Lord, Help!

For as long as I can remember, I've dreamed of becoming a writer. Over the years, I've had some articles published, written for various women's newsletters, and even sold quite a few of my poems. But my real dream has always been to write a book and see it published.

On Thursday, I received the proof copy of my first book, "Lord, Help! Here Comes Mom!" As I stood on my driveway and tore open the envelope containing the book, tears began to fill my eyes as I held my first book in my trembling hands. For a writer, it's a completely overwhelming feeling to see your words in print, complete with cover art and your photo on the back. I know this sounds silly, but to me, one of the most awesome things was to see the ISBN number on the back cover. It made the book "official" somehow, real and tangible.

As you may surmise from the title, my book is about my mother and her cross-country move to Kansas from Tennessee after selling the house she had lived in for 47 years. A pretty big deal for someone at 85 years old. The folks who have read the book say that you'll laugh and you'll cry and you'll think about elder care in a whole new way. You'll get to know a single mother, teenaged children and a feisty little lady named Louise. You'll share their lives and meet their hearts as all their lives change and grow and mesh when Granny joins their daily routine.

I've read a lot about the "Sandwich Generation," the group of Baby Boomers who still have children living at home and elderly parents who need their care as well. Many families across the country are now finding themselves in this stage of life, and they are struggling to find their way and do what is best for each family member involved. My prayer is that "Lord, Help! Here Comes Mom!" will be a light to these families and a testimony to the incredible provision God makes when we seek to follow His path for our lives.

It will be a couple of weeks before the book is available, and I'll post purchasing information then. Since I was allowed to set the price of the book, my royalties for each book are quite minimal. You see, for me, it's not about making big bucks as a writer. It's about helping another single mother who wonders how she will be able to do everything she needs to do in a day. It's about giving hope to a family who is wrestling with caring for their elderly parents and not shortchanging their children living at home. It's about sharing the miracles of God's amazing grace, love and mercy at the times we need them most.

Happy reading!

With This Ring

My first camera was a Yashica 35 mm film model with an attached lens. I remember well the day I purchased that camera with my hard-earned babysitting money at the beginning of my sophomore year of high school. I was 15 and completely convinced that I would someday become a photographer for National Geographic and travel the world in search of the perfect, award-winning photo.

While I haven’t become an internationally famous shutterbug, I have over the years taken some pretty decent photos. A stint as a family photographer taught me the skill of posing people for portraits and how to wrangle a smile from an unsure toddler. Nature photos on vacations and working for an ad agency taught me the art of capturing special moments that happen in the blink of an eye.

And now, having come into the world of digital photography, I’ve recently started shooting for money … photos, that is. I’ve shot some senior pictures and several weddings over the last year or so, and it’s been a complete blast of fun and excitement.

Weddings are such unique and special events in the lives not only of the bride and groom but those of extended family and friends as well. Most often, weddings are happy, joyful events, and everyone involved has a great time. But there are some that are not so happy … families are in conflict, a loved one is missing, the young woman becomes “Bridezilla” the day of the ceremony, and so on. I’ve been fortunate to photograph many more happy ceremonies than sad, which makes my job even more fun.

Perhaps it’s because the older I get, the more I seem to focus on eternity, but I often find myself thinking of heaven as I’m photographing a wedding. In particular, I think often of the wedding feast of the Lamb that is described in Revelation 19: 7-9. Joy, happiness and unbridled praise for our Lord will accompany the magnificent celebration that God has planned for those who have loved and faithfully served Him while on earth. While the confidence of being present at God’s ultimate wedding reception brings me great hope and anticipation, I am also saddened when I see the multitudes that will never be part of that celebration.

God has given each of us the opportunity to say, “I do.”

Are you coming to the party?

“Then he said to me, ‘Write, ‘Blessed are those who are invited to the marriage supper of the Lamb.’’ And he said to me, ‘These are true words of God.’” Revelation 19:9

Woman's Best Friend

As I sit on the couch and begin to place my words of wisdom into this post, there is a yellowish furry creature pawing at my arm. She is trying her best to discourage me from typing and encourage me into playing tug of war with her instead. Her name is Julie, and she is a 65-pound yellow Labrador Retriever my son rescued from a shelter two years ago.

I've had dogs in my life for as long as I can remember, beginning with a little white dog named Frisky when I was nine years old. Then there was Rocky, Brandy, Cocoa, Choo-Choo, Ali and Cinnamon. One of those died when she was only two, and one lived to the ripe old age of 17. I remember each one of them, and I remember the special place they each held in my life.

Julie, however, is different than any other dog I've had. I can't say that I love her more, because I loved each pup deeply. I can say that I'm not sure that I've ever had a dog who loves me the way Julie does. Julie liked me well enough when Brad brought her home, but she adored Brad. And I do mean adored. She slept with him every night, followed him everywhere, and moped when he had to go to work or school. When Brad left for college and couldn't take Julie with him, she was one sad dog.

Then, one morning Julie woke up and decided that I was her new best friend. She began following me the way she followed Brad. She would wait until I was asleep, and then she would crawl into my bed and sleep with her head across my feet. When I had to go to work, she would tuck her tail between her legs and mope. I found myself looking forward to evening play time with Julie, throwing the Frisbee for her spectacular catches until she decided it was time to stop. Taking walks along the paved path across the street. And yes, talking to her as if she were human. (She does, after all, tilt her head and listen attentively!)

At this particular time in my life when my sons have moved out, and my daughter works two jobs and is rarely home, I spend a fair amount of time alone. I believe that God is the Creator of all things, and that He created animals, and dogs in particular, to bring a certain type of joy into our lives at times when we need that joy the most.

So, when I step out of the shower each morning and Julie is lying on the rug next to the tub, or when I come home from work and she greets me at the door, or when she plants a wet doggie kiss on my arm, or when I am sick and she sits patiently by my side until I am well, I thank God for my faithful furry companion.

As I finish typing, Julie is stretched out on the other end of the couch. Well, sort of, anyway. Her head is snuggled across my feet, and she's snoring. I guess it must be time to turn in for the night.

Too Busy

Sometimes I get too busy. I say yes when I should say no, and I try to do too much. There, I've said it. I am not Superwoman, even though I often try to convince myself that I am.

My "real" job is senior editor for an advertising agency, where I often log in more than the standard 40 hours per week. Due to the nature of the business (i.e., creative people have a hard time letting go of a project they are working on and push the deadline to the last possible second), I often find myself bringing work home in the evening. I'm also a frequent speaker at various women's events around the country, and so I travel a fair amount. My favorite "hobby" is photography, and over the last year or so, I've found myself shooting senior portraits and several weddings. And, I'm always writing ... articles, blogs, my next book, etc.

Most of the time, I do a good job of keeping all the balls in the air. But then there are the times when I get sick, and I can't do anything except whine and moan and beg my children to take care of me. Or, as is the case this summer, I have to take care of the yard. All by myself, with no sons living at home any longer.

I spent most of yesterday and a good part of this afternoon working in the yard. Mowing, weeding, cleaning out the fence line, trimming trees and spreading mulch. Tonight, even my feet hurt. But my yard looks beautiful. My flowers on the deck are an explosion of color, and my tomato plants have blooms.

Being busy is good as long as I keep my focus where it should be, as long as I don't allow being busy to overshadow what is most important in my life ... loving God and loving people.

So now, this blog is finished, and I'm off to read my Bible and go to bed. After I take a couple of ibuprofen ...

It's About Fun

Last week I attended a visitation for a dear friend who went to be with the Lord. Her name was Pauline, and she was 87 years old. The weekend before she passed, Pauline was out dancing. Yes, dancing. And the week before that, she was playing dominoes. Yes, dominoes.

I came to know Pauline several years ago through my dear friend Ann. My children walked to Ann's house every day after school and stayed with her until I picked them up after work. I've never met anyone who loved to play games more than Ann, except maybe her sister, Pauline. Those two old ladies would play games for hours and hours with my children. In fact, the kids absolutely loved it when Ann would have a "sleepover" for them, and they would stay up half the night playing canasta, marbles, Rook or Monopoly.

I've never been much of a game player, perhaps because I always felt that I had so many other things to do. If I didn't learn anything else from Ann and Pauline, I learned the importance of playing games with my children. Now, when we are all together, I'm the one who often suggests that we play a game. I put everything else aside, and I play with my adult children. I wouldn't take anything the world could give me for those times together ... the laughter, the competition, the conversation, the love that flows around a heated game of Scrabble or Sequence.

Ann left this world suddenly a few years ago from a brain aneurysm. She was only 67 years old and appeared to be in perfect health. The Christmas before she passed away in June, the kids and I took her shopping, then for dinner at a nice restaurant and to see A Christmas Carol. When we took her home that night, she said it was the most wonderful day, not because of the things we did, but because we were together. She said, "It's all about being together and having fun."

As I gazed at Pauline last week at her visitation, I noticed that her family had placed a domino in her hands. Not only did her family realize that Pauline loved to play and have fun, they wanted everyone who came to honor her that day to realize it, too. I couldn't help but smile and think that Ann and Pauline knew something spectacular, something that many of us miss in the hustle and bustle of our busy lives.

"It's all about being together and having fun."

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.

Midlife Spring

Some experts say that experiencing a midlife crisis comes without rhyme or reason to all of us at some point during our 40s or 50s. You simply awake one morning and decide that you need a new convertible or a new career, or in more drastic cases, a new spouse or a new family. Other experts will argue that a midlife crisis occurs because of external circumstances or pressures in your life that cause you to reevaluate what is most important to you.

I'm not sure which of these is true, but perhaps they both are to a certain degree. I do know that for me personally, I began to feel a definite restlessness in my soul as my children began to leave home to go to college, which, coincidentally perhaps, coincided with my entrance into my 40s. I dreamed of selling everything I owned and moving to a small village in Alaska (my Northern Exposure, Men in Trees phase) or starting my own publishing company (without any cash to do so) or writing the next great American novel. I changed jobs (from one advertising company to another) during this time in my life, and I thought my midlife crisis was over.

Then, a little over two years ago, my 85-year-old mother died unexpectedly while sleeping in her favorite chair. For six months, I felt as if I were moving and working and speaking and operating in a fog. I couldn't seem to get a handle on my grief, and I found myself thrown headlong into a major midlife crisis. I was uneasy, unsettled and unhappy.

It took almost two years for me to come out on the other side of the fog, and I'm still not sure of who or what I want to be when I grow up, but I am happy again. Or perhaps I should say that I am content now. Content to be the woman God wants me to be and to go where He wants me to go. Maybe someday that will be as a full-time speaker and writer, an English teacher on a distant mission field or continue in my current job and minister to those I work with each day. Wherever, whenever or whatever, I simply desire to follow Jesus Christ with all of my heart, soul and mind.

I bought a Jeep Wrangler shortly after Mom died, dealing with the whole midlife convertible issue. Definitely, I might add, one of the best decisions I've ever made. There's nothing like a ride in my Jeep with the top down on a warm spring night. The stars above me, the wind in my gray hair ... peaceful, playful and perfect.

You see, I learned something after losing Mom and going through my midlife crisis. Life is short, even if God graces you with 85 years of life as He did Mom. It's the little things that truly count, the little things that, at the end of the day when you close your eyes in sleep, make you know that it was a good day. Like driving your Jeep on a warm night, waving to a little girl in the car next to you at the traffic light, taking an extra moment to talk to the gray-haired greeter at Wal-Mart, telling your boss you appreciate him or her, walking your dog at dusk, eating a warm chocolate chip cookie, or a million other little things.

Midlife? It's not bad. Not bad at all.