Lilly's Gown

3 weeks may sound like more than enough time to make an infant dress, but for an overthinking, overachieving human like me (with an already full plate of responsibilities), it didn't feel like enough time to imagine, research, design, source, and create Lilly's gown.  Still, it was important enough to give it a go.  I began with a rough sketch of my vision for the gown, including a list of potential sewing elements and symbolism to incorporate.  I wanted this gown to be a treasure of beauty and craftsmanship, as well as a comprehensive storybook of life with Christ.   

I knew what pattern I wanted to use for the base design, but forgot that it hadn't survived the 2012 downsizing.  That led me to conduct an extensive online and in-store search for any pattern that would provide the right foundation and which I could alter to fit my vision.  I was excited to discover an unused envelope of Simplicity 7488 - my original intended pattern - on Etsy!  Isn't the modern marketplace a wonder?

I've been out of the sewing groove for more than a decade now, but I had previously used Simplicity 7488 to construct a very simple baptism gown and coat for the male infant of a close friend.  The gown was simple and the overcoat had very little embellishment.  It was lovely but simple, following the original pattern. 

After finding the pattern online, my next discovery was that the fine fabric shops that used to grace St. Louis, no longer exist.  There are quilting shops all over town but none that carry heirloom quality fabrics any more (at least not that I could find!).    If you sew, you'll appreciate my strong hesitation to order fabric online without TOUCHING it.  I mean...that just isn't done!  I finally found The Children's Corner, an online version of a shop I became familiar with back when I subscribed to Sew Beautiful and Creative Needle magazines.  I determined it would be safe to order fabric from such a reputable shop.  They were gracious enough to overnight all 8 1/2 yards of handkerchief linen they had on hand so I could get started. 

Choosing entredeux and laces from photos on Etsy felt very risky because lace needs to be seen up close and in person to really assess the quality of the product.  In the absence of local sources, I scoured reviews, crossed my fingers, and took the plunge with HeirloomSewingDesign...and it paid off.  

I then ran around town for a variety of notions and other items I didn't have on hand and discovered that even some "basic" quality sewing notions were impossible to find locally.   Of course, this led to untold hours of imagining how I might quit my job and open a specialty sewing shop in The Lou. Because…well…that’s what my crazy, can’t-be-still brain does - imagines how to restore broken down things, add form and function to base matter, or create what is missing to fill a void.  Anyway…

I wanted Lilly's gown to be long, and to incorporate pintucks, entredeux, French and English laces, lace insertion, smocking...ALL the things I've drooled over for years but have never actually done!   I'll spare you all the details of the process, but  I took 10 days off of work and devoted hours to tutorials and experimentation that I hoped would equip me to produce the desired result.  The gown has several imperfections and flaws (which would be easily spotted by an experienced seamstress, but somewhat less obvious to the general population).  Though hard for me to accept in my natural drive for perfection, in the end I was able to let go of that need and be content with the gown - flaws and all - as a labor of love.  

I initially considered using my wedding gown to make the overcoat, but in the end, this gown didn't NEED a coat.   I used my gown instead to make her under slip and bonnet, and while I was at it, added some lace covered booties to the ensemble. 

Ultimately, I was only able to incorporate a single symbol into the design.  My inexperience (especially with hand embroidery) and lack of time meant I was unable to tell a more comprehensive story, so I settled on the Celtic Trinity Knot, as a slight nod to the Irish history on both sides of the family but, more importantly, as a testament to the reality that the One in whose name Lilly is being baptized, is essentially communal.  She is brought into the life of Father, Son, and Holy Spirit and made a member of Christ's Body - his Bride (thus the "fancy white dress").  This is her defining identity...belonging to Christ and his people.  My prayer for her is that she will grow to full understanding of that as she experiences the joys and sorrows that lie ahead, and that she will embrace it with gratitude and humility. 

12 Steps to Creating an Addiction

Step 1:  Ask savvy friend who already built a set, where to begin.  He directed me to these instructions: http://www.cornholehowto.com/  These were perfect for a rookie like me.

Step 2:  Pluck up the courage to actually DO it.

Step 3:  Head to Lowe's for my supplies...in a Sunday dress and high heels, no less (I had to go straight from a job interview!).  I found that men were anxious, but fearful of offering help.  I suppose they've been blasted a few too many times.  One gentlemen customer decided to school me on choosing "true" 2x4's.  Another informed me that Lowe's would cut the wood for me, if I wanted them to...for free even.  One male employee asked, "Now, you know you have to drill a pilot hole before inserting those wood screws, right?"  Mostly, the offers were to make sure I was finding what I needed.  It was a little comical, to be sure.  I tried to be extra interested in their advice and receive it all graciously, hoping to partially salvage the reputation of surly, independent, "I don't need men" women.

Step 4:  Haul the lumber out of my car into the 110 degree heat and wonder for the first of many times, "What was I thinking?"

Step 5:  Follow instructions.  I discovered that building is a lot like sewing: get the materials they tell you to get, have the right tools on hand, follow the step-by-step instructions and wah-lah!!  You have a finished product!

Phase one:

 Step 6:  Bend.  Squat. Hydrate!  Bend.  Kneel.  Squat.  Stretch.  Hydrate!

Step 7:  Consult YouTube: How to use a jigsaw

Step 8:  Consult YouTube:  How to use a miter saw  

Step 9:  Hide the stuff from Shaf every night (it's a SURPRISE!  THAT may have been my stupidest move...yes, let me haul 50+ lbs. of lumber in and out of my car every night...why not?)

Step 10:  Create and apply ugly black and orange SF Giants design.  

Step 11:  Head to Hancock's for duck cloth.  The fabric cutters always ask what you're making, right?  So I tell her and she says, "Oh yeah...we used to call that Toss Across."  Exactly.  I'm making a Toss Across set for a grown man.

Fear the Beard corn bags in the making:

Step 12:  Present final product to satisfied customer.  Score MAJOR  brownie points.

Done.  

I'm tired, I need a new back, and I have "orders" to build 3 more sets.  But if you'll excuse me, I think I'll head back to the world of women to have tea with my girlfriends at The London Tea Room.  Pinkies up!

Winds of Change

I am well aware that my experience is by no means unique.  Not even close.  Mothers have been doing this and will continue to do this  for time immemorial.  But it is my first time.

We mothers open our arms and our hearts to receive these little people we call "our children" into our worlds.  We devote our whole selves to them by being present, active, and engaged in every detail of their small existence.  

From the beginning, they depend on us for their very lives.  We fill their bellies, empty their diapers, alleviate their pains, soothe their restlessness, encourage their curiosities.  We keep them alive and then we teach them how to live.  We teach them to play, to create, to love, to speak, to sing, to know, to choose, to sacrifice, to give, to trust.  We set the trajectory for their lives.

Their best interests crowd out our own.  Their needs dictate our schedules and priorities.  Their desires and pursuits become ours.  In short, we allow them to be ever present in our hearts, as well as in space and time, all the while knowing that the end goal is to send them out.  

We must hold them loosely while making them feel we have held them tightly.

From my sons' earliest days, I encouraged independence and self-sufficiency at every turn.  I was conscious of gradually loosening my grip on them so that they could be strong young men with no ties to Momma's apron strings.  I have been cognizant of their need to leave from the get-go and I have even looked forward to them taking flight.  And yet I find myself strangely moved by the reality that my firstborn has left the nest this morning.  Half of my world just walked out the door and no matter how many people assure me that I'm still his mother, I know...I know...that everything has changed.

Today is his first day of manhood.  Despite this mother's heart and the remaining filial attachments between us, there is a change in my gut.  He is no longer first and foremost my son.  He is first and foremost a man.

Is he prepared to be the right kind of man?  Has he been equipped to choose faithfully and wisely?  Will he love well?  Will he make my same mistakes or will his be different?  Will he remain committed to Christ?  

I realize my work isn't entirely finished.  I'll still nurture and advise...from afar.  But other voices and influences will be primary.  As for me?  I will pray.  A lot.  And I will learn to believe more fully what has always been true: he doesn't really belong to me, but to Christ.  His future and who he becomes doesn't depend on me and my training, but on the Spirit of God moving, shaping, transforming him.  

I expect that my new role, like all our earthly roles, will carry me through moments of trepidation, disappointment, and sorrow, but I also expect that these will be set over against moments of confidence, satisfaction, and great joy. 

Thankfully, I know I'm not alone as I walk beside or follow many of you down this path (not the least of which is my own mother).  I hope to do it with as much trust and dignity and grace as you all have.

A Mother's Prayer

At Grant's baby shower 18 years ago, my sister, Sherre, gave me a cassette with this song, which Grant and I listened to daily during his infancy.  I prayed this prayer for him over and over again throughout his childhood, and I'm praying it for him today as he prepares to leave us on Monday:  (the video is irrelevant, but this is the only recording I could find of this song)

May he have the faith of Abraham

May he have the boldness of Paul
May he have a heart like David
Always seeking God.


May he have the wisdom of Solomon
May he have the patience of Job
May he be a leader like Joshua
Always full of hope.


May he have the courage of Daniel
May he have the love of John
May he know your voice like Samuel
Always obey God.

Father God, bless my son
May he grow to be a man of God.

Feeling Sentimental...

A Christmas Baby

68 years ago, a little girl was born on Christmas morning...the sole present for her 4 unappreciative, and perhaps slightly resentful, older brothers.  Throughout the decades, Little Martha continued to share her special day, not only with her own mother who was also born on December 25th, but also, of course, with the celebration of her Savior's birth. 

This year, Little Martha finally had her turn.  It was simple and short, but nevertheless, it was HER celebration.  Little Martha (in case you don't already know) is my Momma.   Our extended family had decided not to get together for Christmas until December 29th this year, so Daddy secretly invited us all to come by to honor Mother and have birthday cake ON HER BIRTHDAY.  All about her...no Christmas celebration with them that day...just my Momma's birthday.

It was wonderful.  She was entirely surprised and thrilled that all of us showed up, and shocked that Papa had pulled it off without the least suspicion on her part!  Daddy had bought a beautiful birthday cake for her and we celebrated together for about an hour. 

My Momma is one very special lady.  Her life has been complicated, to say the least, but she has received and rested in the grace of Christ to carry her through all kinds of joys and testings.  She is my dearest friend who, in spite of knowing me thoroughly, has listened to me, understood me, suffered long with me, and showered me with grace and love. 

I love you, Momma.  Happy Birthday.

Living Vicariously

Today, 2 very important men in my life, lived out 2 of my fantasies. 

At 8AM, my 17-year-old son headed toward the heavens for a hot air balloon ride.  I wasn't there to see this, but received a full report and dozens of photos upon his return.  This non-risk-taking child of mine loved the experience! 

I'm proud of you, Grant, for dragging yourself out the door at 6AM on Saturday and for stepping outside your comfort zone to enjoy a new experience!   

At 5PM, my soon-to-be-69-year-old Daddy headed toward the heavens for his first skydive.  He had never jumped before, but chose to go solo his very first time!!  THAT was a very brave move.  He hung suspended more than a mile in the air from the plane's strut.  As he let go, his body left its arch position too quickly and he experienced an unplanned flip.  Thankfully he remembered all his emergency procedures and recovered nicely to enjoy his leisurely descent.  He pulled off a pretty sweet landing too! 

See that tiny little foot rest?  That's where he stepped out of the plane...he had to reach beyond that black line and hang there until they told him to let go! CRAZY. 

 Giving us a very calm thumbs-up as though this is commonplace:

Can you make out the tiny black speck just below center left?  That is his plane just before he exited.

 Here he comes!

 Still smiling and ready to do it again! 

I'm proud of you, Papa!  And I'm proud of you too, Momma, for encouraging him to follow his dreams.  

What a beautiful day.

When To Say When

My youngest has tried repeatedly this school year to find a word whose definition I don't know.  Out of the blue he confidently asks, "Mom, do you know what ________ means?"   Each and every time he's convinced that this is the one that's gonna stump me.  May I very humbly say that so far, he has been entirely unsuccessful?  (OK, so maybe I failed on the "humbly" part...)

One afternoon, out of frustration, he burst out, "Are there any words you don't know?!"  I assured him there are LOTS and LOTS of them.  In desperation, he grabbed the dictionary off the shelf and chose a random word.  Although I had never heard it before, I thought I detected some Latin roots and took a stab at it, coming close enough that he considered me right and moaned in frustration.  That, my friends, was the end of that little game.  The child finally figured out when to say when!

But...apparently, said child's soul was not satisfied, because he inherited an indefatigable competitive gene from his mother and maintains his desperate desire to conquer her in some way.  So these days, his challenges have nothing to do with language and everything to do with brute strength.  Hmph. (cheater!)

Each time he throws the gauntlet, I initially refuse...but usually end up giving in. (Yes, I am still a sucker for a double-dog-dare!!)

It just so happens that when I accept, The Dad just so happens to be waiting subtly in the wings, camera-in-hand, so he can document my thoroughly feminine feats for all posterity.

"Hey, Mom.  I bet you can't squat this tree trunk." [he demonstrates]

"I'm sure you're right, Son."  [long pause] "But...I think maybe I can.  How many reps?"  *SNAP*! 

In a skirt even...sheesh!!

"Hey, Mom.  Watch this!"  [he proceeds to shoulder-press the kitchen table]  "Think you can do that?"

"Oh no.  I'm quite sure I can't."  [very long pause]  "But...........perhaps I can."  *SNAP*!

"Hey, Mom.  Think you can beat me at arm wrestling?"

"Ummmmmmmm...NO."  [perpetual pause...during which child gloats with triumphant "Gotcha!" grin]

I mean c'mon!  Look at this:

Then look at this:

Yeah right.  I too know when to say when! 

Are you KIDDING me?!

As we sat around the fire pit last night, I casually mentioned that my 7-year-old Redbud tree had died and needed to be removed from the garden.  We surmised that the lot of chopping it down would fall to Eric because he's the firestarter and loves coming up with new sources of "material" to burn. 

We may have joked with him about removing it by sheer force of strength...I don't even remember.  What I DO remember is that all of a sudden he was in the garden "loosening" the tree by rocking it back and forth.

We were surprised at how much progress he was making and how long he stuck with it - it may have only been 5 minutes, but with the amount of effort he was exerting, it seemed like a long time.

I hollered out, "Hey, just pull it out of the ground...straight up, baby!"  So he squatted, grabbed the lowest branches...

...and lifted that thing straight out of the ground!!

In his astonishment, Grant let fly a choice phrase or two which are not fit for public consumption and I...well...I couldn't quit laughing!!  I couldn't believe what I had just seen!  This kid is ridiculous!  Why don't I watch TV?  Why would I when I have this kind of LIVE entertainment at my disposal?!

Thanks to Mr. Shaffer, resident photographer, for capturing it on his Blackberry.

Spring Break Cleaning?

Once I actually realized that my family was far, far away and I was here all by me onesie, I decided to capitalize on the opportunity and plan some fun and frivolity to while away the time.  Well, you know what they say about the best laid plans...

Instead of fun and frivolity, I find myself cleaning.  I know.  There is something inherently wrong with combining Spring Break and Spring Cleaning, but the fact is that OCD does not regard one day or festival above another...and when OCD demands a thorough cleaning, though it be Spring Break, the soul which it inhabits, obeys.  (If he commandeers another of my perfectly good holidays, I may be begging for an exorcism of the OCD demon.)

Here's where I began: I emptied son #2's room of every single thing:

After which I cleaned curtain rods, windows, ceiling fan, chair rail, baseboards, and floors.  I then proceeded to clean ALL THE THINGS before moving them back into the room.  One of the ideas behind doing this is to get rid of stuff, but this one is pretty good about doing that himself on a regular basis.  I think I ditched 1 coat and a few school papers...AND ABOUT 137 AIRSOFT PELLETS!!!!!! (deep cleansing breath...).

When I go through this process, I learn things about my children based on what things they have chosen to keep and the way in which they organize them (or don't).  #2 is very organized and purposeful and methodic in all of this.  He likes to collect things, but these things are sorted and contained.  If you open the main drawer of his desk, he has sorted pens, pencils, highlighters, rubber bands, etc.  You know...the way things OUGHT to be!

I was also reminded, as I've told you before that he has a protective "hero" instinct...as reinforced by the fact that THIS is what he stores next to his bed.

Remind me never to startle the child in the middle of the night!

1 room down...too many to go...and I'm already tired!  Getting old.  Very, very old.  Sigh...

Hmm...

Is it just me, or is there something wrong with this picture?

See that black hole in the floor there?  Any idea what that might be?  Back in the day, we called that a laundry chute.  You know, a little space carved out of the 2nd story floor which leads directly to the basement laundry room?  We actually thought of it as rather a convenience...you know...it kept us from having to descend 2 flights of stairs to deliver our laundry to mom.  Seriously now, folks.  Could I make it any easier for the children?  This hole lies almost directly between their 2 bedrooms, so they've actually taken the time to carry the clothes TO the hole...but apparently that final act of scooting them INTO the hole requires just a bit too much effort!  

ARE YOU KIDDING ME??!!  Oi-vay. 

A Unique Breed

Wrestlers are a unique breed.   I admit, I was not exactly thrilled when my youngest declared this his sport of choice.  Gross, I thought.  Why in the world would you want to roll around on the mat with another sweaty, smelly guy?  Seriously.  That was my opinion of the sport.

My attitude has changed more than a little over the past several months as I've watched my boy, on his own initiative, develop self-discipline in the areas of eating and working out...self-discipline which has spilled over into his school work.  Through wrestling, he is building a mindset of doing the hard things even when he doesn't feel like it.  That's a pretty important life lesson.  (Am I too old to start wrestling?)

I shouldn't be surprised.  This is a child who, underneath his pleasant disposition, has always had the heart of a soldier, a fighter, a protector, a hero.  This serves him well on the mat.  Yes, winning a match has much to do with physical strength and strategy, but it also has very much to do with strength of will.

As I watch these young men wrestle, and see the ways in which they attempt to subdue one another, I recognize the extreme self-control required.  I could never do it.  If someone wrenched my arm behind my back that way, legal or not, I'm afraid I'd reach around and slug 'em in the jaw!  But a wrestler learns to suppress that anger and channel it in a productive direction.  That has to be good for the character!

The other surprising revelation for me is that there seems to be a greater sense of comradery and team spirit among these guys - in what is considered an individual sport - than I've ever seen on my boys' football, basketball or baseball teams.  Seems these other athletes were often vying for personal recognition more than for one another as a team.  The wrestlers, at least at my son's school, have developed a real brotherhood.  They look out for, help, and encourage one another and it is common for the older ones to take the younger under their wings and mentor them.

I no longer see wrestling as just a bunch of sweaty guys rolling around on a mat, but as a legitmate avenue of building character and friendship.  I can now say without shame, "My son is a wrestler!" 

Better Late Than Never

Like the rest of you, I was a little bit busy on my mom's birthday...too busy, in fact, to write about her.  You see, she, like her own mother, was born on Christmas Day.


I don't often write about my mother.  Maybe it's TOO personal (yes...there are things I DON'T tell y'all!!).  She and I have a very close relationship which has morphed over the years through all sorts of mountains and valleys.   Here are a few of the things I appreciate most about her:

UNSELFISH:  Mother is a multi-talented woman, but while we were growing up, she directed all her talents toward our home.  We were often without monetary resources because she and dad gave up the luxuries of life in order to provide a Christian education for us, but she never complained about what she didn't have and she worked to make the most of what she did have.  She was an excellent housekeeper (clean and organized).  She was a  creative and frugal cook.  She was a hard worker.  She was artistic.  She was hospitable.   BUT...she also had an active, intelligent mind...and gifts that lay dormant because all her energies were directed toward her husband and six children.  After  we grew up and left home, we began to see facets of her that we never knew existed while she was cooking, cleaning and carpooling!  We had only known her as mom...not as entrepreneur, or student or teacher or writer, etc.   I appreciate that she willingly and sacrificially set aside her own agenda for our sakes.

TRUSTING:  I graduated from high school and left home 2 weeks later to head to Chattanooga...a place neither I nor my parents had visited and where we had no connections.  At the time, I didn't think it was strange for my mom to let me go without much ado...nor did I realize what it must have required of her to hear me talk about my adventures in Chattanooga...or to know that I was driving back and forth from STL alone time and time again.  But she didn't hold me back, she didn't insist that I stop taking risks, and she didn't lecture me!  We've talked about these things in more recent years and I realize that every time I went rapelling, or made that drive, or entered a new relationship, she had to exercise a great deal of faith and "give me back to God" over and over and over again.  She had to let me go and trust Him with my life.  And she's had to do that in many ways since then!

RESPECTFUL:  Over the years, my system of beliefs has undergone significant shifts, and this may have been the most troubling of all circumstances I've put my mother through.   She has always been a student of God's Word and so it mattered to her what I believed.  And think about it.  As a parent, you pour your beliefs into your kids with an expectation (or at least a HOPE) that they will "buy into it" and follow you.  When it matters immensely, any variance can be a hard pill to swallow.  I gave my mom LOTS of hard pills to swallow.  BUT...she stayed with me...never rejected me...and listened to me with respect.  We eventually came to see that our commonly held beliefs are the most significant ones, and are sufficient to keep us in unity.  I appreciate that she didn't reject me for my difference of opinions and that she loved me enough to foster that mutual respect.

WISE:  Mother has been a wise counselor for me and a godly sounding-board throughout the years.  I have navigated some fairly rough waters in my adult life and she hasn't left me to sink, nor has she spurned me when I've entered those storms by my own choosing.  She doesn't "tickle my ears" by any means - that woman calls a spade a spade - but at times when she could have thrown up her hands and walked away because I am too stubborn or because I have brought shame upon her or for a dozen other reasons, she hasn't!  She has remained close and has patiently guided me through.

I thank God for my mother.  I haven't intentionally set her up to sound perfect.  She wasn't/isn't.  BUT...she recognizes, admits and confesses her faults, as any good Christian does.  And she really did - and continues to do - so much RIGHT.  I am blessed by her and I am thankful for the way her birth and life have changed the world.  I love you, Momma. 

Patient in Suffering

My nephew, Jon, who looks about 12, but turns 20 in a few days, underwent his 34th surgery today.  He was born with cerebral palsy and 32 of these surgeries were attempts to regulate seizures by installing, adjusting and resizing a shunt in his brain.  The child has, in his short life, endured more pain and physical hardship than most of us will encounter in a lifetime.

Today, in an attempt to relieve current pain and maintain his ability to walk, doctors cut his femur just below his hip, rotated the joint inward while nestling it more deeply into the socket, then cut his tibia and fibula just above the ankle, rotating the rest of the leg outward, securing the new positions with rods, plates and screws; finally, they did a heel cord release, which involved cutting and lengthening the Achilles tendon.

One of the truly amazing things, is that with everything Jon has been through and continues to go through, this child never complains.  When he is in pain or is anxious he turns quiet, but he readily submits to whatever is placed in his path, facing it with courage, while maintaining his sense of humor.  He is a shining example of patient endurance in suffering.  I moan and groan about inconveniences more than Jon does about his real trials.   

Jon's parents are no slouches either.  My sister, Vicki, and her husband, Quentin, have been required to make significant sacrifices for Jon through the years and they have been called upon to make very diffcult decisions on his behalf; decisions whose outcome isn't always crystal clear, but which may - or may not - improve his daily life. 

I know these experiences have taken their toll at times, on them personally and on their family, but God has been gracious to strengthen their faith and to sanctify them.   During my visit tonight, I was nervous and tearful, while they remained calm and strong.  They have their moments - it is, afterall, no small thing to watch your child undergo such trauma - but they have learned to trust and rest, and they heartily maintain that God is good.

I would appreciate it, if those of you who are so inclined, would pray for Jon's recovery...that God will be merciful, that the therapy will be effective and will produce the desired result, that Jon, Vicki and Quentin will continue to be blessed with strength and patience.  Recovery will be long and difficult and by far the most painful one Jon has been through.  Thanks for taking the time to read his story.    

My Daddy

He is an intelligent, hardworking man who remains dedicated to his family. 

I'm proud to say this statement reflects the truth about my daddy.  But, there is a greater, more significant  truth about him which makes me not proud, but thankful.

Through all kinds of tempation and trials, Daddy has been an example of patient endurance.  He always practiced what he preached.  He lived out what he believed and taught.  He never turned aside to the right hand or to the left.  Now, that is remarkable in and of itself, but the TRULY remarkable thing is that when I have failed to follow his instruction and example, when my practice and life have NOT measured up, he has never forsaken me.  No matter what...he has been for me.

The ever-elusive "they" say that our opinion of God is closely connected to our relationship with our earthly fathers. I believe "they" are right. The world was designed such that we are supposed to understand God in light of relationships with those creatures who bear His Image...especially those which are correlative to His relationship to us, such as the Father-Child connection.

I'll say this: if God is like my Daddy, I want to know him.  I want to be known by him.  Why?  Because when I have rejected his teaching by straying from the path, when I have played the fool, even when I have brought public shame on him (which I have done more than once in my adult life), he is there.  Not with a scowl or harsh words of reproof, but with open arms and words of compassion, forgiveness and edification. 

In those moments when every vestige of glory has been stripped away, he has held me in his arms while assuring and reassuring me of his continuing love.  I'm certain that "Tough Love" has its place, but it has been Daddy's tender, forgiving looks and words that have spoken volumes to me about God's faithfulness, His mercy, and His unconditional love. 

My Daddy turned 68 today.  The man has experienced his fair share of heartache, but he is a rock, a strong tower into which I can run and be safe.  He is truly a man of God, and even though my life has not always brought him honor, I hold him in highest regard and hope to honor him with these words today.

I love you, Daddy.  Happy Birthday.

End of an Era

For 2 1/2 years, Aunt Riesa has been an integral part of our daily life.  Her room now sits empty...lifeless...noiseless.  And it makes me sad.

A variety of circumstances led to the decision to return her to an assisted living facility.  Primarily, this move put her in close enough proximity that her mother is able to see her at will.  That's a good thing.

Riesa came to us with special needs (obviously), and her presence in some ways complicated our lives.  It required at least an additional 20 minutes to get ready to go anywhere...hoisting her wheelchair in and out of the car...extra trips to the bathroom...remembering to always bring along an extra set of clothes...etc.   In small ways, our lives were inconvenienced and our "ease" lessened.

But more than all of that, Riesa brought joy and laughter to our home.   Even her grumpiness could be a source of entertainment.  And her hearty laughter, which rang through the whole house when she watched episodes of "Andy Griffith" or "I Love Lucy" made us smile. 

She left her mark, that's for sure.  Grant will remain "Scrant" and Julian will always be "Garfield."  But she left her mark in more significant ways too. 

I was privileged to watch my boys serve her without complaining.  Never ONCE did they express any regret about her presence with us.  We regularly called on them to stay home with her so that we could attend adult functions.  They willingly did all that we asked...without a single complaint in word or attitude.  That right there made the whole thing worthwhile for me. 

When Grant would come home, more often than not, his first stop was in Riesa's room to say Hi or give her a hug.  And I was amazed at the way he could bring her out of the foulest moods and make her cheerful again.

Eric put up with a lot from her.  Riesa spent the first year or more being irritable and bossy with him.  But he endured it and never became resentful.  By the time she left, she was treating him with warmth and kindness too.

Watching Julian take to her and love on her was another joy.  He loved making her smile and getting hugs and kisses from her.  He even loved being called Garfield by her!

I hope we were a blessing to her life, as she was to ours. 

I went to visit her at her new home last night for the first time since moving her in.  We talked and laughed and made silly faces at the camera.  I gave her a foot rub while we watched "Master Chef" together.  She seems happy and settled.  She's been swimming and bowling, and she has returned to her old "school" where she has many friends.  She gets to spend a lot of time with her aging mother.  And she has a fair bit of independence.  Those are all good things.  And as Riesa would say: 

I'M GLAD!

Testosterone Required

I go to the pool to relax...to indulge my vain side, soak up a little vitamin D, and hopefully add some color to this Snow White skin of mine.  Sit.  Recline.  Read.  Sleep.  Chill.

Not so with the Shaffer boys.  Their first...and I might add, ONLY...agenda upon arriving at the pool is to beat each other at something.  They're gamers.  All 3 of 'em.

Son #1 relies on talent and instinct. (far right) 

Son #2 relies on agility and strength.  (far left) 

The Father relies on experience and intelligence.

Jumping, racing, diving...rings, golf tees, noodles...the method and means vary...but nearly any inanimate object can be transformed into an occasion for competition.  This is the way they occupied themselves this Father's Day:

Diving for Golf Tees

Experience and Intelligence

Trumps Skill & Strength

Who Can Catch the Most Rings at Once?

Even photos become an opportunity to one-up each other.  Whose bicep is biggest?  (mine, of course, but I didn't make it into the pic).  Whose six-pack is more pronounced?  Who's taller?  Oi-vay.  Wherever they go, whatever they do, the testosterone always prevails.

Can I take a nap now?  Just wonderin'.