Author: mdannels3

"Laughing, Loving, Praying" is the story of a happily married couple -- parents of four, three sons, more dogs than I can count, travels, moves, laughter, tears, and most of all.....faith. Faith in God and faith in each other. It is a story of growth, loss, pain, and celebrations. It is us. It is me. It is all because of Him.

A MOSTLY True Story

On By mdannels3In Uncategorized1 Comment

This is not a “commentary” style post that will encourage you to think or change an opinion. It is simply a vignette — a MOSTLY true story from my childhood. It is intended to make you smile. Please remember that this story occurred when I was a middle school student and thus the events were filtered through the brain of an early adolescent. (I know what a terrifying place a middle school brain can be!) Additionally, this story is told through the lens of time — decades, in fact. For these reasons, it is a MOSTLY true story. The names have been changed to protect the innocent. The names of the guilty remain — they will simply need to claim their “shame.”

Brandied Fruit

My second mom was a high school teacher who sponsored the Future Business Leaders of America club. One year her FBLA debate team had proven their salt and were qualified to go to Nationals in Houston, Texas during the month of April. And so our tale begins, in truth, a few months before she headed to the city.

It was in the fall at dinner one evening when Momma started talking about Randy, the high school janitor. It seems that he had gotten the brilliant idea to make homemade wine – peach and cherry wines to be exact. Apparently, he had read just enough about the process to make him dangerous. He “followed” the directions to prepare the fruit, mix the contents, and bottle the precious liquid. He corked his bottles and set them in a cool, dark pantry to ferment – just like the directions almost said.

Late, the evening before we heard the tale, Randy and his wife Susan, were in their living room when they became the victims of a drive-by shooting. As they sat on the couch, gunshots echoed through the frame of their small house shattering glass in the windows. Flashbacks of Korea filled his mind as he pulled Susan onto the floor until the shooting stopped. Finally, twenty minutes or so after the first shot, the shooter gave up and moved on down the road. Randy pushed Susan back to the floor with strict orders to stay-put as he set off to reconnoiter. Imagine his surprise when the bullets actually turned out to be exploding bottles of wine forcing open pantry doors while broken glass impaled walls, corks bounced around the room, and purple mixed with orange goo leached across the floor.

Our family enjoyed a good laugh and dad got “that look” on his face, the one that said we could all be in trouble now.

The next night dad placed a gallon jar on the counter near the pantry. He told us to start collecting fruit that was left over from various cooking projects – he started with some sliced peaches from dinner. Over the top of the fruit, he poured a bottle of brandy, closed the lid – not tightly, you understand – and let it sit. Dad was convinced that Randy had failed at making wine because he had over-pressurized the containers. Since dad wasn’t a wine drinker, he thought brandied fruit would be just the ticket. Over the next few months we added all kinds of fruit to the jar: fruit cocktail, pineapple, strawberries, grapes, cherries, apples, apricots, and still more peaches. And yes, occasionally, another bottle of brandy was added.

In the spring, Momma and the FBLA girls had gone to Houston; my brother was working at the candy factory and would be home very late after his shift ended, and I had cooked dinner. I think that dad’s one solace that evening was in knowing that he would finally eat some of his precious “brandied fruit.” (I’ll never know why he chose that particular night.) Dishes were done, we had relaxed, and he called me to the kitchen, told me to get a couple of bowls while he pulled out a brand new carton of ice cream. He dished up the treat, walked over to the counter, opened “the jar,” and with his blue eyes sparkling, ladled a generous helping of fruit onto our ice cream.

I ate; he savored.

A little after midnight, my stomach churning, I ran to the bathroom and proceeded to rid myself of every bit of ice cream, brandied fruit – and what remained in my stomach of my supper. I would creep back to my room only to sprint back to the bathroom. The gauge read empty, but still my body systems tried to pump even more from the tank. The one delight I felt about knowing that my father had given me food poisoning was hearing his footsteps run from his room to his bathroom too – all night long.

There was no work and no school for the oldest and the youngest in the Arndt house the next day. I began talking to him again when Momma got home from Texas a few days later. Thankfully, she was wise enough to NOT ask where the brandied fruit had gone

A boy from Iowa…

On By mdannels3In Thinking about God, Thinking about Love, Thinking about Relationships2 Comments
Me and my man! Galveston, Texas in February 2014
Me and my man!
Galveston, Texas in February 2014

….met a girl from Colorado

….in New Mexico….

And the opening chapter of our love story was written.

He was tall, red headed — balding, wore a red beard and drove a fast car. I followed him around, flirting, for seven months before he asked me out. It was about time. He worked nights; I worked days. We fell in love over his cancelled vacation due to a terrible snow storm, and my week off work recuperating from a car accident, picnic lunches he would bring to my office, late night phone calls during his “lunch hour”, and sight seeing excursions. Six weeks after our first date, he asked me to marry him and I had the wisdom to say yes. Six months later we said, “I do,” and the next chapter of our story began.

John, aka my Mr. Gorgeous, is my best friend. The hair — a bit more sparse now — and beard are both liberally sprinkled with a salty white. During the past twenty-eight years, we’ve raised three boys, attended and graduated from college, pastored three churches, lived in five different states, gone on three cruises, and traveled extensively. I wish you could know him. Some of you do, I know, but not all of you. So, please allow me to take a few lines and introduce to you my man.

He would pile three boys in a recliner and read one story for each son when it was suppose to be one bedtime story. John taught the boys how to eat an Oreo — dunked in milk, of course. When mom had trouble getting the boys to understand the importance of cleaning their room, he allowed the boys to each choose one toy and then boxed up all the others. They each lived with only one toy for a whole week. Cleaning moved up on their priority scale after that. He sold his own things to make sure that his family had what it needed, and sometimes what it simply wanted.  When I shared my dream of being a teacher, he made a way for me to go to school and complete my teaching credentials.

His sense of humor is one of my favorite things. He can take almost any situation and find something to laugh about. In my opinion, that is a valuable trait. Kindness, quiet leadership, strength, and generosity are all marks of his character.

As a follower of Christ, John goes where God leads and he chooses to serve the Lord with his whole heart.

He is a sacrificial, caring, loving, and Godly man.

And he is my best friend.

Today is his birthday and our anniversary; I’m thankful for my boy from Iowa and I’m glad he went to New Mexico to marry this Colorado girl!

Enough

On By mdannels3In Thinking about GodLeave a comment
The view east from Billy Creek in Western Colorado.
The view east from Billy Creek in Western Colorado.

I’ve been thinking about that little word, “enough.”

What is enough? Who is enough?

I am concerned that in this world people feel as though they are never enough. Bear with me…this may take a meandering journey to get to my point.

I have watched people who are confident and capable, but somewhere in their lives, they reach the conclusion that they are not good enough — or content enough — or something enough. I believe that Satan finds an area in a person’s life in which he or she feels distress or some kind of struggle. And with that, Satan tortures them and convinces them that they are not enough.

How many people around us everyday feel as though they are not enough? 

A friend of mine raised two beautiful daughters. When her girls were small, her grandmother expressed concern that my friend and her husband told their girls that they were pretty and smart and kind…etc. Her grandmother was apparently concerned that the girls would become conceited and self-absorbed. Thankfully, my friends continued to raise their girls based on their belief that having a decent self-esteem was not a bad thing.

Our sons grew up knowing their strengths and hearing that we thought they were handsome, had talents and abilities, that we saw their kindness and acknowledged their good choices. However, they also had hard knocks. They failed; they messed up; they got in trouble. Even in their failure, they seldom doubted that they were “enough” for us. I say seldom because teenagers are notoriously hard on themselves and our sons, like all teens, had moments of self-doubt.

I see children every day who are compared to others and believe that they don’t measure up – some adults feel the same way. More than anything, I want those children (and adults) to know that they are enough and that they do not need to live up to anyone around them or to replace anyone else.

As an aunt and a teacher I’ve listened to girls who feel as though they are never enough. 

  • Not pretty enough.
  • Not thin enough.
  • Not athletic enough.

And then there are the boys who believe that they aren’t enough.

  • Not smart enough.
  • Not tall enough.
  • Not tough enough.

But what about the adults around us? There are many who feel that they are not enough, or that what they have isn’t enough.

  • The house isn’t nice enough.
  • The bank account isn’t full enough.
  • The job isn’t prestigious enough.
  • The home isn’t happy enough.
  • There isn’t time enough.

We all struggle with self-esteem and control issues, but real “self-esteem” and control comes from knowing WHO we are and to WHOM we belong.

Okay, let’s head for home plate here…

God made you; you are enough. 

Are you perfect? Am I? No. We are not perfect, but God made us as His unique creation and that, my friends, is enough. He asks and expects that we will seek Him and in doing so, we will learn and grow and become all He desires us to be for His glory.

Changes

On By mdannels3In Thinking about God, Thinking about Relationships2 Comments
Our Church -- the place where we have ministered for more than a decade.
Our Church — the place where we have ministered for more than a decade.

Changes . . .

…are hard.

…are good.

…are necessary.

…are here.

Twelve and a half years ago, we packed our family and all of our belongings then we moved to Colorado to begin ministry at a small church in a beautiful town near the bottom of the World’s Largest Flattop Mountain, The Grand Mesa.

When we arrived, our boys were in third, seventh, and eighth grades. We were young…sort of. Our church was small, but loving. We moved in on a snowy December Friday and began our ministry two days later. In January, John started a job and in April, he found a better one — one that he worked for nearly twelve years. Marylouise took over a multi-grade classroom at a private school and later, found a job with the local school district.

We settled into routines and the boys made friends. My Dad and second mom live 40 miles away and my sister is about 18 miles from our home and we enjoyed being near family. We created a home and we built a life.

The church we came to pastor had five retired pastors as a part of the congregation. Let’s just say that our church was filled with several “experienced” Christians. We loved them and they learned to love us. The ministry in the church was not easy, but it was blessed and the people were precious children of God.

Time passed.

The boys grew, our vocations changed — but still they allowed us to minister, people moved, our congregation changed.

During the twelve and a half years we’ve spent here in Colorado, we’ve raised our children, loved people, worked hard, and served the Lord. We pray that we’ve touched lives as others have touched ours. We’ve built a life in this place and leaving this life we’ve come to love is hard. But it is time.

It is difficult to help others understand that when God says it is time to move on that that is what you must do. We live our lives based on one premise… obedience to God’s call is nonnegotiable. Walking in faith is part of that choice, even when it doesn’t seem to make sense.

You see, we have a good “life” here. John was just promoted. I teach in a good school. Logically, this is the place where we should remain, yet we cannot stay.

Leaving means we are both walking away from jobs we enjoy. It means that our small church will be without a pastor for a time and we are sad for that reality. We will be leaving a church family with whom we have ministered, prayed, cried, celebrated, mourned, and who we love. Leaving will cause us to be without our children near us for the first time in twenty-seven years. Not being in this community means that we will not get to see our dear friends. While moving will bring us closer in proximity to John’s family, it will move us away from my parents and sister. Even so, I am assured that as we leave this place, He has a plan for those who remain and He will reveal it to them just as He revealed His plan for our lives to us.

Were we to make a list of the “pros and cons” for moving away, it would be close, but one factor has more weight than any of the others. Very simply, God is leading and we must go.

Will we have regrets? Perhaps. But we will never regret going where God is calling. Early in our marriage we learned that the best place to be is always in the middle of God’s will. For that reason alone, we are moving to Wisconsin.

Our new church family has been hurt and it needs pastors who will love each of them. We will love them — we already do.

So, we will be saying good-bye to family, friends, and even to one of our dogs, Zoey, who will remain in Colorado. We will buy parkas, snow boots, and snow tires; we will build a new life in the northern mid-west.

Changes are hard and scary, but they can be good. This will not be easy, but God has promised that His calling is His enabling. We believe Him and we trust Him.

It Feels Like Home

On By mdannels3In Thinking about Family, Thinking about LoveLeave a comment

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In nearly 28 years of marriage, Mr. Gorgeous and I have lived in four apartments, four houses, and two mobile homes.

When we were in our first apartment which had about 500 square feet and pink appliances, I bought John a plaque. It said something like: “On the outside it looks like a house, but inside it feels like a home.” In those tiny rooms, we made a decision — it was a good one. We determined that no matter where we lived, no matter its size or location, we would make it a home. And we have.

At times, making a place a home involved cans of paint, curtains, pictures, rugs, and furniture along with a hammer and nails. But most of the time, making our residence a home involved creating memories and sharing love. Those things are free. Yes, some memories involve spending money — games, videos, popcorn, etc., but those “things” are really on the fringe of the memories.

When our boys were young, we lived in a huge old farm house that had been moved into town in Iowa. It had a full basement and an upstairs. We loved it. Christmas stockings hung from the oak banister of the staircase in the entry hall while our Christmas tree sat in the front window in the living room. the front deck was comfortable and we spent hours on it. And for our sons, there were trees to climb and a trampoline in the back yard. One day Nathan asked if we were rich. John and I explained that we were rich in love and memories and family… things that mattered.

Honestly, aren’t those the things that make a house into a home? Isn’t it the people with whom we live under that roof? Don’t we treasure the warmth, caring, and love that we find within its walls? Aren’t we compelled to return again to that place of acceptance and warmth by the memories that were created in those rooms and with those people?

I become concerned when I see couples who work so hard to make a living that they forget there is a life to be lived. When I see children who have every “thing” imaginable, but have very little time with those who love them I feel sad — for all of them. There is a myth in the world that “quality” time is more important the “quantity” of time.

I beg to differ. Both matter.

Quality of time allowed our family to make up a game in a borrowed RV in the South Dakota Black Hills during a rain storm. Quality of time enabled us to plan and prepay for tickets that took us on a speed boat ride across Lake Michigan in Chicago — little did we know that trip would be taken in a rain and thunder storm! Quality of time allowed us to include each of the boys in planning for the family vacation we took the year he graduated from high school. Quality matters. However, just like with M&Ms, quantity matters too.

It was the quantity of time that enabled us to create many of the memories that we treasure: evenings playing football in the park across the street, time in the front yard on bikes, roller blades, and skateboards, watching FAMILY MATTERS and THE COSBY SHOW together, notes from the tooth fairy, bedtime prayers following Bible stories, and the laughter… so much laughter. One of my new favorite things has become listening to our boys share their memories of growing up together. This is not a task for the faint of heart, believe me. I have discovered some things about my sons and their antics when I wasn’t looking that… shock, terrify, annoy, and overwhelm me. Really though, I’ve discovered that they created their own memories and that they share different yet similar versions of ours. And that is a good thing.

While the “where” matters, it’s really the “who” and the “what” that makes a house a home.

An older pop song’s chorus says, “It feels like home to me…  It feels like I’m all the way back where I belong.” (Performed by Chantal Kreviazuk.)

Those words are powerful: HOME. It’s more than a place — it’s a feeling.

Belonging. Safety. Love. Acceptance.

Shared history. Memories.

Hugs. Laughter.

Boisterous afternoons. Peaceful nights.

And, it’s the sights, the sounds, and the smells — all of them creating that feeling of home.

Yes, it feels like home.

 

 

My Heart is Full

On By mdannels3In Thinking about Family, Thinking about God, Thinking about Relationships4 Comments

A burnished copper sunset rests upon the Grand Mesa
A burnished copper sunset rests upon the Grand Mesa

My heart is full

Of my best friend, the handsome, adorable, caring, sexy, and loving guy

Mr. Gorgeous, my man, my husband and my partner

My heart is full

Of the skinny, tadpole-like boy with the dark hazel eyes

Who stole my heart with his first whimpering cry and grasping starfish hands

My heart is full

Of the teeny, tiny one who was in a hurry to begin his own symphony

Who has shown that a rough launch doesn’t always mean a rough landing

My heart is full

Of the laughter of the youngest who still slaps his knees when he laughs

And whose grin hides behind the bushy red beard before another epic prank unfolds

My heart is full

Of the daughter we never knew who left us before we held her

But whose promise, left unfilled, has created a hole in our family story

My heart is full

Of the daughter we DO know, the chosen one of our son

The hard working beauty who brings class and style to our red neck family

My heart is full

Of a family – immediate and extended – devoted to each other in good times and bad

Who support and share, love and care, and create a safe harbor in which to heal

My heart is full

Of classrooms filled with children – laughing, accepting, and learning

Challenging a tired teacher and making me work harder than I ever dreamed possible

My heart is full

Of the wonders around me: burnished copper sunsets, soaring snowcapped peaks

Precious friends, meandering rivers, raging oceans, lavender deserts, and mirror-like lakes

My heart is full

Of rattling windows, cups of coffee, stormy nights, family dinners, meadowlark calls

Laughter, story telling, cuddly puppies, working, sleeping, sharing and praying together

Truly,

My heart is full

They Called Me 4-Eyes

On By mdannels3In Thinking about God, Thinking about RelationshipsLeave a comment

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I was in fourth grade when my long-awaited glasses finally arrived. During the summer between third and fourth grade, my dad and I went to Denver. He had a doctor’s appointment and I had an eye doctor’s appointment. I picked out my glasses, we went to the Denver Zoo, Dad went to the doctor, and we headed home to Montrose. Months — it felt like years — later, my glasses came in the mail. They were tortoise shell ovals — very hip. I was immensely thankful for them, I could finally see the chalk board where Mrs. Stokes would write tests. I had failed a few timed tests already that year because I couldn’t see the questions or problems. Of course, the usual nicknames came with the glasses — they called me 4-Eyes. Since I could finally see, I was fine with that.

My sister, Gayla, got her first pair of glasses when she was around the same age. They say that when she first put them on, she was amazed by what she could see. The fact that trees had leaves that could actually be seen as individual items amazed her — and made our parents cry. Imagine going through life not seeing, but believing that you were.

How many times do I go through life believing that I can see, but not truly doing so?

First of all, I am oblivious to much that is around me. I am aware of what should be there and because of that, I will often miss the “little” changes. In 8th grade English, my teacher asked us to write down what we saw as we looked out our window or walked out of our house that morning. Every morning, I did the dishes and could see the adobe hills and Buck Horn — a mountain across the valley from our home. He read it, then looked at me and told me I hadn’t been very observant. Apparently that morning the valley and mountains were covered by clouds. I had missed it. Since then I’ve tried to be more observant, but I am not always very successful. If I am oblivious to the little “things” am I also oblivious to the “big” things?

Then of course there are the wonders that surround me — I tend to take them for granted. Just as I was oblivious to that morning so many years ago, I often take the beauty in people and in this amazing area where I live for granted. We’ve learned to love going on cruises. Because we are in the tropical areas for such a short time, we soak it in. We savor our time, take hundreds of pictures (I think it was 1300 on the last cuise), we memorize smells and flavors, we create memories. Later, on those cold Colorado winter days, I pull out a memory of a tropical beach and I enjoy it. In doing so, do I forget to treasure the cool, clear, crisp moments, the mountains, the snow fall, the puppy, the house, and all of the wonders that surround me?

When I’m thinking like this, I have to ask myself if I truly see the people who are in my life. Do I see their hurts and fears? Am I able to notice when they are overwhelmed and in need of an encouraging word? An amazing lady from our church saw Mr. Gorgeous at the lumber yard earlier this week. While she was there, she gave him some encouraging words that were an incredible blessing to both of us. When I am around people, do I truly understand their needs? Naturally I have to wonder if, when I see their concerns, I am willing to help? And, have I allowed enough time in my schedule to be available to them when they have a need? God did not intend us to fill our days so full with doing things that we are unable to set aside our “schedule” to be available to one of His children. My mom use to say that we shouldn’t be so heavenly minded that we are no earthly good. This starts, I believe, with seeing those around us — and then, being available to them to meet their needs . . . and to allow them to reach into my life and perhaps, to encourage and bless me as well.

One last thought, with my “4-eyes,” do I see God? Do I see Him in this world to which I am often oblivious? Do I see Him in the amazing wonders that I take for granted? Am I able to recognize Him in the smile, the words, the actions, and the lives of the people around me? Do I see Him — truly see Him? He is working in this world and in our lives. I need to make sure that my eyes are open and that I notice what He does and how He is at work.

I’ve discovered that when I’m frustrated or confused or sad, I have a tendency to be oblivious about God’s work and I take what He does for me, in me, and through me for granted. I need to put on my spiritual glasses and truly SEE God. He blesses, provides, encourages, and loves me. How can I not see that?

 

 

 

School’s Out for the Summer

On By mdannels3In Thinking about SchoolLeave a comment
A bright bit of summer.
A bright bit of summer.

8th grade, Montrose Junior High School, final bell had rung, my locker was empty and I was headed for the bus. Suddenly, the music of Alice Cooper came over the intercom singing, “School’s our for the summer….” One of my favorite junior high memories.

Things have changed a bit over the years. Our last day of school was today. We had movies, awards, cleaning, “Nerd” Olympics (why would anyone CHOOSE to eat 1/2 a raw onion?), volleyball, basketball, four square, kick ball, bump and jump, popsicles and a water slide. Of course, this was just the prelude to the water balloon fight. Our students are able to earn the right to throw a water balloon at their “favorite” teacher by purchasing a book at our book fair in April. I purchase books at the book fair, so yes, I too get to throw water balloons — of course mine are thrown at students. When the final bell rang, the music of Alice Cooper wasn’t blaring over the PA, but it was playing loudly in my head — it does every year.

The end of the school year is always a good time of reflection. As a sixth grade teacher, I have the privilege of seeing the enormous distances that students travel during their middle school journey. Sixth graders who come into middle school are often small in stature, lacking confidence, and even a bit afraid. Lockers are a challenge, they are suddenly thrust into a busy hall filled with 200 students with four minutes to change classes, and teachers have high expectations that require independence and responsibility — it can all be quite intimidating. By the end of that year, they are managing lockers, moving between classes with confidence, using planners, and most are doing homework like pros. The difference between the first of the year and the end are enormous.

When you consider 6th graders who enter middle school and how much they grow in 9 1/2 short months, multiply that by three and you have a small idea about the changes that occur between the beginning of 6th grade and the end of 8th grade. It is a pleasure to see growth and maturity in these young adults.

I remember talking to father of one former student at the conclusion of his daughter’s continuation ceremony one year. I had been close to his daughter and mentioned that I would miss her. He said something like, “But isn’t that the nature of your job, you invest in them and then you turn them loose?” He was right — that is the nature of my job; but I still reserve the right to miss them.

In the fifteen years that I’ve been teaching I’ve taught children who have done and are doing amazing things with their lives. These incredible young people are social workers, writers, actors, actresses, chefs, vets, sales managers, teachers, coaches, firemen, security professionals, miners, mothers, fathers, soldiers, medical professionals, musicians, photographers, and missionaries. Several are in graduate school. I am proud of each one of them. Their success is theirs. They have worked for it and they’ve earned it.

So, today as Alice Cooper is singing in my head, I’m thankful for another year of working with amazing young people. Yes, many of them have made me crazy this year, there are some who do every year — still, I feel blessed to have them in my life. I can’t wait to see what and who this year’s class of sixth graders will be in two years — or six years — or ten years when I once again hear Alice Cooper singing in my head.

“School’s  out for the summer” and even though I am relieved that it is, I’ll miss “my kids.”

 

Family Ties

On By mdannels3In Thinking about Family, Thinking about God, Thinking about Love, Thinking about RelationshipsLeave a comment
The gang's all here! Charlotte, Gayla, Frank, and Marylouise
The gang’s all here!
Charlotte, Gayla, Frank, and Marylouise

 

I have two sisters — had a brother. I am exceptionally proud of all of them. In many ways they are as different as night and day…in some ways, they are carbon copies of each other.

Charlotte is 7 years older than I am; Gayla is 6 years older, and Frank was 4 years older. I remember watching them and being jealous because they always seemed so close when we were growing up. They were close, in part, because they had the same mother, a different mother than I have. Their mother died when my brother was a baby. My mom was their stepmother. Also, considering that the girls were eleven months apart, it makes sense that the two of them would be close. It also makes sense that those two would fight…and they did.

Charlotte as the oldest naturally took charge. I think that Gayla thought they  were close enough in age that she should be in charge too. I’m not sure, but I think that may have been an issue of contention in their teen years. Charlotte was the one who drove the tractor for Daddy, “babysat” the younger kids, was in drill team and journalism. She is a gifted artist. Her natural ability was developed through art training that she took as a correspondence program, and later in school. When she would babysit, she protected me from my brother. Out of high school, she went to Oklahoma to college for a year and after that, she joined the Army. She raised an amazing daughter and worked hard to complete her schooling. My impression of her when I was little kid was that she was tough as nails — and she was. She was also the artist who created many Halloween costumes for her baby sister.

Gayla was not the take charge type. She has done more “taking charge” in the last ten years than I really remember her doing before — circumstances change us. I remember several times as a kid hearing her say, “I’m second from the top and third from the bottom.” She was quieter than the rest of us. Her dimples are one of my favorite things about her. She is a peacemaker — many things that bothered me seemed to run off her like water off a duck’s back. I know now that even though she didn’t act bothered, she was. Gayla is the sweet one of us, and we all know it. If you grew up in my era, you know who the Champagne Lady on the Lawrence Welk Show was; I always thougth that Gayla sang better than she did. I was right. When she graduated, she too joined the Army. I love to travel with her, even though I MUST give her a hard time about stopping all the time to take pictures.

Frank was the only boy — surrounded by sisters. He did the outdoor chores, competed in athletics and was a member the Navy Junior ROTC in high school. He was artistic and he could sing well — but didn’t want ANYONE to know it. Even as a teen, he was a problem solver who took a cheap, broken calculator, disassembled it, located the problem, and fixed it. Then, he gave it to me; I used it several years. He served in the Army and worked as a mechanic. His delight was found in his son and daughter. Life took him to Alaska twenty years before he died and we only saw him a few times. Phone calls helped, but not enough.

Had I written this blog 12 1/2 years ago, I would have had less to say about family ties. After living in a community near Gayla for all these years, I’ve realized more than ever how deeply our family ties run — and how incredibly important they are. She and I have been blessed with time together to create new memories and share our hearts. The other ties in the family are strong and important as well — even though they are different. In fact, after our brother died, I realized even more how very different our relationships with each other are — they are separated and differentiated by time and experience and location.

As for my sisters, I love them both and admire each of them for very different reasons beyond the fact that we are family.

Charlotte has overcome immense hurts and obstacles. She has allowed God to have control of her heart and life, to lead her, to heal her, and to give her a point of ministry. She exhibits the spiritual gifts of helping and giving; in fact, at two different points in the life of our family we “took refuge” in her home.

On the other hand, Gayla is the mom. She cans, cooks incredibly delicious and nutritious meals, bakes bread, gardens, landscapes, sews, pans for gold, collects rocks, cares for her grandchildren and husband. She has always been available to any family member who lives close — and as much as possible, to those who live at a distance. When our preemie son was born, she came to Albuquerque from Colorado to help.

So this walk down memory lane is to remind us that although relationships take investment and time, the investment in loving, caring, and sharing with family is never lost. Byrlene left home when I was 11, Gayla when I was 12, and Frank when I was 14. My parents were divorced when I was 12. As a result, I was in and out of “our” home and in and out of their lives — just as they were in and out of mine. By the way, don’t get me started on the idea of “1/2 brothers and sisters” — it’s rubbish. We are family because we are family — by blood yes, but more than that, by love and commitment. I didn’t understand that we had different mothers until I was 11. Even then, we were family and that was all that mattered. Had it not been for years of proximity, we would not have had time to build the family ties — to develop our relationships.

The reality of life is that it takes us in many directions. Everyone knows that things change, but when things change and others aren’t near to go through the changes with us, it may be difficult to see and understand where the other is coming from. Communication is the key to understanding. Respectful communication that welcomes input from all parties. Conversations that involve listening as well as speaking. These take time and honestly, they can be scheduled, but I am not certain that forced discussions are truly beneficial unless all parties “buy in” to that time.

Telephones, Facebook, emails, and texting will tell only what we want others to know. Vulnerability is limited — emotions can be hidden, hurts can be buried. While this kind of communication is better than nothing, it has limitations that must be acknowledged.

Honestly, I love Facebook. It gives me the opportunity to stay connected with people who I would not otherwise. I have “friends” in Europe and Africa, the US and Mexico — and I love it. I “talk” with former students, people from churches we have pastored, high school classmates — even though I only attended school with them one year, cousins, aunts, uncles, nieces, nephews, and friends who are important to me. We all know though, that most of these “conversations” are surface and do not truly delve deeply into the heart, the emotions, or the true relationship. They are better than no contact — but they should not be our only source for relationship development.

Relationships are a gift from God. Through them we see another side of Him. Families are where we learn to care for people, to invest in them, to know them. It is in the safe, welcoming relationships of family that we come to understand how to accept others. In addition, these kinds of relationships create the climate in which we discover that are able to forgive hurts — intentional or otherwise — and to minimize the impact that pain from these hurts can have in our lives.

I come from a  “huggy” family. We see each other — we hug each other; we leave — we hug again. Yes, even if we are in Walmart. When I married Mr. Gorgeous, I took that “hugginess” with me into my new family where I got more than one strange look. A few years later, my Father-in-law thanked me for bringing hugs to the family. After one particular visit, he hugged me, thanked me for being a “huggy” person, and told me he wished they had done more hugging before I came along. A hug  is that touch that says, “You are family and I love you,” it makes most situations bearable. And, it reminds us that we are home.

Whether our “ties” come through our family or through other relationships, the time invested is worthwhile and necessary. Family ties — relationships — precious, irreplaceable, valuable. Worth the effort and worth the time.

 

#hugs, #family, #brothersandsisters, #relationships

 

 

Our Hope is too Small

On By mdannels3In Thinking about God2 Comments
Yucca at White Sands in Alamogordo, NM.
Yucca at White Sands in Alamogordo, NM.

It’s the day after Good Friday and the day before Easter. Can you imagine what this day was like for the disciples and for Jesus’ followers?

Imagine that you are one of the disciples that Saturday. Yesterday was a terrible day for you and today isn’t much better. Yesterday, the man you loved and served and worked with died a cruel, painfully agonizing death on a cross.

This is not a quick or easy death. First, Jesus was arrested, tried in a kangaroo court where the outcome was clear in advance, He was beaten, forced to carry a heavy, wooden cross up a road, up a hill to a place where He dropped the cross onto the ground. His robe was removed and He was nailed to the cross He had just carried. Afterward, Roman guards stood the cross, using their strength, ropes and probably even boards to push it upright. Then, it dropped into a hole with a jarring thud.

Imagine the pain that would have occurred around the nails as the cross fell two or three feet or so into a narrow hole onto hard ground. It would have bounced as it settled into its place before the crowds. Jesus hung there attempting to breath.

He knew and understood what was happening. He had chosen this path. It was in His power to stop this horrible, painful, tragic event, yet He chose to remain in that spot, suspended between heaven and earth.

How would you have felt? How would I? Would we have run? Would we have given up? Would we have focused on the loss?

They were confused and hurting. They could not imagine how this “horrible, terrible, no good, very bad day” (Judith Viorst) could ever improve. In fact, looking with a human heart and a human eye, there was no possibility of the day improving. They were experiencing — in their hearts, their spirits, their emotions — a sense of loss, of pain, of grief, and the hurt was overwhelming.

As most of you know, this has been a season of loss for me. In August, my grandmother, my dear prayer partner and confidante went home to be with Jesus. In September, and amazing former student died in a tragic accident. Most recently, in February, my brother died.

I have discovered that there can literally be a physical reaction to loss. For days and days after each of those losses, it seemed as though I could never get warm. it was almost as if my body’s core temperature lowered and I sat and shivered, even as I worked. I simply could not get warm.

Perhaps the disciples, His followers, His friends had a similar reaction. Perhaps as the darkness fell over the earth, these men and women sensed a loss so profound that they may have felt chilled to the bone.

Yet, they had His promise — they did not understand it — but they had His promise that His death was not the end of the story.

I was in a fellow teacher’s classroom on Friday as she finished reading a classic novel to her class. The novel ended, the story was over, and still the students and I wanted more information. I wanted to know what happened next, I wanted to move beyond the ending and know what came next — but I could not know; the story was over.

The disciples and His followers knew that the story was NOT really over. They knew and believed that the man hanging on the cross was our bridge to His Father — our Heavenly Father. This wasn’t over yet.

They had hope. They could look above the waves that seemed to engulf them, that were trying to drown their faith and they could focus on Him and His words, His promises, and HIS CHARACTER. They could focus on Him. They could look above the waves and see Jesus.

Even though they were looking above the waves and seeing the possibilities and the hope — they did not understand. My friends, His death gave us a future. Through Christ’s death, we have life, because it did NOT end in that tomb on Friday night. It did not end in the that tomb as the guards watched over the stone on Saturday. It did not end in that tomb on Saturday night as the disciples tried to sleep, but were probably too numb to do so.

No, it did not end then because Sunday was on its way. And with Sunday, came the news that the stone had been moved, the tomb was empty and Jesus was living. Jesus was alive — Jesus IS alive.

We need to grasp and capture and claim and hold onto the idea that our Jesus lives. He is not another body in a tomb somewhere — He is living and breathing and He loves us — you, me…us. It is true that He could have stopped the agony He endured, but He chose not to do so. He chose to stay on the cross. He chose to die. He chose to be buried and to be raised from the dead.He chose to do what it took to save us.

His sacrifice is only meaningful if we choose to claim it for ourselves. His sacrifice has meaning to each one of us only as we accept it — accept the gift and ask Him into our heart. When we tell Him we have sinned, ask Him to forgive us, and rely on Him to help us live in a way that is pleasing to Him.

On Easter we celebrate an empty tomb, but more than that, we celebrate a risen Savior. Even so, there are times when I think our hope is too small. We define what we believe Gods wants to do by the circumstance in which we find ourselves. We define God’s power through our own human understanding. We define God  — the maker of the universe, the creator of all things, the Savior — and we try to do so using man’s ideas. No wonder our hope is too small; we are trying to define the infinite with finite ideas. God is so much bigger than we can ever understand. Even though we struggle to understand it, we can experience it. We can experience a relationship with Him in our hearts where our emotions live, in our heads where our thoughts reside, and in our spirits where Jesus assures of His presence.

We need to hope in Jesus. We need to stop hoping too small.