Lisa's Mom

My cousin Pat calls it the club that no woman wants to join and no member can leave.

It's the group of women, like myself and Pat, who have lost their moms way too soon. Pat was just a day away from turning 40 when her mom (my Aunt Mary) died, and I was 38 when my mom passed away.

Today, the group got a little bigger. My sweet friend Lisa lost her mother this morning after a courageous year-long fight against small cell lung cancer that was diagnosed at the end of March 2007.

Please pray for Lisa and her family as they travel to Nevada for her mom's service. She and Ben will be leaving four of their five children at home in the care of a relative. Pray for their safety as they travel and for peace for their broken hearts.

The club has enough members for now. My hope is that the rest of my friends get to enjoy their mothers until they are well into old age and have had many happy years to enjoy their grandchildren and great-grandchildren.

That's the way it ought to be.

Wishful thinking

This morning as we were gathered by the front door, holding hands, ready to pray for God's blessing on our day, Jeff scrunched up his nose. He looked around our little circle and said, "Whew! Somebody stinketh!"

I knew immediately it was the little man. There's just something about little boys (and big boys, too) that is ... hmm ... odiferous after they've been outside playing for more than three or four seconds.

We headed to the bathroom as soon as Dad had left, and the little man began to strip down for a quick bath. He was full of excuses that he did not smell bad and why I should not give him a bath before school.

Lifting his arm to his nose, he sniffed loudly and proclaimed, "Why, smell me, Momma. I smell just like a BUTTERCUP!"

If you can't beat 'em, join 'em

I knew my husband was a gamer when I married him. I foolishly thought that he would want to give up his online madness after he discovered the immense joys of marriage and parenthood.

Twelve years later, I know better.

And so, after much protesting (and excuse making), I came to the realization that there was probably much fun to be had in the online world of elves and such ...

And so, I introduce to you Elyndrien (my character) and Gelric (Jeff's character).

Aren't we just precious?

I know this is late ...

From our gang to yours, happy belated Easter.

Resurrection Day began on a stressful note (as do most Sunday mornings at our house, I shamefully admit). Knowing that the kids' choir was singing in the later service, I set my alarm for 7 a.m. That would surely give me enough time to put together the squash casserole I would be contributing to the annual Easter gathering at the in-law's .

Things went well until I decided 15 minutes before we should have been leaving the house that I really couldn't bear to skip a shower after all. Clean and late or on-time and miserable?? The shower won out, but unfortunately, there was no time for makeup. I was putting on mascara in the car with one hand and holding onto the casserole dishes with the other when my honeyed carrots decided to overflow their banks. Sticky honey sauce dripped all over my new pants, and I was sucking in a big breath of air before exploding in anger when I remembered that it was Easter Sunday. In the grand scheme of things, was my vegetable mess really that big a deal? A big enough deal to completely ruin the morning with an outburst on the way to church? Thankfully, I had the presence of mind to realize that it wasn't.

I braced the kids for the likelihood that we would not make it to church in time for them to sing with their choir, and all three were gracious in their responses.

"It's okay, Mom," one said. "We know you've been working really hard this morning to make us look nice and to cook some good stuff for lunch."

Wow. I didn't expect that. I wondered what their response would have been had I given in to the temptation to scream loudly a few moments before.

When we finally arrived (after pulling over to mop up part of the carrot mess with a towel), the kids' choir was halfway through their second song (of four), and a very kind lady ushered them into the sanctuary and onto the risers so they could finish out the performance. I survived seven hours in my sticky clothes, and we had a mighty fine time (and some incredible food) at our family dinner.

He is risen, folks. He is risen indeed.

May we celebrate each and every day of our lives the death that gave us life.

History repeats itself

We're currently on day nine of a ten-day vacation to Florida, and I'm sitting in the hotel laundry room washing a few loads of clothes and reflecting on the previous week and a half.

I have tons of photos to post when we return home, but I just wanted to write for a few minutes tonight about some of the striking similarities this trip bore to our previous trip to Disney World in 1996.

Twelve years ago I had just married the love of my life in October, but we waited until Christmas break (I was taking classes that semester) for our "big" trip. My paternal grandmother had been declining over the past few months, and one of my aunts took me aside before the wedding and made me promise that if my grandma passed away that I would not cancel or delay my trip at all. "She knows you love her," my aunt told me, "and she would NOT want you to alter your plans in any way." Our wedding trip was still over two months away at that point, and I couldn't imagine such a thing actually happening, so I told her what she wanted to hear and didn't think too much more about it. Sure enough, on New Year's Day 1996, just two days before Jeff and I were supposed to leave for WDW, God called my sweet grandmother home. On the very same day, Northwest Arkansas got a ton of ice and several inches of snow making travel to Little Rock impossible. And as if that weren't enough, I came down with a nasty case of bronchitis and had to scramble to find a doctor who could see me given the fact that it was a holiday and the weather was so bad.

I have never felt so conflicted in my life as I boarded the plane for Florida at the exact hour my grandmother was being memorialized in a city 200 miles away. Never mind the fact that there was no way I could have gotten there safely. And never mind the fact that I was on the brink of pnemonia. My sweet aunt was kind enough to call me several times that morning to reassure me that things were turning out exactly as God wanted them to. He knew my heart was in Little Rock, and my family knew my heart was in Little Rock. All I knew was that my body was on an airplane bound for Disney World, and it felt like the most disrespectful thing I had ever done in my life.

Fast forward 12 years.

Striking similarity #1: A couple of weeks or so before we left, I came down with a nasty case of strep. When I realized that I wasn't getting any better with over-the-counter stuff, I high-tailed it to the walk-in clinic because once again I couldn't get in to see my regular guy (this time flu season was to blame, not a holiday). After 10 days of an antibiotic that at first seemed to be working but ultimately proved powerless, I was seen by Dr. O the day before our vacation was to begin. When I saw him, I was in worse condition that I was 10 days before (and I was in pretty bad shape then).

Striking similarity #2: It snowed three days before we were scheduled to leave and a big snowfall was forecasted for the night before.

When I started noting the eerie correlations that seemed to be unfolding with each bag we packed, fear gripped my heart and I asked my husband to pray that the similarities would end there. My dad's mother was 94 when she died, and my maternal grandmother is now 95 and lives in a nursing home just like my other grandmother did. All the strange coincidences were causing my imagination to run crazy with thoughts of "what if ..."

We prayed that the snow clouds would go a different direction ... and they did. We prayed that my new drugs would work quickly ... and they did. We prayed that no tragedy would occur in our immediate or extended family ... and it didn't.

Until tonight. Less than 36 hours from our return home.

While sitting here in the laundry room checking email and reading news from home, I was blindsided to read the obituary of my dear friend Joyce. She was my neighbor for more than four years and has been a mother figure to me, especially since the loss of my own mother.

I last saw her a few days before Christmas when the kids and I stopped by one Sunday afternoon to drop off a gift to her. We knew her health was declining, but her spirits weren't sagging at all. She had some gingersnaps for the kids, and we sat and visited for quite a while. A few weeks later, one of her brothers came to visit from Florida in his motor home and she got permission from her oncologist to make a trip to Birmingham to visit her daughter Carol.

On the day of her departure, I was supposed to run by her house to tell her goodbye, but something held me up that morning. I gave her a phone call instead to wish her a safe trip. It never crossed my mind that she wouldn't be coming back in a few weeks as planned.

She got to Birmingham and it became apparent that the medication she was taking for her leukemia wasn't working, and her oncologist told her that he was releasing her to hospice care.

I'll never forget the day she called to break the news and to ask me for a favor. Would I please call all her neighbors to let them know that she was dying? I've wanted to blog about it all before now, but my heart has been so broken I've hardly known what to say.

By the end of the phone call, she and I were both crying hard, but she was able to say these words that she had never spoken to me before: "I want you and the children to know how much I love you all. I really, really do." I reassured her of our deep love for her and our daily prayers for her health.

I talked to her several more times after that, the last time on her 74th birthday on February 23. She sounded so strong as she told me about her wonderful hospice workers and the great care they were giving her. If the doctors had given her any idea of how long she had to live, she never mentioned it to me, and so I was hoping for time to visit her in Birmingham. When I asked if I could bring the girls to see her this summer, she seemed delighted by the suggestion, and I was glad I had asked.

If there's anything I should have figured out by this point in my life, it is that there are no guarantees of a tomorrow. I am losing count of the friends I have lost that I really didn't give a proper farewell to. Of course, we as Christians know that we're not really saying goodbye, but you know what I mean. It's hard enough to grieve a loss without also grieving a missed opportunity to say things that need to be said. To give one last hug. To say one last "I love you."

So I'm going to say it here.

Miss Joyce, you meant the world to me and my family. You were the first neighbor to welcome us when we moved in across the street from you. You were the first person to come visit me just a few short weeks later when we brought Gavin home from the hospital. You shared your tomatoes with us in the summer and showed me the best places to go pick blueberries. You shared your favorite books with me and all the wisdom you had gained from successfully raising two daughters. You were like another grandmother to my kids, and they are going to be devastated tomorrow when I tell them that all their prayers for God to heal you have now been answered in the way we were not at all hoping for.

You maintained your hope and courage until the very end, and I hope that if I ever face a terminal illness that I can handle it with the class and grace that you have displayed.

I miss you so much already, but I take joy in knowing that you are now free from leukemia and all of the medications and treatments that took a harsh toll on you these past few years. I take joy in knowing that we will see you again one of these days. If you can arrange for my home to be somewhere near yours, it would delight me to no end to trade garden vegetables with you again and swap novels.

Think you could pull that off??

I guess this means I'm a Crochet Guru?

I ran across this quote today and had to laugh:

"You appear to be a Knitting Guru. You love knitting and do it all the time. While finishing a piece is the plan, you still love the process, and can't imagine a day going by without giving some time to your yarn. Packing for vacation involves leaving ample space for the stash and supplies. It can be hard to tell where the yarn ends and you begin."

I can't say I feel that strongly about knitting. It's enjoyable but requires much more mental energy (and manual dexterity) than crochet. When it comes time to relax, I usual don't have much mental energy to spare and am much more interested in going to my happy place for a brief time.

We've got open suitcases filling the living room and packing lists galore for our upcoming trip in a few days, and my overwhelming concern? Whether Delta will allow me to fly the friendly skies with my crochet hook and something with which to cut yarn. Oh, and whether I will even have a spare carry-on for my current project.

My compulsion to stitch can best be stated by a sampler I saw in a cross-stitch shop in Branson more than a decade ago. It read simply:

"I wish I may
I wish I might
Stitch a stitch
Or two tonight."

Most people I know cannot relate at all to my fiber addiction, but if a single day passes and I haven't done at least a few stitches, the day just isn't complete. My husband would be horrified if he knew just how many nights I have stayed awake over the past 12 years listening for the slow breathing that lets me know he's drifted off to sleep so I could creep to the living room for just one more row (which more often than not has turned into several rows ... ahem)

I just found a website today that lists allowed and prohibited items on domestic flights, and hallelujah, crochet hooks would appear to be on the approved list. Just to be on the safe side, I'm going to purchase a plastic hook this week and stash the old metal hook in my suitcase.

Call me strange, but I think I'm as giddy over how much of this afghan I can get done while travelling as my kids are over meeting The Mouse.

Please stand back ... my head could explode at any moment

Eight days ago I was awakened in a most unpleasant way ... by a throbbing in my throat that would not be relieved by hot tea and honey.

Hubs and the cubs went on to church without me and somehow the therapeutic effects of 3+ hours of solitude in bed convinced me that I was much better by their return.

The following morning I was once again awakened by the sensation of being knifed in my throat, but a few sprays of Chloraseptic numbed me up enough to get through the day.

Fast forward a very painful four days to Friday. I agonized all day long over my symptoms. Should I go to the doctor? Or should I hold off until Monday? It's not going to see the doc that bothers me. He's a very likable sort and always makes me feel like I'm the most important patient on his schedule that day even if he has an entire room of coughing flu-bags vying for a few minutes of his attention (and his prescription-writing powers). I just don't like taking antibiotics and view them as an absolute last resort after I've tried everything over-the-counter I can get my hands on.

When things didn't improve over the weekend and I woke up this morning at 5 a.m. burning up in the middle of a dream that the people from Home Improvement had all taken their power sanders to my pharynx, I knew the OTC stuff just wasn't cutting it. It was time to make the phone call I'd been dreading.

A much-too-cheerful receptionist answered my call and told me the very soonest I could be seen was late on Wednesday afternoon.

"Mmmm ... I think I'm really sick," I told her. "There's no way he can see me today?"

"Oh no," she replied in her too-happy way. "There's a LOT of flu going around right now." But, she went on to suggest that I pay a visit to the walk-in clinic if I thought I needed attention sooner than Wednesday.

The walk-in clinic? The clinic we always referred to as Medi-Quack when I was in college? I just didn't know about that ...

Somehow I made it through class, but by the end the pressure in my left ear was so bad I was afraid my eardrum was about to rupture.

Medi-Quack was sounding more and more like a viable option. So the Little Man and I stopped by on our way home. Forty minutes later, having been diagnosed with a raging case of strep and left otitis media and prescriptions in hand, we headed to the pharmacy.

I had to laugh at his youthful naivete. "Now that you have your drugs, Momma, you wanna stop at Chili's and have chips and salsa?"

No, honey, I think I'd rather have a power sander taken to my throat.

Just give me a few days, though, and I'll be all over that.

And how would she know this?

Yesterday, my Sara and I were out doing a little shopping in preparation for our upcoming trip to the Land of Mouse, and we stopped by the snack bar at Target to get some popcorn and a drink. As we walked to the car, Sara commented on her favorite popcorn.

"I like the really yellow pieces the best," she said, "because they're really buttery."

And then the observation that had me scratching my head:

"But Momma ... when you're out playing in the snow and gathering it for snow cream, the yellow snow is NOT the best."

I don't even want to know how she figured that out.

Disbelief

This from the BBC this morning:

For the second time in two years, an Argentine teenager has given birth to female triplets, BBC News reports.

The 16-year-old, who goes only by the name of Pamela, first gave birth to triplets at the age of 15.

Pamela, who lives in Leones in the central Argentine province of Cordoba, also gave birth to a son two years ago. All seven children were born prematurely, and the mother did not use fertility treatments, the report said. The chances of giving birth to triplets once are more than 8,000 to 1, according the report.

Provincial authorities donated land and built a house for Pamela’s family when the first set of triplets were born. Pamela’s mother plans to ask the government for more assistance.

So, if I'm reading this correctly, Pamela first gave birth at age 14 to a son, at age 15 to triplet daughters, and at age 16 to another set of triplet daughters.

Folks, that makes this child the mother of SEVEN BABIES.

The government has donated land and built a house for this girl, and now her mother is planning to ask for MORE???

I don't know whether I'm more appalled by Pamela's actions or by her mother's. This family definitely needs help, but it's NOT in the form of government assistance.

No Peanuts, Thanks. I'll Take a Valium Instead ...

It's been almost two weeks ago that my husband called home one morning with some news he was practically BURSTING to share.

"Okay, hon," he started. "Do I have ALL your attention?"

So excited was he that my first thought was that he had won the Powerball or something. But then I remember that he doesn't buy lottery tickets. A tax on people who are really bad at math, he calls them. And just in case I haven't mentioned it before, Hubs is really bad at math.

But I digress ..

"Yeah, you have it all," I replied. "What's up?"

In a nutshell, his new employer is sending him to some training in Orlando, and they are encouraging him and his coworker to take their families along, since the hotel where the training will be held is practically on Disney property.

My initial enthusiasm was quickly followed by a near panic attack as I realized that my plans to drive there had already been foiled. We're flying, I was told.

Yikes. I haven't been on an airplane in so long I'm embarrassed to say. Certainly not since 9/11. I always did okay on airplanes when I was younger, but it's different now. I'm a momma of three, and there are crazies in this world who think it's noble to take over American planes and crash land them into buildings.

I know, I know ... safety measures have been put into place since then that make it nigh near impossible to board a plane with anything besides the clothes on your body and possibly a toothbrush in a carry-on if you're very lucky, but still.

I'm a worrier, and what makes this even worse is that my primary means of destressing (knitting and crocheting) will not help me at all seeing as how they're not about to let me board a plane with needles of any sort.

Since Hubs is a certified, card-carrying officer of the law, I thought perhaps he might be allowed to board with his weapon concealed. But no. The Airline Nazis don't allow that either.

I don't want to sound prejudiced or anything, but I'm just giving my family fair warning right now that if there is ANYONE on that plane that looks the slightest bit like a terrorist, I'm not flying. Unless they drug me first.

It's Always Good to Know Who Your Competition Is

The little man and I were having lunch together at home today, when he suddenly looks at me and says sweetly (and emphatically), "Momma, you are the best momma in the WHOLE ENTIRE OF THE WOR-ULD."

"Really?" I asked. "In the whole world? Are you sure?"

"Mmmm hmmm," he replied, nodding his head. "I'm VERRRY sure."

After a brief pause, he went on to add another thought. "In fact, Momma, if they (not sure who "they" is) lined up ALL the mommas in the wor-uld, and I got to pick one, I would pick you."

"Really, Doodle Bug? You would pick ME?" I tried to act surprised, even though he has expressed this same sentiment at least 49 times already this week.

And then the clincher.

"Oh, yes, Momma. In fact, if they let me spin to pick a Momma, and my spinner landed on Scott Donna Momma, I would just CHEAT THE SPINNER and pick you anyway! So there!"

You can only imagine the sigh of relief that escaped me as I realized my arch rival Scott Donna Momma was NOT going to beat me out for the affections of my little boy. Whew.

This Crazy Arkansas Weather

On Monday of this week, we awakened to unseasonably warm temperatures. The thought briefly passed through my mind that I could easily see myself wearing a skirt and flip-flops to class that morning. "It's January," I reminded myself. "People will laugh at you if you show up in flip-flops."
So I dressed in something appropriate for what the weather would normally be in January (never mind that my upstairs classroom usually feels 15-20 degrees warmer than it should). And I roasted.

Walking out to my car afterward, I spoke briefly with Susan, the ninth-grade English teacher who was wearing flip-flops. We commented on how beautiful the weather was, and could this be a sign we would have an early spring.

The next morning, the weather again was gorgeous when I awoke to a balmy 65 degrees. And so I did what I had wanted to do the day before. I shaved my very white legs, threw on a skirt and top and my most favorite pair of Skechers flip flops. (This is probably a violation of some obscure rule in the 20-page dress code, but since I haven't taken the time to read it all, I surely can't be held responsible for following it, right??)

Hubs commented before he left for work that we were going to see a significant drop in temperatures that day, and there was even a chance of snow that evening.

A wiser woman would have immediately put on a pair of tights and boots (seeing as how my warm wool pants are forbidden by the dress code), but I dismissed his warning and assumed that the big drop the forecasters were predicting surely wouldn't happen before I got home around noon. After all, those guys are rarely right anyway.

So off I went in 60ish degree weather. A mere 90 MINUTES LATER as The Little Man and I headed to the mall to buy Daddy's birthday present, it was already well on its way to the 30s. Those smirks that I had worried about getting the day before ... yes, I got plenty of them as we braved strong winds (without coats, of course, because who would wear a coat and flip-flops together??) G and I went into a shoe store to get Dad a new pair of Merrill's and when I asked for a man's size, she coyly remarked that it looked like I could use a pair of shoes as well. What could I do but laugh?

It's been freezing every day since, and the snow finally came yesterday, though not nearly as much as we'd been told we'd get. Somehow our 4-7" turned into not much more than a heavy dusting, but we got two days out of school, which have been wonderful!

This is the view from my deck this morning:


Now if you'll excuse me, I think I'll go pack away every pair of sandals I own just to avoid the temptation of donning another pair anytime in the near future.

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.