Wednesday, March 24, 2021

Will? Won’t? Did? Didn’t? Have? Haven’t? Why? Why not? 2021 and the Vaccine Questions

Throughout history, people have been marked by society, both truthfully and fictionally. In Genesis 4:15 we are told that after Cain killed his brother Abel, “Then the Lord set a mark on Cain so that no one who found him would kill him.”  Scholars differ on what that mark may have been, and I’m not educated enough to wager a guess.  Samuel Hawthorne wrote”The Scarlet Letter” in 1850, describing a Puritan woman forced to wear a scarlet “A” as a permanent reminder of her having committed adultery.  In Nazi-occupied Europe, Jews were forced to wear a yellow star, mocking the Star of David, and making it easier to humiliate them, as well as to aid in finding them for deportation.  And, then there is Revelation 13:16-17, speaking of the “mark of the beast,”. “The beast forced all the people, small and great, rich and poor, slave and free, to have a mark placed on their right hands or on their foreheads. No one could buy or sell without this mark...” And again, I don’t want to get into a discussion of Revelation here, as I will be the first to admit I am not knowledgeable enough to do that.

But I have begun to wonder in recent days if that little card people are getting is becoming a mark, or rather those who don’t have the card are being “marked.”  And if you haven’t been on Facebook or seen the news or in general have avoided all public discussions of the Coronavirus vaccine (where have you been??), these little cards indicate that someone has had one, or both, or the only inoculation  necessary to mark them “safe.”  

In almost every situation in which I have found myself recently, whether with long-time friends, casual acquaintances, or even random phone conversations regarding a totally different topic (except the ones saying that my car warranty has expired!), the subject has come up. “Have you gotten your vaccine?” “Are you registered?” “Are you going to get it?” “Did you know you don’t have to be in the right “group” to get it if you go to XYZ pharmacy or drive to ABC town?” The list goes is endless, as everyone has a story.

As days have gone on, I find myself thinking more frequently that my health decisions are my own, and private — you’ve heard of HIPAA, I’m sure).  I don’t have to answer any of these questions, except perhaps with my close family members or medical providers.   For the record, yes, I have registered, but because of my age, I’m in one of the last groups to be called.  I’ve actually had people ask, “Well, you have underlying medical conditions, don’t you??” Um, I really don’t want to discuss my medical history and especially not my BMI with you! Why is that suddenly OK??

Will we get to the point that we chose our friends based on whether or not they are “card-carrying?” Will we take them at their word that they are, or will we want to actually SEE their card? Will places of business and workplaces and even churches decide they are open for card-carriers only? Might we only be able to buy and sell if we have “the mark,” the card?  Is this a violation of of health privacy?

As of today, I’m no longer answering the “vaccine questions”— again unless you’re a close family member or a medical professional.  Not to be rude, but it’s really no one's business except mine.  And when I get called, and decide to go to be vaccinated, I won’t be posting it on Facebook.  (Not criticizing all my Facebook friends who have; it’s just that I won’t.)

The last year has been frightening as we’ve navigated waters that most of our generations have never experienced, although polio and smallpox may have been as bad or worse.  The fears are real, and it’s been long and tiring.  Personally, we’ve lost two family members during the last 10 months, one to COVID, so I’m not oblivious to the reality of this virus.  My fear is that the worst is yet to come, as we start to “mark” the haves and the have nots.  May we all be healthy, safe, protected — and respectful.  

Sunday, January 3, 2021

Girls! Girls! Girls!

Boys.  We raised boys.  I know all about boys.  I know blocks, Legos, the names of ALL construction vehicles, the different levels of Little League and their ages, that boys wear multiple layers of clothes at all times, that they will wear almost any color dress pants as long as they are khaki or navy.  I know the difference between the American League and the Natuonal League, what inter-league play is, When the All-Star game is played, and have toured quite a few MLB stadiums.  I know what middle school boys smell like (it's not good), and that having deodorant and USING deodorant are two very different things.  I know that more dirt often comes off on the hand towel than goes down the drain.  And I know that little boys love their moms with a special kind of love, that I wouldn't trade for anything.

When we were expecting our first child, we didn't want to know the gender ahead of time, and we said we didn't care whether it was a boy or a girl, but I think we were both really excited that it was a boy-----and our choice of a girl name was awful, so I was especially relieved!  Six years later, big brother was adamant that he was having a baby brother, and we tried to find out the gender ahead of time, but to no avail.  When the doctor announced in the delivery room, "It's a boy!", I breathed a sigh of relief.  I could do this, I knew about boys.

I knew NOTHING about raising little girls. I'm not a girly-girl by any means, very low maintenance, not into makeup or manicures or shoes or shopping or dance or gymnastics.  I would have struggled raising girls, I'm sure.  When I was pregnant, I had maternity dresses that had ties on the sides, and Brian and I struggled figuring out how to tie the bows so that they weren't lopsided.  We taught 3-year-olds in Sunday School for years, and if a little girl came to us with her hair clip or bow in hand, we just had to say, "Put that in your cubby until your parents come back."  We sure didn't know how to get it back in her hair!

Fast forward 30+ years, and we've been blessed to add two daughters to our family, by way of our sons finding and marrying wonderful women. I’m so thankful for the Godly parents who raised these girls, and that they and our sons found each other.  They are building strong homes and families, and we are so proud of them.

Nine years ago this week we were awaiting the birth of our first grandchild - a granddaughter, no less!  To say we were excited would be an understatement, at the very least.  I had made her more hair bows than any one child could ever wear (I ended up donating a lot of them, because I had gone just a wee bit overboard.). I taught myself to smock, and made her a couple of things. We developed an eye for all things girl - clothes, dolls, pink Legos (PINK Legos???), ruffles, cute little hats, and those precious tiny baby shoes - and suddenly we were grandparents of a beautiful little girl who stole our hearts.  We dropped everything to babysit, we started the annual “Christmas Craft Sleepover at Pa and Granna’s,” Date Nights at the beach - we couldn’t imagine it getting any better.

But, as happens, she grew, she learned to walk, and to talk, and to say “Pa” and “Granna,” and every stage was better and better.  We collected pictures on our phones, stories on the tip of our tongues, and we could compete with any other grandparent who thought they had the world’s most amazing grandchild!

Almost three years later, sweet little girl had a baby sister, so we had another granddaughter! We got to have double the fun — learning new things as the older one grew, and reliving memories as the younger one became her own sweet little person.  Christmas Craft sleepovers were double the fun, we had “formal dinners,” complete with pearls (except Pa!), and we put on our best wedding attire when Prince Harry and Princess Meghan got married. We were really getting the hang of this girl stuff!  We go to softball games, and basketball, and gymnastics, and school programs - and we want everyone to know they are “ours”.

And now we’re exactly where we were 9 years ago this week - awaiting the birth of another grandchild, granddaughter #3! A completely new dynamic has been added as the first two can’t wait to have a first cousin. We can’t wait to meet this new little one and begin including her in the existing traditions, while adding new ones we haven’t even thought of yet.  It will be so much fun watching the older two with her - at 6 and 9 they are at great ages to interact with her, unlike their daddy who at 4 carried his first cousin across a room upside-down!

Someday, we just may have a boy in this mix of girls, and you know what? That would be great, too, and I’m sure trucks, and baseball cars, and mud would all come back to us instantly.  Grandchildren are a blessing, no matter the gender.

But for now, when is that granddaughter going to make her appearance? Granna’s arms are ready to hold her, and tell her about all the adventures we’re going to have!

Saturday, September 23, 2017

Counting by Tens

When I was One,
I had just begun.
When I was Two,
I was nearly new.
When I was Three
I was hardly me.
When I was Four,
I was not much more.
When I was Five, I was just alive.
But now I am Six, I'm as clever as clever,
So I think I'll be six now for ever and ever. --- A. A. Milne

Our granddaughter recently learned to count by 10's.  She can do it fast!  As I thought about my impending 60th birthday, I realized these years seem to have gone by just as fast, so maybe it would be interesting (for me at least) to look at the highlights of each 10 years.

0-10 -- Born. Lived in Richmond, VA, Wake Forest, NC, Burgaw, NC, and Irvington, VA.  Became a big sister, and again.  Started school, first grade (no preschool, no kindergarten), LOVED the fact that I could walk to school in Wake Forest.  Was a Brownie, and a Girl Scout. Became a Christian and was baptized. Started piano lessons.

11-20 -- Graduated high school, went to UR, so back to RVA.  First "jobs"---babysitting, lawn-mowing (not a favorite, but my brother needed a driver to get him to some of his jobs), school secretary in the summers during college, math tutor/homework helper, church organist (don't recall getting paid for that one!).  Learned to drive, loved driving my mom's Renault with 5-on-the-column!  Met a guy at college named Brian Lee. 

21-30 -- Graduated college, BS in Math. Went to work in the actuarial department at Home Beneficial Life Company. Had my first apartment, and drove a 1970 Plymouth Fury.  Married Brian Lee. Moved to Herndon, VA for about 6 months, then back to RVA. Went to work at Life Insurance Company of Virginia, actuarial department.  Bought our first house. Became a mom. 

31-40 -- Rebuilt our house after a fire. Became a mom again.  Worked as a church organist. Substitute taught preschool. Substitute Math teacher.  Became baseball fan, saw lots of MLB games and stadiums.  Vacations to Atlanta, Disney World, Lancaster, PA.  Learned to quilt.

41-50 -- Bought our second house, Midlothian, VA.  Had a child graduate from high school and college.  Vacations to New England, Toronto, Niagara Falls, Cooperstown, Kentucky, Disney World, Grand Canyon, Caribbean, Emerald Isle, NC. Always crafting.

51-60 -- Second child graduated high school and college, both graduated seminary. Bought our third house, Glen Allen, VA.  Gained a daughter! And again! Became Granna! And again! Went back to work fulltime, Baptist General Association of Virginia.  Watched both kids buy their first, and one a second, house.  Great traveling,  Colorado, Alaska, Key West, Cozumel, Acadia, Prince Edward Island, Quebec, Emerald Isle, Charleston, SC.  Got new knees.  Started the annual Christmas Craft Sleepover at Pa and Granna's.  

These are just some highlights----there have been 21,915 days to my life.  There have been fun moments, funny moments, sad moments, joyful moments.  It's impossible to capture them all in a few short lines, but it's been a great life so far!!  I'm blessed to have a great family.

So what will the 61-70 paragraph say?  Hopefully that I've retired, found lots of time for crafting, travelled, and made lots more great memories.

10, 20, 30, 40, 50, 60---Wow, that went fast.  But I still don't feel like a grown-up.























Sunday, December 11, 2016

Chicken Salad for my Heart and Soul

In January of 1984, I was due to deliver our first child at the local hospital.  For some reason it seemed that everyone I talked to mentioned that I would have to eat their chicken salad while I was there, because it was apparently amazing.  So, for weeks, as I packed my bag and anticipated the arrival of our baby, I practically was salivating as I waited to have this renowned sandwich.  In labor by 5:30 AM on the morning of the 23rd, excited over the (I thought) impending arrival of our little one, we left for the hospital.  Surviving over the next 18 hours with ice chips, even during the lunch hour when my husband went to the cafeteria and got, what else?---a chicken salad sandwich, everyone----everyone----promised me that no matter what time that baby finally arrived, they would get me the long-awaited sandwich.

Baby wasn't swayed at all by that promise, and after a long day trying every labor and delivery option available, he arrived at 11:02 PM via Caesarean section, and general anesthesia.  If you've ever had surgery, you know that means your first meal(s) are clear liquid.  Chicken broth. Red jello. Hot tea. Apple juice. Lemon Italian ice.  Next meal: Beef broth. Green jello.  Hot tea. Cranberry juice. Cherry Italian ice.  Five days in the hospital, and I never got my chicken salad sandwich.

Fast forward to March, 1990, and we're waiting for baby #2.  Scheduled Caesarean this time, so no empty promises of my sandwich being ordered right after delivery.  But this time I was only in the hospital three days, and it just wasn't long enough for the clear liquids to end and the hospital menu to offer chicken salad.

Over the next years, Brian has become quite the chicken salad chef at our house.  I boil the chicken, and he picks it.  Technically, he hand shreds it, which I think is the secret.  I add salt, pepper, chopped onion and celery, sometimes a dash of Old Bay, and just enough mayonnaise to hold it all together.  It's not unusual for me to boil 6 chicken breasts, so we enjoy Pa's World Famous Chicken Salad for several days, either on fresh white bread or seeded rye.

Baby #1 grew up, met and married a wonderful girl.  On our very first visit to the home of our co-in-laws ( that's really the official relationship, although we prefer 'close friends'), we discovered that co-mother-in-law makes an AMAZING chicken salad.  In the past 8 years, whenever we've gathered for showers, birthdays, house moves, or any other large or small event, I knew Cathy's World Famous Chicken Salad would make the day extra special-----and on those moving days  it was my incentive to keep working!  Hers is always served on tender croissants-----I can taste it now!

It's December, 2016, and 10 days ago I was admitted to a different local hospital for knee replacement surgery.  Things have change a lot in 30+ years, and I was barely out of surgery when I was brought a tray of REAL food (truth be told, I was looking forward to at least one of those clear liquid meals----at least for the Italian ice!). Much to my joy, as I perused the menu for the next day, what was available but a chicken salad sandwich!  Decision made!  It was delicious, and when they asked for my lunch order the following day, it was easy-----repeat!  Whole grain bread, perfect lunch.

Yesterday, to my surprise, co-mother-in-law came by with her sister (co-aunt-in-law?), bringing two kinds of soup, rolls, cookies, croissants and chicken salad!!!  I can't wait until lunch today----soup and sandwich and cookies!!!!  Yum.  I think chicken salad may be one of my love languages.

It's only 6:00 AM----wonder if that could be my breakfast??


Monday, November 28, 2016

THIS Week, NEXT Week



So THIS week has arrived, the week when I get new knees!  I've always had bad knees, creaking and cracking since I was a teenager. In more recent years, it's gotten harder to walk, to stand, to sit, to climb stairs----shoot, most of those are practically impossible now.  I've missed out on so many things the past few years, and my quality of life has been affected.  It's meant that  not only have I not gotten to do things, but often my husband has missed out as well, because he's chosen to stay with me rather than to go and do what his legs are strong enough to do.  Three weeks ago I bit the bullet and visited an orthopedist who agreed it was time, and scheduled my surgery for Friday.

I. CAN'T. WAIT.

When people find out I'm doing both knees, their first reaction is usually shock.  Then I explain my reasoning:


  • I was scarred by having my wisdom teeth removed over three different surgeries----I'm all for "one and done" now.
  • I know this is going to be hard, and I don't want to do one knee and then put off getting the second one done.
  • I don't want to miss two recovery periods from work.  Let's get this all done at once.


Several have asked, "Did you injure your knees? Did you play sports in school?" Oh, that is such a funny one!  Ask my brother, who once said as I was attempting to play tennis, that he was going to make a movie about un-coordination, starring me!  So no, no sports injuries.

I'm ready.  My bag for the hospital is about packed, I've been doing my pre-op exercises faithfully to strengthen my calves and quads, I have a borrowed walker, a GORGEOUS hot pink, roses-covered cane for when I'm progressing, a safety bar in the shower, a new shower mat so I don't fall, and a shower bench.  We had taller toilets installed (ahh, should have done that long ago!). I've  got projects ready and stored in a chest next to my chair so I'll have things to do, when PT isn't here 3 times a week!  I have books downloaded to my phone.

I'm ready.  As I sit here at 2:00 AM with a heating pad on my knees, as I have every night for the past several months, I look forward to sleeping pain-free.  I know that won't happen immediately, but from everything I've read and heard, the pain after surgery won't be IN my knees.  I should be able to feel a difference there immediately.  Of course there will be other pain from incisions, etc., but they have good meds for that.  The PT's will have me out of bed and trying to walk just a few hours post surgery, and I'm determined to do everything I can at every session.

This weekend we ran a bunch of errands to get ready.  We parked close to stores so I didn't have far to walk.  In some stores I stayed near the front while my husband went to find what we needed way in the back of the store.  I struggled to climb in and out of the car.  I strained to stand up from the pew in church.  But NEXT week....

Yeah, I know it won't all be better immediately.  I realize there's a lot of hard work ahead.  But my theme is now "NEXT week."  A while back, as our granddaughter was grasping the concept of time, anything that had happened previously was described as having taken place "LAST night."  So I'm adapting her phrase, changing it to "NEXT week," to account for all the things I'll be able to do with my new and improved knees.

Knees are mentioned a lot in the Bible, most often as "kneel before the Lord" or "fall on your knees"----just the thought hurts! (till NEXT week....). But I found several other references that fit:


Isaiah 35:3 Strengthen the feeble hands, steady the knees that give way;

Job 4:4 your words have supported those who stumbled; you have strengthened faltering knees.

My favorite life passage is Hebrews 12:1-2a:
Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles. And let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us, fixing our eyes on Jesus, the pioneer and perfecter of faith.

As I read further in that chapter tonight (this morning?), I found verses 11-13a:

No discipline seems pleasant at the time, but painful. Later on, however, it produces a harvest of righteousness and peace for those who have been trained by it.  Therefore, strengthen your feeble arms and weak knees. Make level paths for your feet.

I'm ready.  We've cleared paths, readied our house, and I'm focused on the discipline it will take, no matter how unpleasant.

See you NEXT week!









Sunday, September 7, 2014

Sandwich

We've all eaten them.  Simple concept, two slices of bread, and something in between.  The bread can be plain or fancy, loaf or rolls, white or wheat.  The insides can be anything-----from PBJ to whatever you can imagine.  Some sandwiches are small, some so thick you can barely squeeze them enough to get them in your mouth.  Some are crust less, or cut into quarters, or better yet, triangles-----PBJ triangle sandwiches just taste different, you know?  The key is, the sandwich isn't known by the bread, it's known by what's inside.  You never have a white bread sandwich-----you have a ham and cheese sandwich.  The bread is what holds it together, but the filling defines it.

Then there's the Sandwich  generation, which is a whole different concept.  I'm beginning to think it's all about the bread, and the filling is just what's stuck in the middle.  Right now, I'm the filling, but I sure don't feel like I'm the defining part.  On either side of me is a generation (or two), one with lots of needs, more than they've ever had in my lifetime, and one with not as many as they used to have, which redefines my relationship with both of them.  While society is telling me the benefits of being an empty nester, I'm learning that the truth is far from that.  True, no one else is living in my house except my husband and I, but between us we have 3 elderly parents with various needs, two sons, two daughters-in-law, one granddaughter and a soon to arrive second granddaughter.

The older generation has needs, and we're the ones designated to meet those needs.  Memories are failing, driving skills aren't what they used to be, doctors appointments have to be made, paperwork needs to be done, decisions have to be made, sudden events happen which require is to drop everything and go.  So there are all of these "have to" things going on, and at the same time there are the just "we need to" visits to arrange.  We manage to plan a visit, honestly, sometimes out of guilt and nothing else, only to be met by "we can't remember the last time we saw you" or "when will you come again"?  In with guilt, out with guilt.  Great visit.

At the same time, our kids are living their own lives, taking care of themselves/wives/families, independently, as they should.  But we find ourselves wishing for more time with them, wanting to know what they're doing, how their lives are going, what their dreams are, what their stresses are, what joys or hardships they are experiencing.  But because we feel so much guilt coming from the 'other side' of the sandwich, we don't want to put our children in the same place that we feel, and we therefore err on the side of staying away, seeming uninterested, so as not to put them in the position that we feel of the "you need to/should/ought to," which isn't the message we want to convey to them at all.  And then we end of feeling out of touch with them, which just makes us sad.

There ought to be a way to balance this sandwich.  I feel like it's one of those where the bread keeps sliding off with the tomato, until you're down to nothing but the filling, except in our case, the filling is sliding away and there's going to be nothing left to give to either half of the sandwich.  And once the filling is off the bread, it's usually pretty unappetizing, lying on the plate.  

I want to have my sandwich, and eat it, too.






































Wednesday, July 24, 2013

Crap and Stuff

First of all, apologies if you are offended by my use of the word crap!

So, we moved.  Everything.  All of it.  Sorted it, packed it, loaded it, stored it, unloaded it, unpacked it, and (for the most part) placed it.  Every single thing we owned.  Every one.  My mind had been boggled for some time over the fact that literally everything we owned had to be picked up and moved.  Think about it!  Of course there's the furniture, and the dishes, and the clothes-----but what about every pen, every paper clip, every piece of paper?  They have to be moved, every one of them.  Ugh.

I planned for this.  Every detail (I thought).  I orchestrated packing, and Goodwill, and trash events.  I figured out a labeling system for the boxes---hot pink duct tape, which just happened to be on the "hurricane preparedness tax-free weekend" when we bought it.  I found a website for room arrangements, so I could decide in advance where everything was to go.  I designated two closets at the old house for stuff that we would need in the interim, and would travel with us in the cars.  I got bottled water for the movers.  I had lists, and files, and folders, real and virtual, of all the details.  I was ready.

Then the truck showed up.  Seemed small to me, but they assured me their best packer was up to the task.  Wasn't long before they were agreeing with me.  They had anticipated our having about 75-100 boxes to move, and we had about 225.  Hmm.  So they had to call for another truck.  Does that scream, "We have too much stuff!!!", or not???   That's a lot of stuff.  Do you have any idea how much stuff is in 225 boxes???

When our first house burned in 1988, I remember being somewhat in shock, but trying to not overwhelm a 4-year-old.  For months he had been saying, "I'm afraid we'll have a fire," and we had always assured him we didn't think that would happen, but "if it did, the firemen would come and we'd be fine."  As I tucked him into a bed in my brother's house that first night, while the firefighters  were still on the scene fighting our fire, I told him that the important thing was that all the people were fine, and that we could get more "stuff."    In the weeks that followed that night, we spent a lot of time cleaning stuff, looking for stuff, crying over stuff, remembering stuff, buying stuff, missing stuff, replacing stuff----but all the while realizing it was JUST stuff.

Years later, we were moving from that house to our just-moved-away-from house, and in anticipation of that move, I wondered out loud if we would be happy.  I said to Cameron, "What if we don't like it there?  What if it doesn't feel like home?", to which he replied, "It WILL be home----we're taking all of our crap!" 

A week ago today, the movers arrived at our new house with both truckloads of stuff, and to be honest, probably a lot of crap.  But it's our stuff, our crap.  As the boxes and furniture piled higher and wider in each room, I wondered if it would ever feel like home, but once they left, we started to tackle it, box by box, room by room.  At times, we approached a box, hoping and praying there would only be a couple of large items in it, rather than a box full of knick-knacks.  At other times, it was like Christmas, finding things that had been packed away for months, and that we had forgotten we had.  But all the while, I kept wondering, "Why do we have so much stuff?" 

A friend once visited our house, and commented that she always loved the way everything in our house has significance.  I often think of that, and she's right about a lot of it.  We have wooden things my grandfather made, oil paint-by-numbers that several grandparents did, quilts made by Brian's grandmother, a collage of leaves from trees we planted in our first yard, a print of a piece of artwork made by Aaron's 8th grade class, another print of Grateful Hill Baptist Church in Jamaica, where Aaron took refuge during Hurricane Emily.  We have a printer's tray, full of tiny keepsakes, all of which had significance at some point, although for some of them that significance is forgotten.  There's the Snoopy from a pair of sunglasses that spent many months lodged in the cassette player in my car----wondered why tapes wouldn't go in.  There are the bells off of both boys toddler shoes, both sets of tubes from Aaron's ears (the Tube Fairy was kind enough to let us keep them!), the plug from the TV that Aaron cut off with scissors as a 3-year-old, a keychain Brian gave me the first year we were dating----lots of memories. 

So yes, my friend is probably right, most everything has significance.  And as we've found new places for it to reside in this latest move, we've reminisced about that significance.  I have managed to come up with one box (so far) of 'this isn't all that significant any more, or at least I can't remember why it was' that we can pass on, but the rest of it stays.  (Sorry kids, someday you'll have to sort it all out!)

So, it might be stuff to you, or even crap, but it's our stuff, and our crap, and it's our house, and that stuff and that crap make it our home, and fill it with memories.  And I'm just going to go out on a limb here, and guess that we're going to add more stuff, more crap, as the years go on----and we're OK with that. 

Come see us----we'll tell you the story behind all our crap and stuff!!

Ecclesiastes 5:18-20

New International Version (NIV)

18 This is what I have observed to be good: that it is appropriate for a person to eat, to drink and to find satisfaction in their toilsome labor under the sun during the few days of life God has given them—for this is their lot.19 Moreover, when God gives someone wealth and possessions, and the ability to enjoy them, to accept their lotand be happy in their toil—this is a gift of God. 20 They seldom reflect on the days of their life, because God keeps them occupied with gladness of heart.



Monday, July 15, 2013

Who Are "They"?

So, like I said, we decided a few months ago to sell our house.  It was---and wasn't---a quick or an easy decision, but now, 4 months down the road, one house is sold, and within 12  hours we will be in our new one.

What a ride.  The time between a casual discussion over dinner of "what would it take to renovate this kitchen" to "we need to downsize, find a maintenance free house, first floor master" was less than 24 hours.  Then the initial thought of "we should talk to a realtor to find out what we need to do in----say----the next year to be ready to move" turned into trips to Lowe's, Goodwill, the attic, inspectors, repairs, and oh, by the way, wondering where in the world we were going to live!

Our realtor spent about 3 hours with us, telling us what we needed to do to put the house on the market.  Everything was built around a target buyer, in the 35-42 year old age range.  He told us "they" like Crate and Barrel, Pottery Barn, clean lines, little color, modern, utilitarian, simple, lots of wood.  Hmmm.  Our house was more like Target, JCPenny, rounded corners, Williamsburg Blue, antique, functional, historical and meaningful, nostalgic----and with rugs to protect those wood floors.  So we changed everything for "them".  Rugs rolled up, banned  to the attic.  Cleared---"edited," he called it----all the personal stuff.  Excess furniture stored or donated.  Brass fixtures changed to brushed nickel or stainless.  Glass globes changed to alabaster---white, not the yellow ("they" don't like the yellow). Red flowers on the patio ("they" like red).  The list went on.  It took 6 weeks, but we got it on the market, right down to a cookbook on the counter, turned to an Italian dish recipe, because "they" were going to want to cook dinner in that home.   We put a bowl---not a basket, because "they" wouldn't like that---of lemons on the kitchen table, so "they" could imagine eating healthy there.  We left an open textbook on Cameron's desk, so that "they" would be able to imagine their children becoming great students, and getting into great colleges.  We hid tissues so "they" wouldn't imagine having a cold, plungers so "they" wouldn't have to think about those kinds of problems, and even the kitchen trash can, because "they" wouldn't want to see that.  We joked about it----"don't leave that out---'they' don't like that," or "Did you put the clothes in the washer?  'They' don't like dirty clothes."  Honestly, after all the work we did to get it ready for "them," we had a hard time feeling any fondness for the imagined "them."

But then it was listed.  "Lovely Colonial home, great location, excellent school district.  "They" didn't like it.  "They" wanted a transitional, open floor plan.  Then why did you come look at a colonial?  "They" didn't like hearing traffic on the nearby road.  "They" thought lights from cars entering the neighborhood might bother them.  We began to wonder if the right "they" even existed, but after 5 weeks, "they" arrived.  Two visits, and we had an offer.  

So who are "they"?  Do "they" fit the expected demographic?  From what we understand, yes.   We hope "they" will be very happy here, raising a family, and making memories, turning it from a house "they" bought, into their home.

And, I wonder what "they" think of us?  The house was so staged, it didn't look lived in.  There were no towels in the bathroom, no toiletries on the sink.  No dishes in the kitchen sink.  No mail on the counter.  No laundry baskets.  There was next to nothing that said, "a real family lives here, does normal, everyday stuff.  Nothing.  It was sterile.  We cleaned every night, tidied every morning, just for "them"----and I wonder if "they" even realized it, or if "they" thought we were terribly blah and boring.  Interesting thought.  What of our style was unlikeable by "them"?  Was there anything "they" did like?  Can't help but wonder.  It was our home, and now "they" have the chance to make it "their" home.  We wish "them" well.

Then I stop and wonder about the house we are buying.  Who was the target market?  Do we fit the demographic? We know in at least one way we do, since its a 55 and over neighborhood----well, one of us does, at least.  All that matters is that we know its what we were looking for, and we want to make it our home, so we are the right "them."

We have met the enemy, and he is us.

Psalm 71:18
Even when I am old and gray, do not forsake me, my God, till I declare your power to the next generation, your mighty acts to all who are to come.


Monday, July 1, 2013

What's next?

So where do we go from here?  We sold our house, and suddenly it was critical to figure out our next step.  We had narrowed down the neighborhood we liked, but there were very few houses coming available.  We had tried other areas, but nothing else felt right, so we decided to just wait.  This is likely to be the last house we buy before moving to "The Home," so we didn't want to settle. 

So let's talk about our homes thus far.  Our first was an apartment, and we weren't the only residents.  Edgar also lived with us.   He was there so much, we named him.  We don't know who or what he was, but he liked peanuts, and on one occasion we came home to find that all of our plants had been pulled up by the roots and were GONE.  Just dirt remained, all over the floor around the pots, but Edgar had, for whatever purpose, taken every plant.  We also were joined by lots of roaches----and I mean lots.  We were thrilled to leave there about 5 months.

Apartment #2 had different "features."  On day one, we discovered that a plumber had taken a shortcut with a pipe and just soldered over a leak, so that water ran down the pipe, through the floor, and into the kitchen light fixture.  Didn't take long for that glass globe to fill and crash to the floor.  Hello, maintenance?  Winters in that apartment were breezy----you could lay in bed at night and watch the curtains move from air leaks.  My father-in-law spent one night with us, and every time he walked past the thermostat, he bumped it up a little higher.  Not that it helped!

And then we bought/built our first house.  It was only a foundation when we saw it, but we fell in love with it.  A Cape Cod, two bedrooms and two baths, with an unfinished attic.  Oh, the memories we made there.  We brought both of our babies home to that house, and lived there 22 years.   Had some of the world's very best neighbors.  Part of the memory of that house wasn't pleasant, but bonded it to us nonetheless.  Six years after we bought it, and with a four-year-old, it was struck by lightning and destroyed by fire.  We stood and watched as the firefighters did everything they could to save what they could, and we spent the next 4 days sifting through the remains to salvage any pieces of our past that we could.  Friends stood by us, worked alongside us, and helped us through those horrible days.  As the months passed, we watched the house be rebuilt, with changes that made it different, yet better.  And we returned---home again.  Changed, the house and us, forever.

But we outgrew it.  It was oh-so-hard when we decided to leave there----for all of us.  But it was time.  Only moved 3 miles away, but it may as well have been across country.  We've tried to put our stamp on it, making it ours, but as I look back now, I'm not sure it has ever really been  "home."  Maybe because by the time we bought it one son was in college, and one left for college a few years later.  It just hasn't had the family memories that the first house did, or at least not for me.  And because of that it will be much easier to leave it.

We found a house.  Loved, loved, loved it,  but the timing wasn't right.  We hadn't sold ours, so we couldn't buy one.  We left that showing feeling frustrated, knowing we would have made an offer if only ours had sold.  But that house had a contract on it the very same night.  After that, everything paled in comparison.  Soon, we got an offer on ours, and found an apartment we could move to for a short-term.  We started making plans---what would go to the 1090 square foot apartment, what would go to storage.  Truth be told, we were kind of excited about the move to the apartment.  We could live simply, not bogged down with stuff, and responsibilities.  We could go to the pool, walk to the mall----we felt relaxed just thinking about it, after all the months of staging, and selling, and searching. 

But then, much to our surprise, that house we had seen and loved came back on the market.  On a Friday night.  We wrote an offer on Saturday, and by 8:00 AM Monday we had a deal.  Five and a half weeks to pack and move all of our past to our future.  More trips to Goodwill, checking with our kids to see what they wanted, sales on ebay, searches for boxes.  More boxes.  And more boxes.  Truly, we have a lot of stuff. 

It's exciting.  This time, it's just the two of us.  Our kids are married and settled, or on the verge of married and settled within a few months.  It's like we're starting over, in a way, but different than it was 33 years ago.   We are looking forward to having someone else cut the grass and clear the snow.  I'm especially looking forward to having a first floor bedroom, and not having to carry laundry up and down the stairs.  We're having fun thinking about where furniture will go, and what colors we might paint different rooms, and can we put a tile backsplash in the kitchen on our own.  We are looking forward to big family meals and Christmas Craft Sleepovers with Pa and Granna.  There are memories to be made, and we have a clean slate to create them in. 

It will be different, but it will be good.  We're older and wiser, we've been through a lot, we have lots of memories.  But we're ready for this next step.  I'm reminded of how Dr. David Burhans started our wedding ceremony, from the book of Ruth:

Where you go I will go, and where you stay I will stay. Your people will be my people and your God my God.  (Ruth 1:16)

God has cared for us through thick and thin, good and bad, and that won't change.  No need to worry about tomorrow, he's already got it in His hands. 

Matthew 6:25-34
 “Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or drink; or about your body, what you will wear. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothes?  Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable than they? Can any one of you by worrying add a single hour to your life? “And why do you worry about clothes? See how the flowers of the field grow. They do not labor or spin.  Yet I tell you that not even Solomon in all his splendor was dressed like one of these.  If that is how God clothes the grass of the field, which is here today and tomorrow is thrown into the fire, will he not much more clothe you—you of little faith?  So do not worry, saying, ‘What shall we eat?’ or ‘What shall we drink?’ or ‘What shall we wear?’  For the pagans run after all these things, and your heavenly Father knows that you need them.  But seek first his kingdom and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well.  Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own.

Let's do this!  Let the adventure begin!

Tuesday, October 16, 2012

AISLE

AISLE

First of all, that’s one of those funny-looking words, once you write it.  Three-fifths of it is vowels, two of them silent.  You really could get by with “ile”-----don’t you love English?!?!?

I’ve been thinking about this word lately.  It started a few years ago, listening to a news story out of Washington, talking about Congress.  You’ve heard similar stories many times, how legislation gets bogged down when Congressmen can’t agree, and there is no cooperation “across the aisle.”  Cameron sagely replied, “They need to get rid of the aisle.”

Interesting word.  There are aisles in churches, aisles in theaters, aisle in grocery stories.  In Walmart they put displays of bargains in the center of the aisle.  People walk down the aisle, people are rolling in aisles.  Wiktionary (just learned Wikipedia had that resource) lists these definitions:

  1. A clear path through rows of seating.
  2. A clear corridor in a supermarket with shelves on both sides containing goods for sale.
  3. Any path through an otherwise obstructed space.
I wonder about the word itself.  So similar to “isle”, which implies isolated, alone, surrounded by a barrier.  Could it be that A-isle is the opposite?  Anti-isle?  Together, in a group, not isolated?  Can’t prove any of that from the limited research I’ve done, but makes me wonder.

So, anyway, back to Congress-----they really do seem to do most everything depending on which side of the aisle they are on.  Democrats vote one way, Republicans vote another.  Which one will “win” the House or the Senate?  Will the President be from the same party as the one that wins?  The message is clear-----nothing is going to happen unless everyone is on/from the same side of the aisle.

And this Presidential-election year, I’m more in tune than ever to the messages I’m receiving about how I should vote.  ESPECIALLY from well-meaning Christians.  I mean, either it’s “how can a Christian vote for anyone but a Republican----I mean, we all KNOW, that’s the Christian party…..” or “Jesus would vote Democrat, because He CARED about people.”  ARRGGGH!!  I’m sticking to my usual plan, and no one will know who I’m voting for-----keeps me out of a lot of awkward conversations, from people who feel it is their responsibility to change my “wrong thinking”.

I keep saying I need a third candidate, another choice.  In multiple races.  Two choices isn’t enough.  It’s not black and white, it’s gray.  It’s not right or left, it’s more in the middle.  It’s not Democrat or Republican, it’s middle-of-the-road.  And if Wiktionary is right, it’s definitely “clearer” in the aisle, where there are no obstructions.

Yep, Cameron’s right.  I’m voting for the aisle.

Monday, May 7, 2012

SET YOUR MIND


Our boys have loved baseball for as long as I can remember.  One was an Orioles fan, one was a Braves fan.  (I thought we were really smart encouraging that, so that they’d each have different interests, and their teams would never compete against each other-----THEN inter-league play began…..).  They played Little League.   They played whiffle ball in the back yard, and hit tennis balls out in the street, practiced pitching with a pitch-back in the back-yard.  We went to college games, minor-league games, MLB games.  We toured stadiums.  We waited after games until the wee hours, hoping to get autographs---sometimes we did, sometimes we didn’t.  We went to baseball card shows, they collected baseball cards, sorted baseball cards, categorized baseball cards, counted baseball cards.  We spent one whole summer with Aaron putting his cards into binders, and dictating the player, the year, the card brand, and the book, page and position number where he was filing the card, and I typed them into a spreadsheet.  (Am I a good mom or what?).  Cameron even sang the National Anthem at an Orioles game with our church youth choir.  Our vacations ALWAYS included something related to baseball-----one trip was planned around the Louisville Slugger Bat Factory and a Cincinnati Reds game, where it was 107 degrees at game time; one trip involved going to Toronto to see the Blue Jays play (they just happened to be playing the Orioles) and then to the Hall of Fame in Cooperstown.   We went to BankOne ballpark in Phoenix (they have a pool in the outfield!---more importantly in Phoenix in the summer, they have a roof and air-conditioning!)  We went to Oriole Park, we went to Turner Field.  We toured Fenway during a blackout on one of the hottest days Boston had ever experienced.    While every trip included baseball, it was not totally about baseball-----we saw Niagara Falls, the Grand Canyon, Pleasant Hill Shaker Plantation in Kentucky, Stone Mountain, Mount Washington, NH----we had great trips. 

One of my very favorite baseball memories is of Cameron at about age 7----he had a game, and I took him to the field, but we arrived before anyone else was there.  He decided to “warm up”, and started pretending he was batting, and then running the bases.  I cannot describe to you how funny it was to watch him get caught in a run down between second and third-----he eventually managed to get to 3rd safely, but those imaginary fielders gave him quite a challenge, back and forth, back and forth----there were some very close calls! 

Both boys went to baseball camp at UR.  It’s a week-long camp, where they work on basic skills every morning and then play games all afternoon----in June or July----in Richmond.  It was always dreadfully hot.  There are all sorts of competitions between the campers, and it all ends with a big awards ceremony on Friday afternoon.  Three trophies are awarded-----Best hitter in the camp, Most Improved Player (over the course of the week), and Mr. Hustle, for the player who gave everything he had all week long.

Before Cameron was old enough to go, we would be there on Aaron’s last day of camp, and Cameron eyed those trophies.  The first year Cameron went as a camper, he eyed those trophies some more.  For the next year, he talked about them.  He wanted one BAD.  He was only about 9 or 10, so he didn’t think he could win Best Hitter, since there were 17 year-olds competing as well.  He talked about Most Improved, and joked that if he acted on Monday as if he didn’t understand the game at all, and then by Friday was showing what he could do, he could win that one (I’ve told you Cameron has a sense of humor!).  But Mr. Hustle----he really thought he had a chance at that one. 

It was hot that week.  Really hot.  Miserably hot.  Humid-hot like Richmond in the summer.  And they spent about 6 hours in the heat every day.  After the morning session, they’d go to the dining hall for lunch, (don’t you know it smelled ripe in there with 300 sweaty boys?!?!), then head back out into the heat to spend the next 3 hours playing.  Every afternoon on the way home, Cameron talked about that trophy.  By Thursday, most of our neighbors had heard about it, and everyone knew that he was confident he was going to win it.  We were ALL worried----what would we say to him when he wasn’t named Mr. Hustle?

On Friday afternoon, I went to the closing ceremony.  When I got there, Cameron came over and gave me an autographed  baseball card that his coach for the week had given him, because the coach told him that he was Mr. Hustle for their team.  I thought that was really nice, that at least coach had noticed that Cameron had really worked hard all week.

So, they went thru all the awards.  A coach got up and made a speech about the competitions involving hitting, and awarded the Best Hitter trophy to a camper on his team.  Another coach got up and named one of his players as the Most Improved player of the whole camp.  And then, much to my surprise----Cameron’s coach walked to the table, picked up the Mr. Hustle trophy, and began talking about a player who gave everything he had all week long, who never complained, never needed a break, was always ready to help, ran to the next event when others were walking-----and then he called Cameron’s name.  And Cameron, who had set his sights on that trophy long before the week ever started, confidently  walked up and claimed it, just like he had known he would.

We all felt like we owed him an apology----we hadn’t believed that he could do it, that he could stand out among 300 campers.  And then Cameron said, “You know, Mom, it was really hard sometimes, but I just kept going.”

What if we all approached life that way?  What if we set our sights on a goal, and gave it everything we had until we achieved that goal?  What if, when it got really hard, we kept going?  What is your goal?  Are you planning on reaching it?  Are you counting on it?  Telling everyone about it?  Confidently?  Are you giving it everything you have?  All the time?  Even when it’s hard, when it’s hot, when it’s not fun?   What is your ultimate goal? 

Matthew 6:

19 “Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moths and vermin destroy, and where thieves break in and steal. 20 But store up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where moths and vermin do not destroy, and where thieves do not break in and steal. 21 For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.

Colossians 3


 1 Since, then, you have been raised with Christ, set your hearts on things above, where Christ is, seated at the right hand of God. 2 Set your minds on things above, not on earthly things. 3 For you died, and your life is now hidden with Christ in God. 4 When Christ, who is your[a] life, appears, then you also will appear with him in glory.

Monday, April 23, 2012

At Arby's Again

In the early 1980's, we were new homeowners, both employed at decent jobs, involved in our church, with no children yet. Somehow we got into the habit of going to Arby's on Sunday nights after church. Honestly, I don't remember much about those dinners, except for one odd thing. There were on each table the standard generic plastic bottles, you know the type where the red squirt bottle was for ketchup and the yellow one for mustard? Well, at that particular Arby's, the ketchup in those bottles was very sour, as if it had fermented. So each week we asked for packets of ketchup, to which we were always told that there was ketchup on the table. Week after we week we had to explain that the ketchup in those bottles was sour---still not sure why no one else apparently noticed that. Anyway, that's not my point here, just a random memory.

We didn't continue that Sunday night Arby's habit once we started our family. In the ensuing years, we raised two kids----how do you adequately summarize what that exactly means? Preschool, elementary, middle, high, college, etc., ball games, doctor's visits, and more. There were jobs and job changes, vacations, home improvements, home sale, home purchase, new nieces and nephews and in-laws, parents moving----in short, life. Lots and lots of great memories.

And the next thing you know, 30 years have gone by. We've seen one child get married, earn his master's degree, and become a father. The second child is about to earn his bachelor's and start grad school. We are so very proud of them---they have defined our lives, our success, although I'm sure society would say that we have that all wrong.

Anyway, now we are grandparents, which is just the icing on the cake. Better than anyone ever made us believe. It is the best. Now our Sunday nights are reserved for little Miss T, whose smile just lights up our world. Hard to wish away a weekend, but we sure look forward to Sunday nights, and hope we get to enjoy this opportunity for a very long time.

Back to Arby's. On our way home almost every week, we stop for dinner. It varies as to where, but more often than not it seems to end up being Arby's. And in some odd way, I find it to be a very reflective time. A chance to think once again on the young, naive, couple with no responsibilities we were in 1982, to the parents and grandparents we are today.

We are truly blessed.

(and as an added bonus, they have Heinz bottles of ketchup on the tables at this Arby's, and it tastes just fine!)

Psalm 127:3 Children are a heritage from the LORD, offspring a reward from him. (NIV)

Saturday, March 17, 2012

March Madness, Lee Version

We've been rather completely absorbed this weekend in March Madness, although it isn't quite the same without the Spiders in the tournament.  Over the years they have made some great "Cinderella" appearances, and made it to the Sweet 16 round in 2011.  They even got good airtime yesterday as the commentators, on the heels of Norfolk States's win, reviewed the very first time a 15th seed beat a 2nd seed, when Richmond beat Syracuse in 1991.  UR is the only team to win NCAA tournament games as a 12, 13, 14, and 15 seed.  There have been some fun games over the years, just not this year.  Oh well, there's always next season.

So we made our own madness.  When we were shopping for this house in 2004, tops on my list of "must haves" was a big dining room.  I've always had an aversion to holiday events where everyone couldn't eat together in the same room.  Must go back to some childhood trauma of having to eat at the kid's table in the kitchen, or something.  Anyway, that was my goal---a big enough dining room.  Not that I'm a great hostess, but we usually have family and some friends, usually UR students, for Easter dinner, and often host Thanksgiving and Christmas dinner at our house.  Years ago, that meant 5-7 people, but if all of my side of the family came today, that would be 15, Brian's family 13.

Well, needless to say, our dining room isn't big enough. I've tried being creative by adding a 6-foot folding table somewhere close to the dining room table, but I've found that even parallel, you really can't get more than 10-12 people SQUEEZED into the dining room.  We've tried an "L" shape, adding a card table, a sofa table from the hall----none of the options worked.  At Christmas we had all of my family for my mom's birtdhay celebration, and the overflow table was in the living room.  It just didn't work for me.

Right after that, a good friend stopped by, and was talking about how she had turned her dining room into a playroom for her grandchildren, and moved her dining room furniture to the living room.  A light bulb went on for me.  It could work, but I would have to convince Brian.  You see, for him, the intention of the room is what it is----and shouldn't be changed.  And there was a chandelier in the dining room, no ceiling fixture in the living room.  There were pros, there were cons.  But the deciding factor for him was when I pointed out that if you greeted a guest at our front door, you had to ask them to step inside, then close the door so that they could go left into the living room, while the dining room to the right was completely accessible.  Bad design?  Maybe, but the traffic flow just didn't work for welcoming anyone.

So, with Easter just a few weeks away, last night we did it.  The living room is now the dining room, and the dining room is now the living room.  We still have to move pictures, swap mirrors, and fill in a few empty spots, but it works.  The new living room/old dining room looks inviting, and to the scale that our furniture fits.  The new dining room?  I honestly think that end to end I could have our dining room table, and our kitchen table, and a 6-foot folding table.  That's a minimum of 18-20 people that could fit in there!  It's big, almost cavernous for the furniture we have, but we'll be able to have everyone eat together for Easter, which will make me very, very happy.  It really doesn't take much.

Saturday, February 4, 2012

Clouds

In June of 2005, our son Aaron spent a week serving on a mission project in the state, and returned home on a Saturday.  The following Wednesday he was leaving for a week in the Bahamas on another project, and then on to Jamaica to work at a Baptist camp for 5 weeks.  His airline tickets had arrived while he was with away for the week, but I had verified that he had his tickets from Richmond to Ft. Lauderdale, Ft. Lauderdale to Bahamas, Bahamas to Ft. Lauderdale, Ft. Lauderdale to Jamaica, Jamaica to Ft. Lauderdale, and Ft. Lauderdale to Richmond.  His dad and brother were on a church mission trip in Atlanta that week, so it fell my responsibility to get him to the airport for an EARLY flight. 

We left home about 3:30 AM, and let’s just say, I was decent, but not dressed for anything but dropping him off at the curb at the airport, because I was going to go home and back to bed.

Before we even got in the car, I made him show me his tickets for both trips and his passport----he had everything.  As he drove along in the dark, I commented, “Well, today is your cousin Sarah’s 15th birthday.”  He looked at me, and said, “What is today’s date?”  “The 29th,” I answered, to which he replied, “My tickets are dated the 28th.”
 
I thought he was kidding, but sure enough, they were for the day before.  And because the limit on his credit card wasn’t very high, I knew he couldn’t pay any additional charges to change the ticket, so, dressed as I was in sweats and with ‘bedhead’, I had to go inside the airport.  For something like $282 we got the tickets changed (Cameron likes to say Aaron was a day late and $282 short), he got to the Bahamas, and somehow managed to catch up with the people who probably were waiting for him the day before!

A week later, he headed to Jamaica, at exactly the same time as Hurricane Dennis.   Seriously, the arrival time was the same.  In fact, as I tried to track the flight, I got “No information on this flight”----which was a little unnerving; no it was very unnerving.   However, they arrived safely, managed to get to the camp, and waited out Dennis.  Exactly one week later, Hurricane Emily decided to pay a visit as well, and they actually had to evacuate the camp.   During those times, as we waited for word that they were safe, I vividly remember the hymn, “Till the Storm Passes Over” running through my head over and over again.

On to the point----as Aaron left home I gave him a card, with this Scripture written inside, as a prayer of protection from the sun and the elements while spending most of the summer in the tropics:


Isaiah 4:5-6
Then the LORD will create over all of Mount Zion and over those who assemble there a cloud of smoke by day and a glow of flaming fire by night; over all the glory will be a canopy. It will be a shelter and shade from the heat of the day, and a refuge and hiding place from the storm and rain.
 (I had no idea how providential that choice was!)

I later began to think of how many times “clouds” appear in the Bible:

Genesis 9:13
I have set my rainbow in the clouds, and it will be the sign of the covenant between me and the earth.


Exodus 13:21-22
By day the LORD went ahead of them in a pillar of cloud to guide them on their way and by night in a pillar of fire to give them light, so that they could travel by day or night.  Neither the pillar of cloud by day nor the pillar of fire by night left its place in front of the people.


Exodus 19:9
The LORD said to Moses, "I am going to come to you in a dense cloud, so that the people will hear me speaking with you and will always put their trust in you." Then Moses told the LORD what the people had said.


1 Kings 8:10-12 (after the ark of the covenant was taken into Solomon’s temple)
 When the priests withdrew from the Holy Place, [a] cloud filled the temple of the LORD. And the priests could not perform their service because of the cloud, for the glory of the LORD filled his temple.

 Then Solomon said, "The LORD has said that he would dwell in a dark cloud; I have indeed built a magnificent temple for you, a place for you to dwell forever."

Psalm 147:8
He covers the sky with clouds; he supplies the earth with rain and makes grass grow on the hills.


Isaiah 44:22
I have swept away your offenses like a cloud, your sins like the morning mist. Return to me, for I have redeemed you."


Matthew 17:5
While he was still speaking, a bright cloud enveloped them, and a voice from the cloud said, "This is my Son, whom I love; with him I am well pleased. Listen to him!"


Matthew 26:64
"Yes, it is as you say," Jesus replied. "But I say to all of you: In the future you will see the Son of Man sitting at the right hand of the Mighty One and coming on the clouds of heaven."


1 Thessalonians 4:17
After that, we who are still alive and are left will be caught up together with them in the clouds to meet the Lord in the air. And so we will be with the Lord forever.


Hebrews 12:1
Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles, and let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us.


So often we think of clouds as a negative thing, “It’s such a gray, cloudy, day,” or,   “I feel like I have a huge dark cloud hanging over me.”  I encourage you, the next time you feel like that, remember, God is in the clouds, providing shelter, and shade, and refuge and a hiding place.  And as we all know from flying, just above the clouds, the sun is shining.
 
At the end of the summer, Aaron returned safely home from Jamaica with a gift for us----a print of the church that provided them with a place to stay when they had to evacuate the camp.  The church is aptly named, Grateful Hill Baptist Church.  It hangs in our front hallway, a constant reminder of God’s provision in the midst of a storm.



TILL THE STORM PASSES BY
(Mosie Lister)
 
In the dark of the midnight have I oft hid my face,
While the storm howls above me, and there's no hiding place.
'Mid the crash of the thunder, Precious Lord, hear my cry,
Keep me safe till the storm passes by.
 
Chorus
Till the storm passes over, till the thunder sounds no more,
Till the clouds roll forever from the sky;
Hold me fast, let me stand in the hollow of Thy hand,
Keep me safe till the storm passes by.
 
Many times Satan whispered, "There is no need to try,
For there's no end of sorrow, there's no hope by and by"
But I know Thou art with me, and tomorrow I'll rise
Where the storms never darken the skies.
 
Chorus
Till the storm passes over, till the thunder sounds no more,
Till the clouds roll forever from the sky;
Hold me fast, let me stand in the hollow of Thy hand,
Keep me safe till the storm passes by.
 
When the long night has ended and the storms come no more,
Let me stand in Thy presence on the bright peaceful shore;
In that land where the tempest, never comes, Lord, may I
Dwell with Thee when the storm passes by.
 
Chorus
Till the storm passes over, till the thunder sounds no more,
Till the clouds roll forever from the sky;
Hold me fast, let me stand in the hollow of Thy hand,
Keep me safe till the storm passes by.