A Mother's Angst

I had a totally different topic to write about today, but the last hour has changed some things for me.  All I will say is that parenting is the hardest job in the world and at any moment gut-wrenching events can occur to turn your world upside down.

With strength given only by God, we get through.

God, please get me through tonight and what the next days bring.

Everyone is safe.  Thank you, thank you, thank you.  Some trust has been broken and will need to be rebuilt.

A Brief Encounter

I am headed out to a friend's house to unwind with my daughter and her and I'm afraid I won't be back in time to post by midnight!  So, as a Sneaky Pete, I'll just leave this teaser until I return.  Today's question via NaBloPoMo:

"What makes you notice someone?"

Don't hate me 'cause I'm cheating!  I'll finish the post, I promise!

...later the next morning...

Okay, so here's the deal.  I FORGOT MY GLASSES AT MY FRIEND'S HOUSE and I left my spares in my office, so I couldn't finish the post last night.  What a loser.  At present, I am sitting here wearing my husband's readers and my eyes are killing me.  I must persevere!   

There are many things that cause me to notice a person---their eyes, a smile, an act of kindness, looking good in some fashion or just by being beautiful.  There is not just one thing that does it.  It could be something obnoxious, too.  I hate when it's because of a negative.  We seem to be so surrounded by that in our culture these days.

As I sit here and write this, I've begun to realize something.  I don't notice people the way I used to and I will blame it on something I call "Bremenitis".  I grew up on Army bases and in a small town.  It used to be in Army circles that families would embrace one another and be fairly tight-knit.  I can't say if it is the same today.  My parents were pen pals with friends from their days in the service  for over fifty years!  That's amazing.  Because of this and because I am by nature an extrovert, I developed into a person who would and could meet and welcome anyone into my life.  I really love that and I just assumed growing up that everyone was the same.  When we returned to my dad's hometown, the openness continued, at least in my own mind and in my own family experience.  Everyone knew everyone and, as a child, I felt loved by my community.  This continued through my adult years until my late 30's.  Then we moved to this small town in the midwest.  

It took me a while to figure this out, but once I tested my theory, it became more and more evident.  What I found was that people would barely greet each other on the street.  Maybe I should say that they would barely greet me on the street, but I truly believe it is wide-spread.  The weirdest things would happen.  I would meet people through church or meet other parents through our kids' activities.  We could have multiple conversations over a short period of time, yet they couldn't muster a simple "hello" when they would meet me in the grocery store or walking down the street.  I can't tell you  how many times this would happen:  I would notice another football mom coming down the same aisle in the grocery store and I'd be gearing up for a "hi."  The mom would see me coming and turn and look at the shelves as she passed by me.  It wasn't always the same person, but it happened soooo many times.  I'm telling you, it was and is the most bizarre thing!  I always wanted to shout, "Hey, bimbo!  I don't want to be your best friend, I just wanted to say hello!!!"  What I have found is that (many/most) people in this town get stuck for an answer when you say "hi".  Those who don't have a spot in my heart forever because I'm just so grateful not to be ignored.

The saddest part THAT I MUST TAKE RESPONSIBILITY FOR is that the wounds I have felt from these experiences over the last seventeen years have caused me to become a bit like them.  That is shameful.  It's not that I don't want to reach out, it's that I can't continually put myself out there for fear of being once again rebuffed.  Sad, and very, very stupid.  As Ghandi would say, I need to be the change I wish to see in the world.

I don't want to paint a horrible picture of this community because there really are some wonderful people here.  I just think we need to be kinder, more welcoming and loving toward one another.  I think that is the case everywhere.

Man, how was that for a spin on the question?

FINAL NOTE:

Beyond the question of what makes me notice people is the question "What makes me want to know them?"  The answer to that is so simple.  I want to know someone when I detect that they have a heart condition.  Is it big?  Is there room in it for others?  Do they use it for good?  If the answer to that is "yes", then come on over to my house.  There's room for you here, too.

Beauty Is In the Eye of the Beholder

Would you rather be wealthy and ugly, wise and sickly, or beautiful and stupid?

I had to reason this out for a bit before I could answer. I think to be wise is beautiful, but I really don't want to be sick.  I've watched the wise & sick and have gained great insight and awareness from them, but watching them in their illness was heart and gut-wrenching.  It's so hard on the ones who love you.  Being beautiful is good, too, but being stupid would be agonizing to think about.  That leaves wealthy and ugly.  I could handle that.  It has nothing to do with the money, although having the money would help.  I had to think about all the things I love to do---travel, entertain, involve myself in ministry, work with children, shop for bargains, decorate and dress on the cheap,  inspire and encourage others, drink red wine (heh-heh-heh).  One doesn't have to be beautiful to do any of those things, yet having wealth could enable me to do more of them.  Being wealthy and ugly also doesn't preclude one from being wise...How much fun is that?

Here's to the man

NaBloPoMo prompt of the day:  "Describe the plot of the next book you want to read, even if the book doesn't exist yet."

Hmmmm.  Not sure about this one.  Okay, I think the next book I read will be the draft of the biography I'd  write about my dad.  Also included would be stories of my little mum and my sister, Suzanne.  It would be called "Damn Good Soldier" and it would be so awesome that Hollywood would be beating down my door, begging for a stake in it.  The part of me the main female character, of course, would be played by a most amazingly talented and brilliant actress of a certain age.  The plot would be about a seemingly staunch and staid man who showed tremendous courage and determination, as well as the most amazing example of love and commitment to a wife with dementia and first daughter with brain damage and the second daughter who loved him beyond measure.  Everyone would marvel because a man of this character is found so far and fleetingly in men of today.  

Someday.  Someday. 

http://damngoodsoldier.blogspot.com/ is one of my other blogs. 

"Don't Forget---When You Die Those Rings are Mine!"

Those weren't my words, they were my older sister's and she would often repeat them to my little mum whenever she'd go home for a visit.  Ooooh, boy, did that make my little mum mad.  It wasn't just the ring set Dad purchased for Mom in Alaska one year that brought the comment, but a few other family pieces that she'd long ago decided were rightfully hers as the firstborn daughter.  I'm not sure why she felt it was okay to bring it up time after time, but she did and it didn't sit well with Mom.  Suzanne was a wounded soul and she would often show her ugly side at the most inopportune times.

My little mum was the sweetest thing.  She was kind and generous.  She opened her home to anyone and would not be satisfied until she'd fed them and offered them drink.  She had a cute high-pitched giggle that would end almost as soon as it began.  She had a little French-Canadian accent that always made me laugh when she would talk about the first, second or turd...whatever.  Then she'd wave her little finger at me and tell me to eat poop (in French, of course).  She was so cute.

Ah, yes, well, one day, Suzanne had commented on her right of ownership just one too many times.  When she left the room, my mom leaned in and said to me conspiratorially, "I have half a mind to give it to you just to piss her off!"  Now my little mum rarely said "pissed" so I knew she was steaming.  I just begged her not to because I didn't think I would survive Suzanne's wrath.  Oy.

A week before my wedding, my mom handed me the wedding band that Sue had always claimed.  I don't even remember the moment now, but I know that my mother insisted that I have it and wear it on my wedding day.  She was very insistent and I knew it was important to her for all the right reasons.  So I took it and after twenty-eight years, it is still on my finger.

The worst part, though, the very worst part occurred on my 25th birthday six months after my wedding.  Jim and I were living with my parents because we were in transition.  He'd just graduated from seminary and I was about to start my student teaching.  Jim would be moving to a church in Massachusetts and I would follow him in March once my teaching requirement was done.  My birthday was on a Sunday.  Jim and I walked home from church to a warm and favorite meal Mom had prepared just for me.  We sat down to eat, Mom, Dad, Jim and me.  In between dinner and dessert, Mom placed a small box in front of me.  I had no clue what was inside that box when unwrapping it.  Still clueless, I opened the box and lost. my. breath.  Inside the box was the matching diamond engagement ring to the band I had previously received.  The tears just poured down my cheeks.  I don't know which feeling was the strongest---the joy I felt at receiving something I never thought would be mine or the fear that struck me, wondering just how Suzanne would react.  Oh, dear.

Suzanne lived in Florida at the time, so I was safe for a bit.  I have no idea when my mom told Suzanne about the ring or what was said.  Suzanne never said a word.  Two years later, that drunk driver would change her life forever and I wished for a time that she'd had just a moment to enjoy the rings as her own.

Twenty-six years after I received the diamond ring, I presented it to my daughter on her 25th birthday.  A tradition had been born.  I waited with great anticipation to pass it on. She waited all her life to receive it. Now it's her turn to pass it on.

NaBloPoMo National Blog Posting Month

What are the chances I can write a blog post every day of this month, including weekends?  Slim to none, but I think, what the heck, I'll give it a shot.  You can read all about it and get the daily writing prompt HERE.  I may or may not use the daily prompt.  Give it a whirl, folks.

How would your life change if you didn't have rent or a mortgage to pay, i.e., if your housing was free?

That's easy.  I wouldn't change much other than travel more freely.  Jim and I have never had the luxury until the last few years of traveling outside the country.  Our first trip was in 2005 when a couple from our church paid for us to go on a two-week mission trip to Cebu in the Philippines.  I got my first-ever passport.  Jim had one ten years before because he went on a trip to Israel and Egypt.  Lucky him, but I didn't have the inclination to go to such a volatile spot with young children at home.  Fast forward a few years when the kids were in high school and college and we felt called to take that trip.  That brought forth the very contagious travel-bug, for which there is no cure but more travel.  

Our second trip was to England to celebrate our 25th wedding anniversary.  When we celebrated our 20th anniversary, I told Jim that I didn't want anymore gifts of any kind for Christmases, birthdays, anniversaries for the next five years.  I told him I wanted him to start saving money so he could buy me a special gift for our 25th---"a-big-honking-go-into-debt-diamond-ring."  I meant it, too---for about two and a half years.  When we first got engaged, we were the proverbial poor church mice and I was extremely practical and considerate.  My engagement ring was a modest three-stone ring.  I loved it and love it still (although the stones kept getting knocked out and I eventually had it made into a necklace so I could actually wear it instead of keeping it in a drawer sans stone).  Anyway...I wanted some impractical bling for once.  But, like I said, the desire only lasted about half way through the five years.  After a time, I started to feel guilty.  As I mentioned, I was and still am a bit of the practical and considerate sort.  I just couldn't justify spending that kind of money for just me.  After some hemming and hawing, I decided that we should take a trip to Europe instead.  Jim's childhood friend, John and John's wife, Lynn, were to go on the trip with us.  In fact, we'd be staying with Lynn's college roommate, Lucy, while we were in London.  As it got closer and closer to the month we were to leave, it became clear that John and Lynn were not going to be able to make the trip.  Lynn's mom got sick and went to live with them and their five children.  They could not leave all that behind.  We were so disappointed and didn't know what to do.  After all, we didn't know Lynn's friend, Lucy, and we couldn't stay there.  We were broken-hearted for a time.  What to do?  What to do?  Finally, Jim said, "You know, Jan, I've always wanted to go see Utah..."   I sat there in disbelief and thought, "England.  Utah.  England.  Utah.  Hmmm."  Finally, I looked at Jim and said, "Jim, I am NOT going to Utah!!"  Jim's mouth got teeny-tiny and he said quietly, "Okay."  We didn't know what we'd do about housing, but we determined we were going to England.  We did and it was a wonderful trip.  And guess what?  We stayed with Lucy and her very gracious family.  Her gracious and elusive family.  We could never get them together for a photograph despite trying for two weeks.  

Since England, we've made two trips to Germany and will head to Ireland before the new year.  We eventually did  get to Utah.  With Clella.  And it was a trip worth every moment.

So, anyway, I would not change much beyond the additional traveling.  I love my work.  I love my family.  I love my friends.  I love our little church and I love being in ministry.  I love our finished home that allows us to entertain and embrace those we love and those we don't know.  I guess I might add that I would have people in more often, but since the renovation has been completed, impromptu gatherings happen so much more easily and delightfully.

Life is good.  A life of service is better.

Jan

p.s. The pictures will have to come later because they are on my laptop at work!

A Love Story

Being a pastor's wife isn't always my favorite thing.  Mind you, I would miss this life if we weren't in it, but there are just some days when it ain't no fun.  Christians can be such butts sometimes.  In fact, Christians can be butts a lot (and, yes, I think you might find 'butts' in the dictionary under 'Christian', right after 'loving' and 'giving'.  It just goes with the territory) .  I include myself in that statement, so don't think I'm goin' all "holier than thou" on you.  I've got three fingers pointing back at me, too.  Saturday became one of those days that I love.

One of the privileges to being in ministry is that one gets to experience the best and the worst of other people's lives.  I love watching as a young girl grows and matures and falls in love.  I love watching a young boy grow and mature and fall in love.  I love to see them pledge their lives, one to another, especially when you know that Christ is at the center of their relationship.  It brings a new dimension to the mix.  The metamorphosis is a gift to observe and experience as part of the great cycle of life.  It continues to evolve as they fight the battle of the first years and as they add to their family.  It's just a gift to be a part of that.

But love stories don't always start that way...

A few months ago, Jean started bringing Jim to church with her.  They were "just friends" and he was curious what our little church was all about.  We all had a sense that a bit more was going on, but we played along with them, giving a knowing wink to one another.  Jean was a great hostess and made sure that Jim was introduced around.  Jim had a great handshake and when he said he was "pleased to meet you", one had a sense he really meant it.  Unlike many who visit Horizon, Jim came back.  Every week. With Jean.  Time proved that Jim was as genuine as he seemed.  He was a really good man.  As I continued to watch Jean over the ensuing weeks, I noticed the appearance of a light spring in her step.  You might even say there was a bit of a sashay as she moved.  Jim was very attentive to Jean's needs.  It was a different kind of love story and it was blossoming before our eyes.

Jean has been a widow for forty-two years.  Forty-two years.  Her husband died unexpectedly of a heart attack when she was forty years old.  He was a principal at one of the local schools and he died at his desk.  This left Jean with three small children to raise on her own.  She did so by supporting her family as a first grade teacher.  She retired after many years of loving little ones.  Whenever we have visitors to church, I can count on Jean to introduce herself and I know it won't take long before she is learning of their family lineage.  Somewhere along the line she has taught a father or grandfather or aunt or cousin and she's going to figure it out.  In a town the size of Bremen, it doesn't take long to find the connection.  Everyone is related to everyone, except of course for those of us like me who are from away.

Jim hasn't been a widower for quite as long.  His wife, Lucy, died last fall.  Jim and Lucy had lost a son of their own tragically the year before when he was in a cherry picker for work and a power line brushed against his arm.  Jim and Lucy had been longtime friends of Jean and her husband.  I think Jim told me that he and Lucy had been friends with Jean for 62 years.  I don't know the details, but somewhere along the line of the last half year or more, Jean and Jim became companions.  I think it just came naturally from that longtime friendship.  And so, Jim came to church with Jean.  And we all watched.  On Sundays, they go to his church. Jim C said he'd always wondered to his wife, Lucy, why Jean never remarried.  Later, he told Jean's son, "I think God was just saving her for me".

About two months ago, my husband, Jim, came home and with a twinkle in his eye said, "I've got something to tell you".  It seems Jean had visited him at the church office that morning and wanted to know how he thought it would look if Jim and she got married.  My Jim thought it was a wonderful idea.  There was a bit of a catch, though.  They wanted to be married in the eyes of God, not through the eyes of the law.  New marriage gets complicated for the elderly.  A legal marriage would mean that they would both lose financially.  There is the complication of pensions lost and separate families being provided for.  It is a great set-up for stress, tension and hard emotions.  It's not fair, but it is the way our legal and financial systems work in the U.S.  Jean and Jim C did not want to do anything that would be frowned upon in the eyes of God.  If God couldn't bless their relationship, then it just would remain as is.  Because my Jim had researched this situation years before he was able to quickly ease her mind and the planning began.  Jean was still a little hesitant for people to know (she was afraid "people might talk"), but she gave my Jim permission to tell me.  That night at church as she passed by me, she grabbed my arm and said with a bit of a giggle, "You know something, don't you?".  My response was, "YES, Jean, but I have one thing to say to you---NO BABIES!".  "Oh, you," Jean said as she slapped my arm.  I got all warm inside.

A few weeks later, my Jim was in Utah with Clella and another couple and Jean and Jim C stopped by.  Jim C has a vintage car in pristine condition and I kept seeing it drive slowly by my house.  Finally, they pulled in the driveway.  It was about 8:30 pm, but they were hoping to catch me so I could call my Jim to confirm a date for their wedding.  We sat and talked a bit and I asked them a little bit more.  We talked about their children and how they were feeling about this marriage and the love and support Jim and Jean were feeling from family and friends.  Jean told me that Jim's kids were wanting him to move to be closer to them, but Jean said, "I told them it'll be okay.  I'll take care of him.".  She said it with such tenderness and such love.  Her saying that brought tears to my eyes because I realized something.  Jean was content in the thought that she could take care of Jim.  In all the years I've known her, I've never known her to be unhappy in her single life, but there was a settled joy in her statement.  It was lovely.

So, last Saturday morning around eleven o'clock, my Jim and I joined Jean and Jim's families at the home of Jean's son (a third Jim!).   Her son had made the outside just lovely adding a display of flowers for the bride and groom.  As luck would have it, it began to pour as the ceremony was to begin, so inside we went.  The rain could not dampen the spirit of the day.  Jim C was surprised to see my Jim in a suit and tie because my Jim preaches in blue jeans.  "Oh, I told everybody you'd probably be wearing jeans!".  "Not for a special day like this, Jim.".  "Oh, well, you didn't have to do that, Jim.".  (All these 'Jims' are making my head swim!).

As my Jim began the simple yet sweet ceremony, he talked about the vows to be spoken.  The vows would be the traditional vows, but he said the words "til death do us part" take on special significance when the bride is 82 and the groom is 86.  Then the tears began to pour.  I couldn't stop.  When my Jim asked the groom if he took Jean to be his wedded wife, he didn't say "I will".  He said with conviction, "I will!"  When my Jim asked the bride the same, she whispered with equal conviction, "I will".  As they tried to place the rings on the finger of the other, it was not without struggle due to swollen knuckles.  We all laughed out loud as we collectively cried to hear the words of exasperation being spoken back and forth.  I wish I had gotten it on tape.  

 When my Jim pronounced them "husband and wife", there was a simultaneous "Ooh" from the bride and an "Aww" from the groom. 

My heart just danced and I knew I would have to write this down.

Oh, and the honeymoon?  They went to church that night.

 What a gift I received to be present at this wedding.