather cream on our wrinkles. Are we as mindful of our spiritual self? When things change do we adjust our strategy? Do we ask the tough questions, consider what brings us joy, learn from our past, and keep an eye on a meaningful and purposeful future path - wherever it might lead?

If we’re blessed enough to travel through life for awhile, eventually we all come to a fork in the road. When we do, let’s look both ways, embrace where we’ve been, be optimistic about where we’re going, and try to learn something new about ourselves at every turn.

Being Blessed and Being Lucky are Two Different Things

Yesterday, during a meeting with some co-workers, the conversation turned to the idea of being blessed.  An  awareness of my blessings and God's presence in my daily routine is the basis for this blog and a big part of my everyday life.  That being said, I know several people who are going through a very difficult personal time right now.  I wondered if they would describe themselves as blessed?

When things are going well it's easy to embrace the idea that we are all blessed, even when life is bad.  But how does that translate in times of true personal despair?  I hope, under more challenging circumstances, I could still embrace my blessings. 

Today I spoke with a woman whose husband was recently diagnosed with stage four cancer.  In a moment, her life changed forever.  I was calling to tell her a group of women from our church wanted to provide meals for her family.  She was overwhelmed by our simple response to her needs.  She felt blessed. 

That's faith.  Living life from a place of grace allows us to trust God's active presence in our lives - in good times and in bad.  Being lucky and being blessed are indeed two different things. 

Luck runs out.  I'll take blessed.

Get Your Green On

Happy Birthday, Earth Day! 

Today marks the 40th anniversary of Earth Day and according to my six year old you must wear green today. Apparently she's taken the idea of being green literally. As we headed off to work and school this morning I realized we are one green beer away from looking like a band of leprechauns. When you think about it, Earth day and St. Patrick's day are kind of similar. Just as everyone is Irish on St. Patty's Day, we're collectively green today.

I live in the shadows of the very green. This year, Earth Day happens to fall on garbage day in my neighborhood - the day of the week when I feel most inadequate in my quest to keep up with the Joneses, or in our case, the Green's. My neighbor is a passionate environmentalist. She manages to throw away very little trash each week and I'm always paranoid she's peering over at our driveway, taking inventory of just how much we've accumulated. Her weekly audit may be a little off. Frankly, I'm fudging the numbers. I am not above sitting on filled trash bags so they are more compact and thus allowing for more bags per can. "See," I say to myself as I drag my overstuffed cans to the curb, "we're green, too. Just a lighter shade."

Then there's my brother-in-law, the LEED certified green engineer who's building a sustainable home for his family in Florida complete with self-composting toilets. I can't imagine there's enough air freshener in the world (not that I would ever spray chemicals into the air to mask an odor) to make that seem like a good idea.

Face it, the frog was right. It's not always easy being green and sometimes it's downright intimidating. While I might never make it to the ranks of a full-blown environmentalist, each day I take small steps to ensure that I am being a good steward of creation. I don't turn on the lights in the house when the sunshine is streaming in. I don't use the television for background noise. I ended my addiction to paper towel cold turkey a few years ago and now only use rags which I wash in cold water. I shop the local farmer's market during the growing season. I make every attempt to separate my garbage into what's recyclable and what's not. I'm passionate about preserving our Great Lakes.  I mostly pack reusable containers in our school lunches and I teach my children that the world is a marvelous place deserving of our love and attention.

It's Earth Day and for the next 24-hours everyone is green. Let's pledge to do what we can to take care of the planet. Even if you're not ecologically advanced you can mark the occasion. I plan to celebrate Earth by enjoying her company. Open a window and let the brisk spring air fill your home, take a walk, notice the beautiful blue of the sky, say a prayer for the Earth and all that inhabit her, and if you can't plant a tree, at least take a few minutes to sit under one.

It's Earth Day. Now go get your green on.

Heaven and the heaven of heavens belong to the LORD your God, the earth with all that is in it. Deuteronomy 10:14

Woven Together

"What you leave behind is not what is engraved in stone, but what is woven into the lives of others." --Pericles

I spent Saturday facilitating a retreat and exploring common threads with a group of women from Mount Pleasant Lutheran Church in Racine.  It was a full day of basket weaving (which is not unlike going through a ropes course) and reflecting on how we are woven together and for what purpose. 

I learned a few things about myself during our time together.  First of all, I'm not much of a basket weaver.  In fact, I'm all thumbs.  Guess what?  It doesn't matter.  The bigger lesson I learned is that it's not about the basket.  Our retreat helped me to realize that while baskets aren't my bag, I am a weaver nonetheless.  I'm the common thread that connects many of the people in my life. 

We don't live in parallel.  We criss cross and connect with people we know, and many we don't, through our relationships and interactions.  How we live matters. 

We all stand at the center of an intricate web that radiates from us and encircles the people we know and love.  How we live our lives is important to the people connected to and by us.  We can be the strand of kindness, generosity, faithfulness, joy and understanding that runs through our families, friendships and communities.

Take some time to assess the tapestry that is your life.  Are there ties that need to be cut?  Are you hanging on by a thread?  Are you mindful of how and what you are weaving? Are you creating something lasting and beautiful? 

Our lives are woven together. 

What pattern are you weaving?

My Guy

"There's something about the outside of a horse that's good for the inside of a man."
-- Sir Winston Churchill

Four years ago today I became the mother of a son.  When he was born we were already the parents of two young daughters.  I'd always dreamed of a large family so while many people assumed we were, "trying for a boy," we were actually just thrilled about a baby.  Frankly, I was so engrossed in caring for our girls it never really occured to me that the baby might really be a boy.

During a routine ultrasound, the doctor told us we'd need to replace some of our pink with blue.  Our oldest daughter looked at me with big, serious eyes and asked, "Mom, do you know anything about having a boy?"   The honest answer was no, but I reassured her that before she was born I hadn't known a whole lot about having a girl, either, and that seemed to be working out fine. 

Four years later, I appreciate her logical question even more.  Having a little boy in the house does change the family dynamic.  Calvin has an energy and a physicality that is completely different from our three girls.  He's always on the move and fancies himself a real cowboy.  He rides around the house on a stick horse, is a whiz with a lasoo, and seems to live by the motto, "Why walk when you can gallop?"  And really, why?

I often thank God for diversifying our little family with a son.  Calvin has been such a blessing.  He takes me out of my comfort zone and stretches me as both a mother and a person.  Before Calvin came into my life I had never looked at the world through a man's eyes but now, as his mom, I do.

I pray for a world that is equally safe and gentle for my son and my daughters.  I find myself comparing the social expectations for young men with my sweet boy who is funny, thoughtful, imaginitive, affectionate, honest and joyful.  I hope he never gives up his authentic self to more easily meet the expectation of others and I pray that I can teach him that the qualities he so naturally exudes as a small child will serve him well his whole life through.

After he was born, some breathing difficulties landed us in the neo-natal intensive care unit.  Our extended time in the hospital gave me a chance to spend quiet time with him before we went home to the rest of the family.  I remember sitting in the hospital, holding his tiny hand in mine, and thinking, "You're hand is so small and fragile, and mine is so big and strong."  I couldn't help but wonder if some day, many years in the future, we might find ourselves in another quiet hopsital room.  Perhaps he will hold my small, fragile hand in his big strong hands and know what I have known and cherished since the situation was reversed, that nurturing and caring for the people you love is more than time well spent, it's life's great honor. 

"There's something about the spirit of a son that's good for the heart of a mother."

-- Me.

Road Trip

"Laughter is an instant vacation."
 - Milton Berle

It's spring break and guess who isn't going anywhere again this year?  Yep, me. 

The big problem with spring break is that it falls right during the heart of tax season and my husband, the CPA, is not even coming up for air right now never mind taking a vacation.  So...here I am in picturesque Racine, Wisconsin enjoying a week at home, essentially alone, with my four kiddos. 

Actually, it's been a pretty good week.  Lots of playing outside, reading books, coloring, and going to the park.  Not too shabby.

Today I went to work for a few hours and coersed (pretty easily) one of my co-workers into taking a road trip with me.  I'm working on a program and needed some supplies and her second opinion.  Off we went.

I should have known it would be a productive trip (add sarcasm) when we started driving out of the parking lot and realized that we didn't have directions or an address.  After a quick call to the office we were back in business - until the boss called to say he'd found my wallet in the bathroom.  Not to be deterred, we forged ahead with the understanding that Carol would be in charge of the day's finances. 

About thirty minutes in and clearly lost, we stopped for another quick call to the office navigator, filled my tank with gas on Carol's dime, and we were off and running.  We finally reached what turned out to be a dirty and dismal destination, made some executive descisions and purchases, and stopped for a bite to eat. 

As is usually the case when I'm with Carol, I spent most the day laughing.  Her good sense of humor and easy way are a real blessing to me.  I came home reminded that sometimes a little break from the daily grind is all we really need.  So, I can honestly say that I am not envious of your trips to Florida, the Dominican Republic, California or Arizona (you know who you are).  I went to Oak Creek for spring break... so take that!

Spring is here... with her promise of something beautiful

The seemingly dead branch I've been nurturing in my sunroom window for the past few weeks has started to bud.  It's a lilac, one of my springtime favorites, so I've been willing to brush off my husband's skeptical, "Why do we have a big stick in the window?" with a knowing, "You'll see." 

I'm always slightly amazed, and relieved, when spring makes her gentle return.  An unrelenting Wisconsin winter can really freeze the life out things - but, not quite.  Spring reminds us of that when she warmly wafts back with her promise of something softer, something beautiful.

The dead branch in my window wasn't dead at all.  It was just waiting for the right time to wake up again.  It was patiently waiting for the darkness to give way to a longer day; to bask in the attentive care of the sun. 

In spring, God proves his great timing.  After forty days of darkness, we, too, are eager to bask in the attentive care of the Son. 

This week especially, we know that we are not alone - even when life is cold and gray.  Jesus shares our winter in a way that is incredibly real and personal. And, like us, he has known spring. 

At Eastertime, his winter is over.  And so is ours. 

It's been a long, dark season. An unrelenting world can really freeze the life out of things - but, not quite.
Moreso than spring, Jesus reminds us of that when he lovingly comes back with his promise of something softer, something beautiful!

An Egg-cellent Day!

This April Fool's Day was particularily mischievous at our house. The kids were up at the crack of dawn rolling out all of the pranks they've been cooking up for days. It started before 6:00 am with screams of, "Calvin's throwing up! Calvin's throwing up! Come quick!" and continued with spoons in my husband's dress shoes, a ketchup bloody nose, and an announcement that the classroom lizzard had died the day before. Funny stuff. When it became clear that we would be getting a steady diet of pranks I adopted an enthusiastic, "if you can't beat 'em, join 'em" attitude. I sent the girls to school with empty lunch boxes and hid in the principal's office when they came in to call home to report my error. Then I took them home for a picnic complete with a plastic snake on the patio chair.  I served fried egg sandwiches (pound cake, whipping cream and nectarines) and what could have been an annoying day turned into something special. I'm not going to suggest you make lemonade out of lemons or anything like that. But I will say, "This is your life and your day. Live it with a joyful heart!"

"So I commend the enjoyment of life, because nothing is better for a person under the sun than to eat and drink and be glad. Then joy will accompany you in your work all the days of the life God has given you." Ecclesiastes 8:15






 

You be the Judge.

There's a new show on television called "The Marriage Ref."  We might need to give him a call.  This morning my husband announced that he was down to his last pair of underwear.  It's now nearly 3:00 pm, my afternoon and evening are fully scheduled, and I've done nothing to remedy the situation. 

Oops.

Here's the deal.  I want to send my husband out into the world clean and in good working condition each morning.  And, yes, I am familiar with the, "What if you get in an accident" line of thinking.  Still, I've had a busy day preparing for tonight's writer's workshop.  I've been writing, brainstorming, dreaming, planning and thinking.  Laundry just doesn't fit into the theme of the day.  Frankly, I'm not feelin' it.  In an attempt to not sound lazy, I must say that being in a creative zone is when I am my most meditative.  It's when I best work things through and find the most clarity.

So here's the question marriage refs... is it ok to put off menial tasks (laundry) to do more meaningful work (writing)?  How have you spent your day?  Are you busy with the menial or the meaningful?  Jesus addresses this conundrum in the story of the two sisters, Martha and Mary.  In our task driven world he gives us the ok to take a step away from our daily "to do's" and spend time with him.  Perhaps it's ok to step back and take some time for ourselves, too.  So tell me ladies, creative thinking or clean underwear?  You be the judge.

Where are you going, my little one, little one?

As a little girl I would sit at my great grandma's piano with my aunt Deanne. She would plunk out one of the few songs she knew and I would sing along.  Where are you going, my little one, little one?  Was my favorite.  As a grown woman it has been the lullaby of choice for my four children.

Where are you going my little one, little one?
Where are you going my baby my own?
Turn around and you're two, turn around and you're four
Turn around and you're a young girl going out of my door.
Turn around and you're one, turn around and you're grown.
Turn around and you're a young mom with babes of your own.

lately in my life, the gentle "turn around, turn around" of our favorite lullaby feels more like the whirl of time spinning way too fast.  And it's not just me.  We're all feeling it.  Last week, our third grader, went away to school camp for five days.  She had never even had a sleepover before!  We really debated whether or not it was a good idea for her to go.  Was it too long?  Was she ready?  Was it wise in a world that doesn't always seem like a safe place for children?   Would she miss us as much as we would surely miss her?  In the end, she went, had a great time and came home proud and confident.  Maybe I really am mature enough to handle my children growing up.  Who knew?

Aside from the trauma of her going to camp, our son started preschool.  He goes every morning from 8:30 - 11:30.  The boy who needed to be dragged from bed in a state of a.m. crabbiness now bounds up, ready to strap on his cowboy back pack and head to school.

Our first-grader got her first major haircust last night.  Eleven inches of beautiful blonde hair is headed to the Locks of Love.  Her new cropped cut is very smart and cute... and grown up.  No more pigtails for her. 

Tomorrow, the baby will be one.  We'll celebrate her important milestone with cake and the usual fanfare.  It's been the most beautiful year.  There is something so wonderful about having everyone here.  She is the grand finale after years of adding another.  The baby years are behind us.  I was good at the baby phase.  I was in my element in the insular and safe world I created for our family.  Now, first birthdays, first trips to camp, first haircuts and first days of school are steps into unchartered territory.  It's time to explore life outside the nest.

I found our six-year old in tears the other day because she will be seven in four months and she's not sure she's ready.  I assured her she's ready for anything.  It's me I'm worried about.  Sometimes life is so good you just want to push pause - to stop and take it all in.

I love the life I have been blessed with as a wife and mother.  Nurturing my family and creating a place of calm for us has been my greatest joy.  I can only imagine what lies ahead will be equally beautiful and precious.  I pray that they might take what they have learned about kindness, patience, faithfulness, selflessness, love and joy and spread it all around the world.  I've never really travelled but when they set out to make their mark on this place, they will take a piece of me with them.  Instilling in them the confidence to go and do anything is, for this mother, the ride of a lifetime.

Still, all these changes and firsts make me realize that the words of the lullaby I've been singing since I was a child are true. Life happens in a turn.  Are you a mother or are you mothering someone in your life?  Do you realize, in the everyday moments, what a beautiful gift that is?  Let's make a collective agreement to appreciate all that means for us and the little ones God has placed in our care. Let's turn off the TV, close the computer, forget about the to do list and spend our days in the haze of their happy childhood.

My little ones are growing up. I can't wait to see what the future holds for four young children who have been the answer to prayers I didn't even know to pray. It makes me think of a quote I love from a young Japanese girl who said, "I will write peace on your wings and you will fly all over the world."  To that, I say, "Soar!"

The Good Samaritans

It seems like good news rarely makes the news these days. Maybe that’s why it’s so refreshing to hear something positive.

Have you heard the local story about the Snow Samaritans? Tuesday’s dose of winter weather kept young people around southeastern Wisconsin home from school and gave many area adults added chores related to snow removal. Not so in one inner-city Milwaukee neighborhood. There, three boys, thirteen year old Rasheed Harris his twelve year old brother Koran and their twelve year old cousin Rahagee Burns started the day by shoveling their grandmother’s sidewalk and driveway. When they finished that job, they moved to the neighbor’s house and they didn’t stop there. The trio braved cold temperatures and wind as they made their way up and down their central city block. They didn’t ask for money or for anything in exchange for their good deed. In fact, many neighbors were surprised to look outside and see their snow already removed and the three boys busy at another house.

This act of goodwill got a lot of attention, even from local news outlets. When asked why the boys spent their day in service to their neighbors they responded by saying they wanted to be good Samaritans. They had recently studied the parable of the Good Samaritan at Milwaukee Lutheran Special School where the three are students. “We learned about the Good Samaritan and how anyone in need should be considered your neighbor,” said Rasheed. They said since that lesson they have been talking about ways to put what they learned to good use discussing how they might rake leaves or help neighbors with yard work. Tuesday snow was an opportunity they couldn’t pass up.

In a culture where bad news is big news these three boys remind us that doing the right thing is indeed noteworthy.

Perhaps there is no stronger way to spread our faith than by living it - generously and without expectation. The secret to living a Christ-centered life isn’t a secret at all. Jesus tells us how he wants us to live. He asks that we embrace his loving example and pass it on to our neighbor.

In the wake of a winter storm, three young boys lived out their faith, clearing a path for us to do the same.

Long Time, No Blog

It's been awhile since I've posted anything here.  Rest assured I've still been writing.  In fact, I'm just finishing up a really inspiring project.  I recently had an opportunity to submit seven daily devotions for a publication called The Word in Season printed by Augsburg Fortress, the publishing house of the ELCA.  I'm excited about this chance to stretch my writing chops.  It came about after a friend told a friend about my interest in writing faith-based materials.  Funny how life works, isn't it?  How God creates opportunities for us at every turn.

Pink Eye, Pink Eye, Pink Eye, Strep Throat, Pink Eye

That about sums up what I've been busy dealing with the past couple of weeks.  Sorry about the delay in postings.  I'll be back next week with with clear eyes and a fresh outlook.  It seems God uses crusty eyes to help us take a break and a closer look at the world around us.  Hope you are well!

Dog is God Spelled Backward or Something Crazy Like That

Today was "Pet Day" in our daughter's first grade classroom.  Several children were invited to bring their pet to school for a show-and-tell style presentation.  Sounds cute, right?  Well...

Our family pet is a 100+ pound golden retriever who is five years old and full of puppy.  Surely no good could come from bringing him into a school full of children.  I envisioned a lot of jumping, drooling, shedding, pulling, slobbering and excitement-induced peeing on the classroom floor. 

How was I going to get out of this one? 

I decided to play a game of "Let's Make a Deal".  Last night I suggested that it might be time to add a fish to our family.  "We could," I offered, "take a trip to the pet store and pick up a new fish just in time for pet day.  Wouldn't that be fun?"  I prodded.  "Wouldn't that be lying?" she asked. "We don't have a pet fish.  Lucky is our pet.  I want to bring him."

What could I say?  She was right.  Lucky is our pet - every hairy, hyper, puppy pound of him.

This morning, armed with a bag of dog treats and a prayer, my husband and I loaded up the dog for his first day of school.  Guess what?  He did just fine.  Our proud daughter introduced her classmates to her dog and confidently told them all about him.  I must admit, he was more interesting than a fish would have been.

Sometimes, when life gets sticky, it's tempting to look for an easier way out.  We want to present our lives like a neat package, all wrapped up in a ribbon.  We don't want people to know the messy truth about us - things like the fact that our dog might very well pee (or worse) on the classroom rug. 

Today, a six-year-old reminded me to keep it real;  proving that when we have a little faith, embrace who we really are, and share it with the world, more often than not, things work out just fine.

Honoring Miep Gies: The Story Behind the Diary

The world has lost a woman who quietly changed the way we read some of the most significant events in modern history.  On Moday, Miep Gies died after a brief illiness.  She was 100.  You may or may not be familiar with Miep Gies but you have surely heard her story. 

As a young Christian woman, Miep took a job as a secretary for a Jewish man named Otto Frank.  She quickly befriended Otto and his family.  That friendship led to great acts of selfless courage when the nazi's infiltrated the town and began searching for Jewish community members and sending them off to the camps.  Miep and several others, including her husband, hid Otto Frank, his wife, their two young daughters and four others in a room they called the "secret annex" in the building where Miep worked. 
For 25 months, Miep Gies made sure the "hiders" - as they were called - had food, water, and a connection to the outside world.  She made sure that young Anne Frank had notebooks, paper and the diary she had recieved for her 13 birthday to help pass the long days in the secret annex.

Miep put on a brave front, despite the risks to her own well-being, in the face of nazi threats.  When the nazi soldiers stormed the office building, finding and capturing the eight people in hiding, Miep bravely gathered all of Anne's papers and locked them away in her desk drawer for safe keeping.  She never read the diary, always respecting the young girl's privacy.

Seven of the eight friends Miep Gies helped to hide in the secret annex died in the nazi concentration camps.  Anne Frank, whose story speaks so personally to generations of readers, died at Bergen-Belsen at the age of 15, just two weeks before the camp was liberated.  Anne's father, Otto, was the only one of the eight to make it home.  Upon his return, Miep unlocked the drawer of her desk and gave him the papers she had so carefully and respectfully kept.

The diary of Anne Frank was published in 1947.  It's a  harsh reminder of what unchecked hatred and intolerance can grow into.  It's also a poignant story of bravery and friendship

Miep Gies spent much of her life speaking about tolerance while downplaying her own actions.  She refused to label herself a hero.  In 1997, she told a group of schoolchildren, "You don't have to be a hero to do your human duty or  I am afraid no one would ever grow up to help anyone else.  Who is a hero?  I was not.  I was just an ordinary housewife and secretary."

I am struck by her words, "I was just an ordinary housewife and secretary."  How many times have you prefaced thoughts of yourself by saying or thinking, "I am just a..."  Miep Gies reminds us that in our ordinary roles in our ordinary lives we can have an extraordinary impact.

While little will ever compare to the horrors of the holocaust, I am still baffled by our willingness to seperate ourselves in "us" verses "them" terms, over and over again.  Red versus blue, black versus white, east verses west, rich verses poor.  The divisions come so easily that in our own church we are divided over whether or not to accept and afford equal opportunities to others simply based on how we love.  Here's a radical thought, maybe it's time to close the divide.

God speed, Miep Gies, and many thanks for your example of unconditional love and tolerance that gave voice to a little girl, and so many others like her.

For more information visit http://www.miepgies.nl/.

Star light, Star bright

Today is Epiphany, the day of the church year when we think about the three wise men, who followed the star until it stopped to rest above the manger in Bethlehem. I like to think about the bright glow of that special star and how it led them to baby Jesus.  What a journey that must have been.

There's something magical about stars. I grew up in rural, northwestern Wisconsin where the dark night sky was the perfect backdrop for twinkling stars. Even now I love to sit outside on a summer night with a glass of wine, good conversation, and an eye to the sky.

Stars give us a glimpse of another galaxy. They make us think about what else is out there. They remind us that there is beauty beyond our world and mysteries beyond our knowledge.

The three wise men followed the star in search of something wonderful. We can, too.

Where is the bright light of Christ guiding you?

Are you living your life as if you are following the star that leads to Jesus?

Not only can we follow the star, we can be the star. Through our good works, generosity, compassion, open-mindedness, and concern for all creation we can be a guiding light in the world around us.

God shepherds us through this life in ways that are both subtle and bright, always moving us toward something more, something so much bigger than ourselves.  This new year, whether you are following or leading, think of the star and shine.