The Ties That Bind

When I travel from Kansas City to my hometown of Chattanooga, Tennessee, my heart starts beating faster about 20 miles west of Nashville. There's a feeling that washes over me as my car follows its course over the rolling hills and brings me closer and closer to home.

Last weekend, I made that trip for a very special event. My great niece, Rachel, married Kevin, her boyfriend of four years. Brad, his girlfriend Missy, Meghann and I drove 1,400 miles in two and a half days to attend the wedding. Almost a year ago, my niece made that same drive to come to my son Matt's wedding. It was a long trip in a short amount of time, but I wouldn't have missed Rachel and Kevin's wedding for anything. Rachel and my son Matt are only a couple of months apart in age, and before I moved from Chattanooga, they were good buddies, along with Jeremy, Rachel's brother.

The wedding was beautiful, and the reception was so much fun. We danced like fools, ate the best prime rib ever, cried, laughed and enjoyed every moment together. There's nothing like spending time with family, especially when that time is spent in celebration of the marriage of two wonderful young people.

As we ate breakfast together the next morning before we had to leave town, I sat at the table and looked at my sister and her husband, my nieces and their husbands, and my three-year-old great niece and 11-month-old great nephew, my son and his girlfriend, and my daughter. My eyes brimmed with tears as the love I feel for these wonderful people washed over my heart.

The gift of family is one of God's greatest, I believe. And one that many of us often take for granted in the hustle and bustle of life. My prayer is that I will always appreciate my family, both near and far, and that I will truly treasure those ties that bind us all together. We may not physically be together, but in our hearts, the ties are strong and the ties are deep. And that, is indeed, a blessing.

Yummmm

A friend mentioned to me yesterday how much she enjoyed dining with me because, in her words, “You truly enjoy eating and savor every bite.” Yes, I do enjoy eating, as is obvious by my need to shed several pounds. But what I truly enjoy about eating is sharing meals with my family and friends.

There is something special about gathering around a table and breaking bread with people I love and care about. There are so many wonderful memories from meals throughout the years that are stored deep in my heart. Meals when my children talked about their days at school or their girlfriends or boyfriends. Lunches with my siblings when Dad was dying from Alzheimer’s disease. Friday-evening dinners with Mom during the last six weeks of her life. Breakfasts on Saturday mornings with friends so near and dear to me.

Last night, I had dinner at an Italian restaurant with my daughter and our good friend Ruth. To describe Ruth would take a book … she’s one of the most remarkable ladies I’ve ever known … strong, determined, powerful, and at the same time, loving, gracious, and generous. I’ve known Ruth for over 10 years, and she is a precious part of my life and the lives of my children.

As Meghann, Ruth and I chatted last night at dinner, several times I had to fight back the tears as we talked about Ruth’s husband, Virgil, who passed away last summer. Everyone who knew Virgil loved him, and he is deeply missed by many whose lives he touched. But the one who misses him the most, who loved him the most, who shared over 50 years of marriage with him, is Ruth. Gazing across the table at Ruth as she spoke of him, I was amazed once again at her strength and determination to go on, to now live her life with her lifelong companion no longer by her side.

Tucking the memory of last night’s dinner into the folder in my heart labeled, “Meals to Remember,” I ponder the bonds formed, memories made and blessings shared when loved ones gather to share a meal. I am reminded that the last meal Jesus shared with His closest friends carried with it instructions for remembering, for blessings and for establishing bonds, with Him and with our friends and family as we share in communion.

“While they were eating, He took some bread, and after a blessing He broke it, and gave it to them, and said, ‘Take it, this is My body.’ And when He had taken a cup and given thanks, He gave it to them, and they all drank from it. And He said to them, ‘This is My blood of the covenant, which is poured out for many.’”

Mark 14: 22-24

Basketball Madness

My oldest son and his wife attend Kansas State University. My son Brad attends The University of Kansas. For those of you who don’t know, these schools are rivals – big, huge rivals down through their years of existence. For me as a mom, it’s a challenge to know which team to cheer for or which college “Mom” shirt to wear. Unless, of course, one those respective teams makes it into the Final Four of college basketball.

Tonight is the game that has the state of Kansas, and perhaps even the entire nation, talking. KU will play in the NCAA championship game, and at least one of my sons is beyond excited about it. This is Brad’s first year in college, and he is soaking up the entire experience of campus life during such a momentous occasion.

I must confess that I didn’t watch any of the games leading up to KU being in the Final Four of the NCAA tournament. I must confess that I rarely watch sports of any kind, save an occasional Kansas City Chiefs game. Granted, I was at every single sporting event that any of my three children participated in (along with countless concerts, plays and musicals), but that is altogether different than watching a group of people I don’t know play a sport I don’t really care about.

To prove how deep doth run a mother’s love, however, I watched the Final Four game last Saturday evening so that when my son called with his excited, out-of-breath question of, “Did you watch, Mom, did you watch?,” my reply could be, “Yes, yes, Brad, I did! And it was a great game!” And I fully intend to be on my couch at 8:00 tonight, remote in hand, popcorn on lap, watching a basketball game that, truthfully, means very little to me.

What means so very much to me is the excitement in my son’s voice as he experiences “school spirit” for the first time on a college level. My son matters to me, and what he loves and what is important to him matters to me. It’s quite simple really … I love Brad, therefore tonight, I love college basketball.

Rock Chalk, Jayhawk!

Bravery Defined

Dictionaries define bravery as a quality of spirit that enables you to face danger or pain without showing fear. I define bravery on a more personal level. My dad was one of the bravest men I have known. No, he never fought in a war because he had poor eyesight. No, he never jumped into a freezing lake to save someone from drowning. No, he never stood before a criminal who held a gun to his head threatening to shoot. But my father had that quality of spirit that made him the truest embodiment of the word bravery.

He worked tirelessly to provide for his family, rising before dawn every day for 50 years to go to his job at the railroad. He came home every night and still found the energy to toss a ball with me. He donated his barbering skills to cut the hair of boys who lived in an orphanage. He dug ditches, painted walls, installed light fixtures and hammered nails. He sang in the church choir, tithed faithfully and taught Sunday School for over 40 years. You see, Daddy was there, day in and day out, doing whatever he needed to do to get the job done. He was never afraid of any task; he never gave up; he was always there.

Daddy died over a decade ago after a long battle with Alzheimer's disease, and I still think of him almost every day. I often wonder what he would think of our family now, my brother and sister, their children and their children's children, me and my own children. I know that he would enjoy being with us and that he would cherish every moment as he always did.

Though Daddy loved us all, one young man in our family held a special place in Daddy's heart, my sister's only son, Charlie. No grandfather ever loved a grandson more than Daddy loved Charlie. Daddy was more like a father to Charlie than a grandfather, and the love they shared was deep and strong.

Charlie is in Baghdad as I type this, serving the country he loves with all his heart. Charlie, this one's for you, and I know that if Daddy were here, he would join me in saying, "I'm proud of you, young man, so very proud of you. You have that 'quality of spirit' that defines bravery, integrity and strength of character."

So, stay safe while serving your country and protecting my freedom, Charlie. Know that you're loved and thought of and prayed for every day. You are your Granddad's grandson; you are the embodiment of bravery.