We Survived!!!

We just returned two of our adorable grandchildren to their rightful owners! This past week, Pops and I had the fun of keeping Harrison (age 4) and Hannah (age 2) to give Helen a chance to recover from the birth of little Hartley. What a blast! The week was a contest to see who could get the dirtiest and the hottest. Simply put, there are things that little kids can do in the country they can't do in the city, such as...

Going to the dirt pit (which Harrison used to call the arm pit). This refers to the big hole in the ground that Pops uses to get dirt for maintaining the roads throughout the property, and it is—literally— a big dirt pit. Nothing amuses the kiddos more just now than stripping off everything but their underwear and playing in the red dirt. The walls of the pit are sloped at just the right angle for sliding down and climbing back up again. The dirt clods are just the right degree of firmness to throw and explode at the bottom of the hole. The loose soil has just the right moisture for digging with the fingernails, and the powdery dust is just right for sticking to the scalp. The quarter-mile walk to the pit is always exciting and promising, but the same walk back home is hot and challenging. I got the brilliant idea to take the red wagon with water for us to drink. What I discovered was the kids thought I brought it so I could pull them back home. At one point, I was trying to make it up a steep hill in the woods with both children riding in the wagon and I didn't think I'd make it. About that time I heard Harrison call out, "Lollie! You can DO it!!" Well of course I did!

I was the favorite grandparent only until Pops decided to upstage me by taking them to "swim." The place he chose was safe, for sure. It was a BIG muddle (a made-up word for "mud puddle")! Actually, it was a pool of clear water that had collected in a field road where the irrigation system was running, but it soon became a muddle when the kids got in it! They first waded, then wallowed, then started throwing globs of mud at Pops and each other! I took a picture on my phone and sent it to Clint, their father. He replied, "Brings back memories!" When I sent him another picture of Hannah, whose diaper was so filled with muddy water that it sagged below her bottom, he responded, "Just make sure this doesn't hit Facebook!"

Bedtime was, umm...interesting. They wanted to sleep together in the recently acquired red twin beds, pushed together. It didn't take me long to realize that they were never going to settle down by themselves, so Pops and I lay down with them and I told them a made-up story about two children going to visit their grandparents. They loved it, and wanted to hear it several times. The last time I made up a story for Harrison, he thought I was saying that a little boy got buried alive, and that wasn't what I said. Now their parents are a little suspicious of "Lollie's stories." (I never wanted to be a children's writer anyway!) Anyhow, I kept this one PG rated!

If anyone should ask Harrison, he might say the highlight of his week was helping Pops drive the big tractor, operate the levers on the grapple hook and pick up piles of limbs. Or he might say catching two toad frogs, a baby and a larger one, plus a cricket was the epitome. He named the frogs Rufus and Oscar.

Maybe this was the week that I started to complete the metamorphosis from "mother" to "grandmother." I am seeing how much fun it can be. Burt and I thanked God every day that we can relax in the joy that our grandchildren are being reared by parents who love the Lord.

Books I Recommend

1. Shepherding a Child's Heart, Tedd Tripp
2. Don't Make Me Count to Three, Ginger Plowman
3. Parenting, Chuck Swindoll
4. Do All to the Gory of God, Watchman Nee
5. 30 Ways in 30 Days to Save Your Family, Rebecca Hagelin
6. Personality Puzzle, Florence and Marita Littauer
7. Celebrating the Christian Year, Martha Zimmerman
8. Making Children Mind without Losing Yours, Kevin Leman
9. How Do You Find the Time, Pat King
10. No Ordinary Home, Carol Brazzo
11. A Place of Quiet Rest, Nancy Leigh DeMoss
12. Hints on Child Training, Clay Trumbull
13. Loving the Little Years: Motherhood in the Trenches, Rachel Jankovic

Mother/Grandmother

I'm up early this morning (5:45 a.m.). There were things on my mind I wanted to remember today when "Pops" and I go to Macon to assist Helen with our new granddaughter, Hartley Burgin Strange, who was born this past weekend. I stayed up late last night cooking food to take for the freezer— chicken and rice, roast, squash casseroles, scalloped eggplant, and peach cobbler. I'll finish with peas and creamed corn when we get to Macon.

The cooking brings back memories of our sons' births. It seemed they all came when vegetables were in season and things were the busiest (of course, it would have seemed that way regardless of the birth month). I always scurried to get cooked food in the freezer before going to the hospital.

This activity also gave me reason to ponder the question, do I feel more like a mother or a grandmother? I'm not sure I've made the transition. I think this is the season where I should relax and pop popcorn and watch movies with the grandchildren, but I still feel the weight of responsibility when a new baby comes into the family. I remember the lack of time to get things done, and the fatigue that demotivates a new mom. I also recall the persistent demand of the existing siblings.

My transition from mom to grandmother was further underscored this past week when I changed our son's bedroom at our house from "his" to "theirs." This meant I took away the hunting/camping/college/boy-toys and replaced them with red twin beds, "Hungry Caterpillar" sheets, and stuffed animals. His reaction to the picture of my accomplishment was classic: "You did what to my room!?" Forget the fact he's a grown man, married for nine years! He still has his boy-place at Mom's house. As I pulled out stuff and re-lived memories, I have to admit, he still has a boy-place in my heart as well.

Making the transition from mom to grandmother is still a struggle for me. It means my role is changing. I'm learning to embrace the changes instead of trying to function in the role of responsibility I've always known. Today we're going to Macon to welcome our newest grandchild. I'm going with the intent of playing games and reading books. I know I have a position of influence, and I will reinforce the training of the children, but I can let go of the primary responsibility. Our grandchildren couldn't have better parents. They are being taught and nurtured, and they will become strong men and women of God. The first thing I read this morning reminded me of our blessing:

And this is my covenant with them says the Lord. "My spirit will not leave them, and neither will these words I have given you. They will be on your lips and the lips of your children and your children's children forever. I, the Lord, have spoken!" (Isaiah 59:21)

Pops and I have kept the charge we were given, and now it is time to reap the rewards.

I love small towns!

If anyone reading this lives in a town of more than 1100 registered voters in the entire county, you might not be able to relate to what I'm about to say.

Today I went "up town" (so stated because we live five miles south of town center, the one traffic light). My first errand was to cash a check (written to "cash") at the local-- as well as locally owned-- bank. I exchanged greetings at the drive-in window where the young lady noticed I was wearing makeup (for a change). She apparently remembered me from previous visits, especially from the time the ATM wouldn't give me my money and I had to solicit her help. Another teller, a dear grandmother of one of my favorite high school students a few years ago, stuck her head around the corner to greet me. I signed the check for cash, and went on to sign my husband's name on a check made out to him, which they cashed—no questions asked.

Then I moved across the street to the post office. I parked beside a car whose passenger door was being opened by a very elderly lady, dressed to the nines in her coral pink pants suit and pearls. As I walked into the post office, a likewise elderly man was ahead of me, shuffling his feet and laboring to get inside. I thought I should help him with the door. As I tried to get around him without looking rude or impatient, I caught a whiff of aftershave lotion and I noticed his spotless appearance, his polyester blend shirt tucked in neatly to his pleated pants. I started to stand back when he gallantly opened the door and gestured me inside with all the decorum of a Kappa Alpha pledge. Once inside, I was surprised to realize the window was closed for lunch. The older gentleman reminded me that they would be back at 1:30p.m.

Upon exiting the post office, I saw the elderly lady, apparently his wife, who greeted me with a smile. I asked if the drop-off for the checks for trash pick-up was in the same place, since the city office had relocated. Someone walking by said hello, and Yes, they did still check the drop-off box, which was a discarded library book depository. However, the older lady said she would be glad to take my check and deliver it to the city clerk that afternoon. I thanked her and told her I would simply mail it.

On my way home, I realized I had forgotten to stop by the drugstore and pick up a prescription. No problem; I will simply call the pharmacist and she is always happy to leave the medicine in my mailbox.

As I drove home, I realized the hometown feeling is still alive. There are real people here who want to relate to each other. There are older men who still feel satisfaction from being courteous to women. All together, if catastrophe struck, I would rather be in a community of caring people than in a concrete jungle where everyone is a stranger.

Celebrating 42

This week we are celebrating our 42nd anniversary. Our actual wedding date is July 19, but that night we knew all our children were working, out of town, or otherwise occupied with their busy lives. My day started with Burt bringing me coffee in bed, followed by a relatively unplanned day. I had a haircut scheduled in Albany, so I emailed the young moms that I meet with every week to see if anyone was available to help us celebrate. We decided to meet for dinner at 6:30 that evening, and they could feel free to bring their children. Three of the couples were able to come, so the fourteen of us met at Outback. In the midst of the meal, with the chatter of children and the commotion that goes with a large group, one of the girls said, "So, is this what you had in mind for your romantic evening?" We laughed and said I should take a picture with a caption that said, "And we asked for this!" So we did, and here it is.

I sent the picture to our family members and told them that since they weren't available, we had to find some others to help share the occasion. Our boys' reactions were classic, as usual.

One said, " Didn't know you were cheating on us with another family."

Another one said, "You and Dad have some nice looking kids."

Another, "Good fill-in fam. We're going to have to raise the bar so we won't get replaced."

Our boys always crack me up!

The point of all this is to say "Praise God for wonderful marriages!" Burt and I are happier together than we have ever been, and hardly a day goes by that we don't remind each other of how blessed we are. As vicious as the attack on marriage is now, I am nevertheless encouraged by the couples we know that are committed to doing it right. Our three married sons have marriages founded on solid foundations, and I'm confident the two remaining bachelors will find the same thing. Besides our own guys, I see the same commitment in the young couples I'm with every week, and we find more everywhere we go.

Praise the Lord for marriage. It was His idea in the first place, and unless He changes the plan, it will continue.

Do you hear Me now?

I don't know, but I wonder if a person's subconscious mind responds to music. I believe it does. Every day I think about my friend Mary Jane. I don't know if she thinks about me, or if she thinks about anything. She has Alzheimer's. All I know is that I want to connect with her. The times that I have visited her in the nursing home, I know she knows me. She is as alien to me as E.T. was to Elliott, but I sense the same type connection between us, and I wonder if I can reach her through music.

When I put my headphones on and listen to worship music, I'm immersed in the presence of the Lord. In my mother's hospital room during her last days, we played soothing worship music continuously. Entering her room brought a sense of calm and peace. Hearing the sound throughout airways is one thing, but having the perfect blends of melody and tones directly in the ear takes hearing to a new level.

I want God's voice to be to me as the headphone are: directly heard, clearly received, uncorrupted by other voices. Job 33:14 says, "But God speaks again and again, though people do not recognize it. He speaks in dreams, in visions in the night when deep sleep falls on people as they lie in bed. He whispers in their ear..." And my favorite verse, Isaiah 30:21, "Your ears shall hear a word behind you saying, 'This is the way, walk in it.' " When we want to get a child's attention, the best way is to speak directly into their ear. This is not a time to yell, but to whisper.

I thought this posting was about Mary Jane. Maybe not; maybe it's about me. I don't know very much about Alzheimer's. I only know that I love my friend, I know she's "in there" somewhere, and if I can reach her, I will. I want to put the headphones on her ears and let her hear the sounds of worship and see if she responds. Maybe the Lord is trying to get through to me as I'm trying to get through to her. That's what I pray I'll be sensitive to. I'm learning that the burden is on me to listen. He's not going to raise His voice and yell at me. He's going to whisper in my ear and I don't want to miss it!

How old would you be...?

We just celebrated our oldest son's 41st birthday. Have mercy! My children are almost my age! Burt and I met him and his middle brother at the Cheesecake Factory for brunch Sunday morning. We sat there discussing their plans for business, their present circumstances (both still single), but most importantly, what the Lord was showing and teaching them, and I realized I was seeing the mandate God gave me years ago coming to fruition: "Your purpose is to rear five godly men." Before we ordered I asked them to pray for me because I didn't feel well. By the time our bountiful meal arrived, I had relaxed in the comfort of their love and the awareness of their confidence that God would handle my need. (I've learned that my boys get distressed if they think I'm not okay, and it's a thin line between asking them to pray for me and reassuring them I'm fine.)

Maybe I was stressed because I wanted to convey the message to them (especially the Birthday Boy) that age shouldn't determine attitude. I gave him a card that expressed that sentiment. On the front it read, "How old would you be if you didn't know how old you are?" I told them I'd be 29, because I still think like that. I still believe I have a life before me, the opportunities are unlimited, and there are people that need me and want to hear what I have to say! I feel that I'm about to embark on a new career! I'm in a new season of life, and it's wonderful! And their 75-year-old dad feels the same way!

I love the renewing that comes with the Spirit of the living God living inside us. Do I get tired sometimes? Well yeah. But I did when I was 29 as well. I see every day now just as I did then: full of possibilities, more to do than I can accomplish without some divine assistance. Isn't that exactly what He promised us? Isaiah 40:29-31 says, "Even youths will become exhausted, and young men will give up. But those who wait on the Lord will find new strength. They will fly high on wings like eagles. They will run and not grow weary. They will walk and not faint."

At this point in the journey, I feel like we're all the same age. We're on a road and we're walking abreast, arms linked, advancing together. If one of us stumbles, the others are there to steady him or her and we keep going. I'm basking in the strength that comes from knowing we are all being renewed and energized as the Holy Spirit brings us all into maturity, the maturity that is measured by our likeness to Christ, not by how many birthdays we've celebrated.

So here I am, 29 and holding!!!