Posts Categorized: Joy

Hoardette

| Joy, Peace, Self-Control

I do keep things. And, just possibly, there are spaces in my home where there are things that I don’t necessarily need, but that I think I should hang onto. For a while. Maybe.

And, while all this staying at home, and not going out unless you absolutely must, and staying away from people, is important, it’s also not much different from the normal and usual for me. I’m not as likely to browse in stores any more, and, while we rarely went out to eat, now that’s pretty much become never. But my life has been much less restricted than most folks, simply because I wasn’t out and about that much.

I have noticed how full the parking lots at Lowe’s and Home Depot have been, as I shopped there for plants and gardening supplies. It seems that people have been using their stay-at-home time for projects that might have been put off and delayed for various reasons. And I’ve thought hmmm, maybe I should be thinking about some home improvement pursuits, myself.

I started with the linen closet, tossing out old towel sets (that were too embarrassingly worn to even be used as rags), rearranging some things, and trying to make it easier to find those things that guests might need when they’re staying over. Stuff went to Goodwill, stuff went to the trash, stuff got moved to different locations. The flashlights that were stored there were nonfunctional and got replaced. I occasionally open the linen closet door, just to see how nice and neat it looks.

I got my own closet better organized.

In the kitchen, my Christmas dishes take up quite a bit of room. We use them for a few days a year. But, they’re my CHRISTMAS dishes. So, no culling for that kitchen cabinet. Just this evening, we were looking at a chunk of chocolate that was the result of a recipe that Peter and I tried that went really wrong. Peter was thinking that, if we had a grater, we could at least turn it into smaller pieces. “Do you have a grater, Mimi?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“I was thinking about a lemon grater.”

“Nope, sorry.”

Peter opened several drawers and searched through them. No luck. I looked in cabinets. Aha.

I have a small food processor.

“This might work,” I said, and put it together and plugged it in. After cutting the chunk of chocolate into pieces that would fit into the little processor, I attached the lid and turned the thing on. It worked well. So, I’m thinking that I don’t actually need a grater.

The place I’ve been putting the most energy on right now is my office, which is also a guest room, with a twin bed and trundle, and also the place where my treadmill is. And it’s the smallest bedroom in the house. The closet has a large filing cabinet in it. There are two long shelves across the top, and on the side opposite the filing cabinet, there are a couple of short shelves. Under those shelves is a small chest of drawers, which, at this time, holds a drawer full of clear and patterned Contact paper and two drawers of picture frames.

I found the grade book from when I taught at the local community college.  I glanced over the pages and then shredded them all. I also found folders with copies of student evaluations. I looked at a few of them. They’re mostly quite positive. Maybe I’ll keep a few of them. There are folders with handouts that I’ve used, and folders with colored paper that I use mostly for Bible-related games at church. There are folders with copies of periodicals that contain things I’ve written. Lots of things can go. Lots of things can stay.

 

On the floor-things to use up, things to give away, things to keep, maybe, things to throw away

There’s that old adage that says, “As soon as you throw something away, you apt to discover that you needed it after all.” Maybe, for some things, but not for most things. I’m trying to make good decisions. I do toss old pens that don’t work and wooden pencils that are too short to hold on to. I get rid of clothes that I don’t wear any more (the trash if they’re tattered, a helping agency if they’re wearable). I toss the newspaper out every day and don’t keep magazines I’ve read. (But there can be a problem if I’ve not gotten around to reading those magazines. Sounds like I shouldn’t subscribe to them, huh?) And I do have every painting that Peter has made at our house. But, one step at a time, right? I’m trying to discern between “Oh, I really like this,” and “Oh, I really (yes, really, honestly, completely) need and use this.” One closet at a time.

 

 

 

 

For it was only through this wonderful grace that we believed in him. Nothing we did could ever earn this salvation, for it was the gracious gift from God that brought us to Christ! So no one will ever be able to boast, for salvation is never a reward for good works or human striving. We have become his poetry, a re-created people that will fulfill the destiny he has given each of us, for we are joined to Jesus, the Anointed One. Even before we were born, God planned in advance our destiny and the good works we would do to fulfill it!

Ephesians 2:8-10 (The Passion Translation)

 

I love this passage, and I love this translation of the passage. Our lives are sometimes extraordinary and sometimes mundane. But we have become his poetry! Even when I’m ironing, or cleaning the bathrooms, or going with Peter to purchase food items for the Family Pantry, I’m God’s poetry. Even when I’m just cleaning out a closet.

The New(er) Routine

| Faithfulness, Joy, Kindness

For many, many years, my Sunday morning routine would be to get up at a reasonable time, get ready for church, pick up my church bag, and leave the house by 8:00 a.m. or so, maybe as early as 7:30, depending on how much I would need to do to get the Sunday School room ready for preschoolers.

Sometimes, I might need to laminate pictures for a game (requiring turning the laminating machine on and waiting for it to heat up). I would probably need to return the past week’s puzzles to the resource room and pick up some different ones, instead. I would put away materials from the previous Sunday and put out new items. Just business as usual.

Our play dough might be getting stiff; we would need to make a new batch, so I’d need to get out the ingredients, measuring utensils, and the electric skillet. And a wooden spoon. Kids really enjoy stirring the play dough ingredients in the skillet. Sometimes I have to remind them that it will never be play dough if they don’t stop stirring and let me move the skillet to the counter where I can cook it.

These days, I’ve lolled myself into a new, lazy routine. Now, our church service begins, online, Sunday morning at 10:45. I don’t have to gather up stuff; I don’t have to tote anything to a different location; I don’t have to drive anywhere. I do get dressed, but, really, I could be attending church in my nightgown every Sunday morning.

It’s calm. It’s restful. But, it’s not as much fun as spending the Sunday School hour with a bunch of little kids. And, who knows when we’ll be back to a usual routine. In the meantime . . .

Here’s what I’m doing. I have the take-home pupil leaflets for each Sunday School lesson. From the beginning of “not going to church on Sunday,” I’ve mailed those leaflets to the kids, along with a little “I miss being with you” note. After a couple of weeks, I sent other things, too.

 

 

One of my favorite enclosures was a blank 4×6 index card. On one side, I had my mailing address, my return address label, and a postcard stamp. I suggested that the kids draw a picture for me and then mail it to me. Several children did that. Then, I took photos of myself, holding each individual child’s drawing, and I e-mailed them a thank-you note.

 

Getting mail is fun for them, and getting mail is fun for me, too.

 

 

Peter was here last weekend. On Sunday morning, we watched a video Sunday School lesson presented by his Sunday School teacher at his church. And, we watched an extra lesson recorded by his mom, who is the church’s Children’s Minister. Then, Peter watched the Facebook worship presentation from our church. And, later, at 1:00, he participated in the 1st-3rd grade Zoom Sunday School from our church. They had suggested that all the kids bring something from their kitchen. Peter took a large pot.

The Bible story was Jesus’ teaching from Matthew 25: “When I was hungry, you gave me something to eat, and when I was thirsty, you gave me something to drink. When I was a stranger, you welcomed me, and when I was naked, you gave me clothes to wear. When I was sick, you took care of me, and when I was in jail, you visited me.” The Sunday School teacher explained that doing kind and helpful things for others is like doing kind and helpful things for Jesus.

Then she asked what kind and helpful things the children could do for other people. She waited for a moment, giving the kids time to think and answer. And, Peter said (without prompting), “Tomorrow, my grandmother and I are going shopping to buy things for, um, (prompt from me) the Family Pantry.”

That was, indeed, the plan we had made. Our church is partnering with several other churches around town and a couple of local helping agencies to provide a place where people who have lost jobs and have great needs and little income can get food and other supplies for their families.

(The kitchen items they brought to Zoom Sunday School were also a prompt for talking about ways to help people who are hungry.)

And, Monday morning, before Peter went back to Fort Worth, we made a trip to Dollar Tree. The helping agencies make a list each week of the needed items, and people from the churches shop for those things, as much as they’re able to provide. We then deliver them to a local church that has made its Fellowship Hall into a store for these families. (It’s a ring-our-bell-and-we’ll-come-out-and-get-your-stuff arrangement, so that no one’s too close, and we’re all masked up.)

 

I rejoiced with those who said to me, “Let’s go to the house of the Lord.”

Psalm 122:1 (Christian Standard Bible)

For now, the house of the Lord is my office space, where I attend worship service at Calvary Baptist Church of Waco each Sunday morning. I do put on clothes, and don’t stay in my nightgown all morning. Our service is live, and not a recorded video. Announcements, music, everything is live. Peter’s church’s service is recorded (which has its benefits, as church members can view it any time that’s convenient for them). Our service looks different, because it’s not taking place in the church’s sanctuary. Our preacher preaches from the living room, or even the patio (which Peter found amazing), now that the weather is warmer. I must admit, that, now that I’m at home . . .

I can knit while I’m at worship service.

Old Friends (cue the orchestra)

| Joy, Love, Patience

Down the street from us, behind the elementary school at the end of the block, there’s a park. There’s playground equipment, swings and slides and climbing structures. There’s a splash pad, too, for warm weather. And there’s a track; folks run and walk on it, parents push their babies in strollers, Peter rides his scooter around the oval. And, scattered about, there are park benches.

The park bench by the splash pad, where people of ALL ages sit, sometimes.

 

A couple of years ago, Peter and I went to the park. As we walked toward the splash pad,  I noticed a couple of men, senior adults, sitting, with their backs toward us, one on a bench, the other in a wheelchair. And, instantly, a song popped into my ears.

Simon and Garfunkel are the musical voices of my young adulthood. At seeing those men, the song “Old Friends” began to play in my head, and I was really tempted to surreptitiously take their photograph. (But it seemed intrusive.)

Meanwhile, in my head: “Can you imagine us years from today . . . sharing a park bench quietly? How terribly strange to be seventy.” I kept on humming, as Peter scootered over to the slides.

And, now, the song is back, wending its way around my hours and my days, even when I’m nowhere near a park bench, quietly or otherwise.

I’ve just turned seventy. And strange doesn’t even begin to describe it. Turning fifty didn’t bother me. Sixty didn’t seem inappropriate. Seventy is, actually, strange.

For quite some time, one of my knees hurts. It’s not excruciating, but, sometimes, it’s uncomfortable. My fingers are taking on a life of their own, skewing, swelling, refusing to bend. And my stylist doesn’t need nearly as much time to cut my hair as she used to. There’s just not as much hair there.  I’m consistently turning the volume up, on the computer, the television, and my phone. (My sons’ mantra has become: “Get hearing aids!”)

“Seventy, thy name is OW!”

Of course, the reality is that not being 70 doesn’t mean being 50 or 60 again. Not being 70 means not being, at all. And, I’d rather postpone “not being, at all.”

 

Meanwhile, back in the late 60’s, I purchased both the record and the music for Simon and Garfunkel’s album Bookends, so I can enjoy the songs whenever I want to. Well, I can play the songs, assuming my fingers will cooperate.  I don’t have a way to play the record. But, that’s what iTunes is for, right?

 

 

 

Listen to Me, house of Jacob, all the remnant of the house of Israel, who have been sustained from the womb, carried along since birth. I will be the same until your old age, and I will bear you up when you turn gray. I have made you, and I will carry you; I will bear and save you.

Isaiah 46:3-4 (Holman Christian Standard Bible)

 

Thanks be to God.

It Thinks It Can; It Thinks It Can

| Joy, Patience

 

It’s unfortunate that the lovely caladium plants in this photograph are difficult to see because of the crape myrtle leaves on the tree next door. And, also unfortunate that, when the tree’s limbs are bare, it’s ‘way too early for those plants to be growing. So, you’ll just have to come and visit me in late spring or summertime to be able to completely enjoy how attractive they are.

Or, rather were. This photograph is from last summer’s planting.

Caladiums come in a wide variety of colors and sizes and shapes. For several years, I’ve purchased a variety of caladium plants in different colors and sizes, and planted them in this shady southeast corner of the house. They’ve thrived there, but are not really winter-hardy here. A nursery employee once told me that, if I mulched them really well, they could stand our relatively mild winter (it might freeze a time or two, but not a serious freeze). I’ve not found that to be accurate.

This spring, well, ‘way back early, early in the spring, I was at a nursery and found caladium bulbs. I could do that, I thought. I’ll plant the bulbs and grow lovely caladiums. I chose several varieties, bagged up three each, carefully labeled each bag, so I would know which ones I had, and took photos of the pictures on each box, to help me recall what each variety looked like, and happily paid for them.

A few weeks later, I thought Time to plant those caladium bulbs!! And I went out on a Monday morning and got to work. It had rained. Quite a bit. But I dug (and slipped and slid) into the mushy bed. It was a pretty messy bit of gardening, and I quickly lost track of which ones I was putting in which spaces. And, then, there was such a density to the dirt/mud, that I was pushing some of them down into the mire, and then I had to go and open up a big bag of top soil to cover them all up (and to try to soak up some of the water).

A few weeks later, I was at a nursery (thank goodness nurseries are considered to be Essential Businesses), and I saw they had caladium plants, inside their store (as opposed to outside, where the sturdier plants were). I told the nursery guys how I had planted my caladium bulbs a while back and nothing had come up yet. They looked soberly at each other.

“A mistake?” I said.

“They’re probably dead,” one of them said.

“So,” I said. “If I want to plant these (pointing to the wonderful variety of growing caladium plants), when would I put them in the ground?”

“May 1,” they said.

So, that, so far, is my plan.

In the meantime, I’m moving some concrete edgers (again, a little difficult to see, due to that leafy crape myrtle’s dappled shade). The tree’s shade slows down the growth of the grass, and I’m trying to move the edgers closer to where the grass actually is. That leafy area on the right-hand side is Strawberry Begonia, which is a great, winter-hardy plant that loves shade, grows well, and spreads all by itself with no extra work on my part.

Rainfall has been plentiful right now, and there was a big storm a couple of days ago, which made shoveling a new track for those edgers much easier.

As I was working, digging, filling in the old track with dirt I dug out for the new track, admiring the strawberry begonias on my right and the ever-faithful, reliable, delightful daisies on my left (out of frame), guess what I saw. Come on, guess.

 

 

 

This is a tiny, new, brave caladium. (If you double click on the photo just above, you can actually see this tiny caladium, just to the left of center.)

Now, I’m not expecting all of them (or, really any more of them), to come up. But, maybe, just maybe, a few more will rise up. At the very least, I’m going to wait a little beyond May 1 before I rush out to buy some of those fully grown plants.

It seems a little bit miraculous. (Hmmm. Is miraculous a “little bit” kind of thing? Truly miraculous? Sort of miraculous? Gigantically miraculous? Quietly miraculous? Personally miraculous?)

Given the information I was given a few weeks ago, at the very least, I can look at it and say, “Well, that’s a miracle!”

 

 

For just as rain and snow fall from heaven and do not return there without saturating the earth and making it germinate and sprout, and providing seed to sow and food to eat, so my word that comes from my mouth will not return to me empty, but it will accomplish what I please and will prosper in what I send it to do.”

Isaiah 55:10-11 (Christian Standard Bible Version)

 

Maybe what seems like a miraculous thing to us, is just business as usual for God.

Traditions Tried and Traditions New

| Joy, Love, Patience

I think the old adage goes like this: When you’re really busy, time flies.

And the antithesis is: When there’s not much going on, there’s not much going on. Today lasts forever and tomorrow is hours and hours and hours away.

And then some.

I was thinking about Easter and how it seems to have been several weeks ago. But no, not even a whole week ago.

I haven’t been completely dormant this week. I’ve done important (but not too interesting) things, such as going to the grocery store, purchasing a limited amount of things, like salad stuff and hot dogs (and buns) and, um, other random stuff. I called in a prescription refill and picked that up at Target.

I’ve done some knitting. And had to start one thing over. Three times.

I’ve done a bit of work outside, but the weather’s been pretty chilly. Unseasonably chilly, as though WEATHER had not looked at the calendar and noticed that it’s April here. I keep thinking that I need to launder and put away the wintry clothing and pull out the springtime stuff. Not yet. (Of course, in just a few weeks, summer will be ready to creep in, and I’ll be complaining about the heat.)

And speaking of Easter, it rained. In the wee hours Sunday morning, a gigantic crash rattled the windows, an epic flash of light illuminated the bedroom, and drenching rain came down. And down. And down. And down.

The first thing I thought about was that I hoped that parents, trying to get ahead of the chaos of Easter morning, had not decided to hide eggs outdoors for their kids to find at the first light of day, which is when children who are expecting treats are going to want to rise and shine.

I was reminded of an Easter when I was a college student. A friend came home for the Easter weekend, and on Saturday, I went to her house and we decorated a lot of hard-boiled eggs and decorated them. She was inviting some high school friends over for a party, and then there would be a grand finale of finding Easter eggs in her spacious back yard. In the dark, with only the limited light from the garage and back patio lights.

Her friends were up to the challenge and eagerly went out to find those eggs. They got flashlights. They looked and peered and hunted.  Nothing. They could not find a single egg. My friend, and I, were shrugging our shoulders and trying to guide them to the places where we were certain there should be eggs. No luck. We were confounded.

She was able to figure it out the next day, when she noticed some movement in the back yard. The neighbors had a couple of large dogs, and they had pushed their way through a gap in the fencing. They were making beelines to the places where, during the early evening before, they had found some scrumptious, crackly, chewy, yummy treats.

She notified the neighbors that their dogs were out. And that their fence needed mending.

Some Easters have been bright and warm, others have been cloudy and damp. Since Easter isn’t a set date in the springtime, anywhere from March 22 to April 25, knowing what the weather might be, is, well, variable.

On our most recent Sunday morning, we had video church, now running for five Sundays. For most weeks, our pastor has preached from the living room (and our minister of music has led us in singing from his living room). Last Sunday, the preaching came from the beautiful back yard. That giant thunderstorm was short-lived, and the sun was shining. Alleluia!

Jeremy and Sarah’s church, in Brooklyn, has been putting Scripture reading and choral music with each week’s sermon and posting it online on Sunday mornings.

Kevin and April’s church has been having their worship services online for the past several weeks. They wanted to do something different on Easter, wanting the people to gather together, but staying safe. They invited everyone to drive to church, park in their larger parking lot, and worship together in their cars. They got an FM transmitter so that people could listen through their car’s radio. The pastor also invited people, when they would have said “Amen,” to honk their horns.

 

Wherever you’ve been, I hope your Easter was just what you needed it to be, to hear just what you needed to hear, and to rejoice in the way you needed to rejoice. Alleluia!

 

And I will be with you, day after day, to the end of the age.

Matthew 28:20b (The Voice Translation)

 

Amen.

The Bright Spots

| Joy

Back in March, when I went to Fort Worth to get Peter for some Spring Break holiday time, I went to a couple of nurseries there. I got sucked into springtime mentality and did quite a bit of shopping. I wandered around, with carts (which just leads to more merchandise, because I don’t have to try to carry several pots), and picked up familiar annuals that I needed to replace, after the winter, and some things I’d never purchased before, thinking I could put this in that spot and put that in this spot . . . One nursery had bougainvilleas, and I love bougainvilleas. They even had the orangey-red kind that I like because they’re the color of the brick on our house. I filled up the trunk with plants.

After Peter went back home, I spent time outside (even though the weather was still a little chilly), cleaning up the winter’s leavings. I repainted the plant stakes in the thyme garden, and relabeled everything. I was careful to only do two stakes at a time, otherwise, I’d have had a handful of labeled stakes and some uncertainty about which stake went next to which thyme plant.

Then, that last Saturday before we were cautioned to (and required to) stay at home, I went to three nurseries here, and bought a bunch more plants.

I like Caladiums. They’ve grown well in this space. I usually purchase Caladium plants, but this year, at one of those local nurseries, I saw Caladium bulbs. I could do this, I thought. And I bought several, three of each kind, putting them in the brown paper bags provided. I labeled each bag. I dug up a generous space in this bed, put those bulbs in, and covered them up.

 

It’s been almost three weeks. I don’t know how long it takes for them to come up.

 

We’ll see.

 

I was worried all last year about this tree. It didn’t seem as full, and its leaves seemed smaller and paler. In the fall, it’s always the first tree to change and the first to loose its leaves. The fall leaves are golden and so striking against the other trees which are still green. Last fall, they were paler. I was afraid it was in ill health.

 

This year, it’s full and green and the leaves are large. Maybe it was just taking a year off.

 

 

 

 

 

 

For you will leave your exile with joy and be led home wrapped in peace. The mountains and hills in front of you will burst into singing and the trees of the field will applaud!

Isaiah 55:12 (The Passion Translation)

I like that in a tree.

Spring!

We Might Should Be Paying More Attention to the Kids

| Joy, Kindness, Love

Peter came to visit a few days, during his Spring Break. A friend at church suggested a play date on Tuesday afternoon, with her own grandson, who was also spring-break visiting. I suggested a neighborhood park close to our house. There’s a large oval track and a few playground structures with slides and climbing structures.

A few families were there and kids were running and climbing and playing. Our two boys joined in.

There are also benches, perfect for a couple of grandmothers to sit and chat.

She said that earlier, they’d been to a fast-food restaurant with a nice playground which had been busy, busy while they were there. As families came and went, the playground population ebbed and flowed, and with every change in families, children said good-bye to old-and-new friends and hello to others. And as kids re-grouped, they found ways to work and play together.

“I see that they’re doing that here,” she said. Within an hour, most of the children who’d been at the playground when we arrived had left, being replaced with all new groups. Some kids worked and played together on one of the larger play structures. Others raced from one play structure to another, spending just a few minutes at one space, and then leaping up and streaking off to another one.

And we agreed that they are a far better example of getting along and working together than lots of adults we know.

 

Yesterday, I took Peter back to Fort Worth. His plan was that we would go to Central Market, do a little shopping, and get some lunch (a peanut butter sandwich and a salad) and then he could spend time on their playground. The day was delightful, and that is what we did. At any given moment, there were a dozen or so kids, racing from one apparatus to another, taking turns, planning, working together, and getting along.

 

 

But speaking the truth in love, let us grow in every way into Him who is the head—Christ. From Him the whole body, fitted and knit together by every supporting ligament, promotes the growth of the body for building up itself in love by the proper working of each individual part.

Ephesians 4:15 (Holman Christian Standard Bible)

 

And speaking of growing . . .

 

And I’m Just Finally Getting Rid of the Last of the Fall Leaves

| Faithfulness, Joy, Patience

Wow. It’s already spring. Sort of.

Officially, the last “average” freeze date for Waco is March 12. We’ve had freezes ‘way into April, but that’s unusual, and I’m impatient. Also, I don’t usually plant really tender things. (I did buy a bougainvillea last week, and it will need to come into the house if the temperature plummets in the next few weeks.)

I’ve talked before about fall raking, and other yard stuff.  There were lots of leaves, and I raked all of them up. Most of them went into big black trash bags, because the green bins that hold yard waste are only emptied every other week on trash day, so there’s a limit to how many leaves can get carted away to be mulched. I put all those extra leaves in those trash bags. Every other week, in addition to whatever weeds and sticks and things that have been damaged by the few frosts we’ve had,  I emptied one or more of those black bags into the green bins. Every other week, through the fall and winter.

This Thursday, after a rather epic rainfall the day before, I thought  I could probably get the last of the bags of leaves emptied into the green bins.

And now, behind the shed, there are ten bags of dirt to spread around in the low places at the back of the yard. They’d been in the car’s trunk for a while. I’d gotten them at a local nursery and hadn’t taken the time to move them. Today, with that space behind the shed now empty, I thought I should transfer them. I’m not all that strong, so it was a one-at-a-time situation. I got the wheelbarrow out of the shed, pushed it up to the garage, opened up the car’s trunk, and pulled and tugged at one of the bags. I got it out of the trunk and into the wheelbarrow, and wheeled it across the back yard and around to the back of the shed, and dumped the 40-pound sack onto the ground. Then, I pushed the empty barrow back up to the garage, and so on. At this point, all ten bags are behind the shed, waiting for a warm day when things have dried up a bit after the several rainy days we’ve had.

 

 Ask the Lord for rain in the spring, for he makes the storm clouds.
And he will send showers of rain so every field becomes a lush pasture

Zechariah 10:1 (New Living Translation)

 

Just this week, several trees have begun leafing out. There are trees with the mistiness of new leaves around them, and a tree that produces purple flowers before the leaves pop out is shimmering with beauty. The trees in my yard are still bare, with leaves that appear later than some others. But it won’t be long.

I Went to a Funeral

| Faithfulness, Goodness, Joy

Last Tuesday, I went to a funeral for a man I’d never met. It seemed appropriate.

The Sunday edition of the Waco paper usually includes a half-page spread highlighting a local veteran. Several weeks ago, I noticed that the article covered a World War II vet, and those folks are few and far between these days. I read the first line, which said that this man grew up in Hillsboro, Texas, a town north of Waco, where my mother and her four older sisters grew up. I read on and saw that, when this man was in the service, he’d had the opportunity to run into his older brothers, also in the service. I didn’t know the man in the article, but I did recognize the name of one of his older brothers.

One of my mother’s older sisters was widowed when I was six. A couple of years later, she remarried, to one of those older brothers. That man was the nicest guy. I remember him as kind and gracious, and, he had this cabin on a lake. And he invited us to come. My family and another aunt’s family and possibly more of us. It was such great fun. The older cousins water skied, and we younger cousins played on the shore, wading at the lake’s edge and finding mussels and other rich, exciting items.

A couple of years after that, my aunt developed breast cancer and passed away. She was buried in the family plot of that kind man.

In a Christmas card, I sent that veteran’s article to my cousin who had been the kind man’s step-daughter for a few years. She phoned to thank me for it, and gave me some more information about the veteran in the article. My cousin’s older sister died a few years back. She had not wanted any funeral or any sort of to-do. She’d been divorced for many years, and there hadn’t been any thoughts or plans for a “final resting place.” This veteran, who was just as kind as his brother, insisted that my cousin’s sister be interred in his family’s plot. “She should be with her mother,” he said. And that is what they did.

That’s why I went to the funeral. I’d hoped to be able to chat with family members, but I was delayed leaving Waco, and there was pouring rain all the way from Waco to Hillsboro. When I did arrive, I found the parking lot packed with cars and the Marshal and Marshal funeral home packed with people. I was overwhelmed and reluctant to walk around asking, “Who are you? Are you a family member? What’s your name?” So, I went to the restroom. Then, I walked around the edges of the crowd and turned a corner and ran into a couple that had been members of my church a few years ago. We were all startled at this unexpected meeting.

Turns out, they grew up in Hillsboro, also. (If I had known that before, I’d forgotten it.) She said that she’d been best friends with the veteran’s daughter, spending more time at that house than her own. “And,” she said, “what’s your connection?” And I explained about the kind man and about the veteran’s insistence on providing a resting place for my cousin.

I said, “This is why I so strongly believe in the concept of Six Degrees of Separation. There are connections all over that we don’t realize. If every time I walked into a store or park or event, it would automatically generate little illuminated dotted lines to all the people I had a connection to, I could go introduce myself, and we could figure out how we’re connected.”

 

 Ask God to bless everyone who mistreats you. Ask him to bless them and not to curse them. When others are happy, be happy with them, and when they are sad, be sad. Be friendly with everyone. Don’t be proud and feel that you are smarter than others. Make friends with ordinary people.

Romans 12:14-16 (Contemporary English Version)

 

Based on the man that I knew and the stories and information I heard at the funeral, this sounds like the men in that Hillsboro family.

 

Now, I do understand that it was Hillsboro, the town were all my mother’s family grew up. So I might have expected to find someone with whom I might have had a connection  But here’s another example:

I have a son and daughter-in-law who live in Brooklyn. Sarah phoned me one Sunday afternoon with this story:

She was going to a friend’s shower and riding on a subway train that she didn’t usually travel on. When the doors opened, she stepped into the train and saw that there was only one empty seat. It was next to a man who looked very much like the actor Tony Hale. She sat down next to this man, took a deep, brave breath, and said to him, “You look a lot like Tony Hale.” And he said, “I am Tony Hale.”

Sarah and Tony Hale on the L train

Now that might seem pretty brash and maybe even invasive, but, there’s more. (Often, there’s more.) When Sarah first moved to New York, fresh out of TCU, she attended worship services at “The Haven,” a place for New Yorkers in the arts communities. A place that was started by . . . yes . . . Tony Hale. She walked into the subway car already having a connection with the actor. They had a nice chat about The Haven and people they knew, and, at one point, he said to her, “Nice bag,” referring to a large, quilted tote that she was carrying. She said, “My mother-in-law made it for me.” Tony Hale liked my bag! She asked if she could take a photo, and he said “yes.”

A year or so earlier, a local songwriter and singer made a movie based on his life and struggles, and how things turned out. Tony Hale was one of the actors in that movie, Sironia. That singer/songwriter and his family were members of my church, at the time. I’d had a couple of his kids in my Sunday School class. The Sunday after Sarah told me about sitting next to Tony Hale on the train, I ran into that songwriter’s wife. I told her about Sarah’s encounter. And she said, with great astonishment, “Tony Hale was riding the subway?!?!?”

But the most interesting thing is that I have two pathways, of only one person each, between me and Tony Hale. It’s like we’re BFFs.

 

It Doesn’t Happen Often, But When It Does . . .

| Joy, Peace

Waaaaaay back, one Saturday morning, the second winter after my family moved into our new house, we were awakened by the frantic ringing of our doorbell. All four of us were roused, and Daddy went to the door, where he found the boy from across the street, who gestured toward our front yard.

“It snowed,” he cried. Indeed. It had snowed. And he thought we would want to know about it. We so did.

Jimmy from across the street and JoAnne and I, and obviously, there’s a parent who got bundled up enough to come out and take photos

 

Here in Central Texas, we don’t have the proper clothing for snow. We don’t have boots. We don’t have water repellent gloves. Our coats aren’t made for Arctic blasts of wind.

So preparing for a morning of playing in the snow requires some creative thinking. As in, how many pairs of pants can you put on and still be able to bend your knees? How many layers of shirts, sweaters, and outerwear can you put on and still button up or zip up that last jacket? How many pairs of gloves can you find in the whole house so that you can put on several to delay the moisture that is going to soak in while you’re creating snowballs and/or a snowman?

And then there’s the process of putting on a thin pair of socks, which can be covered by plastic bags, and then a pair or two of heavier socks, and hoping that you’ll be able to squeeze all that into a pair of canvas shoes, because, really, your mom is NOT going to let you go out into all that snow (“all that snow” being a relative term) in your good school shoes. See previous comment about not having boots.

 

Thursday morning, just as I was rousing myself out of bed, David came in and said, “If you want to take pictures of the snow, you’d better take them now, before the sun comes up.” And I said, “It snowed?”

Yes, indeed. It snowed. Some folks might snicker about the presence of snow being such a big deal, but, it is. I took pictures.

 

This is the day that the Lord has made; let us rejoice and be glad in it.

Psalm 118:24 (New Revised Standard Version)

 

Every day is a day that the Lord has made. Some days are exciting, like a snow-covered day. Some days are more prosaic. I need to remember that each day is a day for rejoicing and being glad.