An Out of the Way Place

A bit larger and fancier than Grandma's back porch, but you get the idea

I don't think I ever lived in a home with a front porch (though the home I live in now has a wee bit of space next to the front door where I keep a chair and sit out sometimes) but growing up, I loved the back porch!  In our home, we had an enclosed porch where I kept my toys when I was little, and played loud music as I grew up.   I think the porch was my spot because it was a bit out of the way.  My toys weren't under foot when I was small, and my music wasn't blaring near the living room or dining room when I got older.  I remember cold winters when Momma and I would argue about whether or not it was too cold for me to be on the porch.   I had a bedroom I could listen to a small radio in after all.   But I loved being off by myself for a little while during the day.  (My mom was very protective, and it seemed my time away from home was rationed.  If I was ten minutes late from school I was read the riot act about Momma being afraid I'd been beaten and left in a ditch somewhere, while my mind wandered off wondering just where this ditch between my house and school was.  When I dared ask, I was told not to be a smart aleck.)

My grandmother's porch was also a good spot for being out of the way, though not alone.  My mother had two sisters and three brothers, so when we all went to my Grandma's two bedroom apartment for holidays and parties, it was a bit cramped.  We cousins used to like to visit on the porch when we'd first arrive.  It's not exactly like we were banished there, but we liked to share secrets and silliness away from adult ears.  After supper when everything was put away, we might sit at the dining room table and play cards, with some of the uncles joining us, but before eating we'd have just been in the way and made to shuffle around, so us being on the porch at first was perfect for everyone.

It couldn't have been a big porch, but in my head I remember the five youngest amongst us singing, playing charades, and telling stories right underneath the window.  And we laughed.  Man oh manischewitch what I wouldn't give to sit on the floor of that porch and laugh like that with them again.

Poor Bob.   I'm now contemplating asking him to move my desk away from the window, and build an enclosed space for my cousins and I to sit in and laugh.  Okay.  Maybe not.

You can read more about people's love for their porch by clicking this link and checking out Peter Pollock's One Word Blog Carnival. Yes. Todays word is "porch".

Bunnies, Ducks, Hamsters, and Kittens, Oh My!

I have always loved dogs and cats, but allergies prevented me from having any.

My first encounter with a "pet" was probably when I was three years old and we went to visit my Daddy's family in Hungary.  They lived on a farm, and when my Uncle Bela took me to the rabbit hutches, I was thrilled.   I adored those bunnies, and even had favorites.  At the time, no one had the heart to tell me that the ones I hardly noticed would be fried "chicken" in the upcoming weeks.

The day we were leaving, my Uncle Bela wanted my daddy to smuggle my favorite bunny home on the plane with us.  My daddy said that wasn't legal, and my uncle tried to tell him I'd be heartbroken leaving that bunny behind.  Daddy said I'm going to be even more heartbroken leaving my cousins behind, and that he'd sooner be arrested for smuggling one of them home on the plane.  The brothers disagreed about what was best for me, but parted on good terms anyway. (And no cousins were smuggled in the luggage.)

It was soon after we came home (at least in my mind) that my Daddy and my Godfather (his cousin) came home from the farm with two ducks.  I named them Daffy and Daisy.  I loved them very much, and they lived on a diet of Fruity Pebbles™cereal for several months.   Then, however, neighbors complained that they were making too much noise (probably the sugar from the Fruity Pebbles™ making them hyper), and that keeping ducks was against city ordinances.  They either flew away, went to live on a farm, or were Sunday dinner.   I like to think they flew away, and the ducks at a nearby pond are their progeny.

When I was about six years old, my Daddy's friend's son had hamsters.  I thought they were adorable and wanted hamsters of my own.  That year, for my birthday, my Godfather came to my house with a table and a tank.  He and Daddy teased Momma that they were bringing in hamsters.  My mother threw a fuss that no rodents are being invited into her house to be nurtured!  They kept teasing her, but they brought in tropical fish. Though I loved Henrietta (named after Henrietta Hippo from "New Zoo Revue"), Henry (also named after Henrietta Hippo) and their little family of fishes, I still think that if they let me have the hamsters, I wouldn't be afraid of and repulsed by rodents.

When I was in college, a cat snuck into our basement window and had kittens.    Though I really wanted to keep the kitten I had named Tawney, my parents found them all other homes when they were old enough to be weaned.  I'd have preferred to keep Tawney and get allergy shots, but it wasn't my call.

Since then, I haven't had any pets, though I sometimes tease Bob that I'm going to take him to Church to have him blessed on St. Francis Day.   He is a good sport, but he doesn't want to deal with my allergies any more than my parents did.  So for now, I have to be content with BunBun and her family living in my front yard.


This post is part of Peter Pollock's One Word Blog Carnival. Today's word is "pets". Click here to find his and other posts about pets.


I still remember the words to the theme song, btw...

Where is Home?

This building looks exactly
 like the one I  grew up
 in in Chicago.   We lived
 on the first floor.

When I was little, I considered a two flat a couple of blocks west of Pulaski and a block north of Lawrence my home.  Being an only child, I had my own bedroom (painted apricot, just as I requested), and was just spoiled enough that the enclosed porch in the back was converted to a playroom (painted pink), which became the room I listened to music in when I got older.  We had arched doorways leading to the living room (painted off white) and dining room (painted light green), with a huge picture of Jesus in the Garden over our China cabinet.

Either this depicts Jesus in the Garden or when He cried out how
  He longed to gather His people like a hen gathers her chicks.

On the opposite wall was a picture of the Last Supper.  

My mother always bought pictures of the Last Supper (not necessarily this one,
 though this is the one that hung in our  dining room) as house warming gifts,
 unless she new the family already had one.

In the living room hung a painted portrait of my mother on her First Communion Day, a picture of me on my First Communion Day, my parent's wedding photo, and a collage of photos of friends and family.

None of these things made that house near Lawrence and Pulaski a home.   Oh, don't get me wrong.  I loved that my home included all of those things.   But that isn't what made them my home.   Indeed, when my Mother became ill and "temporarily" came to live with us, I'd do routine checks on that house, and already it no longer felt like home.   It was only home as long as someone who loved me was there.  Maybe that's why we tell people to make themselves at home when they visit.  It's like we are saying "Hey, you are loved here.  Don't be afraid to let your guard down! It's all good!"

I imagine that is also why we Christians say that our true home is in Heaven.   Who loves us more than God?  No one.  Who accepts us more fully, "as is"?   No one.  So then it only makes sense that Heaven is our real home.  And now with both my Momma and my Daddy there,   Heaven is an even more welcoming place, though it would seem impossible, like adding to infinity.

Don't get me wrong.  I'm not overly anxious to leave this world.   I have a wonderful husband who makes this world more "homey", and I dread the thought of leaving him in a world less loving with a house less homey.  But I have become more joyful at the prospect of Jesus preparing a home for us together in Heaven.  A home that includes those we love.

Today's post is part of Peter Pollock's One Word Blog Carnival. Today's word in "Home".

Road Trip

This week's word for the One Word Blog Carnival is "road". Check out Peter's post, and the posts of those who link up to this blog carnival by clicking here.

I have had roads I dreamed of opened up to me, paved, with flowers bordering the sides.  

I have had roads I hoped to travel blocked with impassable boulders and floods.

I have had roads I never wanted to walk along become the only one available to me.

I have roads I'm unsure of opened up before me, now.

But I have not traveled, nor will I ever travel, alone.

I have loved the following song from the first time I heard it, listening to the radio in my room as a teen.   I loved it even more when I heard it while driving on an actual road for the first time.  (I learned to drive when I was 23, after my daddy died.)   I love it even more now that I look back at roads I've been on as well as to those I still hope to travel.

On the roads we travel both together and apart, Kyrie Eleison.  Lord, have mercy!

The wind blows hard against this mountainside

Across the sea into my soul

It reaches in to where I cannot hide

Setting my feet upon the road

My heart is old it holds my memories

This heart it burns a gem like flame

Somewhere between the soul and soft machine

Is where I find myself again

Kyrie Elison down the road that I must travel

Kyrie Elison through the darkness of the night

Kyrie Elison where I go you will follow

Kyrie Elison on a highway in the light

When I was young I dreamed of growing old

Of what my life would mean to me

Would I have traveled down my chosen road

Or only wish that I could be

Kyrie Elison down the road that I must travel

Kyrie Elison through the darkness of the night

Kyrie Elison where I go you will follow

Kyrie Elison on a highway in the light

Crazy Eights

Today the one word blog carnival over on Peter Pollock's blog is about games.  I like games.   When I was growing up, my parents, grandma, uncles, and cousins played cards when we got together.   My favorites were Crazy Eights and Gin Rummy.   We used to play for points, lowest points win.   I can still see my cousin Diane's young face over my shoulder helping me keep score.  I didn't mind keeping score, though I would have balked at having to do half that amount of math work for homework!   Even if you weren't score keeper, you had to add your own hand, and yes, people were watching.   In Crazy Eights, eights (the free card for changing suits) and twos ("pick up two!") were worth more than their face value.   In our variation of the game, an eight was worth sixty-four points.  I forgot how much a two was worth, but it was more than itself squared, though still less than sixty four.  I remember eights being the worse thing to get stuck with in the end.  They were great to have in the beginning when dealt, but not so great if you were holding them when someone else won.

I suppose I should say something spiritual here, perhaps suggesting that we are eights because we are worth so much more than our "face value" to God, or that finishing the game with a special card still in hand is not a life well lived, or something like that.   But I'm not.  I'm just going to enjoy remembering the laughter of my parents and grandmother, and the smiling youthful faces of my cousins.  Or is that the other way around?  Maybe I should invite what's left of the family over for a game of Crazy Eights, so that we all can share the memory.
What about you?   What are the games you remember bonding over?   Care to share any memories with us?

Have You Ever Ridden on a Duck?

Have you ever been to the Wisconsin Dells?  There are two parts to this vacation.  One can travel on  either a boat or a"DUCK" to see the actual Dells of the Wisconsin River.  Then there is the touristy stuff.  Both are fun and worthwhile.  But neither is an adventure!
About ten years ago, Bob and I thought going to the Dells would be fun.   Bob suggested, though, that instead of staying on strip,  we stay in a fishing resort in Poynette, Wisconsin.  (No, Bob does  not fish)  I figured this was one of those "six of one, half a dozen of the other" situations.   It was near enough to Lake Delton to get there in about twenty minutes, but far enough from there that we wouldn't be kept up at night with partyers.  Besides,  we wanted to visit Circus World Museum in Baraboo, so it wasn't like we just wanted to eat at Paul Bunyan's, ride the boat and the DUCK,

Not necessarily a Wisconsin "DUCK", but a "DUCK" nonetheless.

see Tommy Bartlett's show, and visit Ripley's Believe it or Not Museum.  We wanted to do other things, too!

When we got, there, Bob saw that next door to where we were (it was a lovely place, but by "resort", they mean we had a cabin with a bathroom, not some fancy schmancy place) staying was a boat rental place right on the river.   He thought renting a pontoon boat and exploring the river sounded like fun.  Again, I thought "six of one, have a dozen of the other".  (Really, wherever we go, that's where the party is at, so it doesn't really matter where we are...) So, on a five day trip to "the Dells" we were planning to spend one day in Baraboo, and one day on the river.

Well, we tell the owner of the boat rental place that we are newbies, and he shows us how to drive it.   Then we go for a lovely ride on the river and dock at a nice little restaurant.   We had a nice lunch, and decided it was time to head back so we could return the boat on time.

Well, it on the way back, the boat ends up getting stuck in sandbars, and we have to get out and push the boat out, then hop back in it.  That was all well and good when the water came up to our knees.   But at one point, the boat drifted away from us too quickly, and we had to swim a few hundred feet after it!   Now,  Bob and I tried climbing over the side as we had before, but there was too much boat sticking out of the water, so we swam along side of it for a while.   Then we tried getting in from the back, and that worked much better.  We got in the boat, I looked at Bob, and then I laughed and laughed and laughed.   I'm afraid we didn't take pictures of the event (after all, who could forget...) but the picture to the right reminds me of him when we got back in the boat that day.  Poor guy.  A proper wife would have been worried that he and I would catch a chill, but I couldn't get over how funny he looked!  Bob, bless him, was just glad I was taking things in stride.  Either that, or he was worried that I cracked up. I'm not sure which.
Afterwards things seemed to go rather smoothly, at least until we realized that nothing looked familiar.   It seems we went down the wrong branch!   Nothing to worry about though, as they connected just past where we were staying.   The owner of the shop was getting worried about his boat because it was almost closing time, and the weather had changed.  (Did I mention it had started to rain?  Woops.)   He saw us and towed us back in, while I laughed and laughed.
What was so funny?  Nothing really.  I was just filled with joy that everything worked out okay, and that Bob and I had faced our adventure working things out together and not griping at each other and bickering.  Love is not easily angered, and I was so glad to be sharing any and all adventures with Bob, whom I love so much, and loves me as well.  I hope they all turn out as well, with  us at the right destination when everything is all said and done.




This is being submitted to the One Word blog carnival at Peter Pollock's blog.  Today's One Word is adventure.
(I had thought this would make a good "Life is Funny" post, too, but my friend hasn't been hosting her blog carnival lately.)

Earthly Treasure Points to Heavenly Treasure

(Yes, my parents did listen to this song when I was a child.  You don't run across this song by accident over the interwebs, even when searching youtube "Schatzi only polka".)

I think I may have mentioned before that my daddy was Hungarian.  I may have also mentioned that my father and mother had friends here in Chicago who were from his village.  Somehow among those friends was a German couple.   I don't remember their names.   They were not among the group very often.  The only thing I really remember about them is that the man pronounced my last name in the German way, not the American, and that he called his wife "Schatzi".   I'm not sure if that was her name or not.   I found out later, when I was learning German in High School, that "schatzi" means treasure.   Isn't that a beautiful thing to call someone, whether it is a given name, or a nickname?
I can understand how one could call their spouse a treasure.   My Bob is a real treasure.   In Ephesians it says " Husbands, love your wives, just as Christ loved the church and gave himself up for her ".   I can truly see that my husband's goal is to do exactly that, every day.   What a blessing to me!   I know my husband isn't perfect (who is?), but when I see how he loves me, and I think about how Jesus, who is perfect, loves me so much more, I feel like a treasure!
So what is my treasure?   I guess it's only truthful to say I have two.  Bob, whose goodness, patience, and faithfulness points me to my ultimate treasure, Jesus.

Yes, I do treasure his creativity and sense of humor.

Today we have the One Word at a Time blog carnival over on Peter Pollock's blog. Today's one word is treasure. Click here to find out what others have to say about treasure.

GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOAL!!!!!!!! - One Word Blog Carnival

Courtesy of Photobucket

It's time for the one word blog carnival again, and this week the one word is goals.

(I'm not entirely sure, but I think that the guy in the video scored a goal.....)

I can't say I remember the last time I scored a significant goal.   Was it as a child, playing kickball?   Was it graduating from college?  Perhaps it was when I began my teaching career.  Wait!  I have it!   I organized my kitchen in February!  Yay for me!   Too bad I didn't think of asking a friend to scream "GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOAL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" when I was done.  (Though I do have an aunt who informed me she was very proud of me for getting started on organizing my home...)

I wonder what that would be like to have that commentator narrating my day.

I finished a load of dishes.
GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOAL!!!!!!!!!!


I completed the lettering for the boys' projects for the retreat.
GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOAL!!!!!!!!!!!


I called the Parish Office to find out if D. J. is a boy or a girl.
GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOAL!!!!!!!!!


I finished reading the Introduction of Mere Christianity.  
GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOAL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!


I started dinner for the evening.
GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOAL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!


My husband and I arrived at the Evangelization Committee Meeting at Church.
GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOAL!!!!!!!!!!






At, first it sounds like it would be great, but to have an unbiased commentary, it would have to include when I was being distracted by twitter before loading the dishwasher,  grumbling at the letters that were sticking together, procrastinating calling the Parish Office because I'm afraid that the secretary doesn't like me, reading the comics before C. S. Lewis, taking the frozen chicken patties out of the freezer instead of making a homemade meal today, and talking about mundane things at the meeting before getting down to work.

When push comes to shove, it's all pretty meaningless in and of itself.  Dishes will need to be done once again, as well as dinner be made.   The retreat will be over  on Saturday.   The meeting may or may not accomplish anything.   If I fully comprehend every word Lewis wrote, will it affect even one person's life?

There is only one way any of my day to day goals have any meaning.

2 Corinthians 5:9 (New International Version, ©2011)

⁹ So we make it our goal to please him, whether we are at home in the body or away from it.

(or in fuller context)

2 Corinthians 5:8-10 (New International Version, ©2011)

⁸ We are confident, I say, and would prefer to be away from the body and at home with the Lord. ⁹So we make it our goal to please him, whether we are at home in the body or away from it. ¹⁰ For we must all appear before the judgment seat of Christ, so that each of us may receive what is due us for the things done while in the body, whether good or bad.


If God is pleased in some small way that my husband and I have dinner (and on clean plates, too!), or that little children will have a project organized for them, or that my mind is filled with Lewis's thoughts rather than those of the writers' of  CSI, or that we meet and discuss how to bring people's hearts closer to him rather than we stay home and watch NCIS, well then, I guess there is dignity in the accomplishment of even the smallest goal.

I think this post is done.....


GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOAL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

The Future: It's in the Cards (or Not)

Okay, I goofed yesterday. I did not remember what the One Word blog carnival was even going to be about, much less was I prepared to participate.   However, I have had some time to reflect on the word Future since yesterday.   Actually, I have been reflecting on it all weekend, I just didn't know it was the word for the blog carnival.
Saturday I saw Carmen in 3D.  I really enjoyed it.   Surprisingly, one of the scenes that stirred my imagination was the scene with the tarot cards.

Over and over she sees the omen of her death in the cards, even though she tries again....   It had me thinking about how much she further and further pushed Don Jose away after seeing that.   Did she push him away because, as the beginning of the story implies, she's just like that, or did she push him away because she saw him as an enemy in the cards?   Did he kill her in the end because he was an obsessive nutcase, or because he was told over and over again by her that he would?   Is the future really so set in stone, that it was just the way it was going to be no matter what she did?  Was she really better off "knowing" no matter which view one takes?

God makes it clear in Leviticus that he does not want us to go to fortune tellers and the like to find out our future.  He doesn't seem to like the business of fortune telling at all!   While I knew that while watching, I asked myself what I would tell someone who did not find Leviticus a convincing argument at all.  Would I shrug and say "Well I do!"  or would I explain.  What would I say?

At one time, I found the idea of knowing the future to be intriguing.  It was God's word in Leviticus that kept me from psychics.   Now, while I find Leviticus every bit as compelling,  I find in my heart that I do not even wish to know the future any longer.  I don't want to know that I get hit by a bus!  I don't want to spend my life wondering if I can avoid that bus, or if I am fated to be smashed by it.   I don't want to cross the street, and wonder if the bus is somewhere nearby unseen.  I don't want to ride a bus wondering if ironically I am reading the paper or conversing in the instrument that will be my death.

I don't want to live my life thinking about my death, but hoping that what I am doing, or will be doing next, will have some significance in the eternal design, even if it is a mere dot.   I can't do that avoiding buses... I'd rather have hope in the future than knowledge of it.

This post is being respectfully submitted to Peter Pollock's blog carnival.


If you were expecting a post about Lent today, click here.

The Meaning of Sacrifice

It's a funny thing; I looked up the word "sacrifice" on dictionary.com, and could not find a perfect definition.  I found plausible working definitions, but not a perfect definition.
The best definition there was the third.
"the surrender or destruction of something prized or desirablefor the sake of something considered as having a higher or more pressing claim."
I can't wrap my head around the idea of "higher or more pressing claim."   That implies giving something to get something, doesn't it?


I think the perfect definition of sacrifice is more of a model than a traditional definition. 


"For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him might not perish but might have eternal life."  John 3:16  New American Bible


And there we have described the most perfect sacrifice, offered for the best possible reason:  love.  God doesn't get anything out of it, does He?  He sacrifices the greatest treasure EVER, for the only reason worthy of Him:  love.

 He did  not act out of obligation.  God was in no way obligated to us, at least not until He gave us His own word that He would send us a savior.  He did not act to fill in some sort of void in His own life:   being God, He is complete in and of Himself.   But He LOVES us, so therefore, He sacrificed what is most precious for us.

I have just finished reading a novel by Beth Pattillo titled Mr. Darcy Broke My Heart.  (No, this is not a "Christian book".  It's not an Unchristian book either.)  The setting of the novel is Oxford, at a summer session workshop on Pride and Prejudice.  Through the course of the novel, she realizes that she has spent her life sacrificing for others, not so much out of love, or even obligation, as she does to fill in the void left when her parents died.  She is so busy sacrificing for her sister (who no longer needs her to make these sacrifices), and later her boyfriend, that she hasn't developed her own talents, or discovered her own purpose in life.

Now, I'd be the last person to suggest that say, Mother Theresa, was unfulfilled because she spent her whole life serving others.   I would suggest she was actually fulfilled because she loved Christ, and that love gave her purpose, a purpose she sacrificed for...   Love filled a void, not sacrifice.   Sacrifice is an act of love.

And sooner or later, true love requires sacrifice.    Love for a child has caused parents to sacrifice their own future financial security for their child's well being.   Love for a parent or relative has inspired some to sacrifice their time.   Love for country has motivated soldiers to sacrifice their lives.  Love prompts us to meet someone else's need, even when it has a dear cost.

Tomorrow I will post more on love and sacrifice, and how it relates to the concept of Lent.  

Today's post is being link to Peter Pollock's blog, on his post One Word Blog Carnival Post on Sacrifice

Renew, Rejoice!

More than a month into the new year, I think it is safe to say that everyone hankers for a renewal of some sort in their lives, whether it is of body were we lose a bunch of weight and have the energy we never did ten years ago, to stop smoking and not be dependent on nicotine to bring us peace, or of mind where we resolve to read more, becoming smarter and making up for lost time, or of heart where we promise to be kinder and mend relationships that have been in tatters for decades.
Since my mom's passing, I have been hoping for a renewal of some sort, and am waiting.   The word I have been given from Him is to make room in my home, mind, and heart for His plans.  So my own personal resolutions this year have been to declutter my home, mind, and heart.  The funny thing is, while organizing my home has always been a challenge for me, it is the decluttering of mind and heart that is truly troublesome.  I CAN organize my home, with help from my dear husband who will move the furniture and reach the high cabinets for me (Poor Bob.  He is a good man.  Never once has he asked me why MY new year's resolution means he moves furniture and clears out the high shelves.)  But the decluttering of my heart and mind are tasks that Bob can't help me with, and I CAN'T do on my own!
That's okay.  I have the promise from Him that He will do the renewing of my heart and mind, if I consent, and I do!

2 Corinthians 5:17 

So whoever is in Christ is a new creation: the old things have passed away; behold, new things have come.

You know another funny thing?  Our gracious Lord knows that I have this need to help, and he led me to another passage in scripture early January when I was praying about the decluttering of heart and mind thing!

Philippians 4:4-9

Rejoice in the Lord always. I shall say it again: rejoice!

Your kindness should be known to all. The Lord is near.

Have no anxiety at all, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, make your requests known to God.

Then the peace of God that surpasses all understanding will guard your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus.

Finally, brothers, whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is gracious, if there is any excellence and if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things. ⁶

Keep on doing what you have learned and received and heard and seen in me. Then the God of peace will be with you. ⁷

Today's scripture references were taken from the New American Bible.

This post is part of Peter Pollock's blog carnival on renewal.

Crystal Tears

Over half my life ago, my mother and I watched a pioneer movie, the name of which I can't remember.    In it a little boy asks why it rains, and his father answers "God is crying."   Later in the movie, the boy's mother dies, and at her grave, he asks his father "Why isn't God crying for Momma?"   Neither my mother nor I heard the answer, we were both crying so hard for this fictional character's confusion and pain.

This memory came back to me on February 9, 2010, during my mother's funeral procession.  It snowed so hard that the hearse had to move so slower than I could jog, and that is quite a statement.  I thought maybe I'd try to write a poem to describe what I was thinking then.

Crystal Tears

by HRM

It snowed the day we buried Momma

A blizzard of frozen tears

mirror the grief inside my heart

God is crying for my loss

and suddenly I realize

His tears are so pure and beautiful

a reminder that my heart's winter

is the beginning of her eternal spring.

Today's post is my entry into Peter Pollock's One Word Blog Carnival: Winter.

Not Broken, But Restored

Last August I told you all about my neurosis about breaking my mother's or mother in law's china. I treasure the china that was washed, dried, and put away by their own hands.  When I touch things which belonged to them,  it's the closest I can come now to touching them now.

But my most treasured possession is a bowl, much like the one at the top of this post which I found on google images that apparently sold at auction for 1 whole dollar back in November.  My mom used it for salad, and she would wash and dry this bowl herself.  She would tell me how that bowl was once her grandmother's, then it was my grandmother's, then hers, and that one day it would be mine.  She thought the bowl was really something special, and while we had a fancier fruit bowl from Europe that was given to my parents by his Canadian cousins, this bowl was her treasure.   She stopped using it one day when she almost dropped it, and put it way back in the bottom of the kitchen cabinet.  It was a treasure to be put away for me.

A few months before my Dad passed away, Mom came home from errands and found Dad worried.

Daddy:  I'm sorry Helen.  (My momma's name was also Helen)
Momma:  What's the matter, Frankie?
Daddy:   I thought I'd organize the cabinets,  and I took out your grandmother's bowl, and I dropped it.  It's broken.  I threw out the pieces already.
Momma:  Did you cut yourself?
Daddy: No.
Momma:  That's the main thing.
Daddy:  I know what that bowl meant to you.
Momma:  Not as much as you do...

While I wasn't there, this is pretty much how mom said it went, and I believed her because of my own experience with how she reacted when I broke treasured china.   She always was more concerned about the person in front of her than the meaning behind an object.

Shortly after Daddy passed, I needed something from the cabinet.  Mom hadn't yet told me about the broken bowl.  I guess she hadn't the heart to disappoint me.  Daddy had "organized" the cabinets so well that I couldn't find anything.   I had to get down on my hands and knees and pull everything out of the cabinets in order to figure out.  I guess I really didn't need to go into the very corner of the very bottom cabinet, but since I was there, why not?  I pulled out great grandmother's bowl and called mom to come into the kitchen and take it because I didn't want to lay this precious piece onto the floor.

My mother walked into the kitchen, saw the bowl I was holding in my hands, and she cried.   Then she told me how distraught Daddy had been such  a short time ago over breaking what he thought was that very bowl.  I told momma that I was sure she reacted with the same gentleness she always did when I broke something, and she relayed the above conversation and added with tears "Still, Honey, he felt so bad!"

What could Daddy have REALLY broken that caused him so much anguish for my mother's sake?  Well, being the chief apprentice in her kitchen, the only thing I can figure out that was missing was a green Corning ware bowl that was chipped on the handle anyway.   We had that hidden away in case we ran out of bowls and were desperate enough to shame ourselves with that one I guess.  He broke something that we never would have missed.  Something we should have thrown away anyway.

Believe it or not, I use that bowl.  I keep ornaments in it around Christmas, decorated eggs at Easter, and fruit or pebbles or something I change off the rest of the year.  I like to touch it and feel a connection between my great grandmother (whom I never met, but from the stories my grandma told, I'm sure I would have loved her), my grandmother (whom I knew and dearly loved), and my mother (whom I loved even more) and me.  It strikes me as funny that to feel that connection, I have to put it to use, risking that it could break.   Though I could apparently find a bowl like it online and possibly purchase it for a dollar, it wouldn't have held the priceless touch of three generations of women.


This post is my contribution to Peter Pollock's One Word blog carnival. Today's word is broken.

Reflecting on This Year's Resolutions

href="http://peterpollock.com/2010/12/reflection-blog-carnival/">Today's One Word for the One Word blog carnival is Reflection.   Since we are almost at the end of 2010, I have decided to reflect on my progress with this year's New Year Resolutions.   There have been years where I didn't make any resolutions, but at the beginning of 2010, I decided I need to work on some things.
href="http://randommusings-helen.blogspot.com/2010/01/yes-i-made-couple-of-new-year.html">I made two New Year resolutions this year: to pick something to be grateful to God for daily, and to be a friend to myself.

First of all, I did not tweet daily about something new I was grateful for having.  I may have lasted a week or two.  I later gave myself permission to be repetitive, and  then later, to not tweet it, but to thank God privately.  I don't purposely sit at my bedside any longer thinking "Hmmm... what shall I be grateful for today.....", but I do find myself blurting a thank you to God when I find a lost passport, or send an email and remember that it wasn't so long ago that "snail mail" was the only mail, and that it took some effort for people to get back to you (and vice versa), so that a response would take more than a week if lucky, or use a pen to paper and thank God that I can read and write...   I'm sure there are days when I forget to thank God for something, and other days where I thank Him more often.

Secondly, how good of a friend was I to myself?  I would say that I worked on it and did better than I have in the past.   I ended up choosing one thing a month to improve on.   I drink more tea than coffee, I choose water more than soda pop, I was eating less sweets (until the limited edition fudge mint covered Oreo cookies came out, anyway...), I eat only wheat bread, I choose the whole wheat pasta, I was cooking a vegetable with every meal until Bob's allergy scared me, I do stretchy exercises (no, not yoga.   I'm not that stretchy), and my "self talk" has improved (I think the Women's Prayer group has a lot to do with that, BTW....).  I was supposed to do more exercising, but in the summer was short of breath and six weeks ago hurt my toes....  It didn't happen.  I haven't given up though.  My toes are fine now and I am not out of breath.  It's too snowy to walk outside, but then that's why God invented shopping malls and Costco, right people?

Are the changes I made lasting changes?  Some are.   I like wheat bread and whole wheat pasta.   I find tap water is available as I do my daily tasks and easier to get to than a bottle of pop (which then creates garbage for me to throw out).  I like the way it is easy to get variety with tea rather inexpensively compared with coffee.  I'm not fond of stretchy exercises though, and I need to get back "on the wagon" with sweets.  I found in October that some clothes that hadn't fit me for a while (and didn't give away because it felt like giving up) now fit, so I must have done okay with my resolutions (though weight loss itself was not the resolution... too many years of disappointment to set myself up again).  I think realistically, I can get back on the wagon by January 3.   Honestly, I still have places to go and people to see who know my fondness for the fudge mint covered Oreo (and I have two boxes left).

Do They Get the Hallmark Channel in Heaven?

Last year for the One Word blog carnival, Grief was one of the topics we wrote about in December. The gist of my post was that Christmas is a tough time to grieve, and I shared my prayer for those who are grieving to find it in their hearts to rejoice in the birth of their own Savior, and hopefully the Savior of the one / ones they lost.

This December, we are blogging on the opposite word, Rejoice, for the One Word Blog carnival. A much more fitting topic during this season, you'd think, except for the fact that this is my first Christmas without my Mom. I wept on the First Easter and Mother's Day without her. I went to her grave site on my birthday. I held it together for the most part her birthday, but then, I had a Mass said for her and was blessed to have my aunt, uncle and cousins there to offer support.

I miss her. I watch a new movie on the Hallmark Channel, and when it is over, I tear up thinking about how much mom would have enjoyed the movie. Then this little voice says in my ear "Really Helen? You think your Momma is thinking 'Yes, the fruits of Heaven are nice, but it's too bad I had to miss 'Debbie Macomber's Call Me Mrs. Miracle'?" And I laugh. As delightful as that movie was, I know that Momma isn't missing a thing.

I listen to Bing Crosby singing "It's Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas", and I start to sing, then I feel guilty because Momma loved Bing Crosby and I shouldn't feel like singing the first year she is gone. Then I remember how much Mom loved to hear me sing, (not that I sing well, just that she was the kind of Momma who was happy when I was happy, you know...), and I know that it would sadden her if the songs left my heart. (Besides that, she gets to hear Bing Crosby LIVE this Christmas, right?)

I think of how the last few years I prayed that those who grieve would be able to rejoice at Christmas in the birth of their own and their loved one's Savior, and I am amazed at the tenderness of God... He has given me the very gift I prayed for others.

Praise Him!





"Hark, now hear the angels sing, a king was born today,
And man will live for evermore, because of Christmas Day
Mary's boy child, Jesus Christ, was born on Christmas Day.

For a moment the world was aglow, all the bells rang out
there were tears of joy and laughter, people shouted
"let everyone know, there is hope for all to find peace".

These words make me weep with overwhelming joy.

"Oh my Lord, You sent your son to save us
Oh my Lord, Your very self you gave us
Oh my Lord, That sin may not enslave us
And love may reign once more "

Condemnation

I suppose the difference between conviction and condemnation is whether it draws us closer to God, or makes us push away from Him.    Oversimplification?  Perhaps.   There are some wonderful posts on Bridget Chumbley's blog today.  Many of their posts explain far better than I do.
I do have a habit of dwelling on what I have done wrong, or could have done better.   God doesn't want that.  After repentance and reconciliation, there is no need for it.   Instead I need to think of better things.

Philippians 4:8
Finally, brothers, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things.


Jesus did not come to bring us condemnation, but salvation.  I love how this song brings that home for me.

Hosea

Gregory Norbert

© 1972 The Benedictine Foundation of the State of Vermont

Come back to me with all your heart.

Don't let fear keep us apart.

Trees do bend, though straight and tall

so must we, to other's call.

Long have I waited for your coming,

home to me and living, deeply our new lives.

The wilderness will lead you

to your heart where I will speak.

Integrity and justice,

With tenderness, you shall know.

Long have I waited for your coming,

home to me and living, deeply our new lives.

You shall sleep secure with peace;

faithfulness will be your joy.

Long have I waited for your coming,

home to me and living, deeply our new lives