"Blessed to be Bullied"

Bullying has become rampant in our schools today. There are seminars, letters and e-mails in masses each year discussing how to handle bullies and how bullying will not be tolerated and yet it happens. I'm not so sure it is anymore rampant today than it was when we were young, I just think we had the freedom to handle it differently without the added threat and fear of losing out lives whether from a gun shot, a drawn knife or the school administration. Children use to handle bullying in the front yard as they scuffled and fought for respect on the ground. Parents made their stance on bullying clear behind the wood shed and principals possessed the authority and the paddle that put a stop to it on school property. Now we have law suits and "rights" that protect and prevent us from dealing with bullying.

Recently bullying reared its ugly head at the Hawkins home and we were forced to figure out where we stood on the issue. Matthew is 12 and in middle school. He is an easy target for bullies. He is an atypical preteen. He make all A's and his goal is averages 96 or higher. He sits on the front row, pays attention, is polite to teachers, nice to everyone, treats girls with respect and minds his own business. The target is drawn in vivid colors on his back and I am proud. Matthew has said for years that he is different, but he doesn't mind being different. Matthew is also tough and never cries. He handles most any situation on his own and not much seems to get to him. For this reason, when he broke the other night in front of me and his dad, I knew there was something bigger than a brain tumor going on. He has walked thru so many trials and health issues with not a question or a tear, but whatever was bothering him was deep and he was struggling. It took about 30 minutes of coaxing to discover that Matthew was the target of a group of bullies. He was being called names, laughed at, made fun of and unwelcome to sit with his "friends." He was told that no one liked him, he was gay, he was stupid, he was ugly, he was fat and people only pretended to be his friend, among other things that I don't feel appropriate for a public blog. As he sat on the den floor pouring his heart out to us about this month long ordeal he asked, "How can I be a Godly young man and handle this in a way that honors Christ, but not get stepped on my whole life?" My advice was "Pray for your enemies, turn the other cheek and let me call their mommas." I received a resounding "NO mom this is my battle and I have to figure out how to deal with it." After processing the situation and listening to his son pour his heart out, his Godly daddy, his pastor says "Next time it happens, beat the tar out of him. Get in his face tell him to stop and if he doesn't flatten him to the ground." Matthew laughed, but looked surprised. I was MORTIFIED. I would never question my husband in the presence of my children, but NO, NO, NO. He can't fight. Later that evening I questioned, maybe even rebuked my husband for his advice and he said, "I know my son, I know he is not a fighter. He would never lay a hand on anybody, but he has to know that he can handle this and I have his back. He has to understand that being a Godly young man does not mean that you sit back and let people walk all over you and abuse you. He will do the right thing." I have complete and total trust in my husband, but this conversation increased my prayer life. All I could see was bloody noses, suspension and a reputation being scarred for life.

Matthew was in deep thought all weekend. It was obvious that he was processing and praying about what to do. He left on Monday morning with an apparent plan in his heart, but no words on his lips. I waited with baited breathe Monday afternoon. I refrained from approaching the bus stop, but I stood around the corner and watched as each neighbor child rounded the corner, but no Matthew. Oh, I wanted to run around the corner and see what was going on, but I waited. A few minutes later I could seem him rounding the corner with the same slow and steady gate he has had since he was a toddler. We walked inside and this is the story of how my son handled "bullying." "Mom, as we got off the bus I asked him if I could have a word with him. He said no and I told him that wasn't an option, that we needed to talk. He asked a friend to stay and go for help if it got ugly. Mom, this made me laugh inside because I wasn't going to hurt him. I said "I'm going to ask you nicely today to stop calling me names, stop making fun of me and stop be ugly to me. I'm asking nicely today, but if it doesn't stop I WILL put a stop to it. Do you understand? I want to be your friend, but this name calling stops today." Matthew said the young man immediately apologized and said it would not happen again. He went on to tell Matthew that there were others and what they were saying. Matthew politely said "Thank you letting me know and if I need to I will deal with that but today this is between you and me."

Matthew came home with his head held high and not another unkind word has been spoken to him by ANYONE. Now first let me say that Matthew is a big boy. He is 5'6 and weighs 150lbs. I wouldn't mess with him, but that day it was not the size of his body that demanded respect, it was his heart and his character. He took a stand. He did not use force, even though his daddy had freed him up if he felt threatened. Matthew spoke the truth in love and took a stand for truth. Matthew earned the respect of his peers that day. I have always had a great respect for my son, but that day I realized that my boy had become a man. He handled himself with integrity and dignity. I was still a little rattled at the advice his daddy had given him and I ask him, "Son, did you ever consider physical force." "No mom, I knew what daddy was doing. I would never fight someone unless it was in self defense. I knew daddy was just saying "Put a stop to it" and was freeing me up to not walk into the situation in fear." WOW! The wisdom of these men I live with astounds me.

Matthew took some huge steps that week as the Lord provided him with the opportunity to grow in grace and character. Even Jesus who walked without sin was persecuted and mistreated. He turned over tables and he rebuked in love. Bullies are no fun, but I am blessed that my son was bullied. He grew and his character was built and he is stronger in his faith because of it. Blessed to be bullied!!!

Going Home

Home has been defined as "the place you live permanently." For years we have heard "home is where your heart is." Both definitions define why Grammie had been asking for over a week to "Go Home." Sometimes misunderstood by nurses, doctors and even family thinking she wanted to return to her earthly dwelling place, her heart ached for HOME. Since the age of 13 at a Methodist Youth Meeting she has had a full understanding and a longing for HOME. On that day over 60 years ago eternity was set within her heart and she knew that her permanent dwelling place was with her Savior. She did not know the time or the day that she would meet Him face to face, but she knew her destination and she stayed her course. She knew her calling and her mission and she was successful. She was called to be a loving wife to my precious Pappy. At the age of 15 as she sat across the library her heart fluttered each time he winked at her. She knew it was love when he brought her a gardenia on their first date and from that day forward gardenias became her favorite flower and Pappy the love of her life. To quote "The first important thing I did in my life was give my heart to Jesus at the age of 13 and second important thing I did was marry Pappy." She loved him so dearly and desired to make his home his own "little kingdom." "Little darlin" she would say "I always have his coffee made when he gets home and his supper too. I try to always have the house clean and all my chores done. My friends don't call when he is home and the T.V. is his and so am I. I devote my time to him when he is there." Wisdom from 58 years of a happy marriage. In later years I have always loved to hear about their date nights. They may have been together all the time and even eaten out together every day, but Saturday night was date night. Dressed a little nicer and eating a little fancier, but dating was important and they dated for 58 years. Her children were her pride and joy and she was a wonderful mother. She would do anything and everything for her children and she did. Love, care, forgiveness, mercy and grace were offered in multitude as she always pointed her children to the cross. Her one desire. She was their prayer warrior and she fought the battle on her knees. She was sensitive to the Holy Spirit and had a spirit of discernment about her, often times waking from a sound sleep to intercede on behalf of those she loved. Though Grandmother is the title often penned, she was my Grammie. Not just a title, but a name. A sweet, sweet name, "Grammie." Young enough to have been titled mother, she was a doting Grammie and the memories run deep and sweet. A legacy left as her gifts of hospitality, discernment, concern, prayer, cooking skills, cleaning standards and love are all sprinkled among her children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren. 2 children, 4 grandchildren and 11 great-grandchildren and yet many, many more have called her Grammie and have been touched by her life. She had the gift of serving and knowing where there was a need and meeting that need. She cared about people. Her life was about others as she ministered in His name. Her life has touched many, a legacy that I desire to pass on as well. She did not live for self, but for His kingdom. For over 60 years she lived, she planned, she prepared and she longed for her HOME and on Monday morning her Savior said "Well done my good and faithful servant." She met Him face to face. She was whole and complete and she was rewarded for a lifetime of obedience and service. Oh how the angels sang and rejoiced. As I drove to the hospital unaware that she was taking her last breathes the Lord brought a song to my heart that I had not sung in many years, but as she entered the kingdom, tears flowing and voice cracking I sang... "Oh what a day that will be when my Jesus I shall see. When I look upon His face, the one who saved me by His grace. Then He'll take me by the hand and lead me to the promised land. What a day glorious day that will be." And it was. She received her glorified body and her mission was complete. Now she can worship at His feet for all eternity. I can see her worshipping and praising now, because that is what she loved to do. Our finite, earthly minds and hearts have trouble wrapping our heads around the loss we feel and we struggle with our desire to wish she were here, but she has experienced the very presence of Jesus. She is HOME. She has found her permanent residence. Her longings and desires have become a reality. Oh what a legacy to follow. I yearn for Heaven. That is our HOME. That is where we belong. Those who have placed their faith and trust in the person of the Lord Jesus will one day share that permanent residence. He has placed eternity in the hearts of men and HE alone is our desire. Thank you Grammie for paving the road, for being the example, for modeling our purpose. May we run with the same perseverance as we finish our journey HOME.

Can You Hear Me Now?

This morning I was watching cartoons with my favorite 4 year old. It has become a morning ritual that I cherish and savor. He wakes up, comes to the couch and says "Mommy, can we cuddle and watch cartoons?" This is my last year to enjoy these special moments since he starts kindergarten in the fall. For that reason my answer is always "Yes!" There is so much to be learned and so much to be taught if we keep our eyes and ears open and look for learning opportunities. This morning I heard a cartoon character say "They can't hear me over the sound of their own voices." WOW! It hit me like a ton of bricks. It was as though Jesus himself was speaking those very words to my soul as an answer to a series of repetitive questions. Why Lord? Why don't they follow you? Why are marriages falling apart? Why are your children living in disobedience? Why? And the whys continue...And the answer..."They can't hear me over the sound of their own voices." The answer makes me sit in silence as I digest what might very well be our demise. Our own voices. Not only the words spoken aloud, but the words that run through our minds. We talk and even when we aren't talking we are!! When was the last time you found a place of silence and solitude for your soul? When do we listen? We spend so much time entertained by music, movies, television, ipods, ipads, facebook, texts, facetime, skype and anything else that can fill the silence with word and thought. And yet "We can't hear Him over the sound of our own voices." Yes, we read His letter of love to us, but has it become Caleb's definition of reading, "Just looking at words on a page." His word is living and active. It is alive and meets us at our point of need, but we must first be silent. We must listen for His voice. For His voice to be found ours must be silent. Are you seeking an answer from your Savior? Are their questions and concerns that plaque your soul? Do you cry out and wonder if your voice is being heard? Silence! He speaks..."Be still and know that I am God."

"Overwhelmingly Grateful"

I am normally a woman of many words as you may know by now but tonight I will keep it short and simple. Today there are many words that ALL define the attitude of my heart. I was blessed today with some much needed one on one conversation with my husband and we were both overwhelmed with the same gratefulness of heart. It is a message of thanksgiving that the Lord has been inscribing on both of our hearts this week... OUR CHILDREN! They are boys. They are human. They are young and they are A BLESSING! We were also overwhelmed with the understanding today that they are HIS. We can take no credit for who they are or who they are becoming. It is ALL for Him and for His glory. I boast about my children only in the Name of Jesus and boasting about what He has done in their lives. Children are a blessing. Teach them to love Jesus. Train them in righteousness. Love them unconditionally. Discipline them according to the standard of God's Word. Encourage them. Spend time with them. BE THANKFUL FOR THEM. Words on my heart today....THANKFUL, HUMBLED, AWED, PROUD, BLESSED, GRATEFUL, CHANGED, CHALLENGED, OVERWHELMED (in a good way), ENCOURAGED, APPRECIATIVE, CONTENT, HONORED, REWARDED, PLEASED, IMPRESSED, LOVED, CHERISHED, ENTERTAINED.

"Understanding The Cries of My Heart"

I have always thought that I understood prayer. I talk to Jesus all day, every day. He is my friend, my Savior, my confidant. I don't change my voice when I pray. I don't whisper. I don't flower the words with "Dear God" or other words that King James would find beautiful. I just talk to my Heavenly Father. I share my heart. I ask for His wisdom, His guidance and I listen. He speaks! Sometimes through His word, sometimes in those still small whispers and other times in louder voices that only my spirit can understand. I pray according to His word and according to His will, we pray the parts of scripture that bring peace and comfort? Have you ever asked God to allow you to walk through a trial? Have you ever asked Him to allow you to suffer or hurt? No, we don't pray for those things, we pray against them, but in His word He is clear that those things will come. BUT, HE IS ENOUGH! He is enough to carry us through whatever may come our way. I have recently discovered "my new favorite song" which asked the question "what if your blessings come through raindrops and what if your healing comes through tears? what if a thousand sleepless nights are what it takes to know you're near? what if the trials of this life are your blessings in disguise?" We equate sunny days with beauty and rainy days are dreariness, but could beauty exists without the rain? The world would wither and dry up. It was waste away without the rain. Have you ever experienced healing? Healing from a broken heart, a broken relationship, a devastating situation, a sickness? Healing often times involves tears. So many blessings have come as the result of a trial so in reality isn't the trial the blessing? Or phrased a different way...would the blessing have been possible without the trial? There were tears as our Savior hung on the cross and yet the ultimate healing was brought about through His death. I don't think their is anything wrong with praying for peace, health, comfort and blessings. God desires these things for our lives and His word is full of truth to back that up. His love is too great and too deep to give us everything we ask for. We are man with finite minds and yet we think we know what's best for us. He knows my needs. He knows the cry of my heart and He knows what it will take in my life to make me whole and complete and to give Him glory. Praising Him in the blessings and on the good days is easy, but it takes really knowing Him and depending on Him to trust and praise during the trials. Just one step further...the more we know Him and seek Him we understand the difference in praising Him during the trial and praising Him for the trial. These are the cries of my heart today...seeking to know and live the difference.

We pray for blessings

We pray for peace

Comfort for family, protection while we sleep

We pray for healing, for prosperity

We pray for Your mighty hand to ease our suffering

All the while, You hear each spoken need

Yet love us way too much to give us lesser things

Cause what if Your blessings come through raindrops

What if Your healing comes through tears

What if a thousand sleepless nights

Are what it takes to know You’re near

What if trials of this life are Your mercies in disguise

We pray for wisdom

Your voice to hear

And we cry in anger when we cannot feel You near

We doubt Your goodness, we doubt Your love

As if every promise from Your Word is not enough

All the while, You hear each desperate plea

And long that we'd have faith to believe

Cause what if Your blessings come through raindrops

What if Your healing comes through tears

What if a thousand sleepless nights

Are what it takes to know You’re near

And what if trials of this life are Your mercies in disguise

When friends betray us

When darkness seems to win

We know the pain reminds this heart

That this is not, this is not our home

It's not our home

Cause what if Your blessings come through raindrops

What if Your healing comes through tears

And what if a thousand sleepless nights

Are what it takes to know You’re near

What if my greatest disappointments

Or the aching(s) of this life

Is the revealing of a greater thirst this world can’t satisfy

And what if trials of this life

The rain, the storms, the hardest nights

Are Your mercies in disguise

By: Laura Story

"Summers in the Country"

Though it was only 2 weeks at a time or maybe a weekend here and there so many of my memories revolve around the summers in the country. As soon as we pulled onto the road with dust and rocks I knew that we were almost there. It won't be long now. As we identified each relative, each neighbor and each place where uncle so and so use to live I knew it wouldn't be long. And then I could see it. The long ranch style cinder block home that would shape so many memories of my childhood. As we pulled into the drive there they were each time just the way I pictured they would be. Granddaddy would clap those hands from back to front ending in a pointing wave and a possible "hot dog" under his breath and Grandmother would bend at the waist patting the tops of her jeans as she awaited the embrace that she had been counting down for weeks. But she wasn't the only one who had been counting. The kisses and hugs were exchanged and all the luggage arranged in their regular places and then the tour. We had to see how much the place had changed or not at all. Walks through the greenhouses with the smell of fertilizer, potting soil and every plant imaginable, all the while being careful to watch for snakes taking a respite from the heat. These walks began the "piles of summer" of the things we would take home to provide life on our porches and decks and one summer helped a little girl in pigtails start a door to door plant sale from her wagon when she returned home. Next we checked the chickens always aware that we could get mites, but never did. There were laying hens where we gathered eggs and as we gathered we would begin to scout out supper.We had to pick just the right chicken. When the right one had been picked Grandmother would corner him, swing him around until his neck broke and flop him into a bath of hot water so we could "dress" him. However, I never understood this term as it always seemed we were undressing him instead. She was my hero. I was in awe. How did she know how to catch him, kill him, dress him and cook him? Eating him was my favorite part, but the cooking was actually Granddaddy's job. He was the chicken fryer. But that comes later. Cooking only commenced once the heat died down since their was no air in the house. Well, that's not true. There were two window units. One in the den that we were allowed to use after the sun fell behind the rat proof crib, which I always wondered if it really was. The air was on just long enough for the sweat that dripped down your back to dry. 100 + degrees in the deep south filled with humidity and unless we were there the big box in the window was never turned on. The second unit was in the dining room.

Each night before dinner, all the doors to the dining room would be closed allowing the room to cool off just enough for the nausea to subside so that we could all enjoy dinner. The table was long enough for the whole family, but the coveted seat was the one where the air blew so cold that your chicken was chilled before it reached your mouth. But you didn't mind because you knew the cold was only momentary and soon the air would be off and the meal that you had waited on for weeks would be over. Fried chicken made in the cast iron skillet, creamed corn seasoned with black pepper and stirred just so by Granddaddy's sun aged hands, zipper peas picked fresh that morning, biscuits patted out by Grandmother, made in the biscuit bowl and placed in circles on the cast iron biscuit pan, homemade jelly spread across each biscuit and a bowl full of homemade mashed potatoes which someone probably scratched up that morning from the potato patch.We lived off the land. Almost everything we needed was produced or grown their on the home front as were we and the generations before us. We knew it was bedtime when Wheel Of Fortune went off, even though it was still light outside. I was to use the bathroom with the red carpet. It smelled of Coast soap, Listerine, Ben-gay and Old Spice. As we bathed and slipped into the thinnest gowns or pj's we could find, we knew the sheets would stick to our skin by morning and we hoped and prayed that an escapee from the local prison would not come peaking in the open windows that produced a warm breeze which allowed slumber to be possible. In the event of an intruder we had mapped out a plan weeks before. The closets that connected the two rooms would be our hideout or so it was in the minds of me and my brother. Not only was this closet a cool hide out but made for a fun playhouse during the hours we felt like living in a make believe world. My head would rest near Grandmother's as I slept in the twin bed that made a 90 degree angle with hers. She would tell me stories from her childhood and my mind would take me to a place where lunches were carried in pails and little girls wore long dresses year round. Not sure if my imagination was true to the times, but in my mind Grandmother became friends with Laura Ingalls. I was full of questions and some answers proved to be misunderstandings...I asked about monsters in the house and Grandmother assured me there was some in the refrigerator and we could have it at lunch. Mustard was what she heard and the misunderstanding was quickly cleared up after the tears were silenced and I was safe in her arms. The mornings came too early, yet not quick enough. I would stumble from my bed knowing that the adults had me beat by hours. Still in my gown, I would slip on my rubber boots and trudge through the fields in search of the harvesters. Where did they say they would be? Butter beans or zipper peas. Maybe they were in the corn field today. As I approached the fields I would give the call...yoo hoo...and when I heard Grandmother yoo hoo back I knew that I was close. Buckets of peas and beans, barrels of tomatoes and cucumbers, carts of corn and okra, baskets of squash and peppers of all kinds. I knew what the rest of the day would hold. After scratching for a few potatoes myself and filling my fingernails with the richness of earth I would head to the house for that small cup of orange juice that was sipped as I sat upon Grandmother's lap. We would soon eat sausage and biscuits with a little "monsters" of course, maybe a fried egg or two and then the work began. Shelling peas on the porch where the boxed fans blew. Slicing and blanching squash. Pickling cucumbers. Cutting and freezing okra. Shucking corn and freezing some on its cob and some that had been cut off the cob into that big bucket by that knife that I still can picture vividly. I can smell the peas as they blanched. I smell the sweet smell of plums as they boil and get ready to be jelly. I can hear the bubbling, sloshing and clanking of the cans as tomatoes and soups were being sealed for winter. So much to do and so much reward to be reaped year round. I'm sure these were not all accomplished in the same day, just as I am sure I did not do much of the work, but as one memory wove into the next the memories became cohesive. The only time of the day that rest was acceptable was the noon hour as potted meat sandwiches and Pringles were made and quiet came over the home just in time for "Grandmother's Program." I'm sure Hope and Bo are as happy today as they were back then and though time seems to stand still for them, The Days Of Our Lives continued and we had only One Life To Live. We had work to do and only 2 weeks to continue making memories. Once all the cartons were stacked in the 5 freezers that stood tall in the utility room and all the jars were lined on the shelves in the dining room, we knew it was time for another walk. This time it began at the edge of the property. Before we ventured off the property we had to see if this would be the year we could make it up the tree. The tree that held the rope swing and slanted down the drive. The tree that generations before me had also tried to "run up", others had climb and others had played under making mud pies and pea soup from unidentified leaves in the yard. We would take turns running with all of our might just hoping that we could "run up" the tree. Never succeeding, but always trying and hoping. We would catch up to the others at the scuppernong vines or maybe they were muscadines. I never really knew the difference. I only knew that while others ate the inside and spit out the hull...I liked them whole. Once our tummies were full and we were assured that we would have a stomach ache, we would continue down the dirt road always aware and looking for snakes, but never finding one.

We would graze the blackberries along the way and finally make it to the pond. Would the water be high or low? Would we get to fish this trip or was there too much work to do? We always managed to find the time. We would use those worms from the freezer that grew on those trees. You know the ones I could never pronounce. Now I know they are catawba worms. I preferred those to the "stink bait" which did. I loved the pull of the line, the bouncing of the bobber, but not the cleaning. I learned that even though we skin and filet them it is NOT ok to poke their eyeballs out with a stick. This is considered inhumane. Every 9 year old should learn this lesson. The walk would continue and I re-lived where my Mother had been carried away by a spooked horse and how her dress was torn as they reached to grab her. Just steps away was the destination we set out for...the family cemetery. Cemeteries are suppose to be sad and yet I loved the visits. The answers to each question of who was she and how she died. Sweeping the leaved from each grave, but never allowed to walk on them or sit on the tombstones. All of these things were signs of disrespect. We would linger and see the mourning in her eyes as she carefully set the flowers back up on Mommer and Popper's graves. Arm in arm they would take the dirt road back and we would hop the fence and run through the field to see who would be home first. Sometimes before we journeyed home we would venture farther and go to the old home place. The foundation still remained and we could see where each room was and imagined how Grandmother was as a child and where she slept and ate. The memories are still so vivid. Once back at the home place we would occasionally rummage through the rat proof crib or walk into the barn to find Mama cat and her new litter.

Mama cat lived for years though each time we visited she was a different color. Now I realized that Mama was not her name, but was an adjective used describe her condition. There were always cats. Lots of cats. Some were tame. Some were scared. Some had tails and others we called tom. The kittens were friendly and had way too much hugging and loving and were forced by little hands to climb trees. Once a little black kitten found his way back home with us as she traveled tucked under my arm. We always seemed to bring lots of the country home with us. The ice chests were full and so was the trunk. Enough vegetables and jellies, pickles and plants to stock the freezers and shelves for the year. And each family member that made these same memories received the love in these tangible containers. Some evenings when all canning and freezing were done we would sit in the sewing room. It was an add on room and it was cool and comfortable. The quilting loom was suspended from the roof and each time a different design hung above our heads. When time would allow Grandmother would lower the loom and stitch and work and today all those she loved bundle up with the fruits of her labor always remembering the love that was stitched into each square. It was there I learned to thread a machine, to sew on a button, to make small pillows and learned the meaning of words like bobbin and seam ripper. She was a woman of many talents and she had strength, stamina and love. Her hair was my favorite. It hung so far past her waist that she would sit on it if it had not been twisted and wrapped and tucked up in such a neat bun. Jet black underneath, but gray on the top. Defining who she was. Still young and strong and able to accomplish any task yet old in age and experienced and over worked by life. There was no dishwasher, no central heat and air. She did things the hard way yet to her it was the only way.

Grandaddy worked just as hard and just as long. He could never sit still and I can hear the slamming of the screen door as he would come and go all day. Trips to the store with Granddaddy always proved interesting. Donuts and ice cream were always involved and cokes in glass bottles were a must. Enough to drink and line the dividing wall from kitchen to den. Never saying no to his grandchildren and shocking all the other adults in the amount of caffeine that we were allowed to consume. We learned that it is not ok for someone to "rob you without a gun" by charging high prices for pie. We learned that truck stops and diners have the best food and that it is ok to use your horn when angry or when saying hello to a friend. He drove like the road belonged to him and as we curved around the dirt road we prayed that the neighbors dogs would not come running. Granddaddy said he didn't mind hitting them, though he never did, but in our minds we begged them to stay under the porch so that Granddaddy would not yell at them and call them what "they were" or tell them "where to go." He always made sure we left with an envelope of money, enough to buy school clothes and he kept the desk drawer filled with Freshen-Up. You know the gum that squirts when you chew it. He was one of the best chefs I know and I try to replicate his culinary skills as best I can. He kept gas in the mini-bike and would let us ride through the field that were not planted. He solved each Wheel of Fortune puzzle on the edge of his seat and he had no problems going to bed when it was still light out since he would arise when it was dark. The prison through the woods never scared him. He was a guard there for many years and he knew exactly which shelf he needed to reach in order to protect his family from an intruder. My favorite adventures with Granddaddy were the guinea adventures. We would walk through the woods looking for guinea eggs. The secret to gathering was using a long tool for picking up eggs. If they ever got a scent of the humans the hunt would start again and though I didn't mind Granddaddy liked knowing right where they were. The memories are engraved deep and are not only memories but have become a legacy. They made me who I am. I try each year to dredge them up through sights and smells and sounds. The smell of the plums boiling as they prep for jelly, the clicking of the cans as I put up tomatoes and peppers, shelling, blanching and freezing peas, threading bobbins, the sound of the sewing machine and the smell of the needle's friction all take me back to my childhood. I leave the chickens to Tyson and the thermostat stays on 73. I am not as strong, as talented, nor do I have the stamina that they did, but LOVE. I have the love and I give it freely. A legacy of love. I wish my children could have the memories that I have, but they are mine and they will have their own...each one unique and each one associated with a smell or sound that one day will take them back to today. These memories may not be exactly how each visit was scripted, but this is how I remember it in the novel of my heart and I love to remember and relive it, especially in the summer. I miss my "summers in the country."

"What Could I Possibly Do?"

Her body lay lifeless in the right hand lane just over the top of the hill. Cars tagged from Georgia, Indiana and Alabama all swerved to miss her. Dazed and wondering what we had stumbled upon our hearts began to cry out "Lord, what do you want us to do?" Pulling over and jumping from our means of transportation we all began to scramble. Some ran to the body, some stopped traffic, Matt ran to the closest road marker and called 911. I began to spout out firm, but loving instructions for my children to remain in the car no matter what. What now? Do I run, do I fall to my knees, do I approach this life wondering if breath and heart beat still exist? What could I possibly do? Pray! That is all I knew to do. I began to quickly walk down the median praying aloud, asking the Lord to spare lives, bring peace, offer wisdom and give comfort and then my gaze was fixed. I saw her on the side of the road, shaking, crying, scared and in shock. I knew where my heart was. I ran to her and wrapped my arms around her. All I could do was hold her and pray. She was traveling from home to a neighboring town to visit some friends. A road she had traveled many times before. It was familiar, it was comfortable and it would soon change her life forever. As she topped the hill there in her lane was a figure, a person, standing in the middle of the road. She jerked the wheel as hard as she could. That sudden reflex was all she could do and yet not enough. Though the instinctive reflex is possibly what saved this person's life, it forever changed the lives of all those present. Mirror gone, car dented and neither seemed important as hearts and lives were dented deeper than surface alone. As I held this new friend and prayed aloud I trusted that God would provide the words because nothing I could say or do would bring comfort. As I prayed I felt the trembling lessen and I began to hear other voices. Oblivious to sirens and screeching tires all I heard was a chorus of prayer being offered up. As I opened my eyes I realized there were others gathered around, hands out-stretched or touching and praying, pleading, asking God to intervene. Those medically trained came and attended to the lady who was suffering in the road. She was stable, she would be fine, she was quickly transported away from the scene. Questions remained...who was she? Where had she come from? Where was she going? Rumors surfaced as each police officer had his own thought and theory. She might be the lady who was missing from the nursing home? Did she have dementia? Was she mentally disturbed? Was she on drugs? Was alcohol involved? Was it an intentional act to try and leave this world? What did they mean by (questionable) items in her purse? So many unanswered questions and so much pain that accompanied them all. And then there was the driver, who had my heart and attention from the start. She was scared, she was shaken, she was worried. Her life had just been forever changed and there was nothing she could have done to prevent it. Through the sobs I heard her heart, "If she's ok, then I will be ok." "If I know she can breathe, then I can breathe again." There was no way I could walk away and leave her in the care of 5 officers exchanging theories and stories. She needed assurance. She needed comfort. She needed a friend. When spotting an accident I have always thought "What could I possibly do?" as I continued to drive thinking I had nothing to offer. But on this day I understood. I knew what I could do. There was only one thing I could do. Stop and pray. It reminded me of a parable. On the road from Jerusalem to Jericho there laid a man who was passed by. Were they just too busy, too important? Could they not be bothered? Some walked on the far side as far away as they could, why? "If I don't see it, then it doesn't exist." So many passed us by on 231 that day. Shaking their heads in disbelief, maybe some in sorrow, but never stopping to help, never caring enough to be bothered. Something else was more important. I have been that person. But, on this day I knew I had to stop. No, I'm not the Good Samaritan, but how often do we pass by those in need wondering "what could I possibly do?" I'm not qualified. I have nothing to offer. Someone else could do more than I could. How many people had to pass before the Good Samaritan stopped? Imagine if on that day, he just couldn't be bothered. Would the man have lived? Jesus instructs us to "go and do likewise." Go and have mercy on others. Help! Minister! When we realize that it is not about us, but about HIM it will change our possibilities. I have nothing to offer, but Christ in me does. Praying and interceding on the behalf of others is the greatest gift you can give. The 2 ladies that I asked the Lord to shower His peace, His mercy and His comfort over are both alive and well. There are still unanswered questions. There are still fears that must be conquered and healing that must take place, but only through the power of prayer. Maybe it is not the next car accident or a tragic scene, but we are to be His hands of mercy. Where can we serve? Where can we give? Who can we love because he first loved us and them? I was asked to step out of my comfort zone. I wish I had run full force and though my body moved, my heart was reserved until I saw her face. Nothing I did or could have done changed the day or the event, but hopefully...it is my prayer, that these women felt the love of God through the touch of a stranger.

"One Day"

"One Day" Does it really exist? Will it ever arrive? Has it already passed? Is this it? Recently Jacob asked me a question that has called me to reflect. "Mommy, is today one day?" Not sure what he was meaning, I asked. "Well, today is a day, but what do you mean by one day?" "Melissa (a sweet friend who has been living with our family while she waits on an answer from Lord about an upcoming ministry opportunity) said that one day this will not be her house anymore. Is today one day?" Understanding his heart of worry as he faced losing his favorite friend in the near future I said, "Well today is not "that" one day." "Oh mommy, I'm so happy. If today was one day I was going to be so sad." For Jacob "one day" is a day to dread. He does not want "one day" to get here in this situation. However, we are going on vacation "one day." That is the "one day" he is counting down. "Only 3 more sleeps until we go." "One Day" can be a good thing or a bad thing..."one day my prince will come." "One day Jesus will return to take us home." "One day we will get the results from these medical testings." "One Day" can stir such different emotions that you wonder if "one day" is to be dreaded or craved. I have made the claim before that some of my greatest lessons have been learned in "the wait." But what was I waiting on? "One Day." The day that answers are given be it from a friend, an employer, a family member, a doctor, a sporting event or an answer from our all knowing, loving God. I stand on the truth that the Lord teaches us so much during those times that he calls us to wait. He develops patience, perseverance and watches as we become mature and complete not lacking anything. I am however beginning to realize that "the wait" is not just an event or a space of time that occurs on occasion. All of our days and lives are spent in some form of "the wait." Personally our waits in recent months and even today have involved viles of blood, needles, x-ray machines, MRI's and doctor's offices where everybody knows our names. These can be very difficult waits that often times produce even harder answers, but we are called to learn and bask in the wait no matter what it is. We are to trust HIM. We are to take HIM at HIS word. He says He will never leave us or forsake us. He says He will not give us more than we can bare. He promises that His plan for us is good, pleasing and perfect. No matter the wait, no matter the situation, He is always the same and He is faithful. What are you waiting on today and what will you be waiting on tomorrow. We focus on the immediate waits and the answers that will make them realities, but what about the waits that could be molding and shaping us all day everyday. Waiting on the "one day" when the skies open and the whole earth is filled with His glory and He comes to call us home. Oh the waiting and preparation that could be partnered with the waiting of that day. We focus on the waits that effect us today, and yes our Savior is concerned about every detail of our lives, but don't all of these details add up and point to the purpose of our Savior's heart. As we wait and learn and wait and learn we are to be transformed and become like Him. It is all a part of our knowing Him and making Him known. Each day we wait, we wait for answers and we wait for "one day" to arrive. The waits we face about everything earthly are just preparing us for the day our wait is over. "One Day." That ONE DAY when Jesus will return and we will be made whole and complete. One Day!!!

"Days Of Summer"

Lazy mornings, sleepy eyes, late night movies, night time ice cream runs, swimming in the dark, jumping on the trampoline in the rain, towels hanging from the deck railing, sticky floors, pool days, goggles and snorkels around every corner, fresh garden vegetables, the smell of tomato plants, homemade plum jelly, fresh blueberries for the pancakes, peach juice running down your arms, laundry, laundry and more laundry, laughter, togetherness, planning beach trips, midnight light saber fights on the trampoline, kick ball games until dark, lightning bugs in a jar, whoopie pies, flavored shaved ice, a messy house, late unplanned dinners, spontaneity, freedom from the calendar, savoring each day together, little boys hair turning blonde, tan lines on little gingerbread boys, good books and time to read them, catching frogs, killing snakes, eating blackberries from the ditch, slip n slides and sprinklers, candy bars at midnight, chocolate mustaches, no bed times, frozen fruit with seven up, beach pictures, bad haircuts, cannon balls, sunscreen, flip flops, boogie boards, boxed fans, The Beach Boys, play-dates, painted toenails, canned drinks, sunglasses, homemade ice cream, watermelon, sweat beads on your brow, humidity curling up your hair, sunflowers, scarecrows, shelling peas, shucking corn, zucchini fritters, fried green tomatoes, bike rides, bible school, new tennis shoes, birthday parties, fireworks, lemonade and memories to last a lifetime. ALL of these things are what I love about summer, but most of all I love that we get to do it all as a family. I love having my boys home with me each and every moment of the day. I miss them when they are in school. I count the days until they are all mine and I cherish these days because all too quickly they grow up, move on and make memories of their own. Cherish the times. Make the most of every moment. Live life to the fullest, counting your blessings and never taking them for-granted. "Thank you Jesus for this life you have given me."

"We ALL Need Jesus."

Caleb can be counted on daily to provide a laugh. He keeps the mood light and he keeps us on our toes. His new daily phrase is "They need Jesus." I'm pretty sure he arrived at this phrase due to the fact that every time he complained about a classmate, a teammate or any person doing something that crossed him we would reply, "Caleb, keep in mind they might not know Jesus and you need to be a testimony and a witness to them." So now the kid that beats him in soccer "needs Jesus." The muslim classmate that puts her fingers in her ears every time Caleb talks, "needs Jesus." The brother who speaks in less than kind words "needs Jesus." Everyone needs Jesus. Caleb sometimes says it very jokingly and other times very seriously, but he recognizes that everyone needs Jesus. It has become a "catch phrase" but it is a truth that resinates deep in all of our hearts. I NEED JESUS! I can't do it without Him. Jesus doesn't just make it better or even tolerable. Jesus makes this life possible. There are many days that I would not make it through without the assurance that Jesus loves me, He died for me and He was raised from the dead and now intercedes for me at the right hand of the Father. Jesus intercedes for me. Oh what comfort that brings to my soul. I will be honest with you, I have days when I struggle. I mean truly struggle. I struggle to trust. I struggle to remain joyful in all circumstances. I struggle to see God's hand of blessing all around me. I just struggle. On those days Caleb would say, "You need Jesus." The good news for me is that I have Jesus and He has me. But it is not enough for me to simply "have" Jesus. I want to know Him fully. I don't want some of Jesus...I want ALL of Jesus. I want all that He has for me and I want to live my life in complete and total dependency on Him. I struggle there too. So often the things which I lay at His feet, I quickly pick up again and try to carry and sort in the weary power of my flesh. It is in those times that I recognize even more that my total dependency must be on Jesus. That is where I am today. I am in the middle of a struggle of knowing that it must be placed at His feet, but battling carrying the burden on my own for fear of what I might be asked to walk through and for fear of giving up complete control. I"m having some pretty rough days right now and I need my Aarons and Hurs to come along side of my and encourage me to keep lifting my hands in praise as we are victorious in the fight. I know Jesus, but oh how I want to KNOW Him more and more and more. Every time I hear my precious Caleb say the words "he needs Jesus." I am reminded that we ALL need Jesus and we need more and more of Him. That ball is in our courts. We must desire that intimate relationship and we must seek it. When we seek Him...we find Him.

"It Ain't Fittin, It Just Ain't Fittin"

One of my all time favorite movies is "Gone With The Wind." I love the dresses, the horses, the bar-b-ques at Twelve Oaks and most of all I love Mammy. Mammy was Miss Scarlett's servant, but had her opinion been valued a little more I have a feeling the story would have ended differently. Mammy took issue with Miss Scarlet and her many beaus. Her exact words concerning Miss Scarlet's alluring dress and "heading out into the night air without her shawl"were "It Ain't Fittin, It Just Ain't Fittin."

I agree with Mammy. There are a lot of things these days that "just ain't fittin." I wish girls even considered wearing clothes as covering as what Miss Scarlett wore. Young girls fashion "ain't fittin." The words children use these days "ain't fittin." The movies and music that people of all ages listen to "just ain't fittin." Maybe I born in the wrong decade, but I shake my head like Mammy quite a bit.

It may not be revealing skin or causing others to stumble and it is definitely not an inappropriate movie, but I have always shaken my head and felt that little boys who wear cowboy boots with shorts "just ain't fittin." I mean where are their mommy's when they are getting dressed and do they have no sense of pride when it comes to their child's fashion. Why on earth would you let them out the door with what are apparent winter boots with summer shorts? Because some battles aren't worth fighting!!!

Maybe I am growing weary after 4, but I actually find this little guy with his shorts and boots pretty cute. "Fittin??" Maybe not, but yesterday afternoon on our way to the soccer field this was a battle I chose not to fight. He had on shoes and his feet were protected. Protection!! That is what I pray for my children. I pray that God will protect them from sin and harm. I pray he will protect them for lust, pornography and forward women. I pray that God would hem them in. I pray that His hedges of protection would be high and thick. I pray that He will go before them and come behind them. I pray that the Lord will guard their heart and their minds in Him. I have become more concerned about protecting their hearts and minds than what protects their feet. It may not be "fittin" but I have to pick my battles. The Lord has brought me to a place of weighing what is "fittin" and what is not by what is holy and what is not. What will make my children more like Christ and what will take away from their walk with Him? I choose my battles accordingly. According to this worlds standards, a lot of our decision are not "fittin." They are not popular and are often times not understood by others, but that's ok. It is a matter of stewardship and we are stewards for a time of these precious little boys. To live a life that is "fittin" and holy, we are going to be misunderstood. Jesus was, but he was "fittin." Do we seek to be "fittin" according to this world or are we "fittin" according to the standard of Christ? As we approach this Easter weekend and celebrate His resurrection, throw on your shorts and cowboy boots and seek His word to find what is "fittin" in His eyes. Let's seek to please Him and raise children who will do the same. When I stand before Him on that day of judgement I do not want to hear, "you weren't fittin, you just weren't fittin."

"Grace Perfectly Proportioned"

I was at my wits end. I was done. I was weary. I was discouraged and I was ready to through my hands up in defeat. "Last week." It was a normal week full of all our normal activities. School, soccer practice, baseball practice, soccer games, baseball games, field trips, costumes and just the normal things that make up our week, but I hit a breaking point. I was exhausted and honestly I was tired of fighting the enemy at every turn. I was becoming cynical and bitter at life. I love my family, but I wanted our circumstances to change and change fast. They did. My husband boarded a plane and went to Honduras on a mission trip for 7 days. Now I had to do this thing we call life alone. If I thought I was at my wits end last week, how will I ever juggle all of this alone.

When I married Matt 15 years ago I told the Lord that I fully understood that Matt was His first and mine second. That admission has been harder at times to live than it was to confess, but reminding my heart of that promise I have always released my grip freely as the Lord calls him to go and to serve. I love that he hears the voice of his savior and obeys and I will never be the one to stand in the way of his obedience. I hold him palms up at all times. As his obedience led him into a small village in Honduras I became very aware that for the next 7 days it was all me. Wow, was I mistaken. How dare I even think that I could manage this life alone?

My loving Heavenly Father scooped me up and provided His mercies anew every morning. He guided each step and provided the grace I needed to place my feet one in from of the other. This week has been crazy busy, but then again which weeks aren't. We have had practices and games in triplets, we have had sickness, we have had melt downs (not me of course), we have had costumes to make and homework to do, houses to clean, we have kept children, we have cooked dinner, we have bought groceries and we have had a wonderful week watching our Father perfectly proportion His grace for each step we are on. Yes, we have ALL desperately missed our Daddy, but what a joy to be able to pray for him and allow him without begrudging hearts to go and serve. My boys have been working on a special project to surprise their daddy when he comes home. Joshua said, "We need to do something to surprise daddy and thank him for going to another country to serve others and tell them about Jesus since we are too young to go." Oh how my heart overflowed with blessing. Instead of allowing their hearts to become sad, they had a full understanding of what Matt has been called to do and they wanted to find a way to thank him for his obedience. The attitude of their gracious hearts would have been enough.

Grace perfectly proportioned seems to be the theme of my life. At just the right moment, not a moment before and not a moment after, but at the precise moment I need His grace, He is there and He pours it freely. I keep my gaze set on Him. I cry out to Him. He is my strength and my rock. He is my portion forever.