Brotherhood at its finest

My grandfather was more spontaneous than I could ever dream of becoming.  On a moment's notice, he would instruct my sister and me to get in the truck.  We knew better than to ask where we were going.  It wouldn't have mattered anyway.  He didn't know either.

It might be an adventure to a fishing hole he used to frequent when he was a little boy himself.  The fishing poles and tackle were always available in the back of his pick-up truck.  He might take us to visit an old home-bound friend.  He might drive us around the soybean-lined country roads of the eastern shore of Maryland for hours with no destination at all.  He might tell us stories, or he might sit silently while I passed the time by watching his keychains swing to and fro in the ignition.

One of these adventures took us an hour from my grandfather's tiny home town to the Shad Landing State Park.  He took us down the pier and we set up lines for crabbing, which were nothing more than pieces of chicken tied to the end of a string that we tied to one of the pilings.  He struck up a conversation with just about every single person on the pier that day.  I can honestly say that I know where my mom gets that trait.  I wiped sweat off my brow as I watched him help a friend he hadn't met more than five minutes prior reel in a sting-ray from the waters of the Pocomoke River.

After a few hours of that, we loaded up in the truck and headed home.  I don't even remember if we actually caught any crabs.  I guess it really doesn't matter.  The memory remains.

On the ride home, down one of the more highway-like roads, my grandfather suddenly pulled over onto the shoulder and hopped out of the truck.  I watched with bewilderment at the fact that his was not the only car on the shoulder.  They all were.  I peered out the window trying to figure out what was going on. I saw a highway, lined with men and some women standing at attention, hats off, arms at their sides.

Out of respect.

You see, there was a funeral procession going by.  Every car in line had their flashers and headlights on, following the car in front of them slowly, stretching for as far as the eye could see, escorted in the front and back by police cars.

Even though I was so young, the gravity of that moment hit me at the core.

It wasn't just a person here or there.  It was every single vehicle on the road, pulled over to the side.  Showing respect for the life that was just lost.  And the families who were grieving that loss.

It was such a symbol of love.  For a fellow man or woman.  One that they didn't even know.

What a beautiful illustration of brotherhood that was and remains for me.

I am so grateful to have known my grandfather's beautiful soul.  This is just one of many amazing memories I have of that man, who taught me so very much about life in the seventeen years I was privileged to share with him here on earth.

And what an exciting promise it is for me to know that when I get to heaven, my grandfather and every single one of my brothers and sisters in Christ will be lining the highway, standing at attention...just waiting to greet me.

Unwrapping this gift alongside so many others today...

The Best Things in Life are...Unexpected

I was six years old, a first grader.  I got the invitation to the birthday party, and immediately felt that sinking feeling in my stomach.  Plainly put, I didn't want to go.  The guest of honor was not one of the cool kids.  (If there is such a thing as a "cool kid" in first grade.)  Let's call her Candy.  Candy had been held back to repeat first grade.  She was significantly bigger in stature than the rest of us.  She wasn't exactly nice.  She definitely didn't have many friends, but for some reason, she had chosen to invite me to the party.  Maybe it was because instead of openly ridiculing her, I just didn't say anything...much.

I couldn't help but harbor some anger towards her.  She was the reason I had gotten my name on the board earlier in the year, which would end up being the only time that ever happened to me in elementary school.  (I've never claimed to be a rebel.  In fact, I think if you look up goodie-two-shoes in the dictionary, you might  find a photo of me during my elementary school years.)  We were having a lesson on something-or-other.  The actual subject escapes me, as do the majority of the other details surrounding my first grade year.  Whatever it was, our whole class was having trouble grasping the concept.  That's when Candy raised her hand obnoxiously and piped up with a know-it-all answer and an air of superiority.  Instead of being proud for her, I said, "You just know it because you already did it last year!  You failed!"

Needless to say, that's when the teacher wrote my name on the board.

It wasn't nice, but I wasn't saying it to be malicious.  I was jealous, but I was stating what I thought was a harmless fact.  Turns out, it wasn't so harmless.  For either of us.  Candy survived the ridicule by retreating into her seat with a slump.  I went into the bathroom and cried because I got my name on the board.

Evidently though, that event scarred me a lot more than it did her.  Because there I was holding the invitation in my hand.

I took it home and showed my mom.  "I don't wanna go, Mommy!", I pleaded.

My mom looked me straight in the eyes and said, "You're going."

And that was that.

I'm not sure what it was that prompted my mom to come to that decision.  She was not the type to enjoy running us around to extra-curricular activities, parties, play-dates, etc.  She was and remains to this day a home-body.  But for whatever reason, she felt like it was important for me to go to Candy's birthday party.

Maybe she was afraid that no one else would come.

As it turns out, not many people did.  Almost no one from our class, save one or two.

When we pulled up to her house, I was terrified.  I was never a super-social child.  I've always been painfully shy, and have only recently learned how not to be completely socially awkward.  (And believe me, I have a loooonnnng way to go.)  I just knew that the party would be something to be endured.  A miserable experience.  And who would I play with?  None of my friends were there.

My mom drove off with a wave and told me she'd be back in a couple of hours.

And there I was.  

For the next couple of hours, I was at the mercy of my mortal enemy (at least...that's what she was in my mind).

By the end of those couple hours, I would be proven wrong.  The party was a huge success.  In fact, it ranks right up there in my memory as the greatest birthday party I ever attended.  Candy was happy and elated to have company.  We played outside, swinging on a tire swing mounted on a sturdy tree branch.  We took turns with a broom wailing away at a pinata.  We giggled until our cheeks hurt.  We painted an awesome ceramic party favor on her grandparents' back porch.  We wrapped it all up with cake and ice cream on a wooden picnic table in the shade of the tire-swing tree.  It was the perfect afternoon for a small gathering of six year old girls.

And I thought I didn't even want to go.

Because the memory was on my mind, I gave my mom a call.  I asked her if she even remembered this seemingly insignificant event some twenty-one years ago.  She did.  I asked her, once and for all, why she "made" me go.  The answer:  "I just felt like you should."

I can think of about ten different lessons I learned by going to this birthday party.  It blows me away to think how such a trivial event in the grand scheme of this life had such a profound effect on me.  It boggles my mind to think that my mom probably had no idea that by insisting I go to a birthday party I would walk away  wiser.  Even at the tender, young age of six.  And that when I was twenty-seven years old, I would think back with gratitude to my mom for forcing me to go to the party, where I had the time of my six-year-old life.  Where I learned that sometimes we need to give people second, third, and fourth chances.  Sometimes we need a few extra chances ourselves.  Sometimes, often times we need to step outside of our comfort zones and experience things we would otherwise talk ourselves out of doing.  Almost always, being nice pays off in the end.  Sometimes, often times mother knows best.  That you just never know what your kids will remember and take away from something.

Today, I'm unwrapping these gifts - these valuable lessons - made possible by a simple imperative made by my unwittingly wise mom.

Thanks, Mom.  

Thanks, Mom & Dad.

Last week on Facebook, there was a copy & paste status that read:

At the age of 4: Mom knows everything! At 8: Mom knows a lot! At 12: Mom doesn’t know everything. At 14: Mom doesn’t know anything. At 16: Mom doesn’t exist. At 18: Mom's old fashioned. At 25: Maybe Mom does know about this! At 35: Before we decide, let’s ask Mom! At 45: I wonder what Mom thinks about this? At 75: I wish I could ask my Mom. 

While I would contend that the "Mom doesn't know everything" part has already affected my six-almost-seven year old, the rest of it rings true.  For me, at least.  My poor mom.  Poor moms in general.  It really is the most thankless of jobs, even when we try to teach our children the importance of gratitude.

Sam and I decided to join in on a parenting class offered at our church.  We went for the first time last Sunday and I'm really excited to dive right in.  We watched an introductory video that talked about the way our parents and grandparents were raised and how dramatically different our generation raises our children.  It was a sobering reality to say the least.

As he spoke, I naturally thought back to my childhood and how my parents chose to raise my sister and me.  There is no doubt that their parenting was a product of how they were raised.  It seemed incredibly unfair at the time, but looking back, I'm so grateful for the model they provided for me.  

As a mother now I can honestly say that the task of parenting is a daunting one.  I am sometimes consumed by the fear that I will cause irreparable damage to my kids as a result of mistakes that I might make.  This lack of confidence is caused by my attempts at parenting on my own.  Without God's guidance.  And if that keeps up, I will fail at parenting.

Parenting God's way is not the popular thing to do, especially not these days.  (That cliche I read on a poster in high school comes to mind - "What's right is not always popular, but what's popular isn't always right.")  It has become an era in which we are consumed by accomplishment, not by attitude, behavior, and respect.  We place relentless pressure on our children to do better, learn more, succeed at any cost.  But where is the pressure for them to treat people with respect, use their manners, have integrity?

In reminiscing back to my childhood, I remember playing independently for hours at a time with my Barbies, riding my bike back and forth on the sidewalk in front of our house, kicking a ball back and forth in the back yard, reading books.  It never occurred to me to even ask my mom or dad to play with me.  And I didn't feel less loved because of that.  I just learned to be creative, so as not to get bored (the dreaded "B" word that was forbidden in my house).  When it came time to start school, my parents never pressured me to do anything more than my best.  This was a huge blessing as I put more than enough pressure on myself.  I wholeheartedly believe, though, that if my best had been less than straight-A's, that would have been completely okay with them.  There were no rewards for good grades.  I was expected to do chores (even if I did figure out that if I claimed I needed to do homework right after dinner before I did the dishes, that my mom would end up doing them for me).  I simply knew not to interrupt when adults were talking, to sit still and be quiet while we were in church, and to use my common sense when it came down to making choices.

Children today don't have those simple luxuries.  It gets increasingly harder with each passing day to do right by our children, because so many other do not.  It is incredibly difficult to explain to a seven year old why a certain behavior is unacceptable when he is the only one being held to that standard.  

Was I a perfect child?  Absolutely not.  Am I a perfect adult?  No way, no how.  But I do think that I was raised well.  And I wholeheartedly intend to fight the uphill battle that is raising children with traditional values in a postmodern world.

Today, I want to acknowledge my parents who taught me that life is about more than accomplishments.  That life is about loving God, doing the right thing, living up to my God-given potential (which is the definition of success), sharing my gifts with others, being respectful, and simply, well, living simply.  It is a gift that could not possibly have more value.  As I think back, I am filled with thanks.  Because everything was simpler then.  

And that's how it should be.

"Dear Lord, as Sam and I continue to raise the three children that you have so graciously lent to us, may we always remember to look to you for guidance.  Please help us be the parents to them that our parents were to us.  Please help us instill a good character in them in order to withstand the pressures of our world.   Allow us to encourage and nurture their gut instinct, which is a combination of your Holy Spirit and their own common sense.  Above all, please allow our marriage and lives to be a model for them, so that when they are starting families of their own, they will think back with gratitude and maybe even a smile to the way we loved each other and the "unfair" and simple way we raised them.  Please help us remember that events may transpire and the world may be change, but that You never do.  Thank you for that."

Train up a child in the way he should go; even when he is old he will not depart from it. Proverbs 22:6

Unwrapping the priceless gift of a simple childhood today at...

A Little Reminder

So often simple gifts present themselves in the most unsuspecting places.

This Sunday, after spending an hour teaching three and four year olds in Sunday School, Sam and I went upstairs to our own Sunday School class.  As is usually the case, we spent a long time at the beginning chatting and catching up with each other about the past week.  When we (finally) convened for the lesson, a class member stood up to share a piece of his heart.

His squadron had lost a soldier this past week in a no-fault car accident, and it was understandably weighing heavily on him.  On top of that, a friend of his wife's lost a four year old child to leukemia.  She'd posted a facebook status to the effect of how she was looking around her kitchen and missing all of the little messes that she used to complain about.  And how she'd give anything to have those messes back.

My heart broke for her loss, as I cannot possibly imagine what she's experiencing.  And yet, I could appreciate the the gift she was giving to the rest of us in the form of a reminder - to treasure what we have.

And that little reminder caused me to pause (and brought more than a tear to my eye).

It helped me stop for a moment before automatically getting upset when I got home and still had to clear the breakfast table of a disaster left by three apparent  tasmanian devils before preparing lunch - because those three tasmanian devils were still here to make that mess.

It played in my mind as my kids begged me to put on my suit and get in the kiddie pool, despite the 10,209 things I needed to do to get Ben ready for first grade the next day.  Those things could wait.  Hot Sunday afternoons with kids who want nothing more than some of my undivided attention might not always be available.  I have no doubts that some day I will look back on afternoons in the kiddie pool as a precious commodity.

The reminder rang in my ears again as I sat fighting traffic at Ben's school...because I was able to drop him off for his first day of first grade.  Who cares if it took a little longer than usual?  I didn't need to worry about that.

This week, a little moment came in the form of the paraphrasing of a Facebook status of someone I didn't even know, but whose message rang clear as day.

As a result, today, I'm choosing to be thankful.

Be Thankful

By Author Unknown 

Be thankful that you don't already have everything you desire.

If you did, what would there be to look forward to?

Be thankful when you don't know something,

for it gives you the opportunity to learn.

Be thankful for the difficult times.

During those times you grow.

Be thankful for your limitations,

because they give you opportunities for improvement.

Be thankful for each new challenge,

because it will build your strength and character.

Be thankful for your mistakes. 

They will teach you valuable lessons.

Be thankful when you're tired and weary,

because it means you've made a difference.

It's easy to be thankful for the good things.

A life of rich fulfillment comes to those who

are also thankful for the setbacks.

Gratitude can turn a negative into a positive.

Find a way to be thankful for your troubles,

and they can become your blessings.

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