Makeup lessons

This is an excerpt from an early morning conversation yesterday as we readied ourselves for the trip to see Grandma:

Sarah: "Momma, what do you do with this?"
Me: "That's a lip liner pencil, honey."
Sarah: "But what do you do with it?"
Me: "Well, you outline your lips with it before you put on your lipstick." (I'm realizing as I type this that what I SHOULD have said was ,"I outline MY lips before I put on MY lipstick ... mmmmm, what is it they say about hindsight??)
Sarah: "Oh."

Three minutes later:




Sweet mercy. I can picture her even now behind the wheel of a pink Mary Kay Cadillac.

Rays of sunshine on a cold afternoon

Caffeine from Sonic: $1.97
Lunch: $17.97
1/2 tank of gas: $20.00
Bringing smiles to 87 nursing home residents: Priceless

My 95-year-old maternal grandmother lives in a nursing home about two hours away. I try to get down to see her as often as I can, but that isn't nearly as often as I'd like. When my mother was still living, Grandma's place was a convenient rendezvous point for us, and we met there every other month or so, sometimes to spend a weekend (when Grandma still had her own place) and then after she moved to Legacy Lodge we spent many happy Saturdays at the home. Sometimes I would bring my Cairn terrier Bagel, and Aunt Mary (my mother's oldest sister) would bring her schnauzer Lady. Oh, the stir it caused when we walked those two puppies down the halls. We could attract a following quicker than the Pied Piper.

After mom and Aunt Mary died, I'm afraid I haven't been as faithful about visiting, a fact that makes me terribly un-proud of myself.

Today was forecasted to be bright and sunny (albeit COLD!), and so the two little princesses and I decided earlier in the week that today might be a nice day to visit Grandma Gerry. The moment we stepped in the front doors, I remembered why I love spending time there. The mere sight of children brings smiles to faces that look as if they haven't smiled in months, if not longer. It is clear by their desire to touch us that many haven't been hugged in a very long time.

Some of the sights, smells, and sounds of elderly hovering somewhere between life and death are disturbing, but to my children's credit, they seem undaunted. My grandmother moved into her facility just two months after my first child was born, so these sights and sounds are nothing new to them. They neither stare nor look uncomfortably the other way.

And so we walk down the hallways and touch as many hands as we can. I have told my kids not to be afraid when the sweet residents want to stroke their hair or hold their hands. Sometimes a resident simply wants to look into the eyes of one of my babies. When this happens, and I see the smile and nostalgia pass across his or her face, I wonder if they are remembering their own childhood. Or perhaps their own children as youngsters.

I'm so thankful that the girls don't see these visits as long, arduous afternoons to be endured. They love the attention they get and enjoy being beams of sunshine in an otherwise dark and sad place.

If the Lord grants me many years on this earth and the final chapter of my life is spent in a nursing facility, I do hope that there are many kind children (and puppies!) who won't mind if I run my fingers through their hair from time to time.

I love the internet

With a husband in law enforcement, I hear stories frequently about the dangers of the internet. Predators by the thousands are lurking in cyberspace watching and waiting for the opportunity to lure innocent kids into a web of deception.

I know this, and as a mom of three I am deeply disturbed by such happenings.

But this morning, I want to think about the good of the internet, about the incredible power that results when thousands of people of faith mobilize in prayer when a story grips their hearts.

I ran across such a story several months ago, and it has captivated me.

When I first "met" Nathan and Tricia at Confessions of a CF Husband, he was blogging about his sweet wife who was born with cystic fibrosis and her workup for a double-lung transplant.

Everything changed when they discovered on September 1 that she was about 5 weeks pregnant. This past Tuesday, a short four months and one week later, Tricia gave birth to Gwyneth Rose, weighing just 1 pound, 6 ounces.

There are no words to describe how this story has gripped me (and apparently a multitude of other folks around the world) without sounding like a crazy stalker. In the days leading up to Gwyneth's delivery when Tricia's lungs were failing, I awakened several times in the middle of night, rushing to my computer to check for updates and praying for the safety of both mother and baby. Thoughts of them occupied my mind throughout the day, and when I couldn't be near my computer, I felt antsy and anxious for news from Tricia's hospital room at Duke University.

We live thousands of miles from this precious family, yet as I was checking my email on Wednesday, I found an urgent prayer request from our church for Tricia and Gwyneth. Turns out there are people here in Northwest Arkansas who are personal friends of Nate and Tricia. Small world, huh?

It's now been four days since baby Gwyneth's birth, and both she and her mother remain on ventilators in critical care units. Things could go either way at this point, yet Nathan's faith in God remains steady. He posted these words this morning:

"Sad is the furthest emotion from my heart these past few days and weeks. I have never experienced so much joy packed into such a short period of time in my entire life.

Pain? Yes!
Frustration? You bet!
Helplessness? Duh!

But, no sadness here.

I've seen members of my own family return to God, heard from couples who have considered their marriage more deeply, read of mothers who have hugged their kids more tightly, seen Duke staff by Tricia's bedside in prayer, witnessed the increased faith in a real and tangible God of so many strangers and friends, and been told of people coming to know my God for the very first time...all because He has chosen to use Tricia, and now Gwyneth in an eternal way.

This is a story of Hope in the future, Joy for the present and Blessings for the past. It is a story of a God Who takes a left turn just as you are moving right, Who shows you the mountain top while others see the valley, Who never leaves nor forsakes you, and Who is bringing you to a destination that is unfathomably beyond anything you could have desired for yourself."

If you have a few minutes to stop by their blog and leave them some words of encouragement, I know the family would appreciate it. And then pray for God's healing hand to be upon these two ladies. There have been many miracles prayed into reality for Tricia and Gwyneth, but many more are needed.

Have I mentioned that I love the power of the internet?

This kills me ...

So who actually has time to come up with this stuff? Obviously someone with just as much free time as I have to surf around and find it on the net.

The Recipe For Sheryl

3 parts Class 2 parts Nonconformity 1 part Mischief Splash of Delight Finish off with an olive

What's the Recipe for Your Personality?

Hope your Christmas was merry and bright

I had very good intentions over the past week of writing a lovely Christmas post and wishing all of my online friends a wonderful holiday. It never happened. Just like Christmas cards this year didn't happen. And the big Christmas meal didn't happen.

But you know what? It was wonderful anyway in a low-key, simple way.

This year, I set a new rule. If it hasn't happened by December 23rd, just don't worry about it.

That went for last-minute shopping, baking, stressing, the whole Christmas enchilada.

Hubs and I did do a good bit of Christmas Eve wrapping but not nearly as much as in past years. (The awful memory of that Christmas about three years ago when we did ALL our wrapping on Christmas Eve still haunts my memory and prompts me now to start wrapping gifts as soon as I buy them which isn't nearly as early in the year as I wish it were, but that's another post.)

The simplicity allowed us to focus more on the Giver than the gifts under the tree. It gave us time to sit around the kitchen table with our nativity set and "What God Wants for Christmas" and reflect with the kiddos on the real reason we celebrate. Time to bake cookies and decorate them. Time to snuggle on the sofa and read Christmas books. Time to appreciate all that is precious to us.

I hope your Christmas was the same, that amazing smells and people filled your home and that you made the kind of memories that will cause you and your children to smile in years to come and say, "Remember that year when ..."

I hope you feel as blessed as I do.

Soup's On!

BooMama is asking for soup recipes today, and I'm thrilled to pass along one of our absolute faves here at The Potter Place. Since this only serves 4, I usually double or triple it. It's great fresh but muy fabuloso a day or two later!

White Chicken Chili

2-3 chicken breasts, boiled and chopped
1 can navy beans, undrained
1 can great northern beans, undrained
1 can Rotel, undrained
1/2 tsp. cumin
2 tsp. chili powder
1/2 tsp. garlic powder
1/4 t. thyme
cheddar cheese
Monterey Jack cheese

Combine all ingredients except chicken and cheeses in large pot. Simmer for 30 minutes covered. Add cheese and chicken and simmer for an additional 15 minutes. Serves 4.

Head on over to BooMama's place for more souptacular recipes!

The Month Before Christmas

'Twas the month before Christmas
When all through our land,
Not a Christian was praying
Nor taking a stand.

How the PC Police had taken away
The reason for Christmas - no one could say.
The children were told by their schools not to sing,
About Shepherds and Wise Men and Angels and things.

It might hurt people's feelings,
The teachers would say.
December 25th
is "just a holiday".

Yet the shoppers were ready
with cash, checks and credit
Pushing folks to the floor
to be the first to get it!

CDs from Madonna, an X-box, an I-pod
Something was changing, something quite odd!
Retailers promoted Ramadan and Kwanzaa
In hopes to sell books by Franken and Fonda.

As Targets were hanging their trees upside down,
At Lowe's the word Christmas was nowhere to be found.
At K-Mart and Staples and Penney's and Sears
You won't hear the word Christmas; it won't touch your ears.

Inclusive and sensitive
Di-ver-si-ty
Are words that were used
To intimidate me.

Now Daschle, Now Darden,
Now Sharpton, Wolf Blitzer
On Boxer, on Rather,
On Kerry, on Clinton!

At the top of the Senate,
There arose such a clatter
To eliminate Jesus,
In all public matter.

And we spoke not a word
As they took away our faith
Forbidden to speak
of salvation and grace.

The true Gift of Christmas
was exchanged and discarded
The reason for the season,
stopped before it started.

So as you celebrate "Winter Break"
under your "Dream Tree"
Sipping your Starbucks,
Please Listen to me.

Choose your words carefully,
Choose what you say
Shout MERRY CHRISTMAS,
Not Happy Holiday!

Author Unknown

Pruning

I'm no greenthumb, but house plants have always held a special place in my heart. My Mimmaw Snyder could grow African violets like nobody's business and always had a variety of cheerful colors brightening up her little home. My mother was fond of her Schefflera, Wandering Jew, and heartleaf Philodendron. I loved to tease her that she took better care of her plants than she did her kids.

After Mom's memorial service last September, I brought more than a dozen beautiful plants home with me. Knowing I couldn't care for all of them, I gave some away to family and friends and carefully tended the remaining half dozen with all the care that my mother gave her plants over the years.

I watered them, fed them, talked to them, gave them plenty of sunshine on pretty days, and brought them inside on cold winter nights.

And so you can imagine my heartbreak when I awakened this morning to the sight of a half dozen frozen plants on my deck where it rained all day yesterday and then dropped down to 22 degrees last night. Some of them had to have warm water poured around their bottoms to even pry free.

Disappointed, I nearly threw them out with the morning's trash, but something stopped me. Perhaps they can be saved, I thought. But then I looked again and saw no signs of life in the frozen foliage.

I left them on the kitchen table as I departed for school, planning to do something with them when I returned later.

Much to my amazement, when I prepared to toss them out later in the day, hiding deep beneath the dead black leaves, now thawed and hanging listlessly over the sides of the pots, I saw something that made me rejoice. GREEN! BRIGHT GREEN LEAVES!



With my sharpest pair of kitchen scissors in hand, I proceeded to cut away everything that the ice had destroyed from the cruel night outdoors, and when I was finished, I was left with a half dozen naked houseplants.

As I thought about the new growth that would be permitted (and encouraged) by removing the dead foliage, I thought about the pruning God does in the lives of his children to encourage their spiritual growth.

The dead leaves and vines piled up around me, reminding me of the unpleasantness that must be purged not only from my ailing houseplants but also from my sinful heart. Jesus reminds us of this when He says, “I am the true vine, and My Father is the vinedresser. Every branch in Me that does not bear fruit He takes away; and every branch that bears fruit He prunes, that it may bear more fruit” (John 15:1-2). Doing so makes the tree bear better fruit, grow higher or to give the tree a more lovely appearance.

Just as my sharp scissors were the perfect tool for pruning my plants, God's Word is the perfect tool for pruning us. God’s Word is sharp so that it can remove unwanted branches in our lives without harming us. “For the word of God is living and powerful, and sharper than any two-edged sword, piercing even to the division of soul and spirit, and of joints and marrow, and is a discerner of the thoughts and intents of the heart” (Hebrews 4:12).

I have no idea whether my plants will survive this experience or not, but I do know that my own pruning -- as unpleasant as it can be at times -- will allow me to grow in God's character and to be more fruitful in His kingdom.

I will never feel bad about my house again

Okay, I can't reveal ANY of the details pertaining to how I got my hands on this photo, but suffice it to say that police officers get invited into a LOT of homes they wish they didn't have to visit.

Let me just say right now that I will NEVER feel bad about the messy condition of my home EVER again, and you shouldn't either. Here's why:



You know a house is bad when the occupants, completely unworried about the possibility of someone breaking into their abode, secure the front door with DUCT TAPE ALONE. Heaven help us.

Updated to add: The ironic part of all of this is that this was NOT (as I would have assumed) a shack in a seedy part of town ... this was a nice middle-class neighborhood with homes in the $180,000+ range ... I started to post of photo of the outside of the house but thought better of it.

Happy Thanksgiving!

From all of us at The Potter Place to everyone at your place, Happy Thanksgiving! We've had a grand time this week counting our blessings, and they are many. We hope that you can say the same.

Here are some highlights:















Our precious Pilgrim Rachel














Gathered around the feast giving thanks













Our place "cards" ... aren't they
adorable?

If I weren't so tired, I'd have a title for this post

It feels like a hundred Sundays ago that I last posted to this blog. And I don't really know why I'm writing tonight except that about 30 minutes it suddenly occurred to me that I couldn't even remember how to log in, y'all. So I tried various and assorted passwords, everything from my ATM password to Old Faithful, the password I've used for simply everything for the past ninety-eleven years. And now that I have finally remembered how I used to get into this thing back in the days when I, you know, used to share my fascinating life with all of you, I feel obligated to write something. Only I'm not really sure what that something should be.

It's like this ... I'm tired. Really tired. And I don't just mean because it's a few minutes before midnight. Trying to work a full-time job, teach part-time, run a business on the side, be involved in a Bible study, volunteer at church, AND tend to the never-ending duties of managing a home, being a wife, and raising children has just worn me out lately. I keep trying to think of something "deep" to write about, but truthfully, if there has been a thought deeper than how to get my children to like each other that has fluttered through my mind recently, it got lost in between all the sleep deprivation and caffeine-induced insomnia.

Jeff and I talk often about how I need to give something up, but we never seem to come to any conclusions about what that something should be, because I really love everything I do. I love my job at the hospital. I love teaching my sweet group of 28 sophomore and junior English students each day. And I love the creativity of designing gifts for people that bring smiles to their faces and occasional tears streaming down cheeks. And, it goes without saying, that I'm absolutely head-over-heels crazy about my man and three kids (despite an occasional threat to hock one or more of them on eBay!) How in the world does a person make a choice like this? And yet to continue living this way, pushing myself to unhealthy limits, is utterly crazy.

Midnight is here now, and my alarm will be going off in a little over five hours. Although I can think of at least three more things I really ought to get done before calling it a day, common sense is telling me those things can wait.

'Night, y'all.

My Boy is Going to be a Bible Scholar

I've written before about my efforts to get the Little Potter People to pay better attention at church on Saturday nights. I'm pleased to report that of late, as I have quizzed them on the drive home, they have dazzled me with their increased attention to the lesson.

With my oldest (almost 8), I ask for a summary of the story and the lessons she learned that night. She can recite to me almost word-for-word the story as well as lessons learned and applications to life. Since I work in her class every other week and can keep a close eye on her, I have little doubt that she is there to grow spiritually and is behaving herself pretty well.

It's the other two that I just haven't been so sure about. They bring home a "Ride Home Recap" that is a coloring sheet on the front with their Bible story on the back. I ask them a couple of questions before we start our review just to get a feel for whether they were mentally present in class that night. Broad questions such as "What Bible character who was hidden in a basket as a baby did you learn about tonight?" will often be my first clue, then as I read the story, I leave out key words for them to fill in.

Last night, the lesson was about Queen Esther. Gavin assured me as we buckled in that he had been listening "very, very, very well" and was ready to tell me all about his night.

And so I began: "A long time ago, there was a Queen named ...."

from the back seat, in unison, "ESTHER!"

"And she had a cousin named ..."

Long pause. I finally decide they need a prompt. "It starts with 'mmmmmm'

"MORON!" the little guy yells.

I sincerely hope that if my little man ever runs into Mordecai in eternity, that the old guy has a fantastic sense of humor!

My baby girl is 6 today

Precious Sarah,

Six years ago tonight, your daddy and older sister and I welcomed you into our family. It had been a very long labor (24 hours to be exact!), but the moment I saw you and held you in my arms, I knew you were worth it all.

And six years later, I still feel the same way.

You have heard me say this before, but it bears repeating. You are a daughter anyone would be proud to claim. You are smart. You're funny. You are beautiful. And without a doubt, you are THE most compassionate person I have ever known. You cry for and with those who are suffering. You always have a gentle word to encourage the discouraged. You are helpful. And kind. And precious beyond words.

I look at you and your brother and sister, and I cannot believe that I was chosen by God to be your mom. It's a blessing I will never take for granted.

Thank you for six wonderful, amazing years. Your daddy and I are so very proud of you!

This made my day

If laughter is good medicine, then I should be the healthiest gal today. I just read this over at Baby Bangs which echoes numerous thoughts I myself have had in recent months while working out at the gym. Go visit Amanda (Beth Moore's daughter) who is a VERY funny lady and get your daily dose of laughter, too!

I Took On the Parking Police ... and Won!!

I will warn you right now. I'm in rare form today.

It all started bright and early this morning (well, it was early, but due to the monsoon season we're in right now, I can't really say it was bright) as I drove around the University of Arkansas campus hunting for a parking spot. I just needed to run a book into a building to a friend, but every empty spot was for permit holders only.

So, I did exactly what I would have done 17 years ago when I moved to Fayetteville as a grad student ... I snagged a permit spot and prayed HARD that I would not get a ticket or a ride on the back of a tow truck during the three minutes that it would take me to run my quick errand.

A few short minutes later, I approached my vehicle to see what looked like Cro-Magnon man standing near my truck punching buttons on his ticket machine.

"Excuse me," I began in disbelief. "Are you writing me a ticket?"

"If this is your vehicle, then yes, I am," Cro-Magnon man replied, without expression.

"Sir!" I protested. "I was in that building for just a couple of minutes, and there are PLENTY of empty spaces in this lot! PLEASE don't write me a ticket!"

"The rules are the rules," C-M man replied slowly, staring at me from under dark, heavy eyebrows, his flattened affect giving me the chills.

The drama queen in me switched into performance mode, and I looked him square in the eyes and asked, "Have you people NO compassion or mercy???"

"Compassion and mercy," he repeated back to me, again, with no trace of expression. (I'm starting to wonder at this point if he is on drugs.)

"Do you even KNOW what COMPASSION and MERCY are?" I pleaded with him in my best schoolteacher/perturbed mom voice. "I AM BEGGING YOU. PLEASE. DO. NOT. PUT. A. TICKET. ON. MY. TRUCK."

He looked stunned for a second as if no one had ever dared to speak to him like that. I myself was a little stunned that I had the nerve to even TRY to take on one of the Parking Nazis (those of you who are familiar with the UofA will know EXACTLY what I mean).

A brief silence followed.

And then, the words that I have been rolling around in my mind the rest of the morning: "Have a nice day, ma'am."

I've been celebrating this unexpected act of kindness the rest of the day by passing the generosity along to others:

* In a long line of traffic, I stopped to let TWO cars turn in front of me.

* I cancelled a quiz my tenth-grade students were supposed to take today.

* I gave my little guy an extra spoonful of cinnamon applesauce at lunch.

* After the elevator doors were nearly closed, I pushed the "open" button, because I thought I spotted someone rushing toward the elevator. The woman and her son who got on were in a big hurry and very glad I waited.

And there are still lots of hours left in the day to commit all manner of random acts of kindness ...

Random thoughts

Tonight's post may be rambling. I'm not sure that I have much worth writing about, so bear with me here ...

THE POWER OF THE INTERNET
Much has been written about the seedy side of the Internet and the adult predators who lurk in chat rooms posing as children, but I'm seeing a whole other side to this thing we know as the World Wide Web, and it excites me.

Conor and Boothe Farley lost their precious daughter Copeland this week just eight days after birth, and within a few short hours, there were HUNDREDS of messages of hope and encouragement on their blog from believers around the country who have been praying for this family.

Let's face it: The Internet brings people together in ways that "real life" never could. It offers us the safety and security to drop our masks and share our lives with each other the way we long to connect ... with authenticity and transparency.

It was therapy for me when I was walking through my dark valley to process the pain, the lessons learned, and the truth gleaned in the safety of this blog. So many of you responded with the most comforting words and scriptures, and I cannot even begin to tell you what it meant to me. Remembering the love I felt as I read each post compels me now to connect with others who are in their own dark valleys and send comfort, love, and hope their direction.

I think this was exactly what the apostle Paul had in mind when he penned these words long before the dawn of the 'Net:

"Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves have received from God. For just as the sufferings of Christ flow over into our lives, so also through Christ our comfort overflows." (2 Corinthians 1:3-5)

MY GIRL LOVES THE HOGS
Okay, this is a total change of subject, but I warned you that I was feeling a little bit random tonight.

I took Rachel to her first Razorback football game tonight, and she LOVED it! We took the North Texas Mean Green to the cleaners, bless their little hearts. They couldn't seem to gain any yardage to save their lives, and the ONE touchdown they made at the end of the second quarter was almost funny. They ran the ball down to their ONE YARD LINE and then took THREE plays to get it into the endzone and score.

She kept watching the scoreboard and exclaiming excitedly, "We're WAY ahead, Mom! Do you think we're gonna win??" And when it was time to call the Hogs or do The Wave, an onlooker would have thought for sure that my baby was a veteran Hog fan, so confident was she with all the goings on in Razorback Stadium tonight.

My favorite moment of the night: When she looked upon the 70,000+ fans in the stadium and asked, "Where are the people from the other team? There's no one here wearing green. Oh wait, they're down below us ... all TWELVE of them!"

Can I hear a loud "Hallelujah!"??

Guess who's 40 today ...

An open letter to the world:

Before I even get started on this, I should mention a couple of things. First, I am Sheryl’s husband. Second, I am a recovering marriagephobe. I was never against marriage, mind you. I knew that someday I would want to, but the fact was that I was comfortable in my day-to-day bachelorhood. Like a nice old pair of shoes, my life was comfortable. Then Sheryl happened.

For three long years, she laid siege to my defenses, and I found myself unwilling to go one step further in life without marrying her. That’s not to say there wasn’t arm twisting involved, but I was a willing participant. Needless to say, twelve years ago, I married Sheryl and that’s where the excitement really began.

Now anyone who might know me knows that I don’t gush, play games, or act really sappy. I do, however, call it like I see it. Sheryl is, without a doubt, one of the best gifts God has ever given me. I still find it incredible that her father willingly gave her over to me. Me?! I was an ignorant kid. Had the roles been reversed, the young man would still be in a coma. However, God seemed to make things happen for us. I think I was the one He was blessing that day, and let me tell you why.

Sheryl embodies so many of the qualities in a person that I aspire to have in my own life. She challenges me daily. Yes, guys, she challenges me in bad ways sometimes too. One of our long-standing jokes started one day when I looked at her and said, “You are IMPOSSIBLE”! Without missing a beat, she replied with, “I’m VERY possible" ... and then walked off, completely failing to explain. To this day, I’m still working on figuring that girl out. Regardless, I am a better man today because of her. Our differences complement one other perfectly. Where I fail to be tender, she is. When I lack insight, she makes up for it. We fit together like two pieces of a puzzle.

Like a song I heard not too long ago, she does not at all match up to the boyhood fantasies that I carried with me so many years ago. She is so much more than my limited imagination could come up with at the time. Her ability to love me; her love for our children; her hard work; her great cooking abilities; the fire that dwells inside of her all come together to make a wife I could never have imagined.

I love you, Button. Happy Birthday! Let the celebration begin!

Your husband.

P.S. I know you will edit this. (Note from Sheryl: Yes I did, but only a teeny bit!)

The Celebration Cometh

In case you were unaware (which I am painfully aware that most of you probably are), a celebration is coming tomorrow ... more details to come.

Pray for Copeland

I've been following the story of tiny little Copeland Farley of Nashville, TN, since before her birth last week, and my mind can hardly think of anything else today.

Copeland's parents, Boothe and Conor, were told several months ago that their little girl had Trisomy 18, a chromosomal disorder which usually results in death before or shortly after birth. These precious parents have been blessed to spend several days with their little one, but it's been a roller coaster ride from the beginning. In the wee hours of this morning, it appeared that Copeland was in her final moments of life, but she is still here, breathing and living.

You can read the rest of Copeland's story here. Prepare to be blown away by the faith of this mother and father. If you think of the Farleys today, please pray for them. They're walking through the fire, for sure.

Remembering and rejoicing

Monday, September 10 marked the one-year anniversary since my mother ended her journey on this earth and began a new life in heaven. The following day would have been her 66th birthday, and we chose to celebrate that day exactly like we did last year -- by sending a bunch of balloons heavenward and singing "Happy Birthday" as loudly as we could.

Last year's balloon send-off was held in a church parking lot across the street from my parents' house. There were about a dozen of us there, and we were in complete shock and disbelief that God had taken our mother from us.

This year, we chose a neighborhood park as the site for our birthday gathering (I cannot bring myself to call it a "party"). The mood at this year's balloon release was considerably less somber but still marked by its fair share of tears. The girls sent up one pink balloon each, and the guys a blue (although my little guy somehow managed to pop his before we even left the house). We spent a few minutes before we sang to her just remembering many of the things that made her incredibly special to us. We laughed, we cried, we remembered and rejoiced that we had been so privileged to be loved the way she loved us.