"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.


         

“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.” ~ Anne Tyler

I'm sitting here in the airport in Nashville, TN on this cold, rainy morning awaiting my flight home that departs in a few hours.  Ryan dropped me off early on his way to work this morning.  I've been here before.  Sitting in this same airport waiting to board a flight to return to my life in Tyler after spending time with Sarah and her precious family.  The feeling is always the same - looking forward to being home with Jeff again, but feeling a deep ache to the core of my soul for what I'm leaving behind.

I've been here for three weeks this time, and honestly, I'm beyond exhausted.  It has been a whirlwind of constant activity and little sleep with a silly, sweet, imaginative, talkative four-year-old girl who asks "Why?" after every statement (and I do mean EVERY single one); a rambunctious, charming, energetic, all-boy two-year-old whose current favorite word is "mine;" and a precious, cuddly newborn baby boy who thinks that long sleep stretches should happen only during the day and never at night.  Over the past three weeks, I have often wondered how I did the mothering thing full-time to two-year-old twins and a newborn.  The only feasible answer I've come up with is that I was much younger then.

But as exhausting as this month has been, I would do it all over again in a heartbeat, and I would even gladly stay another three weeks if I was really needed.

My love for my three children is all-consuming, even as they have reached adulthood.  My heart walks around outside of my body in three different places at all times through them, and no matter how old they get, it will always be that way.  If you are a mother you know exactly what I'm talking about.

And now, my grandchildren have added an entirely new dimension.  I look at the three I've just spent time with and see glimpses of the past.  Although Lydia doesn't physically look like Sarah did at four years old, the personality is very much the same.  I look at Henry, and I'm reminded of a little boy named Caleb - the resemblance between those two is uncanny.  And as I've held and rocked Owen the past few weeks, I've seen glimpses of both Lydia and Henry.  But as much as they remind me of the past, they add such joy to the present, and so much hope for the future.  They help me to remember to live in the moment, to enjoy the simple things, to take life a day at a time, and that there's always time to laugh and be silly.  They are the fun that my own children were, without the weight of the daily parenting responsibility and with the added bonus of patience that can only come with age.

While talking with an older lady recently about grandchildren, I was surprised to hear her say that "the first one is special."  She went on to say that she knew I would enjoy my other grandchildren, but that the first one was in a class all their own.  I disagree.  Henry and Owen (and soon, Noah) are just as special as Lydia.  And as I've had time to hold, snuggle, and rock Owen in these first weeks of his life, the feelings have been as intense as they were when I held and rocked Lydia and Henry.  I am overwhelmed each time at how blessed I am - blessed to have godly children who are seeking to live and love like Christ, and who are dedicated to raising their children to do the same.

I love the quote I used as the title above.  And although I'm feeling that hollowness on the inner surface of my arms whose emptiness is currently producing a longing ache, I am also feeling a full heart of thankfulness to God for this life I have - a blessed life as a wife, mom, and Mimi that I would not trade for anything.

I'm thankful as well for a few weeks of rest before Mimi duty resumes in Midland as we welcome Noah into the family.  This Mimi can't wait.

"Through the blur, I wondered if I was alone or if other parents felt the same way I did - that everything involving our children was painful in some way. The emotions, whether they were joy, sorrow, love or pride, were so deep and sharp that in the end they left you raw, exposed and yes, in pain. The human heart was not designed to beat outside the human body and yet, each child represented just that - a parent's heart bared, beating forever outside its chest.” ~Debra Ginsberg

It happened several weeks ago as I was driving.  My phone pinged three different times.  I pulled into my destination parking lot, killed the engine, and looked at my phone.  I had three messages - one from each child.  And in that one moment, as I read each one, I simultaneously felt sorrow that brought tears, joy that made me laugh, and pride which made me rejoice.  I sat there thinking, "This is so weird!" How could I possibly feel all of that at the same time?

Three different children - who, by the way, aren't children anymore - in three different cities, three different settings, three different lives, experiencing three entirely different sets of circumstances, and within a few minutes of each other, they coincidentally happened to share those moments with me.

I've been at it for almost 29 years now, and it still amazes me - this journey of motherhood.  There's so much I did not know when I first began - so many things that no one can tell you.  Sure, I had observed others, read all the books I could get my hands on, and discussed parenting philosophies with my friends.  But until you actually experience it yourself, there's no way you can really get it.  What amazes me even more is with 29 years under my belt I'm still learning.

I remember the morning in the hospital when it was time to take our brand new baby girls home.  Jeff had gone to take care of some paperwork, and I was alone in the hospital room with these two tiny baby girls when it hit me - THEY were going home with ME.  And none of the nurses would be going with us.  I felt overwhelmed by the responsibility before me - not only to take care of their physical needs but to also provide all they would need to grow into responsible adults.  Even more sobering was the task before me to teach them to love God and to point their sweet, innocent souls toward heaven.

Lisa Wingate wrote, "Your children are the greatest gift God will give to you, and their souls the heaviest responsibility He will place in your hands.  Take time with them, teach them to have faith in God.  Be a person in whom they can have faith.  When you are old, nothing else you've done will have mattered as much."  That last sentence is especially key for me - truly, nothing else I have done - or will ever do - matters nearly as much.

I try not to give advice unless it is solicited.  But as we are all more keenly aware of motherhood this weekend, I offer the quote above as a good guideline to those of you who are in the midst of the formative years of your children.  The soul that began inside of you - or inside of a birth mother who relinquished that responsibility to you - will live eternally.  Ultimately we are each responsible before God for our own choices, and even a child who has been given all of the love and godly direction possible can (and sometimes does) choose to forsake that teaching.  But how we as parents handle those precious souls in establishing priorities in our homes will greatly impact their future choices.  I want my children to always choose God, don't you?  There's nothing else in this world that matters more to me than seeing my children someday in heaven. 

Three kids, in three different cities, with three very distinct lives, experiencing three diverse circumstances simultaneously causing their mom to laugh, cry, and rejoice all at once.  How?  Because they each have a very big chunk of their mother's heart so closely entwined with theirs that I physically FEEL every emotion from every life circumstance that comes their way.  Sometimes that is wonderful and brings me so much joy!  And yes, other times my heart breaks and tears flow.  And the best part of it all for me is that they all three put God first in their lives and are spreading His light to everyone their lives touch. 

John wrote in 3 John 4, "I have no greater joy than to hear that my children are walking in the truth."  I think of that verse often.  Even amidst the sorrow and heartache that sometimes comes from events in their lives, and the regret I sometimes feel over things I think I could've done better, THAT joy and assurance override all other emotions.

So if you're a mom on this Mother's Day weekend, I hope you'll thank God for your children, and that we will all resolve to do our best to point our kids to Him.  And to Sarah, Becca, and Caleb - thank you for being who you are!  I am honored and humbled to be your mom, and I am so very proud of each one of you.  I'm overwhelmed that God chose ME to be YOUR mom - He truly gave me the best!

"Toto, I've a feeling we're not in Kansas anymore." ~Dorothy in "The Wizard of Oz"

I've felt like Dorothy since Wednesday when Jeff and I flew to Las Vegas - my first visit here, and probably my last.  Honestly, I'm ok with that.  Jeff was sent here by his company to attend the Consumer Electronics Show, and he asked me if I would like to come with him.  Yes, I knew of the reputation of Las Vegas, and I knew I would likely see a lot of gambling and such, but I really thought I could be here and successfully avoid most of that - boy was I ever wrong.

Our trip actually started out magnificently!  As we flew west from DFW, we encountered some beautiful sights on a partly cloudy day over New Mexico and Arizona that screamed of the power and might of our Holy Creator.  So much beauty that left me in awe.  As I snapped photos out of the airplane window, I was overcome with how these pictures just did not do justice to the sights I was blessed to see below.

We saw snow-capped mountains as we flew over the San Mateo mountain range in New Mexico.                                             We viewed the beauty and peacefulness of Lake

Mead as we made our approach into Las Vegas.  Due to the increased cloud cover in parts of Arizona, we were not able to see the Grand Canyon from the air - but I knew it was just below us.

As I contemplated these wonders, I thought of passages such as Psalm 95:4, "In His hand are the depths of the earth, and the mountain peaks belong to Him."  And also Romans 1:20, "For since the creation of the world God’s invisible qualities—his eternal power and divine nature—have been clearly seen, being understood from what has been made, so that people are without excuse."  These are the thoughts that filled my mind as we landed in Las Vegas, along with how greatly blessed I feel to be a child of the Almighty God.

Then we got off the plane, and we walked into the Las Vegas Airport to scenes such as these...                                 
Slot machines, located right at the exit from the plane.  You can immediately begin gambling before you even go to baggage claim, and they make it easy for you. 

Then - still not to baggage claim yet - I stopped in the restroom, and I saw this sign on the back of a stall door - an offer of help to victims of human trafficking.  Such a plea to someone in the ladies' restroom wouldn't be there if this was not a problem.  I immediately thought of how Las Vegas is referred to as "Sin City." I had only been here for 15 minutes or so, and I could already see why.

What a stark contrast from the beauty my Holy Creator had displayed for my viewing just minutes before.

We took an Uber from the airport the short distance to the hotel where we are staying, and the debauchery continued.  Hotels here are set up in such a way that you cannot get to your room, to restaurants, or anywhere else in the hotel without walking through the smoke-filled casinos.  By Wednesday night, I was beginning to think I had made a big mistake in coming.

It hasn't been all bad - I mean, how can you minimize the greatness of M&M World (all four stories of it) just down the street, not to mention Hershey World a block away!  The food we've eaten has been amazing, and last night we saw Cirque du Soleil perform an unbelievable show.  It has also been nice to have some "away" time with Jeff, along with some time to rest away from the always long "to do" lists of home, enjoying all of the perks that go with staying in a nice hotel.  And Jeff has enjoyed his time at the CES, seeing some amazing innovative ideas in electronics. 

I realize my exposure here has been extremely limited, and I'm sure there are other good things and good, godly people in parts of this city that I have not seen.  But for the most part, it has just been sad to me to see the mass of humanity that pursues futile attempts to find pleasure and fulfillment in nothing but ungodliness. 

Yes, Dorothy, you are right  - we're not in Kansas anymore, and we are definitely not in East Texas.  We fly home tomorrow and I am ready.  Ready to be back in the conservative 'Bible Belt" where most people have some sense of the need to acknowledge a Higher Power and seek to serve Him.  This brief trip to "Sin City" has made me more aware and thankful for the godly home I was raised in, the godly people in my little world, and God's providential care that has continually blessed me in unimaginable ways throughout my life - mostly through the abundant life He has given me through the blood of His Son.  He offers that to everyone.  I hope you are enjoying that, too.

"Blessed is the man who walks not in the counsel of the wicked, nor stands in the way of sinners, nor sits in the seat of scoffers; but his delight is in the law of the Lord, and on his law he meditates day and night. He is like a tree planted by streams of water that yields its fruit in its season, and its leaf does not wither. In all that he does, he prospers."  ~Psalm 1:1-3

“No human counsel hath devised nor hath any mortal hand worked out these great things. They are the gracious gifts of the Most High God.” ~Abraham Lincoln

Yesterday I began cooking for our Thanksgiving meal which we will enjoy later today.  As I busily messed up my kitchen, I ran across my Granny's handwritten recipe for Candied Sweet Potatoes, splattered with evidence of past use.  I don't use this recipe much anymore - making enough to feed our crew requires doubling the recipe, which would mean adding six cups of sugar.  We prefer to reserve that amount of sugar intake for dessert!  But as a kid, this was by far my favorite part of any holiday meal at Granny's house.

As I read through Granny's neat script yesterday, I smiled at her last sentence - "Pour into bowl and eat like crazy - Ha!"  I can still hear Granny's voice and distinctive chuckle as I read that, and I miss her.

Thanksgiving is a trigger for many such memories.  As a kid, we would always go to Granny's house where she had so much food that it wouldn't all fit on the table.  She would have various overflow dishes scattered around on end tables, the top of the TV, and even on the floor.  She insisted on having everyone's favorites, which were different for everyone. And that was just the meal - she also prepared as many different desserts as there were people, because again - she wanted everyone to have their favorite.  For many years, I was the youngest grandchild in attendance, so I was relegated to sitting on a stool that was too tall for the table, on the end so that my left-handed self did not impede anyone else's meal-eating efficiency.

Eventually, my aunt and uncle helped me out with this by adding my younger cousin to the mix, and I still remember the day he was finally old enough to take over the position on the dreaded stool, and I graduated to a normal chair - what a day!

Most Thanksgivings, after we somewhat recovered from our food comas, we would go out to Uncle Bryan and Aunt Mary's house in the country.  I would go on a walk through the woods with my Daddy, enjoying the crispness of the fall air and the beauty of the changing leaves.

And just like those changing leaves, years passed and life changed.  Eventually, Granny got too old to prepare our Thanksgiving feast, and the yearly celebration was moved to my parents' house.  Then we all grew up and moved away, so we began our own rotation of Thanksgivings spent with our own parents/siblings and those spent with our new families.  I remember the first Thanksgiving I spent in Austin with Jeff's family, and the feeling that it was all wrong - their food and traditions were different from those of my family, and for the first time in my life, there was no dish of Granny's Candied Sweet Potatoes on the table.  But, I adjusted and enjoyed the new dishes, traditions, and people who were now also a part of my family.

Eventually, our children came and grew, older family members passed away, and new plans and traditions were born.  We transitioned from having Thanksgiving meals at grandparent tables to having them at our table.  Our siblings did the same.  And now, things have changed again as our children are grown and beginning families of their own.

Today, our two girls, two bonus sons, and our two grandchildren are in other places.  Sarah, Ryan, Lydia, and Henry are spending their Thanksgiving hosting friends in Tennessee.  Becca and Jeff are celebrating in Indiana with Jeff's family.  Caleb is here, and we will be enjoying a meal with several of our spiritual family later today - two of whom we will meet for the first time when they enter our home to share our meal together - - one of the great blessings of being a part of God's family!

All of the thoughts of Thanksgiving and looking back made me realize that holidays are sort of a microcosm of life.  We are born into certain traditions, and some days are bigger than others - like the days we graduate from the stool or the times when we are painfully aware of the empty chair that was filled in previous years.  We enjoy new additions to the table through marriage and birth, and sometimes we even transition to a totally different table.  Our roles in the event change over time as well - from consumer to producer, and eventually back to consumer.  And interspersed throughout all of the laughter and tears, joy and loneliness, happiness and heartache, celebrations and mundane, runs the common thread of love and family.

So, Happy Thanksgiving!  Wherever you find yourself today, I hope you will feel as loved and overwhelmingly blessed as I do.