“'What day is it?' asked Pooh. 'It’s today,' squeaked Piglet. 'My favorite day,' said Pooh.” ~A.A. Milne

She's well into her 80's, this wise, God-fearing friend of mine, whom I have grown to have a great deal of love and respect for in the 21 years we have worshipped in the same congregation each week.  In our weekly chats before services, she often imparts to me some bit of wisdom that gives me pause - something I have not thought about before, or a tidbit of sagacity that I continue to ruminate on through the ensuing days.

A few weeks ago, she mentioned the need to live in the moment.  She talked about how at her age she finds joy and pleasure in the seemingly mundane junctures of time.  The example she gave was of watching a crow eat a dead squirrel.  As she watched, she was entranced by how God designed His world to work - how even when an animal dies, God sends in his own clean-up crew . . . and a very efficient one at that!  Once I recovered from the mental image of this sweet, proper older lady lingering over such a gruesome sight, I understood and appreciated her point.  She also spoke of how she wishes she had truly absorbed each moment of her life.  "Nothing," she said, "is unimportant.  If only we could always be mindful of that!"

 I think in some respects we all can relate to her thoughts.  We tend toward two extremes - either we wistfully look to the past, wishing for the "good old days," too absorbed in our memories to take notice of today; or, we take the "I can't wait" approach - one where we are always looking to the future for what will be.  And in the process of those two extremes, we miss this - the here and now.  Today.

Now I do believe there's a place for looking back.  We can gain a lot by looking at our past behavior and improving ourselves.  That should be an active part of our growth each day - to look back, evaluate, learn, and resolve to be better today than I was yesterday.  I also enjoy my daily dose of Timehop, which shows me photos that were taken on that day - some going back as far as 15 years or more!  Most of those photos make me smile as I remember the people and events captured in the snapshots - moments that helped the relationships that I have with loved ones grow.  That's another benefit of looking back - shared experiences make for shared memories which strengthen our bonds with family and friends.  I'm thankful for that, but I need to be careful not to get lost in it.

There's also a place for looking forward.  Planning is important.  In order to be successful in every facet of life, we must be able to anticipate future events and plan accordingly.  Without a forward-thinking mindset, we will often be caught spinning our wheels and accomplishing very little in this life.  Similarly, we all have "big" events in our lives that we look forward to - we "can't wait" to... graduate, get married, have a baby, get a promotion, etc., etc.  We "count the days" as anticipation builds.  And, again - all of that is good to a point.  But I need to be careful that I don't get so wrapped up in tomorrow that I miss today.

Sometimes life sends us reminders - accidents, serious illnesses, the death of someone we love (to name just a few) can abruptly slap us back into that "in the moment" mindset.  At those times, we often renew our commitment to soak it all in - but then days come and go, we become mesmerized by the mundane, and we fall back into the same old moment-stealing traps.

Orson Scott Card wrote, "She worked her toes into the sand, feeling the tiny delicious pain of the friction of tiny chips of silicon against the tender flesh between her toes. That's life. It hurts, it's dirty, and it feels very, very good.”  I like that summation - even the moments that hurt or seem boring are moments to be fully absorbed. 

Living in the moment can be hard.  But my prayer each day is that God will help me do just that, setting the right balance between learning from the past and planning for the future, as I seek to be fully invested in THIS moment.  Whether it's some of the moments pictured here - ones that I remember making that conscious effort to be all in - some big and some seemingly small.  Walking on the beach with Lydia and discovering the joys of that through her eyes for the first time; celebrating Henry's first birthday surrounded by the ones I love most in this world; meeting a dear friend for lunch; watching one of my girls and her forever love walking hand-in-hand along the beach; stopping on a neighborhood walk to watch our resident fox; FaceTiming with my boy while he was in Guatemala; or just sitting on the patio with my forever love - actually, as I think about it, ALL of these moments are big ones for me.

I'm thankful for them all.  And I'm thankful as well for my octogenarian friend who imparts her snippets of wisdom to me on a regular basis.  Life through the eyes of someone who has lived it wisely much longer than I have is profitable for every moment of life.

"A good mother loves fiercely but ultimately brings up her children to thrive without her. They must be the most important thing in her life, but if she is the most important thing in theirs, she has failed." ~Erin Kelly

It began last Monday.  Caleb was the first to go.

All of our chicks except for Ryan had been back in the nest for the previous four glorious days.  They had all arrived close to the same time on Friday, and instantly there was the loudness, laughter, teasing, and the familiarity that comes from 25 years of being a family.  For the next few days following their arrival, we all eased right back into our unique familiar rhythm.  The newer members who were here - Jeff O., Lydia, and Henry - have assimilated themselves quite naturally into that cadence, and they (along with Ryan) have become a part of US . . . the original five, who now number nine.


Much food and coffee were consumed, games were played, swimming was enjoyed, and cuddling with the little ones was soaked in.  There were pretend tea parties in the "Pongyong" (aka, playroom), walks around the neighborhood where the ducks were fed, baths which occurred in my kitchen sink, and many trips to the potty in what Lydia dubbed "Mimi's fancy bathroom."  It was a loved-filled weekend where laughter was shared as well as tears.  Memories were made, and bonds were strengthened.

      

And then, just as swiftly as they came, they left.  With each departure, I felt a unique emotion that I've come to consistently associate with being separated from them.

I first sensed it on Monday when I watched Caleb load Ranger into his truck and drive out of my view down the street.  That same feeling overwhelmed me on Tuesday when I hugged Jeff O. and then Becca as they headed out the door before sunrise.  And then again with the finality of this family time enveloping me on Wednesday, I watched Sarah, Lydia and Henry walk through security at DFW airport and disappear from my view.  I know what you're thinking - the feeling I'm speaking of must be sadness.  In a way that's true, but there's more.  So much more.

I love our family time together.  (And, by the way,  the previous sentence is the understatement of my entire life.)  I love remembering the days gone by that have brought us to this moment in time, and I miss them when they're not here.  Nothing compares to being able to touch them, hug them, and share physical space. But the sadness I feel at seeing them go is the least of my emotions.

First and most importantly, John said it best when he wrote in 3 John 1:4, "I have no greater joy than to hear that my children are walking in the truth."  Christianity is not something they do - it's who they are.  And because of this, I feel great joy when I know that as Caleb leaves our home and goes back to his life in Irving, he is striving in all he does to walk in the truth.  He goes to work every day, offering service to his employer "as unto the Lord."  He actively looks for ways to help others - I could give specific examples, but that would probably embarrass him, so I won't.  But he has created a life of his own, separate from mine.  And in that life, he is thriving.

Likewise, as Becca climbed into the passenger seat of her car with her husband at the wheel and Brinkley in her lap, I knew she was heading back to THEIR home - one they are building solidly on God's truths.  A home where she is loved and cherished, and one where she seeks to serve and honor.  I find great joy in that.  It also brings me great delight to know that in her job as a NICU nurse she is able to help and comfort others - a gift that Becca has always had when it comes to loving other people.  She, too, is thriving in the life she has in Midland - a life that does not directly involve me or her dad.

And finally, as Sarah, Lydia, and Henry disappeared from view after a stressful check-in and security line at the airport, I made my way alone back to my car with a lump in my throat and tears in my eyes.  Lonely?  Somewhat, yes, but mostly joyful and thankful.  Her whole life, all Sarah has ever wanted to be is a wife and a mommy, and God has blessed her with that life.  As I walked away from her last week, she was boarding a plane to return to HER home in Nashville, to a husband who seeks to lead his family in a godly way, and who graciously allowed her and those precious children to spend a week away from him to be with us.  I marvel when I see our Sarah in her roles as wife and mommy - - no one does it better, and I know she thrives in her life and in those roles because she is actively serving God and walking in His truth each day as she works alongside Ryan to teach those things to their children.  And like her sister and her brother, she has a life separate from mom and dad.

What a blessing to be their mom.  And Mimi.  And mother-in-law.  Even though they are scattered for many miles in both directions, they are never far from me.  My first thoughts each morning as I pray are for them.  And my last thoughts each night as I go to sleep are also of them.  Their photos fill our home, and our "Stewart Fam" group text messages keep me entertained.  The individual texts, phone calls, and FaceTime chats are treasured, and our next planned gatherings are greatly anticipated.

So yes, I'm a little sad when they leave, and I would love it if they all lived closer - - but as the title of this post states, even though they (and their dad) are the most important people in my life, I'm more joyful and thankful that they are thriving without me.  That's what God intended.  He wants us to raise our children to leave (Gen. 2:24) - - to work ourselves out of a job, so to speak.  To teach them to thrive without us.  And when I pillow my head at night, that's what I thank Him for the most.

"Three things in human life are important. The first is to be kind. The second is to be kind. And the third is to be kind." ~Henry James

We had been in the air for 15 very long hours on our flight from Houston, Texas to Auckland, New Zealand.  As we made our approach to the Auckland Airport, I snapped this photo...

Even though we were exhausted from getting very little sleep, seeing the ground below gave us new energy!  We gathered our things, exited the plane, worked our way through customs, retrieved our luggage, and made our way to the airport exit.  We had pre-arranged to have a driver waiting for us there to take us to our hotel.  So, when we got to a line of people holding signs, we looked for someone with one that said, "Stewart" on it . . . slowly the realization sunk in that our name wasn't there.  Our driver was not waiting for us. 

I'm sure we appeared to be confused tourists as we looked at each sign.  Jeff put down his bags, opened up his backpack, and pulled out a folder with contact information in it to try to call the company who had said they would be there to pick us up.  As he fumbled through various papers and I continued to look for a sign saying "Stewart," a lady wearing a limo uniform holding a sign with an unfamiliar name approached us.  She asked who was supposed to pick us up, immediately got on her phone to call the owner of a company she did not work for, made contact with our driver, and learned that he was running late.  We thanked her, but instead of going back to her job of looking for the man she was waiting to pick up, she stayed with us, finding out where we were from, learning what our plans for the week included, and offering her advice on everything from driving in New Zealand to sites we should not miss.  Our driver finally arrived, and as we collected our luggage to leave with him, we thanked our new friend as Jeff attempted to tip her.  She refused our money, saying that she simply wanted to be sure that foreign visitors to New Zealand begin their vacation with a warm, welcoming experience.

Be kind.

I think we all heard this phrase many times growing up.  Perhaps it was most often used by our parents as we learned to live with our siblings.  Or maybe we heard it when we were tempted by our neighborhood pals to shun the new child on the block.  Whatever the case, kindness is something we all grew up with.

The word "kind" when used as an adjective means "friendly, deliberately doing good to others."  You can see the word "kin" there, and that is no accident - - originally the word meant "with the feeling of relatives for each other; with natural feeling; benign, compassionate, loving, full of tenderness."

Be kind.

We've all been on the receiving end of kindness, like Jeff and I experienced when we landed in New Zealand - experiences where there is seemingly nothing in it for the one showing kindness.  Sometimes it's as simple as someone in the checkout line letting us go in front of them because we have fewer items.  Other times it's a kind word, a smile, or a sweet compliment.  And when we are on the receiving end of kindness, it makes us feel warm.  Special. Loved.  Even those seemingly small gestures . . . and sometimes especially those little things!  We all know people who are good at spreading kindness.  They seem to have an innate ability to always be kind.

What about me?

As a Christian, kindness is not an option.  Paul wrote in Ephesians 4:32 that we are to "be kind to one another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, as God in Christ forgave you."  Of this word "kind" in this verse, the Pulpit Commentary defines it as, "sweet, amiable in disposition, subduing all that is harsh and hasty, encouraging all that is gentle and good."  I like that idea - sweet, amiable in disposition, not harsh and hasty . . . all of which requires forethought.

When I see a pregnant woman with several children in tow, what do I say?  Do I make it my mission to ask her if she knows what causes that? (Of course, she does.)  Do I ask her if this pregnancy was planned? (Frankly, that is none of my business.)  Do I comment about her size, maybe telling her she's as big as a house? (I'm sure she is already well aware of her size since mirrors tend to be everywhere.)  Or do I simply say something like, "Look at those precious children - what a blessing!"  Which of those responses is kind?

The same can be applied to a young lady who has been married for several years who has no children.  Do I say something to her like, "When are you going to have a baby?"  (Did you ever stop to consider that she might be struggling with infertility, or maybe she just had a miscarriage and no one outside of her family knew she was pregnant.)  Or in that same vane, knowing someone who has had a miscarriage, do you say to them, "well, at least you know you can get pregnant!"  How is that helpful?  How is that kind?

The "kind or not" scenario happens repeatedly throughout each day as we interact with others, and it doesn't just apply to how we interact with women who are of childbearing age.  When we utter a sharp or cutting word when it would be better to keep our mouths closed, we have been unkind.  When we call into question someone's motive without taking the time to learn and examine the facts, we are not being kind.

In The Friendship Book of Francis Gay, Herbert Leslie Gee wrote this:  "As the bus slowed down at a crowded bus stop, the Pakistani bus conductor leaned from the platform and called out, 'Six only!' The bus stopped. He counted on six passengers, rang the bell, and then, as the bus moved off, called to those left behind: 'So sorry, plenty of room in my heart — but the bus is full.' He left behind a row of smiling faces. It's not what you do, it's the way that you do it…"  I love that.

Look for those who seem to be lost, and offer a helping hand.  Think before you speak.  Consider before you act.  Get the facts.  Put yourself in the place of other people.  Be kind.  As Og Mandino wrote, "Beginning today, treat everyone you meet as if they were going to be dead by midnight. Extend to them all the care, kindness and understanding you can muster, and do it with no thought of any reward. Your life will never be the same again."

And neither will theirs.  Jeff and I will remember the kindness of that stranger from New Zealand in the airport that day as our first interaction with someone from that country, and how she got our trip off to a great start.  What a great example to follow as we show similar kindnesses to strangers as well as loved ones each day, giving everyone we encounter a glimpse into what it means to be a citizen... not of New Zealand, or even the USA, but a citizen of the kingdom of God!

“My family tree has many branches, both living and dead... but all equally important. I cherish the memories that make its roots run deep.” ~ Lynda I Fisher

Last year I ordered a DNA kit, spit into a vial, and shipped my saliva off via the US Mail to be analyzed.  I wasn't really as interested in learning about my ancestors as I was in learning my predisposition to certain diseases.  However, the ancestry reports were fascinating.  Most of my ancestry composition was as I expected - heavily European, with mostly British and Irish ancestry.  I did have extremely small percentages of some ethnicities that were a surprise to me, such as East Asian, Native American, Sub-Saharan African, and even some Japanese. 

Nestled among the reports on Ancestry I found one about my "DNA Relatives."  I really didn't pay much attention to this report until this week when I received an email from the DNA testing site that said a "relative" had sent me a message.  "Sandy" was requesting to connect with me, stating that we shared DNA indicating that we are 2nd to 3rd cousins, and she hoped I could provide some information on her ancestry search.  I looked at her page, where she had surnames of ancestors listed, and found my maiden name listed there.  Doubtful that I could provide any relevant information to her about the Meadows family, I replied to her message, telling her I would help with any information I knew.  What happened next was shocking to me.

Sandy told me that her great-grandfather was George Washington Meadows.  He had been married to her great-grandmother, Flora, and they had four children in Georgia.  She said she had searched census records and learned that he had moved to Texas, but her trail grew cold after that. 

I read her message several times, feeling somewhat confused.  My confusion stemmed from the fact that MY great-grandfather was George Washington Meadows.  Yes, I knew he had moved to Texas from Georgia, only he hadn't been married to Flora - he was married to MY great-grandmother, Annie, and they had two boys - Gordon, and my grandfather, Clifford.  So, we couldn't be talking about the same George Washington Meadows.

Long story, short - the DNA doesn't lie.  It was the same George Washington Meadows.  Apparently, he had a wife and family in Georgia.  We know little of what happened, but the facts we do know are troubling to me - he apparently left that family for a woman 20 years younger than himself (George was working as a day-laborer on Annie's father's farm in Georgia), moved to Texas, and started a new life.

George died in 1940, so I never knew him.  My daddy was born in 1935, so he probably didn't have many memories of his grandfather - I never heard Daddy talk much about him.  And the only thing I ever really heard my PawPaw say about George (who was PawPaw's father) was that his mother was 20 years younger, and she always referred to her husband as Mr. Meadows.

I have vague memories of Annie - we called her "Mama Meadows," and I remember visiting her in a nursing home - - a frail, sweet, little old lady.  I have some beautiful glassware that was hers.  But beyond that, I know nothing about who she really was.

And to me, the strangest part of all of this story is that no one in my family ever knew any of this about George.  My brother, who had traced the Meadows family history, had not run across this scandal, either.  As far as I know, my PawPaw never knew he had four half-siblings living in Georgia.

Lille Mae - my PawPaw's half sister

Sandy sent me a picture yesterday of her grandmother -- Lillie Mae -- she's the one on the left.  She was my PawPaw's half-sister.  So she would be my great-aunt. 

Granny & PawPaw

When I got this, it really hit an emotional chord with me.  I'm not sure why.  Maybe part of it was because I would've loved to have been able to call my daddy and share this information with him about these new relatives.  It also made me think a lot of Granny and PawPaw.  I miss them all. 

But more than that, it made me think about family, and life, and chance, and memories we make with those we love...

Even though I am appalled at the way George Washington Meadows apparently conducted his life, and the people he likely destroyed along the way, the reality is that if he hadn't married Annie Gordon, I wouldn't be here.  Nor would my grandfather, nor my dad.  And while I'm not thankful for how it happened, I am glad that George and Annie had Clifford... and that Clifford and Miriam had my dad.  And that my mom and dad had me.

And then there's the reality of time.  George Washington Meadows was born in 1865 and died in 1940.  Less than 80 years ago he walked this earth, but everyone who knew him here is gone.  All we have left of him are the census records, the grave marker, and the few stories that have been passed down.  So what does that mean for me? 

I think about my own family.  If I am blessed to live on this earth for several more decades, I will be able to make lasting memories with Lydia, Henry, and future grandchildren.  But the reality is that past their generation, I won't be remembered.  If I'm known at all, it will be just a few family stories that are passed down from those who do know me. 

But this shouldn't be a sad thought.  Instead, it should motivate me.  Because you see, even though George Washington Meadows lived a less than admirable life, he did add a son - my grandfather - to this earth.  And that son met and married my granny, who came from a Christian home.  And with them began a legacy of faith - one that I can pass on to my children and grandchildren.  A legacy that will have eternal significance.

Isn't that the only thing that really matters?  That we serve God in the brief time we are here, and that we teach our children and grandchildren to love the Lord and serve Him, too.  That we love those around us - whether we share DNA or not - and brighten whatever little corner of the world we occupy as much as we can.  That we leave this world a better place than we found it. 

I'm thankful that my new-found cousin contacted me.  But I'm more grateful for the reminders that came from that chance meeting.  And I pray that THESE people - the ones who share most of my DNA - will not only pass on the genetic information contained in the DNA that makes us family but that they will seek to pass on that which is more important than DNA -- a lasting legacy of faithfulness as members of the family of God.

"Two-legged creatures we are supposed to love as we love ourselves. The four-legged, also, can come to seem pretty important. But six legs are too many from the human standpoint." ~Joseph W. Krutch

It started with just a few in the kitchen one day.  Yellow jackets, that is.  I pulled out the fly swatter and killed them, thinking that they probably entered through an open window or door.  But then we saw more of them, and a week later I killed 17 in one day.  That was not ok!  Upon further investigation, I found their site of entry - the fireplace.  When I realized this, I went outside and looked up - hundreds of the little creatures could be seen swarming around the top of the chimney. 

Jeff got home from work, and I greeted him with the fly swatter in hand along with the simple statement, "We have a problem."  After sealing off their site of entry and consulting a professional exterminator, Jeff determined that we could rid ourselves of the little boogers by lighting a hot, smoky fire, followed by a bug fogger.  So last weekend - when outside temperatures soared into the 80's - we had a constant fire burning in our fireplace.  I'm sure our neighbors wondered about us when they saw the smoke rising from our chimney!  After a weekend of fire, Jeff decided that should be enough - the yellow jackets and their nest should be long gone, so there was no need to set off a fogger.

Then Monday came, and after I killed two more yellow jackets in the house, I built another fire (yes, on another 80-degree day).  We've had no fires and no signs of yellow jackets since Monday, so maybe the problem has been solved.

One interesting thing I noticed about the yellow jackets that invaded our home was that they were not very aggressive.  Quite the opposite - they seemed to just stay in one spot waiting for me to kill them.  Some of them were even on the floor barely moving as if they were hoping someone with a fly swatter would come along and finish them off.  Although I was happy to oblige, I was curious to find out what was wrong with them, so I went to my ever-trusty friend Google to find out.  And I learned a lot!

Did you know that yellow jackets are like bees in their social behavior?  Social insects live in colonies, and their sole focus is doing everything for the good of their family.  Each colony is founded by a lone queen that spent her previous winter in hibernation.  Once she emerges, she feeds on insects until she is ready to lay eggs, and then she builds a 25 - 40 cell nest, laying eggs there, and waiting for her first batch of daughter workers.  After these eggs hatch and the new brood matures, the workers take over the care of the nest and the queen.  The queen then remains inside the nest laying more eggs.  Colonies can quickly expand to 4,000 to 5,000.  (I guess I should be glad I only killed about two dozen in my house!)

Those who study yellow jackets have determined that they are not "pre-programmed," but they actually learn from experience, especially when it comes to finding food.  The workers of the colony literally work themselves to death, and can easily switch roles in the nest if the need is there -- if, for example, someone fails to show up for their assigned task, the worker next to them assumes they are dead and will take over the missing comrade's job.

Unlike bees, yellow jackets can sting more than once.  In fact, they are known to follow the object of their wrath if you try to run from them.  And they are extremely defensive when their nests are disturbed.  They also have a built-in alarm and if attacked or killed will release a smell that alerts their little buddies to come to their aid. 

In the fall, all of the yellow jackets in a colony die except for new queens, who will go into hibernation and start the process all over again.  This is probably why the ones that made it inside our home seemed sick - they were likely at the end of their life cycle.  And I was happy to put them out of their misery a little earlier than nature by itself would allow!

In thinking about all I learned, the truth is that these pesky, painful little nuisances can teach us a lot.  What if we were all as intent as yellow jackets are in doing everything we do for the good of our families - both the family that shares our DNA, as well as the one that we belong to in Christ?  And wouldn't it be great to know if one of us is attacked, that all of our family members will immediately come to our aid?  Not to mention having a work ethic that doesn't stop, and being willing to roll up our sleeves and step in to help when a fellow worker can't complete their task. 

Yes, as the title above states, six-legged creatures are too much for me to love.  But hopefully, their presence in my home will remind me to love the two-legged creatures in my world a little more than I did before.

“‎You can clutch the past so tightly to your chest that it leaves your arms too full to embrace the present.” ~ Jan Glidewel

I have a problem.  My family makes fun of me about it.  The problem is that I am always deleting apps on my phone to make room for my pictures - especially pictures of my precious grand babies.  So when I can't access information on a particular app, my family will just roll their eyes because they know why -- pictures that represent memories fill up my electronic memory.

Last week I decided to do something about that problem, and I followed my son's advice to store all of my photos in Google Photos.  It took two full days to do that -- I had 15,312 photos.  No joke.  After I got all of them successfully uploaded, I spent some time browsing through them, which took me back as I re-lived the moments gone by captured in those snapshots. 

It's easy to get lost in memories if we let ourselves.  Lydia Millet wrote, "I have always wished the present to resemble memory: because the present can be flat at times, and bald as a road. But memory is never like that. It makes hills of feeling in collapsed hours, a scene of enclosure made all precious by its frame.” That's true.  We often tend to view the past as "the good old days," failing to remember the difficulties.

I recently talked with someone close to my age about our grown children.  She was very wistful, wishing aloud that her children were still small.  She said she missed those days so much, and would go back to them in a heartbeat.  And while I do miss some of the days gone by and the innocence of my children's childhood, I would not go back.  Instead, in the words of Marty Rubin, I choose to "cherish like a son, a daughter, each irreplaceable moment."  This moment is precious.  Especially when I consider that it is truly the only "moment" I really have.  None of us has the promise of another.

I'm afraid we can get so wrapped up in the past, as we also anticipate and wish for the future, that we fail to fully experience THIS moment.  And I think we tend to do this more as we get older - after all, we have more memories to look back on.  But as I think about the past, my memories, and the feelings stirred within me by perusing those 15,312 pictures last week, I can also see how the past helps to shape the present.

For example, because of the shared experiences over the past 10,900 days we have been married, Jeff and I have a depth of love and understanding for each other today that is made possible only because of that past.  Our past has shaped us and prepared us to fully enjoy and appreciate today.  The same is true with our children, grandchildren, and friends.  The past has built and strengthened bonds.  And for that I am thankful. 

Because of the past, I see the close sibling relationships my kids have with each other today.  And the same is true of my relationship with each one of them.  I thought of all of that last weekend when I snapped this picture... A quiet moment as Becca sat quietly reading her Bible at our new kitchen table in our new house -- a house with few memories for us together, but in that moment I saw hundreds of other snapshots in my mind of that same girl sitting in another house at a different kitchen table.  And the same was true later that evening when we tried out the S'more making capability of the fireplace in our back yard.  It was a first in a way, but in so many other ways it was a continuation of a rich past of similar times that brought us to that moment. 

Kilroy J. Oldster wrote, "If a person realizes that the present moment is all that matters, they will gain an inner stillness and appreciate the beauty and joy of each day."  That's the way I want to live, don't you?  The glorious past brought me to this moment, and for that I'm thankful.  Anything beyond this moment is uncertain.  I would do well to think of that with every encounter I have with those I love, which reminds me of one of my all-time favorite quotes by Og Mandino who said, "...treat everyone you meet as if they were going to be dead by midnight. Extend to them all the care, kindness and understanding you can muster, and do it with no thought of any reward..."  That is what motivates me to always hug my loved ones when we part, and to end every conversation with them by verbally expressing that love.

Yes, memories of the past and hopes for the future have their place.  But this moment - as I sit here in my living room with my little dog Annie completely buried underneath a blanket, knowing that Jeff is currently leading his team at work in a team-building afternoon; Becca is sleeping after working the night shift in the NICU while her Jeff is traveling to an out-of-town lectureship; that Sarah and her babies are enjoying a visit from Mallory, DJ, and Avery while Ryan is heading home from work to join them; and that Caleb is at work, letting his light shine brightly there...  I am thankful for all of those things that are happening in this moment.  And eternally grateful to my Father who blesses me in all of my moments - past, present, and (if He wills) future.

"I am convinced there's a gramma gene that disables the word 'no.'" ~Lesley Stahl

Two years ago today, I embarked on a wonderful new journey - On September 29, 2015, I became a Mimi.  Lydia Grace Renz gave me that blessing and privilege.  (Well, actually her parents did, but you know what I mean.)  Before that date, as we anticipated Lydia's arrival, everyone told me "nothing compares," and being a grandmother is "indescribable," and "better than anything else you've ever experienced."  I have found all of that to be true.  And more.  The English language simply does not contain words to adequately describe this wonderful role.

Sue Monk Kidd said it well when she wrote, "Grandmotherhood initiated me into a world of play, where all things became fresh, alive, and honest again through my grandchildren's eyes. Mostly, it retaught me love.” From those early days of cuddling and rocking to the current state of constant toddler motion and play, I find that Mimi is a part of myself who I've never really known before.  I have a patience with Lydia that I did not have with my own children.  And even though I know discipline is vital, important and necessary, it hurts me to my core to witness that precious little girl getting in trouble!  Sometimes I have thought to myself, "Who am I?!?"  Mimi is certainly NOT Mama.  Lydia (and now Henry) have the BEST Mama I've ever known - she possesses a maturity and level of patience that I did not have at the same age.  I'm thankful she does her job so well, and I'm also thankful that I get to be the Mimi instead of the Mama this time around.

Mimi gets to play and teach and love without the responsibility that comes with parenting.  When a stubborn little toddler is told by her parents that she has to eat at least one bite of her chicken before she can have any fruit, Mimi will go to whatever lengths necessary to coax her into eating that bite of chicken - even setting up a "picnic" in the middle of the dining room floor long after the chicken is cold, all other dishes have been cleared from the table, and everyone else has left the dining room.  When that happened, I caught myself laughing and thinking, "I NEVER would have done this with my own children."  THAT is the beauty of being the Mimi.

I watch this little one in awe, seeing glimpses of her mother at that age emerge in her personality and mannerisms which take me back to another very sweet time in my life as a new mommy; while also seeing a very unique individual learning and growing as she navigates her little life.  I think that is a big part of the wonder of being a Mimi - the fact that I had the unique perspective and privilege of having raised the one who is now raising her...

And now, him...

 Henry Travis Renz, my first grandson.  Over the past month, I have been blessed to experience all of the joy and wonder and overflowing, indescribable love that came the first time two years ago.  I found myself sitting and just staring at him - nothing was lessened by the fact that I had done this once before.  I love him with the same passion and fervor that I love his sister.  Just when I think my heart can't possibly hold any more, it does.

Last week, after spending three glorious weeks of playing and cuddling, I rose early in their Nashville home before any of the little ones, and Ryan drove me to the airport in the pre-dawn darkness.  As I walked through security I noticed the time, and wondered if Lydia was waking up and calling in her sweet little voice for Mimi to come get her out of bed.  And when I waited for my connecting flight from DFW to Tyler, I wondered how lunch was going back in Nashville - was Henry content to be in his rock-n-play while his mama and sister ate lunch?  I missed being there and foregoing my own lunch to pick him up for a snuggle if he was fussy.  Then, as my flight landed in Tyler I noticed the time again, knowing that Lydia was now going down for her afternoon nap - - if I was still in Nashville I would be spending the next few hours rocking and snuggling that precious new baby boy.  Anne Tyler said it best when she wrote, "She loved them so much that she felt a kind of hollowness on the inner surface of her arms whenever she looked at them- an ache of longing to pull them close and hold them tight against her.”  That ache is there even when I can't look at them.  Especially then.

Lesley Stahl wrote, “In various surveys, nearly three-quarters of grandparents say that being a grandparent is the single most important and satisfying thing in their life. Most say being with their grandkids is more important to them than traveling or having financial security.” It's only been a week, but this Mimi already can't wait to see those two precious little ones again.  And given the opportunity to travel anywhere in the world, Spring Hill, Tennessee will always be my first choice as long as Lydia and Henry are there.

So, Happy, Happy Birthday, sweet Lydia!  You are the smartest, sweetest, and funniest two-year-old ever!  I love you so much, and I can't wait to see you again!  Until then, I will enjoy every single picture and FaceTime call to the fullest, thankful beyond words that I am uniquely blessed to be called Mimi by you and your precious little brother.  Blessed beyond measure for sure.

                

“This is what I didn't expect. I was at a time in my life where I assumed I had already had my best day, my tallest high. But now I was overwhelmed with euphoria. Why was this hitting with such a force? What explains this enormous joy, this grandmother elation that is a new kind of love? ... All I knew for sure was that I was in unknown territory.”  ~Lesley Stahl