What I want today . . .

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Last year for my dad’s birthday, we bought tickets to a baseball game for the local boys of summer, Pensacola’s very own – Blue Wahoos. After a much enjoyed Whataburger and sweet tea (of course) lunch, we headed on down to the stadium – sunscreen in hand. It was my first Wahoos game at a stadium right on Pensacola Bay. As we were approaching our section, we noticed two ladies hop up from some seats and two gentlemen in what appeared to be our seats. After a recheck with the ushers, the ladies that had left and the gentlemen now seated were, in fact, in our seats. They apologized and moved one section over. All was great until the ladies (and at this point, I use that term loosely) came back. One of them announced (well, more like hollered), “You are in OUR seats.” I politely answered that in fact these were our seats. I tried to further explain, but was cut off by a woman with her face in mine yelling that she had paid good money for these seats. I stood up and showed her my tickets as the usher stepped in stopping my mother from bopping her in the head. The usher showed the two where their husbands were sitting and that they had sat in the wrong section in the first place. Strangely, no apologies were uttered.

Sadly, I get her frustration. She wanted to watch a baseball game on Sunday afternoon, and she was proud of her seats. I get it. Did I like being yelled at? Nope. But in the end, we all got what we came for that day.

Right now, I am feeling a giant passel of wants. Today, my son, my beloved red-headed boy, should be graduating from high school. But that isn’t going to happen, because he and three sweet other babes were killed when someone made a choice five years ago. I knew this day would come, and I am trying to hold it together with the best grace that I can muster.

Here is a current list of my wants –

I want to tell everyone that my son is attending Yale. (The university he vowed in 6^th grade he would attend.)
I want to be going crazy, cleaning and shopping and preparing, for a graduation party.
I want my eyes to stop hurting from the tears I have cried this week.
I want the pounding in my chest to stop hurting.
I want my thoughts to be clear, not insulating me from the pain that is going to come.
I want to remind a certain few that I am not apologizing for my emotions. There is and forever will be only one momma to Reed.
I want to hug my son today – not just see a gown on a chair where he should be.
Lastly and more importantly, I want to tell him just one more time how proud I am of him.

But just like those seats at the stadium, what we want and what we get are often two very different things. So in the last couple weeks, I have clung – tightly- to the One who has collected each tear of mine in His bottle. I asked Him to show me where He was in the midst of all of this. It seems every salinated drop has provided spiritual vision that has opened the eyes to my soul. In all honesty, my provisions have been great and had I blinked I might have missed:

The well wishing to another mom who is doing the crazy planning before I had a chance to feel sorry for myself.
The hugs from fellow moms of graduates who have sought me out when I needed them the most.
A mailbox flooded with invitations from Reed’s friends for their parties because those tender hearts want us to know we are loved.
The mom who held me when I sobbed on the front steps of the church on Sunday.
The friend almost a thousand miles away who has texted or called every day – just make sure that I am doing okay.
The friends who upon hearing my joke about taking up excessive drinking offered to do so with me – just so they could hear me laugh.
A midnight ice cream run with a friend because that can solve most of life’s problems.
The mom who gave me a pep talk in the Wal-mart parking lot telling me that each of the graduates who knew Reed well was going to change the world because his presence changed the world.
The friends that offered to sit with me at graduation to just to hold my hand and pass me Kleenex.
The church that called and asked for me to come and speak this weekend, numbing the empty void of no celebration, but more importantly, reminding me of what He has planned for my life and Reed’s story
An e-mail extraordinaire that gave me the strength to get out of bed today.
Continuing on in traditions – oh yeah – McDonald’s for breakfast on the last day of school. We have to go on – even when it hurts.
A cell phone battery almost dead before 8:00 am filled with texts of love.

Even though the items on my first list hurt with an ache that I didn’t know was humanly possible, I look at that second list and I can feel God’s touch. I hear His whisper of love and mercy. I know that He will be there with His bottle collecting my tears, wiping away each one. So that one day when I am reunited with Reed and I meet God in person, we are going to walk hand-in-hand to empty that bottle right on into the ocean.

Then I will stand before my Father with hands raised high – praising him for each and every sweet provision, including the chance to be Reed’s momma. After that, I am going to hug the mess out of my boy!

This song says it all . . .

Not your typical Mother’s Day tribute

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Mark Twain once said, “It’s not the size of the dog in the fight, it’s the size of the fight in the dog.”

I don’t know the circumstances regarding the utterance, but I think we all understand the meaning. I know that more than once in my life I have had to muster up strength and courage to fight against all kinds of injustice. I’m proud to know my own children carry that legacy on, and we affectionately refer to one of our kids as “the truth and justice meter”. More than once, I have heard my husband say, “She may be small, but she is scrappy. My money is on her.” I don’t actually consider myself small, but my “fight” in this world can pack a mighty wallop.

The truth is this is one trait where the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.

In most ways, I take after my dad from chosen career to genetic traits. But there is one trait that I definitely get from my mom. The tenacity to never give up and to fight when no one else speaks up are pretty big legacies.

I am reminded of a time from my childhood when my mom accomplished the bravest thing I have ever seen anybody do. Now, if you were to ask her, I probably have some of the details wrong, but remember, it is my elementary school brain that remembers the story.

Long ago, my parents were dorm parents. We lived in the apartment complex attached to the Men’s Athletic dormitory at Columbus (GA) College. To us kids, it felt like we lived in a castle. There was lots of room to romp and play, with the exception being right out our back door. The neighbors had “some type of something” going on over there that involved large and vicious-sounding dogs. Most likely, those were real fighting dogs. The people, who we rarely ever saw, kept those dogs tied out on short stakes with no shade in the hot Georgia weather, day and night. If one of us kids so much as stepped foot back there, those dogs literally warned us with their growling and snarling not to do it again. They were big, barking behemoths that scared us to death.

Then one day came the thunderstorm of all thunderstorms. Deep, dark, threatening clouds that released thunderous noise, bright lightning, and golf ball hailstones terrorized our neighborhood. My mom looked out the window at the storm, but instead of seeing the weather, her heart was broken. All she saw was frightened animals who were being pummeled by hailstones. Putting her own life at risk, she gathered up cardboard boxes and went out into the storm. All I can remember doing is holding my brother and crying, watching her go from one dog to another to provide each one with a rudimentary shelter.

Sopping wet, cold and I am certain bruised, shed didn’t bother to towel off before she proceeded to call the police upon returning inside. From there, the details get fuzzy, but I do know that she was called to testify in court about the maltreatment of those animals.

And she did!

An injustice had occurred and if no one else was going to stand up for those dogs, she would.

One day, the dogs were all gone, and she told us the police came and picked them up. I would like to believe that they went to loving homes, but even if they didn’t . . .

I am so proud of my mom and the fight left in her “dog”. It is a lesson I never forgot.

This picture is 5 years old, but it is one of the few I have with my mom and her mom in recent years. (my daughter, my mom, me, my other daughter, and my Nanny). This will be our first Mother’s Day without Nanny.

What a momma won’t do . . .

Then sings my soul . . .

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I have written before about how God continually teaches me that lemons are just blessings waiting to happen. Last Thursday was another one of those chalkboard sessions for me and my Papa. I was disgruntled because one of our vehicles was in the shop, and we had three different directions to travel. Thus, I was forced to rent a vehicle to make a trip to work on my upcoming BIG announcement. (I will admit that our local Enterprise agent is perhaps one of the sweetest people in this town; so, if I had to rent a car, at least, I got to spend time with that ray of sunshine.)

After taking off down the road, I remembered that she said the vehicle had satellite radio. So I decided to channel surf, and I eventually landed on WSM which is the station for the Grand Ole Opry. Right there in that compact car I had a front row seat at the funeral of The Possum, country music legend George Jones.

Listening to story after story, I realized quickly that George Jones could have been my uncle. He embodied the working class of Southerners who work, eat, play, and, most importantly, pray hard. All the things that describe my people: salt of the earth, kind-hearted souls who love Jesus and who love to eat. George faced demons that are similar to ones that are a part of the fabric of my family’s story. The golden voice made us laugh, but the songs that touched me were the ones that made me cry and reminded me that through it all God loves us.

That message was repeated over and over during the moving service. My two favorite speakers were two Mikes: Mike Huckabee and George’s pastor, Mike Wilson. Right there on a South Dakota highway, I was transported to Nashville, listening to the words of encouragement and wisdom. Pastor Mike shared about how the transformed George was beloved by children – much like some of my real uncles, and one who rested in the knowledge of his ultimate destination – again like my uncles. But it was Huckabee’s words that stirred something deep within my heart, bringing to the surface how much I miss “amen’s” from white church pews.

As he spoke my soul was ignited, and out blurted the words that no one heard but me. “Preach on, Governor!” Hands raised (okay, one hand – I was driving) I was praising God for the message that was the Possum’s life. The story was simple. He loved people for who they were and he understood the temptations, traps, and toils that ensnare us all.

George understood that Jesus loves the hardworking men and women of this country. He knew that if Jesus was here today, He would have been at the honky-tonk on Friday night. Not to live the life, but to the love people. ~ Governor Mike Huckabee

I, for one, think we need to hear a whole lot more of that song – the song of love in the world.

So on that day, I was thanking God for rental cars, satellite radio, men brave enough to change our hearts and The Possum.

How sweet tea saved the day

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For true followers of this blog, you know that I have been on a roller coaster ride with Mother Nature this spring. At some points, like during the three day snowstorm in April, she and I were not even on speaking terms. During one of those days, it became apparent that we were in for the long haul, and our menu was in a rut. What does a wise and frugal mom do when you have your children home? You make freezer meals – which roughly translated in kid speak is forced servitude, but nevertheless we had fun.

We did need a few supplies to round out our chosen meals, and I coaxed our newest driver into being my second. (Of course, it didn’t hurt that he is a lineman and could push if we got stuck, and undeniably he scrapes windows so much better than I.) Before we left, I told him that I needed to get something to make sure we were prepared for our journey to roll-back price land. He assumed (rather incorrectly) that I needed some cold weather preparedness item. Pshaw! Nope! What I went back for was the one thing that always makes my day brighter – iced sweet tea!

I didn’t just grab any glass. Oh no! I needed a Tervis tumbler so that my tea stayed nice and cold. (I know what you are thinking. A blizzard in April wasn’t cold enough?) The shopping trip was successful, and I was never parched. Years before, I would have been eyed as rather odd carrying a glass of sweet tea through a foot of snow (uphill both ways). Alright, I’m stretching it on the snow, but not the eyeballing. I’ve carried Southern-style sweet tea with me for as long as have I owned my own cups, but it wasn’t until Uncle Si that people stopped thinking it was weird. It took loveable ol’ Si Robertson of Duck Dynasty and his trusty Tupperware cup and tea pitcher for people to realize that sweet tea isn’t just a beverage – it’s a way of life.

Recently, that sweet tea saved me (and my friend) from making a colossal mistake. We are in the process of launching a new ministry, and we had decided on a name that we thought would represent our hearts desire (but more importantly God’s plan) for women – to know that they are not alone and that His grace covers every hurt. We even launched a newsletter featuring that old name. Then our marketing team said in a kind and gentle way, “Nuh-uh! You do not want to do that. You need something more personal and dynamic.” Stunned! Where do we go from here?

Divine intervention actually came to me while thinking about that crazy trip to the store in the snowstorm. What is something signature about me? Right there in that glass of orange pekoe and sucrose was the answer – sweet tea. Thus, God granted me an epiphany into how amazing grace really is – it’s SWEET!

Amazing grace – how sweet the sound!

Taste and see that the LORD is good; blessed is the one who takes refuge in him. Psalm 34:8 (NIV)

Watch in the coming days to see just how good He really is! I promise it will be sweet!

Of blanket forts and stuffies

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Special thanks to “Brave to Just Be Me” at Tumblr

Every child’s spring should jump in puddles, play in the wind, involve something with baseball, and watch for birds and flowers to return.

I enjoy each of those things, but one holds a special place in my heart. Baseball! A few years back, we wanted to attend opening day festivities for the Minnesota Twins when they were still playing in the Metrodome. Sadly, my husband was travelling, and it was too overwhelming to make the six hour round trip during the middle of the week with, at the time, three small children. I had long, sad faces. The kind of faces where suddenly you realize your children could be eyelash models.

During the day I hatched a plan that I thought would be the best alternative given the circumstances. I sent everyone out to play when we arrived home from school, under the guise that they needed to enjoy the beautiful day. I reassured them I would call them in when supper was ready. While they were outside playing, I stripped beds and dug out every white sheet and chair that we owned. When called in for supper, they arrived to find our living room transformed into the Metrodome West, replete with hot dogs and popcorn. We spent the most magical evening watching the game, and enjoying the fact that at our Metrodome, you could lay on the floor.

I was reminded of that magical time when last Friday evening, I watched my youngest start hauling one blanket at a time up the stairs while I was busy organizing in the basement. My husband, eyebrows raised, asked, “What are you doing with all these blankets and when are you going to pick all that up?” Her swift response mentioned that she was having a meeting with her stuffies.

As a true connoisseur of blanket forts, I knew exactly what the twinkle in her eye meant. Being the youngest and the only one home that evening, she was creating her own fun. There was a party (which actually had some serious conversation) going on between one little curly-headed girl and a whole bunch of stuffed animals, snuggled safely in the confines of their fleecy abode.

Eventually, my freckled-face sweetie emerged with the results of the meeting. The item on the agenda was who among them would be able to attend the school field trip to the Teddy Bear Clinic. Enter the music and words from the Charlie Brown special where Snoopy wants to visit the little girl in the hospital. Only one stuffie allowed! Would it be Joe, the teddy bear who saw a sweet little girl through nights of terrors after her brother was killed, but who has a penchant for mischief? Would it be Bacon, the pig, who loved a little girl at grief camp and who has a secret life as a superpig? How about Reed-y bear made from her brother’s clothes? Or Pork Chop, another pig who came home with us after a swim meet and likes to lounge by bedroom windows? The only catch for tomorrow’s field trip is the stuffie might get a shot and possibly a cast. After a lengthy discussion, a decision had been made.

Curled up in my arms, she confided only Reed-A-Cheetah, who teaches others about loving in the face of tragedy, was brave enough to go on the adventure. Right there with those tiny arms wrapped in mine, messes didn’t matter, because I knew that imaginations were alive and well. Mine was the only house on the block with a VIP board room, and more importantly, one stuffy brave enough to protect little girls lives here.

The tale of two Reeds

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I wish I could locate my photos of the two Reeds together.

I received one of the sweetest text messages ever today, while still snuggled in my quilts and pjs. The message was simple:

May the 4^th be with you! Thinking of you and Reed today. Love you!

It was a simple acknowledgement of how fun this day was to our favorite little redhead, but more so, the remembrance that someone recognized we would miss him, just a little more today. Written in the text was a whole lot of love from a friend who always brings me joy.

Once up, I spent a little bit of time searching for the perfect Star Wars video on Youtube. I wanted one that would make my proclamation of love for my Jedi, who actually had the e-mail address jedione@????.??? once upon a time. Settling on the link below, I posted a quick tribute and was off to spend the rest of the morning with my family.

All was well, until I stepped outside in bare feet to deliver items to the recycling bin. Ouch! That is cold! (Later in the day, I actually noticed a few snowflakes mixed in with the drizzle that persisted throughout the day.) If ever a light saber would come in handy, today was it. Of course, it could have functioned as a blue therapy light as well. I might actually have to look into that. Additionally, I would want it to make the great sounds effects as well – which would doubly serve to lift my sad spirits.

After reading the thermometer (a not so balmy 38 F) by my kitchen window, I got the chuckles. You know those that I seem to have a proclivity for, the kind that bubble up from a deeply hidden well-spring that just erupt forth spewing uncontrollable laughter.

The source of my giggles was from a cold April day in Alabama many, many years ago. I was living with my grandparents during graduate school at Auburn University. My Papa (pronounced pawpaw) and I were going on one adventure of sorts. Upon stepping outside that day, we noticed our breath in the air, which was not typical in late April in Opelika. We (well okay I) went back in to get a warmer jacket. Papa Reed was dressed appropriately – because he was astute follower of the best weather forecaster around: The Farmer’s Almanac. Anyways, once I finally joined him, he dropped some good ol’ fashioned country knowledge on his young, but educated granddaughter. “Gal, it’s cold as a blue lizard out here.”

I still remember looking at him and bursting into laughter. If that saying didn’t describe the situation to a tee, I don’t know what one would. He relished my giggles and we continued on, him with a twinkle in his eye and me with a giggle at the ready.

Standing at the kitchen counter today, I could almost picture my two Reeds in heaven, each with those sparkling blue eyes.

One saying: “Momma, May the 4^th be with you!” and the other saying, “Yep, Gal, still cold as a blue lizard.”

Today, I am grateful that God gave me the opportunity to love both of them.

One tired momma and lots of fun!

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All Rights Reserved Lil'Sprout Memories Photography

Compared to where I grew up, I live in a small town. Right here I feel like I should insert a perennial Hee- Haw favorite. Marshall, MN – population 13,700 – SALUTE! More than once, comments have been made to our family with noses turned up, “What do you do for fun there?”

The truthful answer is we make our own. We spend time with friends doing all sorts of things, but nine times out of ten our fun has some food component. My favorite plans (and meals) are the ones that get put together about eleven minutes before they happen. It might be a chance meeting in the grocery store and then – Voila! – we have the makings of an impromptu party.

I relish small town living, and for me, personally, the only major drawback is the missed opportunities involving food, particularly fine dining. Another even smaller town restaurant had coursed meals for years, but the chef moved away, much to my broken heart. We loved driving down and enjoying a relaxing evening among friends and strangers alike. But those glory days are now done.

Over the weekend, I had the opportunity to put my love of food – cooking, eating, and fine dining – to good use. The result was an eight coursed meal for two special young people in my life for their first prom. I posted a few comments on Facebook about my busy day, which elicited quite a few inquiries as to what I was doing. So, I am using today’s blog to tell a story of food, but it is more so a story of two families who created their own fun for one afternoon.

All courses were homemade, except for the bread (which I simply just ran out of time) and cheese (but reassured I do know the cows).

Course One –lemon sorbet

Course Two – fresh fruit bowl

Course Three – bacon wrapped scallops

Course Four – strawberry gazpacho

Course Five – baby lettuce, pecans, red onions, feta cheese with homemade lemon balm/basil/blueberry vinaigrette

Course Six – Assorted cheeses, bread, dipping oil with pesto

Course Seven – Grilled T-bone steaks with steamed purple and gold potatoes served with steamed yellow and green summer squash with dill and sea salt.

Course Eight – Mini-cheesecakes with fresh berries

In the end, the sun was shining, the prom goers and staff (parents and siblings) were well fed, and many laughs ensued. So what do we do for fun in a small town? You never can tell what we come up with next!

Here we go . . . again

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It is April 18^th today, and my children were released from school early because of a snowstorm. I snapped this picture of my favorite goat (a tin ware caprine friend given to me by one of my favorite families). Poor Beauregard was plastered, prompting an immediate rescue. Hope springs eternal, and ol’ Beau has seen more than his share of winter in the two weeks he’s been back standing sentinel on the front stoop.

What he has witnessed got me to thinking about another time honored evidence of spring. Each year, we watch, waiting for our feathered friends to alight our yard. The arrival of robins in my neck of the woods also means the utterance of old time sayings. Most have something to do with the emergence of spring, but one in particular seems to be most fitting.

Gotta snow three times on a robin’s (or you could substitute guard goat’s) back before it’s spring.

This year the saying is definitely true. And it’s been verifiable a few other times in my life as well. Today marks number three for cold, white backs on our red-breasted birds.

While the rest of us begrudge and bemoan what seems like the worst winter yet (basically because we were spoiled with virtually no snow and warmer temperatures last year), there are others like a dear friend of mine who are thanking God for the miserable weather.

Sometimes it takes the wisdom of someone walking through a storm of life for you to really gain perspective. Chatting at church last night, my friend shared that she, too, was sick of winter, but then she figured God has a plan for everything.

Turns out a little boy very close to her is doing battle in his own body (Enemy #1 = leukemia). For the next so-many days, he is restricted to indoors while the war wages on. What’s the best way to stop sick little boys from playing outside in the fresh springtime air? The answer: make the weather miserable so he doesn’t want to go out.

Wow! Talk about a different perspective. While we still have our struggles here, some snow on the ground or extra days in school are pretty small beans in comparison to fighting for your life. Yet, it took the words of a worried friend to give me new vision.

Safe, secure, and snuggled in with my precious babes, today I am going to look at each flake as a blessing from God.

And just in case we get a whole lot more blessings on any backs, I will let ol’ Beau vacation a little longer in the house.

Just when I thought I was safe

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Picture found at www.awayathomemom.com whose blog on this subject made me chuckle.

I had the honor of speaking to a MOPS group in a town not-so-far from my own this morning. It was a blessing, bringing joy to my heart with the knowledge that my story of forgiveness touched other lives. Time and time again, God has used events in my life to teach me about His heart for forgiveness. Totally unscripted as I stood there before those sweet mommas; I knew how I was to end the talk.

Without forgiveness, mercy and grace are just words.

It was a great experience, and I am glad I had the chance to go. But that isn’t what I am choosing to share with y’all. No, today I am going to share one of those divine appointments that just make you smile.

One my drive to the church, I had drunk a large Coke which didn’t seem to be a problem until I was backing out of the parking lot to head home. Now here is a serious lesson in pride – something this girl could use some work on. I was too prideful to scoot back in and ask to use the church’s restroom. Racking my brain on what was available in Montevideo, I made a bee-line to the mecca of all Southern girls: Wal-mart.

As I entered into the bathroom, I ran into a mom of one of my children’s former classmates. We hadn’t seen each other in a while, and I don’t think she recognized me at all. Thus, it wasn’t time for a reunion in the potty department. First, I really had to go, and second, who does that? Hey! I know our daughters were not really friends, but your child used to be a classmate of my child. So nice to see you! Glad we bumped into each other. I love what they’ve done with the place. That probably never really happens.

I soon discovered that this mom wasn’t using the facilities, in the traditional sense. Nope! Instead of bathroom, it was her conference room. She was having a cell-phone conversation with another one of her children (who apparently made a bad choice at school). She proceeded to coach the child on what she expected of him; told him, yes in fact, he was in trouble; and explained how he was to apologize the teacher and make better choices for the rest of the day. She ended with the words all children need to hear: I love you.

Then it came over me, and I knew why God put me in THAT bathroom at THAT very time. Seriously God! I am tinkling here, and you want me to tell that Mom you are proud of her.

Apparently, her child thought the conversation was over and hung up. But this mom called back to the school to make sure she connected with the teacher. (This was a good thing because I still needed to wash and dry my hands, and I didn’t want to have to chase her around the rolled-back discounts.)

While she was on hold, I walked right over to her and said, “If no one has told you this in a while, God wants you to know: YOU are a really good momma.” I stayed long enough to see tears well up in the corner of her eyes, and then I excused myself.

I keep my eyes and ears open to how I can bless others, but this was new. . . even for me. So I guess, today I am thanking God for good mommas and full bladders.

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What I want today . . .

Not your typical Mother’s Day tribute

Mark Twain once said, “It’s not the size of the dog in the fight, it’s the size of the fight in the dog.”

What a momma won’t do . . .

Then sings my soul . . .

How sweet tea saved the day

Of blanket forts and stuffies

The tale of two Reeds

One tired momma and lots of fun!

Here we go . . . again

Just when I thought I was safe