"Thirty was so strange for me. I've really had to come to terms with the fact that I am now a walking and talking adult." ~C.S. Lewis

Birthdays seem to come and go, and in some ways, they can run together when you've had a lot of them. At least that's the case for me. But some stand out - those "milestones" we hear about - and 30 is certainly one of those. I can remember how turning 30 was a pivotal time in my life- I had twin five-year-old girls and a just-turned-three-year-old boy who all kept me very busy. We were in the process of moving to a different state - in fact, we moved the week after I turned 30. I remember how it felt strange to say "I'm 30-years-old." And like C.S. Lewis' quote in the title above, it seemed that turning 30 indicated I was an adult, which meant I should have life figured out, right?! But in so many ways I still felt like I didn't really have it all together like "30" said I should!  

     

Fast forward 24 years, and today, two of the best young women I know turn 30. Thirty years ago today, I was looking at twin girls, born four weeks early. They were small but healthy. They made me a mom and changed my whole identity. Of the mother/daughter relationship, Adrienne Rich wrote, "Probably there is nothing in human nature more resonant with charges than the flow of energy between two biologically alike bodies, one of which has lain in amniotic bliss inside the other, one of which has labored to give birth to the other. The materials are here for the deepest mutuality and the most painful estrangement." I'm blessed not only to feel that deep mutuality without any hint of estrangement, but to also have that doubled. 

My girls are the best. Since their conception, I've been overwhelmed by both the immense blessing and colossal responsibility that is mine to be THEIR mom. They came to us with very different personalities, distinct strengths and weaknesses, and unique talents. Jeff and I often talk about how that even though they are grown, married mothers now, they are both still the same basic packages they were as little ones - those same fundamental personalities they displayed as infants continue to this day. 

And today, they are 30.

I have watched my girls throughout their lives with a strong sense of pride and gratitude. I've had the privilege of observing their growth in every way, having a front-row seat for all of the big events in their lives - both happy and sad. I've cheered each of them on as they've accomplished great things, and I've cried with them during difficulties. I've been filled with anxiety now on four separate occasions as they have birthed their own babies - there is something gut-wrenching in knowing that your child is going through that long, painful process of giving birth and becoming a mother herself.

A few weeks ago, we were blessed to spend a week together as a family. And although I've watched my girls in the past as they have lovingly mothered their own babies, I was able during our vacation week to witness them love on each other's babies. These women who are each striving every day to live godly lives while teaching and training their little ones to do the same have a bond with each other beyond explanation. Not only as twin sisters but now as mothers together. While Aunt Sarah's primary responsibility is to Lydia, Henry, and Owen, she took the time to love on her nephew, Noah. Likewise, Aunt B was mostly busy with Noah, but she also found time to snuggle Owen and play with Lydia and Henry. Their love for one another's children is palpable. I love that.  

  

Happy Birthday, girls! What an honor and privilege it is to be YOUR mom. I love each of you uniquely and fiercely. I love the passion you both have for God. I smile when I see you opening His Word in the early morning or late afternoon hours for some quiet time with our Lord while your babies sleep. I'm proud of the wives and mothers you both are, and the way you both selflessly serve your families and friends. I also am touched deeply by your love for each other and for your brother - I love watching the three of you together, the way you always have each others' backs, knowing that those profound relationships you have with one other will last long after I am gone from this life. I also love how unique you both are - sisters, twins, yes; but uniquely Sarah and uniquely Rebecca. (I have never liked it when people refer to you as "the twins.") And I am so very thankful for both of you and the differences you possess. The only thing better than having you both as daughters is knowing that my grandchildren have you as mothers. You are both miles ahead of where your mother was at 30 in your faith, patience, and mothering skills. I'm sure that the inadequacies I possessed and mistakes I made in my 30's as your mother have served to strengthen you in your resolve to be and do better - and you both are. 

Haley Elizabeth Garwood wrote, "The weaving of life between mother and daughter is just like the making of a basket. As time goes by, the interlacing takes shape and becomes stronger." I love how we are interlaced, and how now at 30-years-old, you are each not only my daughters but also two of my closest friends. Thirty-year-old women, shining your lights and loving your families in your little corners of the world. Strong, godly women, but still my babies. Forever our little Princess and Sweet Pea. "I'll love you forever, I'll like you for always; As long as I'm living my bab(ies) you'll be." Even when you're 30 and beyond. 

“A daughter is a mother's gender partner, her closest ally in the family confederacy, an extension of her self." ~Victoria Secunda 

"I love these little people; and it is not a slight thing when they, who are so fresh from God, love us." ~Charles Dickens

Last week our family gathered for a much-anticipated vacation in beautiful Destin, Florida. I spent a lot of time cooking in the weeks prior to our trip. In fact, I prepared and froze every dinner meal for the week, as well as a lot of breakfast food. I didn't do this to give myself time to relax while at the beach. My primary reason for all of the prep work was so that I could wear my "Mimi hat" for the majority of our time there.

Lydia, Henry, Owen, and Noah. Each one is unique. And each one is worthy of Mimi's undivided attention. These four precious grandchildren that Jeff and I have been blessed with are the most special children I've ever known. (If you have grandchildren, you know exactly what I mean!)                

Lydia will soon be five-years-old - my first grandchild, and (so far) my only granddaughter. She loves puzzles, coloring, and being silly. She enjoys playing dress-up, and she's got quite a funny sense of humor - back in July, she jokingly began referring to her Pappy as "Frank." She knows this is funny, and she occasionally referred to him as Frank last week in order to tease him and get a laugh out of the rest of the family! During our last beach vacation two years ago, we could not get her to put so much as her big toe into the ocean. However, this year she loved walking in and letting the waves crash into her, as long as a trusted adult was there with her to hold her hand. I love playing with Lydia and seeing the world through her sweet, innocent, and silly five-year-old eyes.

Next, there's freshly-three-year-old Henry. When I look at Henry, I'm always reminded of a young Uncle Caleb - not only does Henry look a lot like Caleb, he has aspects of Caleb's personality as well. Henry can be silly, and he loves to make everyone laugh - he's good at it, too! Henry also feels his feelings in a big way. Often, Henry will get a far-away look in his eyes, like he is somewhere a million miles away. And just like Lydia began calling her Pappy "Frank," Henry would tease me at times during this trip by calling me "Gran" instead of Mimi. He became quite attached to a duck floatie last week, and he named him "Paul." I watched him on several occasions gathering a shovel full of sand to feed Paul. Henry's three-year-old imagination and his spontaneity are refreshing. I love the reminders he gives me to live in THIS moment and enjoy it fully.

     

Lydia and Henry both enjoy being read to, playing make-believe, helping Mimi cook, and giving the best hugs. They love each other, and it's fun to peek in on them as they play together. Last week they enjoyed playing in the sand together, chasing birds on the beach, eating popsicles, swimming in the pool, and playing hide-and-seek in the house. We colored, painted, and played with their toys. And I never tired of hearing, "I want to sit by Mimi!" when it was mealtime - by the end of the week, I even won Henry over to my side of the table.  It is so fun doing "big-kid" things with them, and I am enjoying every moment I get to spend in this preschool stage with Lydia and Henry.   

                                     

“Carve your name on hearts, not tombstones. A legacy is etched into the minds of others and the stories they share about you.” ~Shannon Alder

He departed unloved. He departed without being desired, with no one's sorrow, without being wanted. No one was sorry, no one was sad he died. He left without joy. He died and no one even felt sad.   He died unmourned. There were no tears shed when he died—it was good riddance! 

He died to no one's regret.

Those words come from different translations of 2 Chronicles 21:20. They were written about King Jehoram of Judah. (Ironically, his name means, "Jehovah is exalted" - unfortunately, he did everything BUT exalt Jehovah.) Jehoram was a horrible, ungodly man who married Ahab's daughter, Athaliah - interestingly, her name is the female version of "Jehovah is exalted." What a pair. Jehoram led God's people into idolatry. He took the throne when he was 32 years old, murdering his six brothers along the way to secure that position. 

In 2 Chronicles 21, Elijah sent a letter to Jehoram in which God condemned the king, promising to strike everyone in Jehoram's family with a "heavy blow." He then went on to say that Jehoram would become ill with a disease in his bowels "until the disease causes your bowels to come out."  God always keeps His promises, and after a two-year-long painful disease, that's exactly what happened. Jehoram died in great pain. He had no funeral. And in the words of inspired Scripture, "He died to no one's regret."

As I read 2 Chronicles in my daily Bible reading program that I follow with 40 of my brothers and sisters earlier this week, those words jumped out at me. I found out in our group "talk it over" section of the reading program that others were impacted in the same way. There is something very disturbing about that. Even the worst people of our society who commit heinous acts generally have someone who regrets their death. Marina Oswald reportedly visited her husband Lee's grave several times a week in the years following the assassination of President John F. Kennedy. And Timothy McVeigh's father expressed in several interviews how he grieved - not only about what his son did but over the loss of his child.

Last week I attended a graveside service for a lady that I would consider an acquaintance - I had spent limited time with her, but I mostly knew her through my friendship with her family. She was nothing like Jehoram, and she died to the regret of many. I often find that by attending such services, I leave wishing I had known the deceased person better. They are eulogized (which literally means "to speak well of") by people who knew them well. Last week was no different. She touched many lives, and she left behind family and friends who are greatly grieved by her departure.

We've all experienced that. The writer of Ecclesiastes tells us it is better to go to the house of mourning than the house of feasting, "for death is the destiny of everyone, and the living should take this to heart." With a graveside experience fresh on my mind as I read Jehoram's obituary, the contrast was striking. I've certainly taken it to heart.

Revelation 14:13 says that my deeds will follow me. What will they say? Craig D. Lounsbrough wrote, “Lives are transformed in the solitude of those entirely unassuming moments where one life turns sufficiently away from itself in order to brush by another, and in the brushing it leaves that life forever better. And if I am privileged to have any legacy at all, let it be a million of these moments.” I love that imagery - turning away from myself to focus on someone else, leaving them better simply because I "brushed" by them. I can think of a lot of people who leave me forever better. I can also remember a few who haven't. 

Ultimately, all that matters is how the Lord feels about me. I know from Ezekiel 33:11 that God takes no pleasure in the death of the wicked, and from Psalm 116:15 He actually considers the death of His saints "precious." Thankfully, He is "patient ... not wishing that any should perish, but that all should come to repentance." (2 Peter 3:9) And the most beautiful part of all of that is if I serve Him first, loving Him with all my being, my legacy - that "brushing by others" in this life that Lounsbrough wrote about - will take care of itself. Every interaction matters - the way I treat the clerk at CVS, the nurse who gives me a monthly injection, the young man who loads my groceries at the Walmart grocery pick-up, even those who treat me rudely. Especially them. And for those who are closest to me - my family - I hope the only thing they feel when they surround my gravesite one day is joy in knowing that God chose me for them. 

(S)he died to no one's regret. May it never be said of me.  

"A child identifies his parents with God, whether or not the adults want that role. Most children see God the way they perceive their earthly fathers." ~Dr. James Dobson

My daddy holding me

Earlier this week I ventured out to the store (armed with hand sanitizer and a mask, of course) to pick up a few necessary items.  After grabbing the household necessities, I perused the greeting cards, picking up some I need for various occasions in June.  Then I hesitantly made my way to the "Father's Day" section.  Honestly, I have dreaded making selections from that group of cards for the past 17 years.  

Don't get me wrong - I enjoy choosing cards for Jeff and my sons-in-law. They are excellent fathers, and I am grateful for the Godly leadership they have so capably provided for the children I love most in this world - my kids and my grandkids.  But I can't help but feel an ache when I see the cards under the heading, "To Dad from Daughter."  My eyes automatically bounce away as I feel that twinge, knowing that I can no longer mail one of those to my daddy.

The importance of fathers cannot be overstated. In my work as a CASA, I've seen what can happen to children when fathers are absent or just not good at being a father. It is devastating, and many of our friends and neighbors in this world deal with the lifelong ramifications of that. As Dr. James Dobson wrote in the quote that I used for the title above, the first glimpse a child gets of God is by the way we are loved by our earthly fathers.  

My daddy wasn't a perfect man. He was sometimes lacking in patience, and there were times he worked too much - both at his job and in his yard. He would've been the first to tell you those things - in fact, the last conversation I ever had with him just a week prior to his death, he said as much. We sat in the swing in his back yard that day, neither of us having any clue that it would be our last conversation in this life because a week later he would be dead. I remember how we talked about my kids (one of his favorite subjects), and the "do-overs" he wished he could've had with my brother and me. 

No, he wasn't perfect, but he tried to be. He lived his life trying to grow each day into the image of Christ. He taught me the value of reading and studying the word of God by his consistent example. He also taught me the value of apology and forgiveness - I remember sitting on the edge of my bed next to him on several occasions as he told me he had been wrong, and he was sorry. Coming from my father, that was powerful.

He loved people, and even though he was an introvert by nature, He invested himself in the lives of others. I have memories of his firm discipline, but I also have vivid memories of him wrestling with my brother and me on the living room floor. I will always treasure the memories of going fishing with him, making our daddy/daughter Girl Scout cake together each year (which I baked and he designed the shape and decorations), walks together in the woods, and standing on a stool looking through his handmade telescope, as he told me about the stars and constellations. I remember the one and only time he attempted to fix my hair on the first day of third grade - my mother was in the hospital, so Daddy had to be "mom" for the morning.  He and I were both glad when she returned to her normal duties.

I recall his complete lack of cooking skills, like the time he tried to cook a frozen pizza for the two of us, but put it in the oven upside down - as it began to cook, the toppings fell off and made a burnt mess in the bottom of the oven. I remember sitting in the back yard swing with him where he taught me how to play his harmonica, which I still have today (both the harmonica and the swing). I remember him helping me set up my first checking account and going shopping with me for my first car, teaching me how to check the oil and change a tire, and I remember standing in the back of our wedding venue, taking his arm, and hearing him say, "It's not too late to back out." 

I also remember the times he was away from home because he was seeing to the needs of someone else - either a family member or friend, or later on as an elder of the church. I remember how every Friday morning after he retired, my phone would ring, and it would be him on the other end - he always began those conversations by asking, "What's going on over there?" quickly followed by, "How are the little shavers?" I remember sitting in his Bible classes as I got older, always impressed with his knowledge of and respect for God's word, and his deep love for our Heavenly Father. The best compliment I ever receive is when people who knew him tell me, "You remind me of your dad."

Joseph Addison wrote, “Certain is it that there is no kind of affection so purely angelic as of a father to a daughter. In love to our wives, there is desire; to our sons, ambition, but to our daughters there is something which there are no words to express.” I felt that from my daddy. I was blessed. 

He's been gone for the past 17 Father's Days. Most of the time when I think of him now, I do so with smiles, happy memories, and thanksgiving. Time is a wonderful healer in that way. But this week, seeing those cards, I felt a tear run down my cheek beneath my mask. When he left this earth so unexpectedly, my girls had just turned 13 and Caleb was 10. I thought of all that's happened over the past 17 years, and all of the people we've added to his family - he would be so proud of my children, the life choices they have made, and he would've been the best Great-Papa ever. 

But when my thoughts turn sad and wistful, I remember that I had a daddy who loved God and loved me. For 38 years I was blessed to learn from him and be loved by him. He showed me the love of my Heavenly Father. That is the best gift any man can give his child. And that brings me such joy and thanksgiving. It also gives me added respect and appreciation for the men I know who work so hard to be good examples for their children - and I know a lot of them! So, Happy Father's Day to all of the great dads out there.  You are important, valued, and appreciated! Keep pointing your children to their Heavenly Father, and they will be blessed eternally - you can have no greater legacy.

"Others may have wealth untold - mansions, diamonds, rubies and gold. But richer than I they will never be . . . I had a daddy who spent time with me." ~D. Morgan

"Monotony kills the heart. Ironically, monotony is what keeps the heart working.” ~Soumeet Lanka

 In the 1993 movie "Groundhog Day," a television weatherman finds himself trapped in a time loop, forcing him to endlessly repeat February 2nd.  At one point in the movie, he asks, "What would you do if you were stuck in one place and every day was exactly the same...?"  Monotony.  I think we have all felt it this year.  I've had a lot of conversations with different people who asked, "What day is it, anyway?" 

In our ladies' Bible class (which was conducted mostly through Zoom), we recently completed a study of C.S. Lewis' "The Screwtape Letters."  In this satirical series of letters first published in 1942, a senior demon named Screwtape seeks to mentor his nephew, Wormwood, in the fine art of securing damnation for his "Patient."  In Letter 25, Screwtape teaches Wormwood how to use monotony to pull the Patient away from God.  He tells Wormwood, "The horror of the Same Old Thing is one of the most valuable passions we have produced in the human heart..."  Screwtape continues, explaining how God has created man with a desire to experience change, but He has balanced man's love of change with a love of permanence.  Screwtape writes, "He (God) has contrived to gratify both tastes together on the very world He has made, by that union of change and permanence which we call Rhythm."        

Things are slowly beginning to return to a more normal rhythm - last week I found myself at home alone while Jeff was at the office - something that hasn't happened since the week of March 9th.  But for most of us, the past three months have left us feeling like we are stuck, repeating the same day over and over again. And even though some things are back to "normal," many other things are still far from it.

Have you felt trapped or discouraged during this time of social isolation by the "Same Old Thing?"  My son is a textbook extrovert.  In fact, he chose to leave his single bachelor life to move back in with us for eight weeks, because he knew if he worked from his home alone with no physical contact with the outside world, he would literally lose his mind.   

I, on the other hand, am the complete opposite. If you look up "introvert" in the dictionary, I am pretty sure you will find my picture there . . . Being around lots of people drains my energy.  I enjoy solitude.  I have a small group of close friends. Some might find me to be quiet and difficult to get to know.  Too much stimulation leaves me feeling distracted and unfocused. (Actually, I'm not sure how Caleb can really be my son!)  But even with my "loner" tendencies, this extended, strange time of the "Same Old Thing" has become old even to me!  

                                                                                                                             

             

Have you noticed the photos throughout this post?  Take a minute and look at them. . .                                                                

I snapped each of these photos on different mornings over the past three months.  Every photo was taken around the same time of the morning from close to the same vantage point, of the same lake in our neighborhood.  The "Same Old Thing," right? Isn't it wonderful how different the same old thing can be if we will only take the time to notice and appreciate it? G.K. Chesterton wrote, "Monotony has nothing to do with a place; monotony, either in its sensation or its infliction, is simply the quality of a person.  There are no dreary sights; there are only dreary sightseers."

Ultimately, as with everything, the difference is in the heart. Both dissatisfaction and contentment are states of mind. We need and desire change, but sometimes a change of the heart is what is needed most. How's my heart? Seek today in the rhythm of the "Same Old Thing" to find something unique. Don't let Satan lull you into a sense of complacency by using monotony to pull you away from God. Find the joy. A good place to start is with God's blessings - His steadfast love and mercies are indeed "new" every morning! Great is His faithfulness, indeed! (Lam. 3:22-24)

"We long for an affection altogether ignorant of our faults. Heaven has accorded this to us in the uncritical canine attachment." ~George Eliot

She's only four years old.  We got her as a puppy from a local shelter.  When we went to look for a dog that Saturday morning, she got my attention right away.  She was shy, and she seemed very concerned about why we were taking her out of her crate.  Her story was a sad one - she (along with her brother) had been dumped in a field on New Year's Eve at the tender age of three months old.  When some well-intentioned people tried to rescue her, she bolted and had to be trapped.  I was hooked and we adopted her, naming her Annie.

Because of her rough start in life, trust has never come easy for Annie.  She trusts me, as well as Jeff, but everyone else has to earn it the hard way.  If you've ever been to our home, you know what I mean.  No matter how many times you come here, she will greet you at the door with a snarl and much barking.  Eventually, she will decide you are ok, and she will be your friend - until the next time you come, then you have to win her affection all over again.  The only exception to this rule is people who bring "her kind" to our house - Becca and Caleb are always ok because they bring her best buddies Ranger and Brinkley with them when they come!

I took her for training to try to get her over her trust issues as soon as she was old enough.  She learned to sit, wait, walk beside me, and obey other commands, but the trust issue has never improved much.  She won't even take a treat from any other human.

In spite of her trust issues, Annie has had a good life here with us.  She loves going on walks, sunbathing on the patio, sleeping on the couch completely covered in a blanket, chasing her ball, trying to catch squirrels, and barking at anyone who dares to walk down the street in front of our house.  She waits on the back of the love seat each evening when I tell her Jeff is coming home, and then she fusses at him when he comes in as if she just can't believe he would leave her for a whole day.  She knows what it means when we ask her if she wants to go to Andy's, and she loves their puppy cones.  She also enjoys going to Lake Tyler to check on the sailboat, and she's even gone sailing a few times.  She gets very excited when I say "Ranger" or "Brinkley," and she will look expectantly toward the door, hoping to see her friends come bounding in.  She sometimes arranges bits of her food on the mat under her food bowl which we affectionately refer to as "paw art", and she loves her crate - she will go there when she feels insecure.  She's had a full, happy life, and is one of the most obedient dogs I've ever had - she thrives on pleasing us. 

Like I said at the beginning, she's only four years old.  She should be enjoying her little doggy life for at least another 10 years.  But last week I noticed swollen glands in her neck and took her to the vet. I assumed she just had an infection of some sort that would be easily treated.  I was shocked to learn that she has a very aggressive form of cancer.  Annie is only four years old, and she will not live to see five.  In fact, she may not even make it through February.

We've faced this before - end of life decisions for a beloved pet.  But never like this.  Never this young and full of life.  In the past week, I have marveled at the fact that Annie is dying but she doesn't even know it.  If the vet had not shared the medical realities, I wouldn't know, either.  She continues to live her best life, enjoying all of her normal adventures like nothing will ever change, and there is beauty in that. 

I don't know the source, but I once read a quote that said, "what a beautiful world it would be if people had hearts like dogs."  How true!  What if I enjoyed every little moment to the fullest, and what if a walk around the neighborhood and observing all the wonders of God's nature invoked the same wonder in me that it does in Annie?  Imagine how it might help if I could silently snuggle up with someone I love in a moment of hurt when words fail me?  What if I, like Annie, could focus on living my best life TODAY?  Probably the most important thing I've learned from Annie is that trust is precious, is something that is earned, and it should be treasured and protected.  And once trust is violated, it is hard - if not impossible - to get it back.

Until now, it's been hard to believe that Annie is dying.  Other than swollen glands that I can feel while petting her, she has been her usual, happy, playful self.  But yesterday, she seemed to be a little bothered, sticking a little closer to me than usual, and not really wanting to join me on my daily trek to the mailbox - formerly one of her favorite things.  I know that very soon, she won't be bouncing into the kitchen with me in the morning to get her daily treat, or chasing her ball, or excitedly greeting Jeff when he comes home from work.  Instead, she will look at me with her eyes of trust, expecting me to do what is best for her.  And when that time comes, we won't betray her hard-earned trust.  We won't let her suffer.

Dean Koontz wrote, "Dogs lives are short, too short, but you know that going in.  You know the pain is coming, you're going to lose a dog, and there's going to be great anguish, so you live fully in the moment with her, never fail to share her joy or delight in her innocence, because you can't support the illusion that a dog can be your lifelong companion.  There's such beauty in the hard honesty of that, in accepting and giving love while always aware it comes with an unbearable price."  Yes, Annie's life will indeed be too short.  But today I will enjoy life through her eyes, and I am thankful for that.