Life

Yesterday, our church family celebrated the life of a beautiful young mother. Her life on earth was cut short by cancer. What happens when you hear the word cancer? For me, I feel like my very breath is snatched away. It frightens me because there seems to be no way to prevent it from happening. It makes me think a lot about my own mortality.

Something about this woman ... her life and death ... Something shook the safety net I've knit around my life. Have you ever done that? Created a net around your life to protect you from the world and all its sadness? I do that ... a lot. I think I am healthy, so I won't get sick. I'm a safe driver, so I won't be involved in a car accident. I don't smoke, so I won't have breathing or respiratory issues. I don't drink to an excess, so I won't have liver damage. My children and husband are healthy. I have a full time job and benefits. So, death, injury and financial struggles aren't going to touch my life.

But, then I learned this woman had cancer. A form of cancer someone her age, health and background of life should not have. And, I realized, it doesn't matter what I do, I can't stop death or sadness.

The only thing I can do ... make my life, every moment of it ... matter, count. To live my life so in the moment I pass from life on earth into life in the hereafter ... my loved ones mourn and the angels rejoice. I haven't been living that way. Lately, I've been too wrapped up in my own work and wants.

Today, I want to say ... Thank you, Angie. Thank you for your life and death.
Your death has reminded me of things I take for granted. Your passing made me realize there are things I should be enjoying, because tomorrow isn't a guarantee.

Today, I will stop to color pictures with my 5 year old instead of doing the dishes. I'll listen to my 7 year old talk about football and StarWars instead of doing the laundry. I'll talk to my 15 year old and let him share his thoughts, feelings. And, I'll let my husband know how much I love him, I need him and ... even after 16 years of marriage ... I still love it when he stops to see me at work with a cup of coffee or even just to say "hi."

"Life is not measured by the number of breaths you take but by the moments that take your breath away. Cherish the memories, the laughter and love"

A Stirring of Echoes

Somewhere between my childhood and my life as an adult, there are echoes. Reflections of sounds from days gone by. I recall moments from my youth. I sit and allow memories to pass through my mind in a parade of black and white images. There are some images stamped upon my memory in colors muted by age. Others I remember and others I wonder if possibly I only recall because of pictures.
So, I close my eyes and think ... what do I remember?
Milkshakes and popcorn. My sister and me all curled up under the blankets on my parents bed. I remember watching reruns of The Honeymooners. What was it Ralph always said to Alice during one of his many temper fits? "One of these days, Alice ... straight to the moon!" But, at the end of each 30 minute show, Ralph loved Alice ... over the moon.
Vacations to Michigan, The Henry Ford Museum. The Old Car Festival in the village and my dad telling stories about the different vehicles he rode in during his childhood. Music from days gone by pumping from the street speakers. Lots of people dancing and my parents laughing. Feeding the fish from red and white striped boxes of popcorn.
My parents in gray sweatshirts. The ones with SHS Cheerleader Parent printed on the front. The two of them, sitting on bleachers in the heat, cold, rain or snow ... watching my sister and me cheer for the home football team.
Me, leaning against my mom when my first boyfriend broke my heart. Her, not saying anything, just letting me cry. Now, I'm thankful he broke my heart and she just held me not trying to fix it. I met my husband a year after that heartbreak.
Mom sitting out in front of the local McDonald's until midnight, waiting for my late shift to end and her to drive me home. It never mattered how late it was, she didn't complain. There was always a smile and "How was work tonight?"
In every memory, I can hear the people I love ... their voices and laughter. Echoes from my past. Reflections mirrored in pictures. I wonder what my boys will remember when they are all grown up and on their own. Will they hear my laughter, feel my hands on their faces and my kiss on their cheek? Will they recall the love their father and I share?
What do you remember about your childhood? Are there pictures that stir echoes in your mind?
Wherever you are today, whatever your schedule ... take time to make memories with the ones you love.

Quiet Things

Love is in the quiet things. A gentle kiss good morning, a whispered "I love you" from a child's voice, a clean kitchen when you didn't have to ask for it ...

His name was Theodore Hugh Fleming. Hugh (or Hughie) to all of his friends. By the time my sister and I came into his world, Hugh's hair was already graying and his face showed a good measure of wisdom in wrinkles. My sister, Mary, and I were lucky to grow up right across the yard from our Grandpa. He lived in a large two story yellow house. To be honest, as much time as I spent in his home, I can't tell you much about anything outside of the kitchen. You see, my Grandpa was a professional chef and anything Mary and I wanted could be found in that kitchen. My favorite was Chop Suey. This was his specialty and we loved Friday nights when he would make up a big pot. Mary and I would wheel our little red wagon across the yard and pull the pot back home.

I have lots of memories but what I remember the most is the way he loved Mary and me.
Love can be measured by huge bouquets of flowers, expensive jewelry or other flashy gifts. But, those are all loud things. My grandpa loved us with quiet things.

Grandpa didn't have alot of money but he saved up his dimes all year and then put them in coin wrappers for our Christmas gift. He showed up to all our ballgames (Mary and I were cheerleaders in high school). All our friends loved Grandpa. You could pick him out of the crowd in a heartbeat. He was the one in the plaid pants and striped shirt. I guess some kids would've been embarrassed for their Grandpa to show up in that outfit. Not me and not Mary. We loved it. That was Grandpa. Most kids might tell you that their Grandpa smelled like cigar smoke, pipe tobacco or after shave. Not my Grandpa, he always smelled of something cooking. Another thing that I loved.

He'd show up on our doorstep early summer mornings with fresh picked cherries from the tree in his front yard. Most times there were fresh caramel rolls or funnel cakes to go along with the fruit. Corn cakes were another favorite.

Grandpa always had a big garden. I remember his knobby fingers and the way they looked when he snapped green beans from the garden. He picked all the green beans and left the buckets on our doorstep for my mom to can. I think that was his quiet way of loving my parents. They didn't have to pick all the beans. He did it for them.

Just a year after I was married and had moved to Nebraska, my Grandpa's house burned to the ground. Thankfully, he wasn't home when it happened. But, when he found out that his home was gone ... he cried and said he could never go home again. Grandpa didn't cry often, so this was huge for all of us. We saw a side of him that rarely came through.

The night he passed away, we all gathered around his hospital bed. We prayed and sang a hymn. Mary and I told him we'd be back the next morning. Grandpa couldn't talk, his voice was gone. Gently, he shook his head "no." It only took a few moments for us to understand that Grandpa knew he wouldn't be there the next day. He lifted my hand to his lips and kissed it.

That was the final quiet way he showed me his love.

In remembering Grandpa's life, I realized that our society has pushed quiet love into the background. Society has decided that love must be measured by the flashy things. But that's all wrong ... real love is quiet and not boastful. It's gentle and doesn't require any acknowledgement.

My husband and I moved home from Nebraska and built our house on the very spot where my Grandpa's house stood. The view from my bedroom window is the one my Grandpa enjoyed from his back door. I watch the sunrise from my front porch and know that I am looking over the very field my Grandpa saw each day.

This morning, I sat on my front porch and had a cup of coffee. It was early, a thin layer of fog blanketed the field across the road. I sat there for a long time, enjoying the morning and missing the quiet man that I was blessed to call Grandpa.

1st Peter 3:4 "Rather let it be the hidden person of the heart, with the incorruptible beauty of a gentle and quiet spirit, which is very precious in the sight of God."