January brought changes. Change is scary, period. It's viewed critically by most, mainly because we as humans fear the unknown. Much discussion precluded this new year and venture for Woodlawn. Lots of it negative, more of it positive. January began Advance classes, with every age group from children to seniors meeting for pastries and coffee at 9.00 am. A new year brought a new class, SOLO, a newly formed Singles Group. Class begins at 9.15 and we move to the Main Sanctuary for Sunday service at 10.30. Then the big shocker, no Sunday evening service.
Danny Rivers spoke mid January, and never before has a message affected me so deeply. (Bro. Fauss had quite an impact at Youth Camp during my teens, but did not prompt changes as Danny did.) www.bethechurch.cc will tell the tale. Highly recommended is the DVD of that service available at Woodlawn Church office. To quote him, "What's happened is the church has raised at least 2 generations of arrogant, out-of-touch people who in large part don't really care about lost people…don't try to help hurting people and who week after week hide behind our doctrine…even though we continually miss one of the most obvious doctrines in all of the Bible…Love your neighbor as much as you do yourself." That commission was branded into my mind. It has catapulted me into action. Each Advance Class is building an ongoing FOCUS project, which is based on the Biblical principles that Danny so beautifully taught. We are integrating ourselves into the community and learning that one-on-one outreach is the way to locally expose Jesus to our personal, lost world. We are attempting to reach out as much locally as we have internationally now for decades. I have been "IN the church" since the day of my birth. I am desperately trying to learn to "BE the church" for the first time in my life. SOLO wanted an outreach that was untapped at Woodlawn. Our FOCUS project was born from my new convert having 2 siblings with cancer, and from my immediate family having been deluged with the disease in the last 8 or so years. We took on reaching out to those diagnosed with cancer and their caregivers, and shut-ins directly connected to our church. The second Sunday evening (ye Gads!) of the month we meet, prepare a meal and deliver to people whose name(s) we have collected.
I cannot describe the feelings of true Christianity after having delivered a meal to someone that life has dealt a crushing blow most could not sustain. Or the happiness and well-being while sitting for a few minutes with the sweet lady having dinner alone in the nursing home dining hall. Or the "rightness" while standing in the drive of the crying gentleman whose wife had broken her hip and knee as he thanked me profusely for providing their supper. I have sat through some 2300+ Sunday evening services in my lifetime. (Resist doing the math please.=) I have dressed up more times than most models have walked a runway. I have been "spiritually fed" enough to feed all of Africa's hungry. I have sat with other church friends on said evening and socialized more than famous Hollywood stars. My Sunday evenings are now dedicated to something different. As a church body, we are reaching out to the unchurched, developing relationships with new and old friends alike, providing alcohol and drug dependancy classes, spending one-on-one time with our family, providing babysitting to mothers of autistic children for an evening out, preparing meals to those diagnosed with cancer and their caregivers, mentoring fatherless young men with Connect, giving single parents a free evening by organizing fun and games for their children and visiting the shut-in. All of this outside the walls of "the church". Dressing up, singing in the choir, feeding my spiritual obesity, and socializing with church friends does not begin to compare.
SOLO has doubled since the first class in January. We will triple this year! For me and hundreds alike, this change has been a welcomed, fruitful one. Woodlawn is blossoming. This year alone we have baptized 30+ and many more have received the gift of the Holyghost. Our putting our families first, loving the unlovable, showing the hurting we care, developing relationships with old and new friends alike is working. Trust me my friend, Sunday evenings are not free. My favorite, Matt Maddix stated "take those nobody wants and God will give you the ones everyone wants". We are doing both. Reaching out to the rejects as well as those close to us who are Godless.
I am deeply in love with SOLO and hope this "virus" of love, as Pastor Jerron put it last Wednesday, is contagious. We will win souls to Christ. We will BE the church.
6.14.2008
1.13.2006
Shrimp
No, I have not blogged in 2 months. Yes, I think of it often. Aren't you proud of me? I'm actually typing in my blog!
I sat at a hibachi grill last night with 2 dear friends. Neither had ever met each other and it turned out to be fun. I love introducing close friends that are kindred spirits and having them connect. Anyway, about the hibachi, I watched the little Japanese guy with atrocious English plop shrimp down on the griddle. While on the tray, they were completely unattractive. Gray, slimly, lifeless, dull. In seconds, they began to turn a beautiful shrimpy pink. (Heehe, like my pun?) He flipped them a few times, sprinkled on some spices and in no time at all they were exquisite. I sat at that grill and thought then and there that I would blog about them.
When the alarm goes off, I'm the grey and lifeless shrimp. I flip over a couple times, squirm around and begin to slowly turn "shrimpy pink". LOL. How crazy is it that I equate myself with shrimp? Give me a few minutes after seeing the light of day and I'm pink, spiced up and ready for the world. No, I am not intimating that I'm exquisite a few minutes after my feet touch the floor. I'm simply saying it's a concious decision to be a shrimp and let each day be our griddle. We all wake up a tad grey most days and it's up to you to make yourself turn pink.
Happiness is a decision.
As corny as it sounds, may each day be a griddle to the shrimp in you.
I sat at a hibachi grill last night with 2 dear friends. Neither had ever met each other and it turned out to be fun. I love introducing close friends that are kindred spirits and having them connect. Anyway, about the hibachi, I watched the little Japanese guy with atrocious English plop shrimp down on the griddle. While on the tray, they were completely unattractive. Gray, slimly, lifeless, dull. In seconds, they began to turn a beautiful shrimpy pink. (Heehe, like my pun?) He flipped them a few times, sprinkled on some spices and in no time at all they were exquisite. I sat at that grill and thought then and there that I would blog about them.
When the alarm goes off, I'm the grey and lifeless shrimp. I flip over a couple times, squirm around and begin to slowly turn "shrimpy pink". LOL. How crazy is it that I equate myself with shrimp? Give me a few minutes after seeing the light of day and I'm pink, spiced up and ready for the world. No, I am not intimating that I'm exquisite a few minutes after my feet touch the floor. I'm simply saying it's a concious decision to be a shrimp and let each day be our griddle. We all wake up a tad grey most days and it's up to you to make yourself turn pink.
Happiness is a decision.
As corny as it sounds, may each day be a griddle to the shrimp in you.
11.14.2005
Loyalty-less
Oh yeah baby! Here I sit at Har....oops...McDonalds! And you'll never guess why. I found out quite by accident last night that there is wireless internet available here. And in little ole Columbia! Previous to now, I've typed up my blog, saved it, and when I got home (or remembered, whichever came first) I would then upload. Here, I can publish immediately! How perfectly wonderful is that? Read the news, blog, surf...all while enjoying my down time AND breakfast! My life is forever changed! So much for loyalty to Hardee's. Am I really that wishy-washy? I have been a faithful customer there for multiple years. I feel sorta like the 40ish year old male that decides he wants a 22 year old instead of his wife of 20 years.
All those people who say "I saw your vehicle at Hardee's" no longer can. Hehe. And here I am telling the world at large I am now going to be at McDonald's. Makes no sense to inform the world yet again of my whereabouts.=)
One thing is for certain, the seat I am in will not be occupied by me tomorrow. I am right under a speaker that is blaring and I tend to like quiet when in a creative thinking mode. I find myself stopping to gather a thought process and music intrudes. Not to mention that it's right beside the restroom door. Beggars simply cannot be chooser so I will have to find the quietest corner and be happy that I now have internet service while breakfasting.
Did I mention it's country music blaring? Ugh. He's singing about iced tea on the front porch in his sweatshirt? Sheesh.
All those people who say "I saw your vehicle at Hardee's" no longer can. Hehe. And here I am telling the world at large I am now going to be at McDonald's. Makes no sense to inform the world yet again of my whereabouts.=)
One thing is for certain, the seat I am in will not be occupied by me tomorrow. I am right under a speaker that is blaring and I tend to like quiet when in a creative thinking mode. I find myself stopping to gather a thought process and music intrudes. Not to mention that it's right beside the restroom door. Beggars simply cannot be chooser so I will have to find the quietest corner and be happy that I now have internet service while breakfasting.
Did I mention it's country music blaring? Ugh. He's singing about iced tea on the front porch in his sweatshirt? Sheesh.
11.13.2005
Out of Kilter
I’ve alluded to it before and here is proof positive. Blogging is a mood thing with me. Oh, if only I could get my act together and blog daily. Wait! How terribly unfair to myself can I be? It’s simply not a case of “getting my act together". It is a case of being fair to my faithful readers. (I have always dreamed of saying that. I was just sure it would be when my books were for sale, even in Sam’s! ehhe.) If I blogged daily, it would be forced. I reiterate when I say it’s a mood thing with me. There has to be inspiration or some point of interest to cause me sit down and type, and when things are out of sync, i.e. my house messy, stress from work issues, etc., anything I write is forced and I tend to reveal parts of myself I’d rather not expose.=) You know, “keep that smile on your face so all seems right in the world”.
Here I sit, in the shade of a large, stick-on window sign at Hardee’s. Lucky for me, the only outlet in the dining area is right under that sign. My mind is reeling with topics. Sometimes if I’ll just start typing, I flow right to subject matter. Other times, as right now, I’m going to consciously pick one. Ummmmmm. Sheesh. Dirt Cheap? Christmas? Vehicles? Parties? Arrrgghhhhh. No flow.
My house is definitely messy, work is stress-filled with all the world at large wanting their decorations, etc. completed yesterday, and everything I’m writing is absolutely forced. For those who tell me they love my blog, a heartfelt thanks. I ask for patience. I will blog again, and I promise inspiring words and creative phrase. For now, I’ll pack up my laptop and leave the shade of the stick-on sign.
I’ll begin my reformation with working on that messy house.
Here I sit, in the shade of a large, stick-on window sign at Hardee’s. Lucky for me, the only outlet in the dining area is right under that sign. My mind is reeling with topics. Sometimes if I’ll just start typing, I flow right to subject matter. Other times, as right now, I’m going to consciously pick one. Ummmmmm. Sheesh. Dirt Cheap? Christmas? Vehicles? Parties? Arrrgghhhhh. No flow.
My house is definitely messy, work is stress-filled with all the world at large wanting their decorations, etc. completed yesterday, and everything I’m writing is absolutely forced. For those who tell me they love my blog, a heartfelt thanks. I ask for patience. I will blog again, and I promise inspiring words and creative phrase. For now, I’ll pack up my laptop and leave the shade of the stick-on sign.
I’ll begin my reformation with working on that messy house.
10.08.2005
Knee High Black Boots
Boots. Discuss.
What is my fascination with them? Why do I feel as if I could conquer the world when wearing them? Is it because I always gets looks? Is it the bad girl attitude associated with them? Am I pretending to be “pretty woman”? (Yes, I am aware hers were thigh-high.)
I’ll admit it. I love to “dress”. I work at being different. I disdain the norm. My actual clothing doesn’t tend to be way out, but I do tend to add the unusual or outrageous in some form. Hence, high heeled black boots.
Today is the first day this season that I’ve zipped them on. Ahhhhh. I don’t ever remember having to wait this late in the season. It’s October and we’ve not had even a hint of fall. However, there is a slight, and I need to repeat slight nip in the air and I simply could not wait. I’m told that tomorrow will be cool. The high is to be only 77 degrees. Hallelujah! Boots again.
Once I start wearing them, I am simply addicted. I have been fully dressed, walked out the door only to return and put on my boots. I love pairing them with a sleek black turtleneck. With that ensemble, any skirt works. At the end of the season, I mourn having to pack them away. Just as I begin to heal, it’s fall again.
When I veer from my path of black ones, I have exquisite pink, red suede (borrowed from Tay), black three-quarter length, and this year, brown cowboy’s (also Tay’s). Without fail I return to my beloved heeled, knee high black ones.
Did I mention that today I’m in my “conquer” mode?
10.05.2005
Hardee's
It never fails, I get this incredulous look when I mention my love of breakfasting at Hardee’s. People just don’t get that it’s not Hardee’s per se, nor the gourmet fare.
It’s a ritual. It’s my sanity. It’s the only way my day goes smoothly, not to mention that I have accrued fast friends (though most are almost double my age).
It all started several years ago when a bosom friend asked me to meet her for breakfast. I had worked with her for a couple years and after I moved on, we missed each other terribly. We began to meet just after I dropped my children off to school. She had to be at work at 9, so it gave us about 50 minutes to daily right the wrongs of the world. We swapped presents, shopping tidbits, and shared many books and magazines. To say we inspired each other is grossly underrating.
I then took a job in Hattiesburg and that quelled our time together. It took me awhile to figure out that I still needed down time each morning to get my day in order. I then began dropping the kids off and coming straight to Hardee’s before leaving for work.
Here I sit, in another phase of my life, still coming to Hardee’s. I’m sure were there a place that had a courtyard with a fountain, soft music piped in, and linens, I would go there instead. But I wouldn’t trade that for small town life. Each and every birthday of me and mine starts right here. A candle in a cinnamon raison biscuit is the perfect way to begin the celebratory day.
“Hardee’s” will be on my agenda for the rest of my bourn...ummm born days. I’ll reserve the fountains, music, and linens for special occasions……….away.
It’s a ritual. It’s my sanity. It’s the only way my day goes smoothly, not to mention that I have accrued fast friends (though most are almost double my age).
It all started several years ago when a bosom friend asked me to meet her for breakfast. I had worked with her for a couple years and after I moved on, we missed each other terribly. We began to meet just after I dropped my children off to school. She had to be at work at 9, so it gave us about 50 minutes to daily right the wrongs of the world. We swapped presents, shopping tidbits, and shared many books and magazines. To say we inspired each other is grossly underrating.
I then took a job in Hattiesburg and that quelled our time together. It took me awhile to figure out that I still needed down time each morning to get my day in order. I then began dropping the kids off and coming straight to Hardee’s before leaving for work.
Here I sit, in another phase of my life, still coming to Hardee’s. I’m sure were there a place that had a courtyard with a fountain, soft music piped in, and linens, I would go there instead. But I wouldn’t trade that for small town life. Each and every birthday of me and mine starts right here. A candle in a cinnamon raison biscuit is the perfect way to begin the celebratory day.
“Hardee’s” will be on my agenda for the rest of my bourn...ummm born days. I’ll reserve the fountains, music, and linens for special occasions……….away.
9.26.2005
Bombay Bicycle Club
Looking toward the beach....the front of the Beau Rivage is in the background...
Tullis-Toledano Manor, Biloxi, MS
Forever gone...The Grand Casino barge was sitting on top of Tullis-Toledano Manor's concrete slab....
9.25.2005
Katrina and Camille
Oh to have the discipline of Monk. (Or even SAG). I have tried on numerous occasions to blog and simply couldn't/wouldn't, I'm not sure which to be perfectly honest. Katrina did a number on me. Spiritually, physically, emotionally. I rode out the storm 100 miles inland with family and friends at my sister's home. It was not my first hurricane, but I pray my last. We watched trees uproot and snap as debris flew. We slept in sweltering heat and grilled what food we could salvage from our quickly thawing freezers. I was fortunate to go to "the land of electricity and water where all seemed so normal" soon after the storm, though my spirit was chaotic and low. I couldn't reach family or friends after I left since cell service was extinct in the hard hit areas. I devoured pictures online of my hometown like a heroin addict.
I was born on the beach in a lovely old hospital in Biloxi, MS and also married on that same beach at Tullos-Toledano Manor (an old governor's summer home). Both buildings are gone (as is the marriage). I grapple with the fact that Biloxi will be rebuilt, but I fear a very plastic city, all neon lights and none of the former quaintness. What I've heard my Daddy say numerous times finally came to fruition. "One good hurricane and the Coast will be wiped out again!" he'd say every couple years. I have a vivid memory of returning home after Camille and though I was only 7 at the time I'll never forget my Mother crying the entire trip. We followed a state highway truck that was clearing the roads with a chainsaw. My Daddy would toss the sawed logs to the side of the road as they were cut. There was so much destruction my Mother was sure her home was gone. What was usually an hour drive home from Mamaw's took almost 4 hours. We arrived home to multiple trees down and missing shingles, but otherwise unscathed. The names Katrina and Camille are forever imprinted on my memory. I think were I named either of the two, I'd march right up to City Hall and sign up for a new one!
I was born on the beach in a lovely old hospital in Biloxi, MS and also married on that same beach at Tullos-Toledano Manor (an old governor's summer home). Both buildings are gone (as is the marriage). I grapple with the fact that Biloxi will be rebuilt, but I fear a very plastic city, all neon lights and none of the former quaintness. What I've heard my Daddy say numerous times finally came to fruition. "One good hurricane and the Coast will be wiped out again!" he'd say every couple years. I have a vivid memory of returning home after Camille and though I was only 7 at the time I'll never forget my Mother crying the entire trip. We followed a state highway truck that was clearing the roads with a chainsaw. My Daddy would toss the sawed logs to the side of the road as they were cut. There was so much destruction my Mother was sure her home was gone. What was usually an hour drive home from Mamaw's took almost 4 hours. We arrived home to multiple trees down and missing shingles, but otherwise unscathed. The names Katrina and Camille are forever imprinted on my memory. I think were I named either of the two, I'd march right up to City Hall and sign up for a new one!
9.07.2005
Random Ramblings on Me...
*I worked on a beautiful 80 ft. shrimp boat one summer
*Salmon is my entree of choice, always
*Seeing my 3 on the platform all together is what heart failure must surely feel like
*Every day of my life travel to some exotic place is imagined
*Dinner at Panino's then jazz at USM with my 3 cause me a distinct sense of wholeness
*Books, books, books please
*My heart sings "I was born to live here" when I walk the streets of NYC
*I feel as if I'm on the school bus in my pj's when I don't wear heels
*Sitting with Tyler late in the evening at Backdoor Cafe is treasured time
*Jackie O sunglasses complete me
*I could be considered an elegant "goth" for all the black I wear (though I always embellish with colorful, gaudy and bold accessories)
*I collect paper weights
*A beautiful glass filled with white grape juice, candlelight in a red votive, fresh flowers (in a vase I brought home from Paris), my TV combo on the counter, and bubbles up to my ears make all seem right in the world
*Tay humming (a common occurance) always reminds me of my mother..oh such sweet emotions having my daughter and my mother connected
*My first visit to Paris caused total, delicious, emotional upheaval..the only place I felt calm was in the museums
*I fantasize about being lost in southern Italy in a teeny little car
*The sounds of a guitar strumming coming from Boo's room makes me teary eyed on most occasions
*Antartica is the only continent of the major 7 that I have no desire to see (I've seen 4)
*Laying in the grass around midnight staring up into the Eiffel Tower was an epiphany
*The 3 most profound words of my entire life were "It's a girl!"
*Realizing that all "men" are not equal shocked me deeply..I'm thinking of taking a chance=)
*My inspiration for this blog came from SAG=)
*Salmon is my entree of choice, always
*Seeing my 3 on the platform all together is what heart failure must surely feel like
*Every day of my life travel to some exotic place is imagined
*Dinner at Panino's then jazz at USM with my 3 cause me a distinct sense of wholeness
*Books, books, books please
*My heart sings "I was born to live here" when I walk the streets of NYC
*I feel as if I'm on the school bus in my pj's when I don't wear heels
*Sitting with Tyler late in the evening at Backdoor Cafe is treasured time
*Jackie O sunglasses complete me
*I could be considered an elegant "goth" for all the black I wear (though I always embellish with colorful, gaudy and bold accessories)
*I collect paper weights
*A beautiful glass filled with white grape juice, candlelight in a red votive, fresh flowers (in a vase I brought home from Paris), my TV combo on the counter, and bubbles up to my ears make all seem right in the world
*Tay humming (a common occurance) always reminds me of my mother..oh such sweet emotions having my daughter and my mother connected
*My first visit to Paris caused total, delicious, emotional upheaval..the only place I felt calm was in the museums
*I fantasize about being lost in southern Italy in a teeny little car
*The sounds of a guitar strumming coming from Boo's room makes me teary eyed on most occasions
*Antartica is the only continent of the major 7 that I have no desire to see (I've seen 4)
*Laying in the grass around midnight staring up into the Eiffel Tower was an epiphany
*The 3 most profound words of my entire life were "It's a girl!"
*Realizing that all "men" are not equal shocked me deeply..I'm thinking of taking a chance=)
*My inspiration for this blog came from SAG=)
8.08.2005
8.07.2005
Comments Make The Heart Grow Fonder
I've been asked on a few occasions, why haven't you blogged recently? (The faithful readers now know I was on a roll yesterday..hehe.) Now, of course this was posed by those near and dear to me.
I received my first comment today from an "unknown" and oh did my little heart sing! Hence, the content of this blog is to urge you to comment should you like what you see. (And also I guess if you don't like what you see.=) The comment was high propane fuel to my blogging fire.
Anyone with initials SAG wanna start?
I received my first comment today from an "unknown" and oh did my little heart sing! Hence, the content of this blog is to urge you to comment should you like what you see. (And also I guess if you don't like what you see.=) The comment was high propane fuel to my blogging fire.
Anyone with initials SAG wanna start?
8.06.2005
50 Things To Do Before I Die
No, that subject is in no way morbid. What is the thing you'd love to do, but it just seems as if it will never come to fruition? There are things that flit in and out of our minds and we just don't voice them or believe they are possible. It's usually some exotic isle or adventure that seems lightyears away. Take out a favorite journal or even a sheet of paper and write at the top "50 Things To Do Before I Die". This needs to be paper that you can quickly and easily locate. Numbers 1-10 will be easy. They will be things at the front of your mind. From there on, it gets harder to fill in the blanks. Therein lies the reason you need easy accessiblity to your list. When something triggers thoughts of deep desires, grab your list start jotting. My list is over 30 now, and I've successfully checked off some things I never thought I'd achieve! Sailing around the world on a sailboat seems completely out of my reach, but it's on my list. Walking on the Great Wall of China, visiting Australia, seeing the palaces of St. Petersburg, a cooking school in southern Italy, an apartment in NYC are all far beyond my reach, but never the less something to dream about. Nothing is too extreme nor simplistic. There is no rule that you have to share your list either. It may be too personal for public viewing, or you may be like me and enjoy others seeing your dreams. Whatever the case, just make the list. Those checks beside the things you were able to make happen make for a deep abiding joy and sense of well-being.
"Sugared" Tea, Please
A fond memory of my mother, is her allowing me to make the tea. We had a large, orange Tupperware pitcher and my self-esteem, love of cooking, and psyche were developed from this very act. How proud I was to measure the sugar into that pitcher, pour the liquid off the steeped bags that I'd been instructed to "just bring to a boil", and then stir until all grains of sugar were fully melted. Then and only then was I to add water up to the rim. At that point, in my elementary brain, I felt I had helped "cook supper".
I've just returned from a mini-pre-school-starting-vacation, and nary a place had "sweet" tea. Here in the deep South, we ask for "sweet" tea, which is of course improper. Sweetened tea is correct. I have a kindred spirit that always asks for "sugared" tea, and I love to borrow that line when far into Yankee country. My pronunciation is a long drawn out "shoog-ahed tea" worthy of Elizabeth in "Old Yellar". I love the reactions of the wait staff. Without fail, the response is "What?"with a quizzical look. And I again ask for "sugared" tea. In 90% of the cases, I draw a "dumb-southerner" sneer which makes my guts smile. Tea was made to be sweetened! I simply cannot mimick the taste of tea from the South when trying to sweeten it otherwise. I settle for a Diet Coke. But oh, to return home to the land of "sweet tea", such joy is indescribable.
My former mother-in-law introduced me to hot tea. I'll never forget learning to wrap the string from the tea bag around the bowl of the spoon just from watching her. A vivid memory of hot tea was on a return flight from Seoul, Korea. It was so soothing to my weary mind, body and spirit on that never ending flight. My aforementioned kindred spirit taught me to mix a 1/2 cranberry juice and 1/2 sweet tea for a delightful drink in the fall.
Until it is not available to me, as on my vacation, I simply do not realize just how much I love it. There is a large glass of the cold "sugared" stuff sitting close at hand as I type this. Ahhhh, I just had a sip. When will the rest of the world figure it out? Tea is to be "sweet".
I've just returned from a mini-pre-school-starting-vacation, and nary a place had "sweet" tea. Here in the deep South, we ask for "sweet" tea, which is of course improper. Sweetened tea is correct. I have a kindred spirit that always asks for "sugared" tea, and I love to borrow that line when far into Yankee country. My pronunciation is a long drawn out "shoog-ahed tea" worthy of Elizabeth in "Old Yellar". I love the reactions of the wait staff. Without fail, the response is "What?"with a quizzical look. And I again ask for "sugared" tea. In 90% of the cases, I draw a "dumb-southerner" sneer which makes my guts smile. Tea was made to be sweetened! I simply cannot mimick the taste of tea from the South when trying to sweeten it otherwise. I settle for a Diet Coke. But oh, to return home to the land of "sweet tea", such joy is indescribable.
My former mother-in-law introduced me to hot tea. I'll never forget learning to wrap the string from the tea bag around the bowl of the spoon just from watching her. A vivid memory of hot tea was on a return flight from Seoul, Korea. It was so soothing to my weary mind, body and spirit on that never ending flight. My aforementioned kindred spirit taught me to mix a 1/2 cranberry juice and 1/2 sweet tea for a delightful drink in the fall.
Until it is not available to me, as on my vacation, I simply do not realize just how much I love it. There is a large glass of the cold "sugared" stuff sitting close at hand as I type this. Ahhhh, I just had a sip. When will the rest of the world figure it out? Tea is to be "sweet".
The Baby, My Youngest Son
Since I found out I was pregnant with this child, I have said he was to be the General Superintendant of the United Pentecostal Church or the first Pentecostal President of the United States. His conception was not possible, yet it happened. And how deeply thankful I am that it did.
My oldest sat in the stroller without stress. Tyren Millspaugh Swanner demanded to PUSH the stroller, instead of ride in it, from a very early age. I dressed him for church, and within minutes he looked as if he'd had those very clothes on for days instead of minutes. His shirt never remained tucked in, his feet found a way to the mud puddle, and ketchup was forever adorning his pants. I simply could not keep this child clean nor make him look "freshly dressed". Yet he exuded joy. When Mother's Day was celebrated in Sunday School and the 5-6 year olds were asked "What makes your Mother smile", his reply was, "When I walk in the room". I find this to be true this very minute, even though he is now 15.
His brother got a guitar for Christmas 4 years ago. It sat untouched for some time. Tyren went to church camp and a friend there showed him a few things. I don't think many days have passed since that there wasn't a guitar in his hands. Am I allowed as a Mother to say he is amazing? Am I the only Mother who can hardly breathe when her children are performing? When all 3 perform at the same time, as happens in Youth Service periodically, I am overcome with gratefulness.
There is a calmness in him that I do not possess. He has patience that I have no chance of ever achieving, yet I helped to grow him to what he is. He is faithful to help me in the yard, haul things to the attic, and remove the garbage from the house, with little resistance. Oh, of course I hear the grumbles, etc, but he always helps. I have said on many occasions, that he will be the one to insure I don't get bedsores while in the nursing home. He has a nurturing spirit that I am so proud of. He wears his suits well and is health concious, which did not come from me. I recently told him how much like his Father he was. His face had this odd look and he questioned me whether or not I liked that. (His Father and I divorced years ago.) I told him all those things of his Father that I saw in him were the exact reasons I fell in love with and married his Dad.
He makes wonderful grades and excels in school. That he is now a sophmore makes my heart heavy. In 2 extremely short years, he will be a senior. My little disheveled boy is now a young man living in a grown body. If only I could keep him with me forever. Wait, he will be with me forever, in my mind, the little one with the shirt hanging half out stomping in the only mud puddle within a 1/2 mile range.
My oldest sat in the stroller without stress. Tyren Millspaugh Swanner demanded to PUSH the stroller, instead of ride in it, from a very early age. I dressed him for church, and within minutes he looked as if he'd had those very clothes on for days instead of minutes. His shirt never remained tucked in, his feet found a way to the mud puddle, and ketchup was forever adorning his pants. I simply could not keep this child clean nor make him look "freshly dressed". Yet he exuded joy. When Mother's Day was celebrated in Sunday School and the 5-6 year olds were asked "What makes your Mother smile", his reply was, "When I walk in the room". I find this to be true this very minute, even though he is now 15.
His brother got a guitar for Christmas 4 years ago. It sat untouched for some time. Tyren went to church camp and a friend there showed him a few things. I don't think many days have passed since that there wasn't a guitar in his hands. Am I allowed as a Mother to say he is amazing? Am I the only Mother who can hardly breathe when her children are performing? When all 3 perform at the same time, as happens in Youth Service periodically, I am overcome with gratefulness.
There is a calmness in him that I do not possess. He has patience that I have no chance of ever achieving, yet I helped to grow him to what he is. He is faithful to help me in the yard, haul things to the attic, and remove the garbage from the house, with little resistance. Oh, of course I hear the grumbles, etc, but he always helps. I have said on many occasions, that he will be the one to insure I don't get bedsores while in the nursing home. He has a nurturing spirit that I am so proud of. He wears his suits well and is health concious, which did not come from me. I recently told him how much like his Father he was. His face had this odd look and he questioned me whether or not I liked that. (His Father and I divorced years ago.) I told him all those things of his Father that I saw in him were the exact reasons I fell in love with and married his Dad.
He makes wonderful grades and excels in school. That he is now a sophmore makes my heart heavy. In 2 extremely short years, he will be a senior. My little disheveled boy is now a young man living in a grown body. If only I could keep him with me forever. Wait, he will be with me forever, in my mind, the little one with the shirt hanging half out stomping in the only mud puddle within a 1/2 mile range.
7.15.2005
My Middle Child...My Daughter...
They say it's the middle child that becomes the mediator or professional negotiator. Exactly. The most intense joy I've experienced has been from is my middle child. From the moment I tied a pink ribbon around her head (which was in the delivery room within 10 minutes of her birth) 'till a few Saturday's ago when she sang at a military celebration, my heart has smiled when I see her. Everyone who knows her, sees her talent. The Congresswoman who invited her to sing at the event spoke of this at the celebration. Her French teacher at school remarked at the rarity of getting a student like her that has "passion" for the langauge. Everything she does radiates vivaciousness. She is effusive, vibrant, full of zest, and a lover of life. She comes out of her room in a blast on the way to church, etc. and I'm so amazed at her fashion savvy. She holds that head high and exudes a confidence very few learn in a lifetime.
My labor was arduous, not as with my other 2. While carrying her, I would not allow the doctor to tell me the gender of this child in my womb. I simply was overcome with raw and aching need for a girl. I never once looked at girl clothes during my pregnant. I had this distinct fear that I would be unfair in some way to my baby should it be a boy. I just HAD to have a girl. When the doctor announced to the room "It's a girl!", I started weeping. My aunt Deta was holding my hand. I kept saying over and over "It's a girl!, It's a girl!, I don't have to do this anymore!". I never occurred to me that while laboring to deliver this child I was planning another pregnancy just in case it was a boy! My family that stood in the hall did not have to be informed that she had arrived. They all heard me chanting over and over "It's a girl!, It's a girl!".
After saying all this, I need to inform you that she is my clone. A while ago, she came to my room to inform me, "I just give up. I am just like you and I can't change it!". For a couple of years I watched her struggle with trying to be the opposite of what I was. She didn't like my bold, loud purses, nor my tendency to draw attention to myself in dress, hairstyle, etc. Soon thereafter she was borrowing those very purses and clothing. Now, if we both have trips it's a race to claim who gets what. It's humbling to see yourself in someone. I see myself in her daily and that changes my thought processes and actions often.
I will continue to watch her fulfill her potential as time rocks on. And her ability to "fulfill" will forever amaze me. There is nothing she cannot accomplish, and what I so love is her discipline and willpower. They will take her far beyond the reaches that even I can concieve. While colleges continue to court and she stays in her continual dither over where, when and what, I will stand back and be amazed. Did I mention I birthed this child?=)
My labor was arduous, not as with my other 2. While carrying her, I would not allow the doctor to tell me the gender of this child in my womb. I simply was overcome with raw and aching need for a girl. I never once looked at girl clothes during my pregnant. I had this distinct fear that I would be unfair in some way to my baby should it be a boy. I just HAD to have a girl. When the doctor announced to the room "It's a girl!", I started weeping. My aunt Deta was holding my hand. I kept saying over and over "It's a girl!, It's a girl!, I don't have to do this anymore!". I never occurred to me that while laboring to deliver this child I was planning another pregnancy just in case it was a boy! My family that stood in the hall did not have to be informed that she had arrived. They all heard me chanting over and over "It's a girl!, It's a girl!".
After saying all this, I need to inform you that she is my clone. A while ago, she came to my room to inform me, "I just give up. I am just like you and I can't change it!". For a couple of years I watched her struggle with trying to be the opposite of what I was. She didn't like my bold, loud purses, nor my tendency to draw attention to myself in dress, hairstyle, etc. Soon thereafter she was borrowing those very purses and clothing. Now, if we both have trips it's a race to claim who gets what. It's humbling to see yourself in someone. I see myself in her daily and that changes my thought processes and actions often.
I will continue to watch her fulfill her potential as time rocks on. And her ability to "fulfill" will forever amaze me. There is nothing she cannot accomplish, and what I so love is her discipline and willpower. They will take her far beyond the reaches that even I can concieve. While colleges continue to court and she stays in her continual dither over where, when and what, I will stand back and be amazed. Did I mention I birthed this child?=)
Patience, please.
Blogging is like the tides. The mood comes and goes. Summer is in full swing, and with hummingbirds flitting, oleanders blooming, and lemonade freshly squeezed, I tend to not peruse email for days on end. This week I had my first autumnal pang, with visions of my beloved boots dancing in my head. Maybe once life gets back into "rut" status i.e. No. 2 pencils sharpened, I will settle back into blogging. I must admit it was all consuming for a time. The consumation is sure to resurface when those long cool evenings arrive. Until then, for all those who ask, patience, please.=)
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