Category: Thinking about Love

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

 

 

A Time to Mourn…

On By mdannels3In Thinking about Family, Thinking about God, Thinking about Love, Thinking about RelationshipsLeave a comment
A Colorado rainbow seen from our front deck following a spring storm. Rainbows remind me of God's goodness, His grace, and His promises.
A Colorado rainbow seen from our front deck following a spring storm. Rainbows remind me of God’s goodness, His grace, and His promises.

A Time for Everything

There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the heavens:                                                           a time to be born and a time to die, a time to plant and a time to uproot, a time to plant and a time to uproot, a time to kill and a time to heal, a time to tear down and a time to build, a time to weep and a time to laugh, a time to mourn and a time to dance, a time to scatter stones and a time to gather them, a time to embrace and a time to refrain from embracing, a time to search and a time to give up, a time to keep and a time to throw away, a time to tear and a time to mend, a time to be silent and a time to speak, a time to love and a time to hate, a time for war and a time for peace.                                                             -Ecclesiastes 3:1-8 (NIV)

Thank you for being patient with me.

You see, I do not like being a person who is not “in control” of my emotions. Yet that is exactly what I am experiencing — a lack of control. People think I’m upset or angry. I’m not — I’m sad; I’m grieving. I’ve observed others grieve and have often wondered at the way they do so. Some people are strong — they are a rock solid. It turns out that I am nothing more than marshmallow cream when I grieve. Hugs make me cry. Funny stories make me cry. Sad stories make me cry. Pictures and memories — even good ones — make me cry. It doesn’t take much to make me cry these days.

Quite frankly, that annoys me! I am extremely independent and I’ve always been a “pull yourself up by the bootstraps” kind of person and I am helpless to be able to do that now. I so desperately want to go back to being able to function without this overwhelming sense of grief and loss. I know it will take time, but I’m impatient.

A dear friend taught me somethings about grief — thankfully. It was after our nephew died; she knew I was struggling and because of her experience working as a Hospice Chaplain, she was able to help me through that time. She taught me that it takes about two years to work through the grief of one loss. Each new loss is tacked on to the end of that two years — concurrent grieving is apparently not possible. I learned about grief bursts — a time of overwhelming, unexplainable, and uncontrollable grief. Grief bursts can happen without any perceived provocation and they must simply be endured. As pastors, my husband and I have often told those who grieve in our church that while the first year of grief is hard, the second year is often more difficult. It is in the second year that we realize the permanence of our loss — the second Christmas is when you realize that your loved one will never sit at the table with the family again.

In my brain, I know these things. In my heart, I want to fast forward through this time of loss and pain. I don’t like being treated like I’m breakable, but in some ways, I am very fragile. Kindness seems to be one of the worst responses I receive because it makes me feel weak — but I am weak. You see, no matter how much I hate feeling this way, right now I need kindness, gentleness and support. I am so grateful that God is in control, that family is loving, and that friends and coworkers are kind.

I will cope better…probably not tomorrow and maybe not even the next day, but soon. In the meantime I will try to remember that there is a time to mourn and this is that time. Thank you for walking this journey with me. For loving and caring, for praying. Soon, it will be time to dance. I can hardly wait.

Forget Me Not

On By mdannels3In Thinking about Family, Thinking about God, Thinking about Love, Thinking about Relationships6 Comments
My family.
My family.

The Forget Me Not… the state flower of Alaska.

Every morning for 53 years, 2 months, and 6 days I’ve awakened secure in the knowledge that my big brother was never farther away than a phone call. Tomorrow — if I manage to sleep — my world will be drastically different.

I’m one of four children. My two sisters and my only brother preceded me into the family in that order. That means that I was the youngest. While some folks think that being the youngest makes your life a piece of cake, others know the cold, hard facts. Having a big brother is both a blessing and a curse.

The  curse of being the little sister…

  • Muscles — his not mine.
  • Catching him smoking behind the garage and me being stupid enough to try to use it as blackmail material.
  • Him telling me (and then Dad) that the crush I had on one of his friends WASN’T a good idea.
  • Doing dishes while he practiced his boxing…. on my right shoulder.

But honestly, the blessings far outnumbered the curse…

  • Building snowmen together.
  • Being mad at our older sisters together.
  • Being the most popular Indian Maid in the all school Thanksgiving Pageant in 1st grade. (Frank threatened all of his 4th grade friends that when the Indian Maids were drug to the front of the stage, I had better not be the only girl left at the back of the stage.)
  • Watching him wrestle; watching him box.
  • Calling him when I got on the bad side of a pretty tough bunch of kids at school — coming out of the junior high to see him standing by my bus that first day and then, finding him under the tree near the bus stop everyday after school for the rest of the year.
  • Learning early on that he could hit me but no one else had that same privilege.
  • Phone calls on birthdays.
  • The most amazing card in the whole wide world about me being his sister.
  • My big brother shaking my newly acquired husband’s hand after the wedding, tightening the grip just a fraction, and telling Mr. Gorgeous that he was to take care of me. Frank passed the reigns in that simple move…er, threat?
  • An amazing niece and two incredible nephews — yes, Michael was incredible even though I never got to meet him. After all, he was my brother’s son.

God designed families. He knows that in loving our family members our lives are richer. He knows that in losing our family members we are drawn closer to the source of love…Jesus Christ.

I have amazing memories of my big brother who always seemed somehow bigger than life. I know and understand that he was not perfect, but who on earth is?  I know that the loss of a child and later a divorce nearly destroyed him. I know that God uses broken things — after He has mended them, and that He used my brother.

I prayed for my brother for years, asking God to bring Frank to a relationship with his Heavenly Father. While teaching in a private, Christian school in California, I asked my class of 5th graders to pray for Frank. I remember a young boy asked if he could pray for him right then. I thanked him and told him to go ahead. The boy prayed. In the arrogant way of adults, I just shook me head at what the boy prayed. He asked God to send someone from his hometown in Northern California to Alaska to tell my brother about Jesus. A year and a half to two years later my brother accepted Jesus as His Savior. I was thrilled. Later, my brother and I talked on the phone and he asked the name of the town I had taught in while living in California. I told him. He said something about how weird that was and I, of course, asked why. He told me about the church he was attending. It was fairly new and had been planted by a Baptist Minister from the very town where I had taught. I learned to stop being skeptical of the power in a child’s prayer.

I am thankful for my brother, for the bruises and the quarrels. I am thankful for the hugs and the protection and the rides here and there. I am grateful for my memories — I wish I had time to make more of them.

When he first left for Alaska, I bought a package of Forget Me Not seeds and I planted them in my yard so that I could feel close to him. I think it’s time to buy another package. One day, I will see him again, but until then I will Forget HIM not.

Some Goodbyes Are Harder Than Others

On By mdannels3In Thinking about God, Thinking about LoveLeave a comment
A memorial candle lit in honor of our daughter Jessie. This was lit by my niece Pam at a memorial service in Alaska honoring the infants and young children who have died in our family.
A memorial candle lit in honor of our daughter Jessie. This was lit by my niece Pam at a memorial service in Alaska honoring the infants and young children who have died in our family.

For example:

  • Goodbye to the unborn daughter knowing you’ll never hear her laugh
  • Goodbye to a nephew and a great niece who each lived less than a day
  • Goodbye to the boy in 4th grade who flipped his bike, going through a plate glass window
  • Goodbye to the star teen athlete with so much potential
  • Goodbye to a son’s college roommate who died while working on his car
  • Goodbye to a nephew in his mid-thirties who fought a valiant fight against health problems for much of his life
  • Goodbye to my childhood babysitter and adopted “Mom”
  • Goodbye to a dear friend’s mother who lost her battle with cancer
  • Goodbye to an amazing man, a member of our congregation, who had been a prayer warrior for us
  • Goodbye to my 100 year old Grandmother

Life is filled with hellos and good byes. Some goodbyes are harder than others. We say goodbye to people everyday. It could be something simple like, “Catch you tomorrow,” or something more difficult like, “I promise, we’ll see each other again.” Then there are goodbyes that are more “permanent”, the goodbyes that we say at a funeral. These are the ones I am thinking about today. And we must admit, that with them, some are harder than others.

I’ve attended two funerals in five weeks. The first, a little over a month ago, was my 100 year old Grandmother’s funeral. Although her death was not a shock, it was hard. She was an amazing, Godly woman who loved me. And I loved her. I lived with my mom when I met and began dating Mr. Gorgeous, but Grandma was the first person I told about my feelings for him. A few years later, she admitted that when she received my letter telling her about Mr. Gorgeous she began praying for him because she was confident he was going to be my husband. I always had great confidence in her prayers. I miss her. However, I would not call her back to this world for anything.

Last week, I attended a memorial service for a 17 year old, star athlete. He was an amazing young man. I taught him a few years ago. A gifted communicator, he wrote with amazing clarity. Relationships were his forte. He drew people to him and made them feel valued. As an 8th grader, he saw a few 6th grade girls who hadn’t been asked to dance at the fall dance — he and his buddy asked two of them to dance and these gentlemen got down on their knees to dance with these girls who had, until that moment, felt left out. Last year, he lead our football team to a state championship and he won a first place medal in high jump at the state track meet. Character. He was filled with character. He died as a result of a tragic accident and saying goodbye to him was hard.

Every loss causes pain. It is a risk that we take. Loving someone means we are risking pain. We love; we lose; we hurt. Yet, we risk that pain because loving someone and having that person be a part of our life is worth it. Each person we love enriches our life. Going through pain can cause us to grow. We can become stronger because we’ve experienced hurt.

Some goodbyes hurt less than others. Losing someone with a ton of potential is harder in many ways than losing a person who lived a long, full life. When we are confronted with these losses that are unexpected or that are painful, we wonder why. God can handle our questions. It’s okay to ask God why — it’s even okay to shout, “Why?” I wondered why our daughter didn’t get to be a part of our family. I asked God why. I was broken-hearted when our amazing nephew died and when my childhood babysitter passed away. I felt lost when our prayer warrior friend was no longer there to call for support, and now that I can no longer send my Grandmother a letter. I am confused why an amazing athlete with a strong testimony has gone home. And I wonder why. Yes, some goodbyes ARE harder than others.

I am grateful for these people and others to whom I have said goodbye. Their investment in my life, the hope they’ve brought to me, the dreams for a better tomorrow, the warmth and acceptance…the love. Caring for them — and being cared for BY them — was certainly worth the risk of loss. Definitely worth the reality of saying “goodbye”.

 

 

When I Grow Up I Want to Be…

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

DSCN9278

When asked, “What do you want to be when you grow up?”, my answers went something like this:

  • A nurse
  • A pediatrician
  • Teacher
  • The first female Astronaut (Sally Ride flew with NASA when I was in first grade, so this came off my list.)
  • The first woman president of the USA
  • A lawyer
  • A travel agent
  • A stewardess

And then I stopped make a list. Because somewhere between being asked for the first time and age 10 or so, I knew what I really wanted to be. I wanted to be a wife. I wanted to be a mom.

Yes, I still wanted to be a teacher or a doctor or a nurse or a lawyer — but even more than these noble careers, I wanted the harder job too. I wanted to have a husband who loved me and who believed that I would make his life better, simply by being a part of it — just like he does mine. I wanted to be a mom — to have children and love them, make them feel safe and protected, and help them to become men (or women) of God.

Then life happened. I was 24 and had officially been called an old maid. After all, if your brother calls you that, it has to be official — doesn’t it? I decided it was time to start seriously looking for a handsome guy. So I looked and I looked and I looked. Finally, I did what I should have done in the first place and I talked to God about finding me a husband. His answer was simple, “Patience, daughter.” And so, I worked hard at waiting. That may seem like an oxymoron, but sometimes sitting and waiting is harder than working. I moved from Colorado back to New Mexico, started in a singles group at a new church and asked God to show me His will.

We had a camp out and I saw a really cute guy — reddish hair, beard, tall, great eyes, and he could sing. Several items on my list of desirable characteristics had just been checked. I flirted. He ignored me for seven months. Finally, I gave up on the cute guy. On Tuesday of the week I “gave up” on Mr. Gorgeous, he called and asked me on a date. He worked nights from 5 pm to 2 am and I worked days from 8 am to 5 pm. We “dated” on the phone during his dinner breaks at 10 pm and during my lunch break when he would bring me a picnic lunch. On the Saturdays that he was off, we went to tourist spots and got to know each other. Six weeks after our first date he asked me to marry him and six months later, I did.

Eleven months after the wedding, our oldest son, Nate, was born; seventeen months later, Phillip joined the family, and three years later we welcomed Ben.

I am exactly what I wanted to be — a wife and mom. I’ve been a wife for 27 years as of this week — and a mom for 26. It’s an amazing life; one for which I am truly grateful! I married the man of my dreams, our boys are men of character — and our daughter-in law is an amazing woman.

I am so incredibly blessed to have been given the desires of my heart.

Always the Mom…

On By mdannels3In Thinking about Family, Thinking about God, Thinking about LoveLeave a comment
The boys...oops, the men
The boys…oops, the men

My “boys” aren’t boys anymore — they are men. They range from 21 to 26 years of age.

I’ve always wanted our family to be close, and for the most part we are. Family is one of the things that I value highly. When we would leave the boys for a few hours — or a day or two, the last thing we would say was, “Remember, you love each other!” I know that my friends are precious and special and I am grateful for them. But family…they are my breath, my heart, they matter more than I can ever express.

One night last week I knew that one of our sons was struggling. Decisions needed to be made; provision needed to be found. As I went to bed, my heart was broken — I could barely breath because of my concern for the child I love. I began to pray. I prayed and prayed. This child, this man, was hurting and since I will always be the mom, I was hurting with him. I prayed some more. Suddenly, as if a light switch had been flipped to the on position, I was at peace. I prayed some more — this time thanking God for meeting the need in whatever way He chooses. I thanked Him for this young man and his brothers, for our daughter-in-love, for my amazing husband, and for our family.

Is my boy’s path clear? Are all of the questions answered? No. But I’m the mom and I will pray on.

After this amazing prayer time, a couple of days later we were at a restaurant — all six of us. Mr. Gorgeous and I, along with two of the kids, were having a grown-up, mature, adult-style conversation. Suddenly, my mom’s ears began to pick up the sound of discontent. (Moms — I know you get this!) I tuned out the adult conversation and began listening to the other end of the table. Really? Seriously? These young men were bickering and sniping. They sounded like they did when they were in elementary school! Since I’m the mom, I did the mom thing. I raised my hand in that classic “police officer traffic-must-stop” pose and using my best mom/teacher voice, I said, “That’s enough — we will not be doing this now!” I immediately turned away, back to the conversation I had originally been a part of. Our daughter looked at me, grinned, rolled her eyes, and shook her head. Yes, I’ll always be the mom.

From the highs to the lows — from birth to adulthood — that’s me. I’ll always be the mom. Honestly, next to being a child of the King and the wife of my best friend, being the mom is my favorite!

Holding Hands

On By mdannels3In Thinking about God, Thinking about Love2 Comments

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When my boys were small we held hands. I loved it when the boys would take turns holding hands with their daddy and me and they would swing between us! When I was dating Mr. Gorgeous we held hands. When our family prays together before a meal — even today — we hold hands.

The human touch. It is a blessing and a gift. Gary Chapman talks about love languages — one of them is touch. In our family of five, four of us have touch as either a primary or secondary love language. (The other son’s love language is quality time.) I love the fact that a simple touch can express acceptance, love, and caring, Let’s be honest, a touch can also be a negative thing, but that is a topic for another day.

Nearly twenty-seven years ago, Mr. Gorgeous and I became husband and wife. During the months we dated, we often held hands when we were walking, sitting, or praying — we still do. I remember when we talked about holding hands way back then; we decided that no matter how old we were, no matter how long we’d been married, no matter where or when — we would always hold hands. Those many years ago we didn’t know about love languages; but we did know that holding hands was comfortable and gave both of us a sense of security.

Twenty-seven years later, my favorite time to hold hands with my Mr. Gorgeous is when we are praying. God says that whenever two or more are gathered in His name, He is there in the midst of them. Holding hands during prayer reminds us that we have joined together in His name. Our marriage is being lived in His name and in His power. Our ministry is being accomplished in His name and in His power. Our prayer is prayed in His name, It’s hard to be angry at someone when you hold hands and pray together. Holding hands with someone when you are praying is one way of reminding yourself that you are together in His name and that nothing should come between you. He can heal the things that keep us apart. It is true, when a marriage
is built upon God and His principles — anytime you draw closer to God, you draw closer to each other. Hold hands when you pray — you really ought to try it!