Sep. 30, 2007 - A Dog's Best Friend
A Dog’s Best Friend
Have I ever told you how much John loves our dogs? Well, this weekend I found out he loved the dogs so much I had to leave. After twenty-two years of marriage I have finally gone home to “Mom.” Don’t worry, all is well now, but do let me tell you about the last forty-eight hours.
Late on Friday evening John decided to take the children and the dogs on a nature hike to listen for coyotes in the area. We’ve heard many in recent nights and with the moon full and children’s eyes wide, off they went.
I decided to stay home and enjoy the peace. I padded around in my slippers in the odd silence of the house and decided just to go to bed. And that is where I was, when I was awakened some forty-five minutes later. It was John. “Honey, I can’t believe you went to sleep. You should have waited up for me,” he said as he gently nudged me. Then he bent down and hugged me.
I sat bolt upright. “Oh my goodness,” I screamed, “the house is on fire! I smell horrible smoke!”
He chuckled. “No honey, Chester (one of the dogs) got sprayed by a skunk and Taylor’s in the shower with him right now bathing him with peroxide and baking soda. I picked up Chester, so that’s how the smell got on me.”
At this point, let me digress. I have an extraordinary nose. I can smell mildew before it forms, I can smell flowers from across the room, I can smell the air and tell if it is going to rain, and I can tell when Taylor needs to clean his aquarium without ever walking in his room. My mother says I could make a living using my sense of smell. With this gift, however, there is also frustration. I am always the one that finds the offensive ‘whatever’ that no one else can find. Sometimes I wish I was blissfully unaware of the smells around me. In fact, at the moment that John hugged me, I was assaulted by the worst acrid smell I have ever smelled in my life. It overwhelmed me, my mouth turned dry and my stomach turned over. I couldn’t swallow and I couldn’t spit. Every breath worsened my misery. John took one look at my face and turned and ran out of the room, realizing his absurd error.
In a split second, I knew I had to get out. As I ran down the stairs, Taylor ran out with a towel wrapped around him and tried to stop me. “Mom,” he frantically yelled, “Don’t take another step. Stop where you are. It’s much worse down here.”
Briefly considering leaving my home forever, I stumbled into the night, grabbing my purse and a change of clothes. Amazingly, the night air didn’t smell at all like skunk. Just my home and I did. Still gagging from the smell on me though, I decided that I would make an escape and drive to Mom’s home, just seven miles away. Yes, in twenty-two years of marriage, this is the first time I have ever “gone home to Mom.”
I had called Mom on the way and she greeted me at the door, listened to my ranting and gave me a towel and lye soap. Luckily, Mom does not have the gift of smell and couldn’t smell how bad I was, but Hayley, who was spending the night at Grandma’s, could smell me from twenty feet away. The shower and soap worked. I got out and began to put on my clean clothes but they smelled just as bad as I had. I asked Mom to burn them or bleach them, I didn’t care which.
Meanwhile, back at the ranch, John and the children spent the night in smell hell. Chester had been sprayed by the skunk when he ran into a nearby cornfield. John, who is in love with the poor dog, brought him in to bathe and comfort him. Though Chester threw up and was miserable, he survived.
On Saturday, Hayley and I loaded up on deodorizing supplies and returned to the scene of the crime. John said he was used to it (did I mention he is a smoker?) and said he couldn’t smell it anymore. But, after washing, sprinkling, deodorizing, vacuuming, scrubbing, airing and spraying, I still can. Would you believe that even my checkbook in my purse smelled like skunk?
Lest you are worried about us, please know that I have finally forgiven my man, but not until he heartily apologized for bringing the dog in the house in the first place and hugging me out of my sleep with his skunk covered self. I know its cliché, but I cannot resist. Truly, a man’s best friend is his dog. Or is it, a dog’s best friend is his man?
© Sallie H., 2007. All rights reserved.
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Sep. 13, 2007 - Supermom Plate-Spinning Debacle
Supermom Plate-Spinning Debacle
A dear friend of mine referred to me as a ‘Super-Mom’ today. In years past, I would have probably been pleased to hear something so complimentary, but today, I was reduced to tears, realizing that I must not be very genuine if anyone actually thinks that for a moment.
I’m just a normal mom with a passion for homeschooling my children the best I can. On an organized day, I have lists of my lists. On a bad day, I stumble from one chaotic moment to the next.
How many times have I loaded the dishwasher, put the soap in, and then walked away without turning it on? How many times have I washed the towels, only to leave them in the washer so long that I have to wash them again? And I cannot possibly stand still for a minute to wait until the teapot fills, so I accidentally let it overflow every single time I fill it. I lose my patience with the children over ridiculous things way too often. Even worse, I sometimes doubt my capacity to teach my learning disabled child and fret about what the future holds for him. I say no to the children sometimes when they ask me to read to them at bedtime because I’m already drained from the day and I would be horrified if the clean police showed up at my home. Frozen pizza, Kraft macaroni and cheese, and Ramen noodles deserve their own food group based upon how often I am completely exhausted and incapable of intelligible thought or any form of cooking by the time dinner rolls around. For that matter, cereal is one of my children’s favorite dinners. The list could go on and on.
A lot has been said about the existence or non-existence of ‘Super-Mom,’ and after today, I’d like to tackle that topic myself. I’m sure that there are many, many moms that are super, but none that can keep all the plates spinning all the time. In my humble opinion, for every plate spinning in the air there is at least one other plate that needs to be picked up, glued back together, scraped, washed and put away.
For me, I thank God that he helps me every day. I thank God for my precious children and my ideal husband that he provided for me (though I don’t always realize it). I thank God for the fellowship of my friends, who come alongside and help me know that I am not on this uphill (but joyous) journey alone. And finally, I thank God for conking me over the head from time to time, for if we are not learning something, we are going in the wrong direction.
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Sep. 10, 2007 - Keeping the Sabbath Holy (Or Trying to Anyway.....)
Keeping the Sabbath Holy (Or Trying to Anyway.....)
We started school last week. When Friday evening came, I was drained and spent. Oh my goodness, I thought, however have I made it through the last five years of homeschooling? I don't remember being so completely exhausted after only one week. Going back to school is like having quintuplets, or maybe like drinking through a firehose.
But here we are on Monday evening, and I feel great about school. Isn't it nice that God had the sense to insist that we rest, like he did on the seventh day? In our home we have been working on keeping the Sabbath day holy in recent months. And I must say, I think the big guy upstairs approves. He really does keep the dragons at bay and renew your spirit if you'll only let him.
I goofed this weekend on one count though. After church I went shopping, because when I went at 6:30 pm on Saturday, Costco was closed. Well, I needed mass vittles, so off I went. Here's some food for thought though- Did God intend for grocery shopping on the Sabbath since someone has to staff the stores so I can shop there? What about restaurant workers? Wouldn't it be truly wonderful if America was closed on Sunday and families spent the day together, at church and at home?
In my neck of the woods, I really appreciate our local grocery store, Fareway, that is owned and operated by Christians. Would you believe they are closed on Sundays? I love their wonderful meat department, excellent service and reasonable prices too.
From my little corner of the world, I'd like to propose that as Christians, we truly do keep the Sabbath holy. God wouldn't have made it a commandment if he didn't mean it.
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Sep. 9, 2007 - The First Beatitude
The First Beatitude
"Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven." Matthew 5:3
I've always struggled with how to interpret this, not really understanding what Jesus was saying. Well, since I chose to have the children study and learn the Beatitudes, I had to find out.
Using my handy Bible dictionary, I looked up the Beatitudes. First, I learned that the word 'Beatitude' comes from the Latin form of the word, 'Blessed.' Hmmm, I always thought it meant that was how our attitudes should 'be'. Silly me.
Secondly, I learned that to be 'poor in spirit' is to be humble, not self-aggrandizing, reliant on God and reliant on God's word. In other words, completely dependent on God and not on myself. Whoa! This is a very tall order for me and we're just getting started on the first of the Beatitudes.
Well, I must admit, I feel like God just konked me on the head. It's nothing really new, but I finally understand what Jesus meant. Thank you Lord. I shall need your help a lot on this one. Oh yea, I'm supposed to rely on you totally. What a circular path this is..... Need help to rely on God..... Rely on God....... Need Help....... Rely on God........
Okay, baby steps. I had a little unsettled feeling about something in Church this week. Should I say anything? Need help....... Rely on God....... I checked my bible. Guess what? He told me that if a woman doesn't understand something in Church to ask her husband and keep her mouth shut in Church. I wish I could tell you where I found it. I just prayed for God to lead me and I opened the bible right to it. It was somewhere in one of Paul's letters to the churches.
I have a lot to learn, that's for sure. But I am trying. Remember to rely on God. Remember to rely on God........Need help...... Rely on God. And so on....
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Jul. 19, 2007 - It All Means So Much
It All Means So Much
Four years ago, my Granddaddy remarried, after losing his wife of 50+ years a few years earlier. Their wedding made the news that night, since they were officially declared Iowa’s oldest newlyweds, at ages 90 and 88. On that day, a very special lady joined our family. Although Granddaddy only lived another two years due to injuries sustained in a car accident, we have adopted her as our Great-Grandma Vera. Since Vera never had any children during her earlier marriage of 40+ years, it seems strange to now have 18 great-grandchildren, but she loves it.
Great-Grandma Vera turns 92 this week. Yesterday the children and I went to visit her in her nursing home and brought her some pound cake, frosted and sliced for her and nine of her friends. Sitting and talking with her, I realized that her memories span exactly double my life-time. Her mind is sharp and she can recall so many things, large and small. Asking her about her youth, I scribbled some notes and here are some of the things I learned.
Her father was a coal miner, which provided the family a steady income during the winter. During the summer, he worked odd jobs, at whatever he could find. So the summer-time was always toughest. This surprised me, since she grew up in farming country. However, her family did always keep a garden in the summer. She remembers eating lots of potatoes, green beans, and cabbage. Her father would dig a trench in the fall and bury the cabbage with the big leafy bottoms up and cover them with straw. They would have fresh cabbage all winter.
Vera was the eighth child of fourteen. An even split of seven girls and seven boys, most of whom have passed on before her. Their home was a two-story, three bedroom house in Des Moines. Upstairs, there was one bedroom for the boys and one for the girls. Four girls slept together in one bed, but they never minded. It was just the way things had to be. The baby of the moment slept with Mama.
Born July 22, 1915, she was fourteen at the time of the infamous stock market crash. I asked if she remembered the depression. “No”, she said, “times were always hard for us, so the depression didn’t seem any different.”
She can remember going to school; rain, snow, or shine, walking about eight blocks with her patched black stockings pulled over her knees and her shoes laced up to her shins. At night her mother would braid her wet hair with paper in between the plaits and pull out the paper in the morning for perfectly smooth braids.
Each year, the children each received one pencil and one package of lined paper and one package of plain paper. They wrote on every square inch of the paper to make it last. They had no books at home and there was no such thing as a library at school. Her brother that was one year older than her worked ahead in the next book at school, and when she finished hers before he was ready to give her the book, the teacher skipped her ahead of her brother to the next level, for there were no other books available.
She remembers how the school children were taught to save. They were each encouraged to open a savings account at the bank if they could bring a penny from home. As she walked home, she was sad because she knew she didn’t have a penny and didn’t have any way of getting one. But, as she walked, she found a penny on the ground. After asking her mother if she could keep it, she was elated that she could open a savings account also. Later, her mother agreed to pay her a penny a week for chores and she deposited all of them. She left school after the ninth grade because her mother needed her at home to help with the younger children, the older seven having already married and left home.
When she moved out and lived on her own, she remembers being out-of-work for a time, during which she lived off of a weekly entitlement from the government which consisted of nine dollars. Spending four dollars on her apartment, and one dollar on her tithe, she still always managed to bank ten to fifteen cents, never touching her savings.
Years after marrying, she finally told her husband about her precious savings account when they were ready to buy a small 40-acre farm together. She had saved right at $1,000. They sold their house in town for $3,000 and the farm cost $5,200. They paid the remaining $1200 off at $25 a month.
Yesterday, I watched as Grandma Vera clung to her walker as she carefully gave her roommate a drink of water and talked to her so very gently, never expecting anything in return, because her roommate is a stroke victim who can’t move or speak coherently. Activities on the nursing home calendar included towel-folding at 11:00 am and baking at 3:00 pm. She looked forward to helping make a peach pie that afternoon, if she felt up to it after our visit. I asked her if she had a favorite activity, and she didn’t hesitate when she responded. “Church on Sunday, that is my favorite.”
Our lives are busy and full of obligations. Too many obligations. Finding time to visit Great-Grandma Vera is sometimes hard, but each time we visit or take her out somewhere, she grows more special to us. Two months ago, when the children brought their musical instruments and played for the residents at the nursing home, she broke down in sobs of joy. On this visit, she was proud to share her cake with her friends, saving it for after dinner when she might carefully dole it out. The music, the cake, the children, it all means so much to her.
© Sallie H., 2007. All rights reserved.
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Jul. 9, 2007 - God's Reluctant Worker
God’s Reluctant Worker
God asks that we do his will, whatever and whenever he requires it. When you know God’s will, is it sometimes hard for you to follow? I have had this experience the past few weeks. There is a little girl in our town (I’ll call her Bunny) that has glommed herself onto my youngest daughter, with full fervor. Our youngest, Jessica, came to us only a year and a half ago, initially as a foster child, now adopted. She’s eight years old and very impressionable and fragile. As I learned more about little Bunny I realized it was not a good match. Bunny comes from a family that does not know the Lord and lives in filthy squalor. What’s more, one of Jessica’s other friends will not even speak to her anymore because of the ill-aligned friendship. Watching them run around together at softball games, I gradually became aware that Jessica was filling a desperate need in Bunny’s life. Bunny had no other friends. Her mother seems nice enough, but doesn’t understand the importance of cleanliness, for her children or her home. I don’t know much about the father, but Jessica reports that he drinks and yells a lot.
At first, I determined that I would protect Jessica from this family and discourage any further friendship, which I did. Though it was subtle on my part, I know her mother picked up on my feelings, but she still encouraged Bunny to call Jessica and invite herself to our home, to which I hesitatingly agreed, thinking it would be safe on my turf. I was horrified to learn that on her only visit to our home, Bunny told Jessica that a witch lived in the mirror and came out to suck the life out of her at night.
Well, you might expect that the story would end there. In my mind, it certainly had. I wanted Jessica to have no further contact with Bunny and I even began leaving Jessica home with siblings when it was time to go to softball games that Bunny would be attending.
Enter God. Completely against my will, God began laying Bunny and her mother on my heart. Like the new movie, Evan Almighty, where God determinedly gives Evan sign after sign to build an ark, I began to see that God had a plan for me to carry out. After I specifically prayed to know God’s will, he began urging me to reach out to them, to tell them about Jesus and help them to find him. At first, I talked myself out of it, saying that I had to be mistaken; it would be too risky to expose Jessica to any further negative influence.
Having suppressed the feeling, I went on vacation with the family. When we returned, there was a message from Bunny on the answering machine, which I quickly deleted before Jessica could hear it. The nagging feeling came back, but still I suppressed it. The next day Jessica and I headed to the grocery store, some fifteen miles from our home. As we walked in the front door, I remembered I needed some carpet shampoo and I began walking to the far side of the store to get it. Who did I run in to? You guessed it, Bunny’s mom. She immediately wanted to know if we had gotten Bunny’s message and, “When could Bunny come over to play?” I made up some excuse about missing the message and chatted idly for a minute before continuing on my mission to find the carpet shampoo. As I pushed the cart, I suddenly realized that the carpet shampoo was on the complete opposite side of the store where I had come from and I had just run into her going in the wrong direction. Finally, I realized that God was going to hit me over the head if I didn’t start listening to him. I had asked to know God’s will and he had answered.
Sitting in church yesterday, I realized that I could very easily invite Bunny to our children’s vacation bible school coming up this week where the gospel message will be shared each day. I still didn’t want to encourage the relationship, but it had to be. After a month’s struggle where I had continually ignored God, last night I called her mother and invited Bunny to attend as Jessica’s guest for the three day event. Her mother instantly agreed and thought it was a great idea. Just like that. I have no idea what God plans to do and I feel guilty to have been a reluctant worker, but now it is much better to know that I have allowed God to finally use me rather than to keep snubbing his urging.
Is God working on your heart? Pray to know God’s will for your life and to have the strength to carry it out.
© Sallie H., 2007. All rights reserved.
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