Drop Dead Ned

     I have trouble going to sleep.  Once I'm asleep, I'm good, but getting to the actual snooze is a big problem for me.  My mind just takes a while to wind down.  About an hour, most nights.  Most of the time, I'm not worried.  I just...think...about everything!  I've already admitted that I'm very distractible, so it's not unusual for me to jump from a very deep, emotional, or Biblical thought to something as unimportant as whether I should change the sheets the next morning or just let them fester another day.  Okay, fester is a strong word.  "Not smell fresh" might be a better way of putting it.  Odors are very important to me.  Anyway...
     A few nights back, I was going through the usual "bedtime thought cycle", when, out of nowhere, a thought somehow phased into a memory of a recent trip to South Carolina with my mom, my aunt, Darlene, and my cousin, Brandi.  It was a great trip down!  Mom and Darlene talked about food the whole way, just as Brandi had predicted.  (Don't you love it when your family does predictable things?  I love it.  There's a sort of comfort in knowing that, though life takes it's toll on all of us, some things haven't changed.  Enjoy the "unchanged" things about people while you have them!)  The thought of being together made it a great trip, but the thought of seeing even more loved ones once we got there made it wonderful beyond words!
     We had a mild first evening with my Aunt Dee, talking and laughing and drinking boat loads of coffee.  The next morning, we were off to see Charleston, and the main event would be a buggy tour through the historic district, compliments of my cousin, Shannon and her husband, Buzz.  Before we pulled out of the barn, our driver introduced himself.  His name was Ned.  Instantly, it was obvious that Ned has a fatal attraction...to himself.  He spouted off how many degrees he had and made sure we knew he was a college professor, majoring in History and the Arts.  Then, Ned made a stop to have the tour route approved with some traffic official.  While we waited, we nudged one another, quietly pointing out attractions, anticipating a pleasant, educational tour of Charleston.  Then, I looked up to see Ned glaring at Dee (who, consequently, is very soft spoken by nature) like a spinster school teacher, obviously annoyed that every "pupil" isn't looking adoringly into his beautiful, obviously much-wiser-than-us-all face.  What exactly was said then, I honestly couldn't quote, but the gist was this - "I can just ride you around and let you talk, or you can shut your mouth and let me impart my wisdom.  Maybe you should ask the other people on this wagon, who paid for a tour, if they would rather listen to you or me." 
     We were in awe.  It was the kind of rudeness that literally leaves you speechless.  Then, when it sinks in what happened, you want to kick yourself for not having a comeback.  The silence that followed was a little awkward (except for Ned, of course), but on we went to explore Charleston.  I have to say, historically, Ned knows his stuff, and the tour was something I would strongly suggest to anyone who visits there.  Ned even knows art.  He even knows to ask those deep artsy questions, like "What is art?"  (Okay, that was sarcasm.  Sorry.)  Did I mention that Ned sings?  Ned mentioned it.  Then, he busted out in a number from Porgy and Bess.  It was very...well...very Ned.  (Ned undoubtedly has his walls lined with his degrees of higher learning, but Ned has obviously not taken much time to worry about the Highest learning.  Education is wonderful, but when it's used in arrogance, it becomes a degraded, tasteless thing, instead of the tool for human good that God intended it to be.  We would all do well to remember that most people aren't concerned with what we know, but with whether we know they matter as much as we do.)
     But, all's well that ends well, and I honestly hated to see the tour end, but on to the rest of Charleston we went, and then back home to Dee's...to talk about...Ned.  To plot against Ned.  To discuss what we should have said to Ned.  To nickname him Drop Dead Ned.  Would we ever wish Ned harm?  No.  Would we really wish him dead?  Of course not!  Would we pay for the whole wagon next time and let Ned know what it's like to circle Charleston in a horse and buggy with six Hamilton women who have a score to settle?  You'd better believe it!  :)
       
  

Leaving Marks

     Yesterday was a day of many revelations.  That sounds deep, I know, but don't get your hopes up.  I realized yesterday that I really am morphing into my mother.  Now, heaven forbid, I morph physically into my mother!  Oh, no!  That would just be too much to ask!  She's thin, beautiful, lady-like, and has hair that never (and I mean never) looks out of place.  Honestly, the woman crawls out of bed looking like a million bucks!  Me? Well, let's just say that I'm not thin or beautiful.   I was and pretty much still am a tomboy, and if I go to bed with wet hair, I wake up with an all out afro! 

     Some of the words and phrases I heard myself saying were clear indicators that something had changed in me.  Words like “at”.  That may sound unusual to some of you.  Maybe I should type it the way it sounds when it comes out.  “AAAT!”  It’s the sound that automatically blurts out when your child is getting ready to grab something or break into a wail of discontent.  Does anyone else yell, “at”?  I’m curious now.  I wonder when Altar and Avonlea learn about prepositions, will they give a slight jerk or twitch, recalling the times I threatened them with it?  With “at”, that is.    

      Then there’s “You just go ahead and see what happens!”  Now, this isn’t spoken in a loving, supportive “I’m here for you no matter what happens” way.  No, it’s usually spoken standing up straight, staring them eyeball to eyeball…sort of like Clint Eastwood’s “Go ahead, punk.  Make my day.”  They probably hear this one in their nightmares.   

     The list could go on and on, but the point is that I was the one saying these things.  Don’t misunderstand what I’m saying.  My mother is wonderful!  The problem is not me being like her!  The problem is my children being like me!  Mom warned me of this, by the way.

     My favorite, most loving high school teacher will appreciate this.  A few days ago, I was cleaning the girls’ playroom.  I picked up naked baby dolls (thanks to the teddy bear parade), books, plastic horses, and princess crowns.  Then, noticing a few crayons in the corner, I bent down to get them and stash them away in the little old-fashioned desk I had found the girls in Amish country.  It’s beautiful, isn’t it?

    Now, let’s look closer. 

     Yes.  That’s writing.  I literally stood with my mouth gaped open and eyes popping.  “Myrna Hill would laugh a million laughs at this”, I thought.  I brought Altar in and lovingly, calmly explained why we don’t write on anything but paper.  Okay, it probably sounded more like the Clint Eastwood thing, and then when she picked up a pen, I probably screamed “at” at her…but she learned from it.  And I remembered. 

     I remembered the look on my teacher’s face when she looked down and saw my name ,not written, but carved into the top of her desk.  (Talk about the daring life!)  I remembered her gasp and look of awe.  Then, I remembered her laughter.  She literally guffawed!  She not only laughed, but went into other classrooms and brought teachers in to laugh with her!  (Now you know why she was the most loved. I'm so thankful for her patience with me!)

     The point is this:  Your children will be like you, and you’re not perfect, and if you’re as fortunate as me, you’ll be enough like your mother and be influenced enough by the mercy of others to survive it.  Every day, I see me in my girls.  It’s terrifying (no comments, please), but it’s also a gift from God.  What better way for your day to be interrupted, than by memories of your childhood?  And what better people to bring those memories to mind than your children? 

        

    

Distracted

     Guilt.  Eew.  The word leaves a terrible taste in my mouth.  The kind like after you smell something really disgusting, then feel the need to spit.  I hate that feeling.  Does anyone else have that feeling?  I have it often.  Odors are very important to me.  You can really tell alot about a person from their aroma.  Just sayin'. 
     Oh, dear!  I've strayed from the point.  (I was once labeled as "very distractable" by a dear friend.  She was the principal at the Christian school where I taught.  She did me a great favor by pointing that out!  For real!  I've really tried to reign that in!  Obviously, without much success.  It's actually one reason I deal with guilt.  Eew.  That word again.) 
     Anyway...  Wait!  One more thing about that!  I think distractable people should be prescribed one of those little tags that hangs on the rear view mirror.  Not for a better parking place, or anything, but just to sort of let people know what they're up against.  Of course, I guess that's profiling.  Great!  Now, I'm a profiler.  *sigh*  More guilt!  Being distractable is exhausting!  Just like guilt!
     Guilt has kept doors closed in my life that, I believe, God intended to swing open wide.  Praise that He deserved, I didn't give...because I was distracted by guilt.  I've felt guilty for just about anything you can imagine.  I've felt guilty for having a loving husband, while family members had abusive husbands.  I've felt guilty for being down.  I've felt guilty for feeling "up", because someone else was going through a hard time.  I've felt guilty over food.  I've felt guilty over clothes.  I've felt guilty over dirty dishes in the sink.  I've felt guilty for having healthy kids, while dear friends wept as their little ones left for Heaven.  And the list goes on and on!
     There is real guilt, and then there is a false sense of guilt.  Be very careful to know the difference!  One can be as condemning as the other!
     I'm going to say something that many who know me may be surprised to hear.  (You're waiting on some juicy confession, aren't you?  You devil!)  Here it is:  I am unapologetically moving on!  Am I changing God's Word or its work in my life?  No...but I am changing.  Do I still care what people think?  Yes...especially the ones I love...but I am more concerned with what God thinks.  Will I be running with a different crowd?  More than likely.  I'm ready to leave my comfort zone.  Has it been easy so far?  No, it's been brutal.  Do I think I've arrived?  No...I feel like I'm starting all over.  Am I still distractable?  Guilty as charged!  But, I am prayerfully hoping God will use that to His benefit. 

Phillipians 2:4 "Look not every man on his own things, but every man also on the things of others."

Teddy Bear Parade

    Today was a magical day.  (I started to put an exclamation point there, but it just didn't seem to fit.  It was a calm sort of magical, so I'm just leaving the period.  Anyway...)  Last night, after a day that left me feeling frustrated and used, I decided to devote all of today to my girls.  I happened upon an article in the paper about a "Fun Day" at our state fairgrounds, about fifteen minutes from where we live.  So, I read the article to the girls.  Now, normally, I wouldn't do that.  Normally, I would just "surprise" them the next morning with the news.  That way, I'm not obligated.  And, don't think the thought didn't cross my mind!  But, then, this thought followed..."If you tell them tonight, maybe they'll forget some of the frustration and stress they heard in your voice today, and later they'll doze off knowing you're planning your day around them tomorrow."  That's usually all it takes with kids, isn't it?  If you're sincere with them, it literally transforms their image of you.  Give them some of your time, and they'll give you all the time in their world!  They don't grieve over the day that was spent watching Mom or Dad wrestle with the grown-up worries of life as long as they know tomorrow will be different.  (Never forget to give your children hope!)

     Anyway, back to the story.  The article was exciting enough with it's talk of jumpy houses, face painting, sandboxes, hotdogs, and icecream, but nothing so exciting as the teddy bear parade!  And prizes would be awarded for the best-dressed, biggest, smallest, etc.!  Oh, the bliss of being in a parade!  But the idea of a parade full of teddy bears was just too much!  The squeals were deafening (literally) as they tore up the stairs to dig out a teddy bear to dress for the parade, and after about an hour and a half of stealing baby doll clothes to put on teddy bears, they just knew they had the perfect bears for the parade!  

     It took an hour, tops, for the girls to do everything at the "Fun Day", so we left for lunch and came back in time for the parade.  It was nothing fancy, really.  The kids all lined up with their bears, blew little party horns, and marched in a big circle around the little fair...but it was so special to them!  They fidgeted a little as they passed in front of the "judges", and I don't think I noticed one kid that didn't take that part seriously.  It was important to them, and even though they looked around at other kids' bears...bears that were fancier, bigger, or maybe better dressed... it was as if you could see that little spark of hope that their bear just may win a prize.  I think that was the magical part ~ seeing them hope. 

     We have robbed our children by telling them things like, "Now, don't get your hopes up."  Let them hope!  Teach them to deal with "losing", but always let them hope!  When we take hope out of their lives, we're distorting their image of God.  Always encourage them to move out of the past, even if it's just one bad day!  The trials and disappointments here are only "bearable" because of our hope of Heaven!  If we, as grown-ups, need some sort of consolation to get us through, how much more do our children need it?  How will we convince them that they may win a crown of glory, if we never try to convince them that their teddy bear is the best?  If we never try to convince them to believe the little things, they'll most definitely struggle with believing the big ones! 

     The rest of the day was special, with a Winnie the Pooh movie, popcorn, and a trip to visit Mamaw Jenny's house, but for some reason, the whole evening, my mind kept going back to that little patch of grass in the middle of the fair grounds where God reminded me to let some things go, and concentrate on the most important things.  All too soon, they'll march to "Pomp and Circumstance", then, maybe wedding music, and I know my heart will swell with pride, but unless God determines otherwise, the memory that I can see in slow motion in my mind's eye right now and the one that will be with me for years to come will be the few brief, magical moments I watched my girls march in the teddy bear parade.

More

     Sometimes, I feel out of place.  Okay, honestly, I almost always feel out of place.  I’ve learned to mask it pretty well and joke enough that most people would be shocked to know I feel that way.  (At least, I like to think they would.)  The fact remains that, on a fairly regular basis, I’m left asking myself (and God, of course) the questions, “Where is it that I really belong?  What contribution do I really make?  Would the world really change much without me in it?”

     Don’t get me wrong!  I know I belong with my husband and children!  I know God gave them to me, and I’m honored that He would let me be part of their lives!  I wouldn’t trade all my time with them for anything, but I can’t help but think, “Surely, there’s something else I can do!”  Not something besides what I already do.  Just something…more.

     So, basically, this blog is my “more”.  That probably sounds conceited – like I think I have some sort of wisdom to impart, but I honestly don’t mean it that way.  I just want to put a few thoughts on paper and share a few memories with friends.  Some of it will be serious, and some of it will be…well…not serious.  But, here’s hoping that it will be…more.

“…if my fire is not large it is yet real, and there may be those who can light their candle at its flame.”~A.W. Tozer