The Not So Mighty Mississippi

We were back at the Mayo Clinic a few weeks ago for the nasty needlework the doctors there do to my brain. It is a long trip, but our son Logan loves to go with us.

He is a good traveler, having grown up with parents and grandparents that all tend to take quite a few trips. The kid can eat and sleep anywhere, which is really helpful. The 12 hour drive up to Minnesota doesn’t phase him. He enjoys seeing the new and different sights.

While I was recovering from the procedures, Gary was playing around on the computer. Although Logan takes going to Mayo in stride, we have always made an effort to make the trip fun for him. He sees not so happy things happening to me there, so we try to balance that out by doing something he will enjoy.

We basically follow the Mississippi River most of the trip north. The river begins in Minnesota, and Gary thought Logan would enjoy seeing the headwaters of the river. Our son is a real history buff and loves to learn about how things were in the past. This was perfect for him.

The one hitch in the plan is that Gary didn’t quite read Mapquest correctly. What he thought was a three hour trip turned out to be a five hour trip. But, it was a beautiful trip. Minnesota’s motto is the land of 10,000 lakes, something we have sort of scoffed at before, wondering if they counted every ditch. We decided on this trip that they just stopped counting when they got to 10,000. There was water everywhere, on both sides of the road.

We ended up at Lake Itasca State Park, in northwest Minnesota. The headwaters of the Mississippi flow out of Lake Itasca. The mighty, muddy Mississippi is unrecognizable up there. It is a shallow, clear stream, less than 18 inches deep at it’s beginning.

Gary and Logan waded across it, and the water never got over their knees. Logan walked across, up, down and around in the river; amazed that he was in the same river that flows deep and wide here at home.

He laughed at the historical markers that told us of the search for the mouth of the river. Apparently, quite a few people thought they had discovered the beginning of the river, and they were all wrong. Another explorer came along, and did the wise thing. He asked the Indians. They basically told him, sure, they knew where the river started. Follow them. The rest is, literally, history.

The river begins as it ends, with curves and curls and bends and twists. It is so shallow and narrow that it seems it would be in danger of drying up. It just doesn’t seem possible that this little stream is the same body of water that we see, the strong river that carries boats and barges, that is so wide and deep and muddy and temperamental.

I’ve grown up with the Mississippi most of my life. I crossed it to visit my grandparents when I was young. I crossed it down in Baton Rouge every day when I was in college, and watched fireworks from the levy during special events. I have lived near it during different stages.

The Mighty Mississippi has been a part of my life. Now I have seen the not so mighty Mississippi. It reminds me of a story in my childhood, the little train that thought it could and did. This little river starts out as not much more than a shallow stream, but ends up as a major waterway that is the backbone to much of our nation.

We enjoyed making this trek, even though it meant our usual 12 hour journey became a 17 hour trip home. We still made it back in one very long day. We have new memories, lots of pictures, and a little more education. What started as an adventure for Logan ended up being an adventure for all of us. All in all, a great, if very long, trip.

Living and Loving and Laughing All the Way

My anniversary is Thursday. I talk a lot about my husband, about my marriage and my family. It’s something I cherish above all else; something I once thought I would never have.

I’m proud of the fact that we have made it work for 15 years. Holding a marriage together is work, no matter how committed the individuals that make up the couple are. I’m nowhere near perfect, although Gary is pretty close.

One of the things that has helped us is our sense of humor. It’s a weird one, but it’s there. It has gotten us through some rough patches, over some bumps and bruises, and just generally made things go better all along.

There will always be some sadness and turmoil in any marriage. Just living life brings times of sorrow. Being able to smile in spite of the pain, to laugh with your partner through the tears, is a precious gift. Gary can turn my tears to laughter. He helps me remember that it is possible to deal with what is happening but maintain a good attitude in the process.

I was doing something the other day that I routinely do. I won’t tell you what because it would embarrass my mother and prove that she absolutely failed at raising a proper daughter. My husband, unique individual that he is, believes that it is not only okay, but good and proper.
When he saw me doing it, he commented that I was "such a good mother" to which I replied that no, but I was at least adequate. I mentioned that if my grandmother saw me, she would be coming out of her grave to reprimand me. Gary replied that with the two of us, both of our grandmothers would do that on a routine basis.

We agreed that it didn’t matter, it worked for us and that was what mattered. This, to me, is a real blessing. A man that believes, however misinformed, that what I do is right and beneficial. I know he should know better, but I just count my lucky stars and go along with a smile on my face.

My sister Teresa celebrated her 26th wedding anniversary last week. She knows a thing or three about having a happy marriage. Except for mine. She keeps wanting to interfere with mine. I keep wanting her to keep her nose out of what I think is a perfect situation.

Teresa has a good natured issue with Gary’s habit of buying gifts for me. He tends to buy them months too early, then go ahead and give them to me. When the holiday rolls around, he usually goes and buys another gift, although I remind him he has already bought me something.
My sister thinks she needs to have a long talk with Gary. I think she needs to leave him alone; although I have offered to let Gary have a long talk with her husband if she would like.

I know others have been married longer, but 15 years is a good start for me. I have many faults and flaws and failings, so for someone like Gary to survive someone like me for that long is a true sign of his character.

I’m looking forward to the next 15 years. I’m having the time of my life, loving and living and laughing all the way.

The Hardest Job, The Greatest Joy

I love being a mother. It is without a doubt the greatest joy of my life. Raising my son, watching him grow and change and learn is a constant surprise; and a continuing pleasure.

It’s not all hearts and roses. Being a parent is tough. There are hard times and unpopular decisions and days if not weeks when you agonize over making the right choices for your child, and how the things you do will impact your child.

Every word I say, every choice I make, every place I go, every thing I do and see and allow him to do and see has the potential to affect my child either in a positive way or a negative way.

Being a mother is tough. My job is made easier because I have help, and I can’t imagine how much harder my job would be without the support of my husband. He requires obedience and respect from our son. He has made it quiet clear to Logan how Dad expects Mom to be treated, even when Dad is not around. Especially when Dad is not around. We are a team, and Logan knows it. That makes my job easier.

I also had great role models in the form of my parents when I was growing up. I’m not sure what kind of mother I would have been without the influence of my own parents, but I don’t think it would have been pretty.

I’m not really much of a nurturer by nature. I’m not a natural listener. I tend to make snap judgements. None of those things make me the mother I need to be; one that comforts and listens first and considers all the options before making a decision. I learned those skills from my parents. I learned how to be a team from them, how important it is for the spouses to respect each other and back up each other. I learned how important not only love is, but also laughter. I learned about compassion and forgiveness and a healthy dose of humor.

Being a mother is hard. Despite what the commercials would have us to believe, there is a lot more to it than just hugs and puppy dogs and jewelry and flowers. There is also tears and hurt feelings and emergency room visits in the middle of the night. There is waiting up because it’s past curfew, and worrying over that new friend that is a bad influence. There is harsh words you wish had never been spoken, and trying to patch things up again after a heart has been broken.

Being a mother is hard. But being a mother is also the best, most fulfilling, most wonderful, most precious, most awe-inspiring feeling in the universe. There is simply nothing else in the world that comes close to the feeling of wonder that comes when those little eyes look to you for answers; when that little hand reaches for yours for reassurance; when little arms wrap around your neck for a hug.

I am a lot of things. I am a wife, a sister, a daughter, a friend. To some, I may be funny or silly or even dumb and clueless. But the title I cherish most is “Mom.”

Mother of the Year

At my church Sunday (Mother's Day) my Mom was shocked to discover she had been chosen as Mother of the Year. It was only a shock to her; many others felt that she was a very appropriate choice. I was asked to help in the presentation of the award, and to write a tribute to her. This is what I said:

The word Mother has many definitions. There is the obvious one, a female parent. But there are other definitions. The word also means "to care for." My favorite definition is this one: The inspiration for an activity or situation, such as ‘necessity is the mother of invention.’

My mother is all of these things. She is my parent. She is the very definition of caring, not only for us, but for every member of every church we have pastored; for every person that ever crossed her path.

More than that, though, she is an inspiration, not only to me but to so many others.
When I was growing up, I had a friend named Marti Sue. Marti’s mom was different. Marti had to buy her own food, her own hairbrush and toothpaste; everything she needed to take care of herself. Even though she lived in the same home, in very many ways it was like Marti lived alone. Her parents wanted to teach responsibility; but instead taught her that they didn’t care.

When Marti came to my house, my mom hugged her. My mom cooked for her. My mom asked Marti how she was doing in school, and asked how her day was. It shocked Marti, because know one had ever treated her like that before.

Because of my Mom, Marti started asking me questions about my God. She didn’t know a lot about God, but she thought my God was loving, and caring, and compassionate, sort of like my Mom. Marti got saved, in part because of the love of God she experienced in my home. Marti and I are still friends. We share a strong bond, forged because my Mom loved and accepted her when Marti’s own mother rejected her.

That’s what my Mother does. She loves. She accepts. She hugs. She understands. She comforts. She weeps. She prays. And she does it, not just for those of us that are privileged to call her "Mom," but for each and every person that has the privilege of knowing her. Your children are her children. Your parents are her parents. Your worries and burdens and heartaches are hers. So, too, are your joys and triumphs. She just doesn’t know how not to love, not to embrace those she knows with all that she has to offer. She doesn’t know how not to see the best in every person.

There is so much that she does, although no one knows about it because she doesn’t do it to be known. She does it because it is right, or it is needed, or it is helpful, or it will bring a smile. It may be a phone call, or sending a card, or making cookies, or baking a cake or even cooking a meal; and then driving it over in the pouring rain while it is still hot. Whatever it is; she does it because she is Mom, and she doesn’t know how to be anything different.

I’ve read the dictionary, so I know how they define what a mother is. But I know the true definition of a mother, because I have lived my life watching the best example possible.

May Merriment

May is finally here. I’m ready for the rest and relaxation that comes with this month.

The community clean up was a rousing success, and seeing the 25 or so kids and adults from our church working their way down Ruddle Road inspired me to de-clutter around our house.
We pulled some weeds and some dead plants from Gary’s over active attempt to kill said weeds.

He also managed to kill a few azalea bushes, some tiger lilies and almost all of my hostas. We planted a few rose bushes and a couple of other flowers in their place. They are probably doomed to death, but we planted them anyway.

Although our grandmothers had green thumbs and could grow practically anything, both of our thumbs are decidedly brown, apparently. The joke in my family is that I can kill fake plants. We try, we really do. We just don’t succeed.

Gary finally got his shop built out in the back yard, so all of his stuff that belongs out there and not in and around the house has finally found it’s way to where it goes and not tucked in, around, over and under places it doesn’t particularly go.

I did an extreme make over on Logan’s room; his closet in particular. He was at school during this event. He thinks I simply re-organized, and was amazed at all the room in his closet that I found by moving things around. His dad and I were wise enough to dispose of bags of junk, old clothes, toys and other things he didn’t know he could live without before he got home from school. I won’t tell him if you won’t.

It’s amazing how many treasures a 12 year old kid can accumulate since the last de-cluttering occurred. We have fairly simple rules when it comes to keeping his room picked up. His bed has to be made, and nothing can be on the floor. Clutter really bothers me, but I want to make it easy for him to follow the rules. He has hooks and shelves and drawers and baskets to help him keep things in their place, and mostly does a pretty good job, considering the fact that he is a 12 year old boy.

Still, things do multiply, and it seems that everything he gets comes with multiple pieces and parts. Going in and mucking things out every once in a while makes it easier for him to follow the rules, and keeps both of us happy.

May is a good month for me for other reasons, too. I will celebrate my 15th anniversary this month. My publisher, David, often refers to his "Dear Sweet Sainted Wife." I’m not sure what kind of title would suit Gary, but I do know the man deserves some type of medal for bravery, courage, valor and honor.

Fifteen years of living with me should merit some reward other than a near constant state of confusion that comes from living with me. My family refers to it as "only in Mom’s world."
I prefer my world to be sparkly, have rainbows, hearts, butterflies, furry critters, hugs, and lots of caffeine. It doesn’t necessarily have to have much to do with reality, as it’s a happy place filled with sunshine and light. Someone bought me a coffee mug last year that says "Welcome to my world. It’s okay. They know me here." Sums it up nicely.

It’s a trick living in my world with my husband, whose world in mainly dark and gray and cloudy. It’s a not very happy place because its filled with reality and just the facts. That’s the way it is, and things are probably getting worse. He can’t really help it; his family tree was rooted that way.

My family are optimists with a "the glass is half full and the waiter is coming around to fill it back up right away" mentality. Gary’s family are pessimists with a "the glass is almost empty, there’s a leak in the glass, and all the waiters have left so no one is coming to fill it back up" mentality.
It is truly amazing that we get along, much less that we love each other and that our relationship thrives. Miracles do still happen. The fact that my sparkly world and his gray world can co-exist is proof of that.

May also means the end of school, much to my son’s joy. The true beginning of summer, and the promise of all that can bring. May is here, bringing with it renewed hope and for us, ongoing happiness. It’s going to be a great month.

DIRECT HIT

It was our turn, I guess. After all the talking I've done about Mother Nature, I guess she decided to get back at me. This time, my family was in her Bulls-Eye. The tornadoes that roared through the state today made its way through the tiny community of Heafer, Arkansas.

It destroyed the home of a good friend of my family. It also destroyed my dad's shop, the one he had lovingly built over the last few years at the house they will retire to someday.

When the weatherman said there was a tornado on the ground at the intersection of Highway 42 and Highway 181; my mother started crying. She has friends and relatives in that community. The only home she has ever owned is also in that community, and the tornado was less than a mile away from it.

We waited anxiously for news after the storm passed, but all the circuits were busy. Finally, a call from aunt came. She was crying, as she told my parents that Dad's shop was destroyed.

Yes, it's only a building, and a small one at that. Yes, it can be replaced. Yes, we are thankful no lives were lost, and yes, we realize how very lucky we were that their home wasn't taken in the storm.

Yet, still, there is pain. My Dad loved that shop. He loved tinkering and puttering and creating. He had it organized just so, with everything where he wanted it and how he wanted it. It was exactly what he wanted it to be, and he took a great deal of pleasure in it. Now it is gone, and with that comes a heavy heart.

Once again, Mother Nature has unleashed her fury, but once again, we will prevail. We spent hours picking through rubble and debris Friday afternoon, trying to save what we could. We will rebuild Dad's shop, and it will be done exactly the way he wants it. It will be organized just so, and it will be as good if not better.

Mother Nature is tough. But nobody hurts my Daddy and gets away with it; so we will rebuild...bigger, better, more, longer, taller; whatever it is he wants that will make him smile again.

We will survive, and we will get through just another one of those things that living life throws at you.