Thanksgiving: A Second Time Around

I am not a bug person. Thank God for sons.
I do not mend clothes. Thank God for a daughter.
I do not grow vegetables. Thank God for canned goods.

In thinking about my day and the gloominess that has encrusted me, I look around to find things and people to be thankful for. And you thought Thanksgiving was over.

The kids received a "missing you" card in the mail today.
Thank God for youth pastors.

The lady at Walmart today said "Merry Christmas" as I was leaving.
Thank God for nice people.

The cat won't leave the ribbons and bows alone under the Christmas tree.
Thank God for presents.

I talked to an old pastor of mine last night (as in former, not elderly... on the off chance he ever reads this). Do you ever hear yourself saying something and think, "Do I really sound that stupid?" Yeah. That was me. When did I, the God's got a plan girl, start questioning the legitimacy of that plan and even its existence? Especially to a pastor? He probably got up an extra hour early this morning just to pray for my soul.

My kids have their own thoughts about the way things should be.
Thank God for their independence.

My husband hugs me ten times a day and helps me fold and put up laundry.
Thank God for his support.

My feet are always freezing because this is no longer flip-flop weather.
Thank God for fuzzy, warm socks.

Create in me a pure heart, O God,

and renew a steadfast spirit within me.

Do not cast me from your presence

or take your Holy Spirit from me.

Restore to me the joy of your salvation

and grant me a willing spirit, to sustain me.

Psalm 51: 10-12

Thank God for God.

And new beginnings.

And kids that serve Him.

And hearts that seek Him.

Happy Thanksgiving, a second time around.

Hugs, Kleenex, and Chocolate

My boy gave me a hug today voluntarily. My boy that is now taller than me. Funny how you can watch them grow and yet not realize how much they've grown till you have to reach your arms up to hug them back.

Then I hugged my other boy. The other boy who has been taller than me for quite some time. Didn't quite realize just how tall he was till I noticed I could practically rest my head on his shoulder.

So as not to make anybody feel left out, I hugged my girl. The one who can look me square in the eye. Felt kind of weird to be on equal ground with her. I'm sure she'll pass me by within a few months.

It was just a huggy kind of night around here. Made me think of all those times I purposely arrived late for church services just so I could miss the welcome song and all the hugs. I'm not exactly the kind of person who freely gives and accepts hugs. You may love Jesus and I may love Jesus, but a handshake will suit me just fine. That's just the way I am.

Except for tonight. I think I could have went on hugging each member of my family, one by one. Maybe difficult times do have a way of bringing everyone together. Well, technically, I was the one having a difficult time, but hey... I guess watching your mom melt into a puddle of goo makes the family rally around her. At least that's how it went down at our house.

The hugs sure did help, though. That and the endless supply of kleenex. Oh, and the chocolate cake my daughter made after the hugs had exhausted themselves and the kleenex supply ran low.

I've trained my daughter well.

Kleenex and chocolate make the world a happier place.

Even The Church Has A Queen

I crossed another thing off my list of Things I've Never Done Before this past Sunday. I went to a Christmas parade.

Big news, right? But it was a big thing for me, and I thoroughly enjoyed it. From the marching bands to the Confederate soldiers to Santa Claus standing tall on a firetruck, the hour long event was worth standing outside in the southern cold.

There was one thing that caught my attention.Well, quite a few things actually. And they all revolved around the same idea: beauty queens.

Now, I'm all for the girly-girl stuff. I'm the one that dressed my baby girl in pink every chance I got (which, by the way, she hates now). Oh well. It was fun while it lasted.

Back to the beauty queens, though. A parade wouldn't be complete without the recent homecoming queen and her court riding in convertibles sponsored by car dealerships. This parade had a homecoming queen, but she was by no means alone.

Miss Freshman
Miss Sophomore
Miss Junior
Miss Senior
Miss High School Queen of All

Miss Teeny Tiny Princess (of Something)
Miss Tiny Princess (of Something)
Miss Teen Princess (of Something)

Little Miss (State) Queen
Miss Teen (State) Queen
Miss (State) Queen

I'm thinking I'm missing one or two, and I am by no means exaggerating. This next one, though, took the cake.

Miss Providence Baptist Church Queen

I am so not kidding here. A grown woman, on a float, complete with a crown, a sash, and a Bible. She was surrounded by her ladies-in-waiting and doing the whole proper wave thing. A queen of a church? That was a first for me.

I thought about my daughter, the one that I use to dress in pink. I wondered what she was thinking as she watched all these girls (and middle-aged woman) riding by with their crowns glittering in the sunlight. Doesn't every girl want to be a beauty queen? Or at the very least, most girls?

I know I always did. I even had the Miss America Barbie doll. She had a crown, white gown, red cape-thing with white fur around the edges, and a scepter to fit in her hand. Oh, how I wanted to be her! I just wasn't cut out for the beauty queen circuit and to my knowledge, only walked the runway two times.

I lost that bid for the county fair... both of them. Just wasn't meant to be, I suppose. I said all of that to re-emphasize this: I'm not opposed to anybody wearing a crown. Trust me, I wish it could have been me.

But a Miss Providence Baptist Church Queen? That one has still got me stumped.

How Many Walmarts Does It Take?

Today started off with a stop at Starbucks and a quest to replace a damaged bike. A bike that was bought, repaired, and thought to be a good shape turned out to be nothing more than a resold lemon.

Walmart Stop #1: Broken-beyond-repair bike is returned to the place it came from. The nice lady gives me no hassle and quickly refunds my money. We make the before-mentioned stop at Starbucks and pull up next to the Extreme Makeover Home Edition tour bus at a stoplight. We snap a picture with my phone and wonder if we could convince them to follow us to our house. We decide to stick to the task at hand... the bike.

Bike Shop Stop #2: The first bike shop stop of the day had occurred well before I had my first cup of coffee. This second stop was no better than the first one father and son went to earlier. We are amazed at bikes that are priced from $799-$4000. Crazy. We slip out the door unnoticed.

Walmart Stop #2: We spot a friend's dad and hurry on our way. The desired bike is not inside so we head out to the garden center. The sight takes my breath away. Rows and rows of bikes. Little bikes, big bikes. Mountain bikes, classic bikes. Every kind of bike in every kind of color except for, of course, the one we are trying to find. Discouraged, we move on.

We make a pit stop at a local Goodwill. We love Goodwill, but once you've seen one, you've seen them all. We buy nothing and have to wait in traffic to continue on our way. This pit stop was a bad idea.

Walmart Stop #3: See Walmart Stop #2 (minus the friend's dad part). Defeated, we head for home.

Although once we get home, I have a thought. Why I didn't think of this before is beyond me. I look online. We find the bike and see that another Walmart shows it in-stock. We debate for a few minutes and decide to go for it. The younger two opt to stay at home with the cat. Birthday boy and me hop in the car for yet another Walmart run.

Walmart Stop #4: We find the bike, but in another color. The red sticker tells me the bike has been marked down. It does look like it's been sitting out for a while. We peek under the red sticker to find another sticker that shows a lower price. The bike has been marked up, not down. We look around to find another faded sticker on a torn, water-logged bag (that use to hold the manual) that confirms a lower price. We set out to find somebody that will tell us exactly what this bike is being sold for.

Is anyone else around here tired of the word bike? (pick me! pick me!) This adventure is already into it's fifth hour. All I've had to eat is a doughnut and the earlier latte. Even my boy is starting to wonder if the bike is worth it.

No, I'm thinking. The bike is not worth it. But you are.

I'll save the rest of this story for my forthcoming letter to Bentonville, Arkansas, regarding misleading prices and associates who say they won't sell the bike until their department manager comes in on Monday. I'll be sure to point out, however, that the store manager was very helpful (even though we had to wait so long that our ice-cream cake practically thawed in the cart).

It's all good, though. Yes, we had to wait and yes, it was a shopper's nightmare, but we walked away with smiles. We didn't get the bike in the wrong color with the wrong price with the torn, water-logged bag missing the manual. We walked away with my boy pushing a bike in the right color with the right price with the intact bag complete with an owner's manual. It must of took some digging, but the manager was able to locate the very one he wanted hidden away on some far shelf in the back.

As usual, I had a thought as we were walking out.

It makes me think of God, I told Nick. Like how we want something specific and we ask Him for it, only to have to wait and get impatient and wonder why things never work out. We had to do a lot of searching today, but we stuck with it because I wanted you to have what you wanted for your birthday. In the end, you didn't get a broken bike or one that was different from what you originally saw, but you got a brand-spanking-new one that hasn't even been out on the display rack for people to mess with.

And nobody else's butt has sat on it, he added with a smile.

Exactly, I said. God wants to give us His best if only we will stick with it and not give up.

Silly? Maybe. But that thought cheered me after a whirlwind of a day. Even when we made it to the register and the bike would not ring up, I stayed calm. The boy had his bike and I had my hope. It was all good after that.

For Nick

Our firstborn son came on a cold December day in the foothills of the Rocky Mountains. I can remember calling the hospital and the nurse telling me there was no way I was in labor after I described what I was feeling. She was wrong and less than four hours after that call, we had a new baby boy. Good thing we ignored her and went to the hospital anyway.

He was something like four days old when we took him on a twelve hour ride to meet his grandparents. That was the best surprise we ever pulled off... just ask his granny. I think he's had a thing for wheels ever since. Bikes, cars, trucks... doesn't matter what it is. He loves them all and has a knack for making just about anything work.

For his birthday this year we got him a ten-speed he's been wanting only to get it home to find a gear (or something like that) broken. My husband had got the good people at Walmart to knock off about 40% due to the dirt and grime that had accumulated on this bike, but we never noticed anything wrong. Nick noticed it pretty quick when he went outside to polish it up.

Some kids might have said forget it at this point, or asked to take it back for a new one. He knew we got a pretty good price on it, though, so he said he would like to try to fix it. For the last hour, he's been out on the back porch in the cold tinkering away. He comes in periodically to give us updates, smiling the whole time. With his last check-in, his dad went out to see how he was doing.

They're no longer outside, but stretched out in front of the fire in our living room. There's a blanket spread out with a bike wheel and gears and wrenches and greasy rags everywhere. They mumble every now and then to one another and are talking about locking pins and other things I don't understand. I'm thinking they don't entirely agree with one another on how things should be, but I find it entertaining just the same.

A father and his son. When we brought that baby boy home some seventeen years ago, that man instinctively took over. He changed and fed and rocked him, and carried him around to show him the world. He has hugged him and disciplined him and cried with him... anything to try to teach him everything a dad wants his boy to know.

They're both shaking their heads now at the "shoddy workmanship" and the "incompetent person" that put the bike together. Apparently they do agree on this fact. It's almost eleven o'clock on a school night, but I hate to interrupt the man-time that's taking place. Times like these just don't come around that often.

Besides, I do believe they've got it fixed. Now it's just not the wheel in the living room, but the entire bike.

 Happy (Early) Birthday, Nick. 

Pretty Pictures

This is what we woke up to this morning. COLD. I jokingly told the kids as we sat freezing in the van waiting for the windows to defrost, If this is what we're going to have, we might as well be in Missouri.

Five minutes after I dropped the last one off at school, my husband called me (out of the blue) telling me to start packing if I wanted to move (all of us, not just me). Is it any wonder my stomach hurts? On a daily basis? Sure makes for a pretty picture, though, doesn't it?



For I know the thoughts and plans that I have for you, says the Lord, thoughts and plans for welfare and peace and not for evil, to give you hope in your final outcome. Jeremiah 29:11 (Amplified Version)

Just a little reminder to myself.

A Random Shopping Rant

Have I mentioned before that I'm not a big fan of shopping? Like most things in my life, I have to be in the mood to shop for anything: groceries, clothes, laundry soap... doesn't matter what it is, shopping is just not something I look forward to doing.

I thought today would be a good time to search for a few Christmas items. The kids had an early release day from school, I needed a break from the house, and we got an unexpected check in the mail. By the way, when does that ever happen? Not birthday money or one of those "cash now, pay high interest later" checks, but a real refund-because-of-an-overpayment check that came from the oral surgeon (of all places) that pulled Nick's wisdom teeth back in August. Not a lot, but enough to have a little bit of fun with. So like I was saying, I thought today would be a good shopping day.

Boy, was I ever wrong.

We went to one place, a Christian book store, and by the time I came out of there I had to sit for a few moments while I slowly counted to a hundred in my head. I began to think of medication. Don't they make a pill for this? I booted one kid to the back seat and threatened to use an eject button on the other one. This was not the pleasant afternoon that I had in mind. To try to sum up the hour in which I ended up buying nothing for Christmas, it went sort of like this:

1. The sale items I was looking for (from a catalog I received in the mail today) were not actually on sale until this Friday. I figured that out after I read the fine print.
2. One of the clerks was talking non-stop (and very loudly) about her personal female troubles, if you get my drift. When she got started on her current method of birth control, I found myself embarrassed to be standing by my teenage son.
3. No matter what aisle I wandered down or what corner I turned, I kept running into the same two people. And as luck would have it, everything I wanted to look, they beat me to it. Evidently one was translating for the other because everything (and I do mean everything) had to be read aloud in something other than English. Needless to say, why this might have been necessary, it was also very time consuming.
4. When the time came to pay for the few items the kids picked out, a t-shirt did not have a tag. It took three clerks to consult another clerk who then consulted a computer way in the back. We were asked to step aside.  Meanwhile Nick found an identical shirt that did have a tag, but was in a different size. Although I tried to explain this, we still had to wait on the clerk with our shirt who was still way in the back. When he finally appeared, he gave me a price that was a dollar higher than the one on the shirt with the tag. I asked why the different price. He said different sizes. I pointed out that our shirt was a small while the one with the tag was a large. He shrugged his shoulders and told the girl to ring up the higher price. At this point I am debating how important that dollar is. And thinking about where I am at. And looking at my kids who are watching me. And wondering why I ever thought that this would be a good shopping day.

Well, I did pay the extra dollar because quite frankly, I just needed to get out of there. We managed to make our way toward home without any horn-blowing incidents on the interstate (a common occurrence when I'm behind the wheel) and after a quick run through the grocery store (because the mood to shop was long gone), home never looked so good.

That kid of mine better enjoy his t-shirt.