Parting IS Sweet Sorrow...

On January 8, 2012 Betty Merry fell asleep in Covina, California and opened her eyes in heaven.

Her Memorial Service was held on January 21, the day before my 40th Wedding Anniversary. She had forty years worth of influence and impact on my life; forty years of memories stored away in my heart and mind. It's hard to come to the end of a forty year old relationship, I'm so glad that this is merely a pause until we meet again and pick up where we left off... in fact, surely somewhere better than where we left off!

Many years ago, I think during the first year of my marriage, Betty invited me to a neighborhood Bible Study in Duarte, just down the street from her best friend's house. It was because of that Bible Study, and God's call on my heart, that I came to know Jesus and accept Him as my personal Savior.

As I grew in my faith, and learned the story of Ruth and Naomi, I began to feel a kind of kinship to Ruth. She was an unbeliever, a pagan, and because of the influence of her Mother-in-law, she came to believe in the God of Israel. Naomi lived in such a way that her day to day behavior, decisions, words and faith had great impact on the faith of her daughter-in-law, just as Betty's faith impacted me.

When I was in Israel in 2007, I found a little necklace with Ruth 1:16 written on it in Hebrew and I brought it home for Betty. It wasn't very expensive, in fact it's rather humble, but it had great meaning to the two of us. Ruth 1:16 says this:

"But Ruth said, 'Do not urge me to leave you, or turn back from following you; for where you go, I will go, and where you lodge, I will lodge. Your people shall be my people, and your God, my God.'

I'm very grateful to have had the chance to tell Betty how much it meant to me to look back and remember that she was the vessel God used to draw me near so that the tiny mustard seed of faith He sewed in my heart took root and led to my salvation!

Betty loved to cook! She loved her family, and her favorite things in all of life were family celebrations! She was definitely gifted in the art of hospitality! I learned to cook in her kitchen. In fact this family has more than it's share of exceptional cooks, and we can all thank Betty! As a young wife, I had no vast store experience in the kitchen to draw from. My own mother was fond of packaged or frozen meals that she could put together quickly after a long day at work. So Betty let me hang out in her kitchen and learn by watching, listening, and lending a hand while she prepared meals for her large family. I have to say, as much as she taught me about cooking, she taught me about life, about love, and about generosity as we worked side by side in her kitchen.

Not only was seafood the source of the family income, but it was the family pass time as well. Betty and Dick loved to boat and fish in the waters off the California coast. Fish was often the featured item at the dinner table, and everyone seemed to love it... except me! I hated it! I hadn't grown up eating it, didn't care for the way it smelled, or looked! Well, I learned you can't be a Merry and not eat fish. Betty spent a long time enticing me with the mildest of fish, well- prepared and served attractively, until eventually, she succeeded in educating my palette. In talking with Troy last night, I discovered she did the same thing with him! He too came into the family with no great love for fish and seafood, and Betty helped educate his palette as well!

Another thing that defined Betty's exceptional brand of hospitality was her generous acceptance of anyone who came into her home. You may come in knowing only the person who invited you, but you left feeling like family. As we talked last night, Troy said he remembers vividly his first meeting with Betty as Tawnya's 18 year old boyfriend. When he called her Mrs. Merry, she quickly informed him that she was 'Grandma'. It made a huge impression on him to be so completely accepted. Michelle told me that the thing she most remembered about Betty was the way she welcomed Michelle and her daughter Amanda and made them feel like family instantly!

Family celebrations at Betty's house were nothing if not memorable... Pool parties and bar-b-ques where you ended up in the pool whether you'd brought a bathing or not--whether you wanted to swim or not! And card games! Hours long Shanghai tournaments with people sitting three deep around the table laughing and offering advice to those who actually held cards. And the food fights! A party just wasn't a party unless there was a food fight! In fact some of you in this room are still carrying out that tradition with admirable devotion! Betty loved to tell about the Thanksgiving she finally got even with Rick. As soon as she saw us pull up outside, she handed all the girls cans of whipping cream and when he walked in the front door they were ready for him! He wound up having to jump in the pool to clean up before they'd let him back in the house for dinner! And Christmases! Oh my! Garlands of fresh pine and holly, decorations so numerous it looked like a Christmas bomb had gone off in the house! There were always so many wrapped gifts and presents that you couldn't get within 4 or 5 feet of the tree!

There were quiet moments too. Tawnya remembers staying with Grandma in the summer time while her Mom was at work. Betty loved to read, and once a week or so, she would take Tawnya with her to the book store where she would select her week's reading. Tawnya was always allowed to choose a book of paper dolls to add to her growing collection at Grandma's house. She treasures those memories of summer afternoons spent playing paper dolls on the living room floor.

Paige and Victoria remember the twice monthly shopping trips that always included manicures and pedicures and ended in going out to lunch with their Meemaw and Grandma Betty, and Tawnya, their Mom.

There are so many stories, so many memories, that it's hard to select just a few. At the beginning of my marriage, Betty influenced my faith, and as neared the end of her life she again set an example of faith that will forever change me.

My Mom used to tell me often that getting old isn't for sissies... and I think she had a point. But as Betty's health declined, I can't remember ever hearing a word of self-pity. As her health became more and more fragile, Betty was forced to become more and more dependent on others, having to relinquish her self determination and privacy, and allow even the most mundane decisions of her day to made by others. It would have been enough to make anyone crabby and critical and be cause for complaint, but Betty never indulged.

Watching her make that transition in her life has been an education! I saw her express genuine gratitude for the smallest acts of kindness. She exhibited grace and patience in difficult circumstances and displayed both courage and character in the face of adversity.

Getting old may not be for sissies, but I learned from Betty that getting old isn't for the proud and haughty as I was privileged to watch her display determination, perseverance and acceptance in the face of the betrayal of a weakening body.

Betty often told us that she was ready to go home. That's because she knew where she was going, and she knew she had nothing to fear. One of her favorite verses in Scripture was Isaiah 41:10,

'Do not fear, for I am with you. Do not be afraid, for I am your God. I will strengthen you, surely I will help you, surely, I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.'

It's knowing where she is that gives us such peace, and that certainty is the reason that we came together at her memorial service, not mourn her passing, but to celebrate her life! Betty closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep in her bed at home in Covina, and woke up in heaven to the sounds of welcome and celebration! I'm going to miss her! But I know I'm going to see her again!

TRANSITIONS

The last Women's Retreat Carol and I put together at church, was titled 'Transitions'. It was Carol's title for the teaching and speaking she prepared that weekend and, as usual, she was right on. Briefly, in synopsis, our time together that weekend focused on the immutable foundation of our identity (Child of God) vs the many changing roles we play on life's stage (i.e. daughter, sister, friend, wife, mother, grandmother, professional, etc.). Carol also talked about the fact that every transition in life involves some kind of loss, and if we get stuck grieving the loss it represents (though some amount of sadness is inevitable), we could miss the gifts of God's blessing in that change. For the last several months, I've been looking for the gifts in some of the recent transitions in our lives and, while some have taken longer to discover than others, I have not been disappointed!

My Mother-in-law has been struggling with her health for the last couple of years. She has had heart disease since her late fifties, is now approaching her 80th birthday and her health has become quite fragile. It has meant some amount of sacrifice of time and effort and learning how to be nurses and caregivers as my sisters-in-law, my husband and I try to manage time and jobs and availability to participate in her care. There have been several hospitalizations, times of fear and depression, and even some sibling disagreement regarding some of the decisions that have to be made. Oh, but the blessings!

My husband and I have been married 39 years, and my relationship with my Mother-in-law has not always been warm and fuzzy, though we have certainly enjoyed times of closeness and laughter and deep understanding. We have also known times that are not so sweet. Marraige represents the blending of three families; the two families of origin and the new family made up of the products of the original families. Sometimes, that blending seems to happen seamlessly, like the blending of cake batter; other times it's like trying to blend oil and vinegar; a whole lot of shake up resulting in separation as soon as the ingredients are allowed to settle a moment. Most of the time it's a combination of both. The blessing of this time of transitioning to caregivers has been watching my Mother-in-law navigate her transition from family matriarch, and giver of gifts and advice, and holiday planner to one of dependence.

Because she is unable to stand, has no strength in her legs and very little in her arms, there is little she can do for herself. She's had to relinquish her privacy, modesty, and self-determination in even the most mundane decisions of the day. It would be enough to make anyone crabby and critical and be cause for complaint! Yet seeing my Mother-in-law manage this transition in her life has been an education! I've seen her express genuine gratitude for the smallest acts of kindness, grace in circumstances that leave her completely dependent on the care of others, maintaining a sweet spirit that is both lovely to see and experience! Her courage in the face of ill health and her character in the face of adversity are inspiring!

My Mother was a fond of a line she'd read in a Maxine cartoon, and deemed worthy as a personal motto. "Getting old isn't for sissies!", she'd say at times when she couldn't manage some chore or activity that had been accomplished so effortlessly before. I've been made aware, as time unfolds, how much truth my Mother's adopted motto holds! My Mom went home to Jesus more than two years ago, and now I'm watching my Mother-in-law display incredible pluck and determination as she endures the betrayal of a weakened body and diminished ability to manage even the simplest things in life.

What my mother didn't tell me is that getting old isn't for the proud and haughty! That's a lesson I'm learning from my Mother-in-law as she displays humility, humor, patience, and gratitude.

Change... Another step along life's journey

We're leaving our church; something I could not have imagined a year ago. We've been there for more than twenty years, but it has stopped feeling like the home we've always considered it.

The reasons, which in my mind, seem very complex can really be reduced and compressed into one very simple truth. I want to worship God, unobstructed and unencumbered by criticism (mine), judgement (mine), and the constant need for diligent discipline of thought and emotion.

Our church has been through a time so difficult, that few of us have been left unscathed. I feel like all my innocence and naivete has been striped away in regards to church and the way church is done. I'm also left feeling a little silly about my lofty expectations. I've lived in the world all my life and am well versed in issues of sin and failure, pride and politics and the need for people to want to visit justice on others while denying the need for it personally as regards the consequences of their own actions.

Ironically (hypocritically? arrogantly?), I recall my advice to a friend some years ago. She was hurt and she was angry about it. She had expected better of the church and the people in it. I reminded her that in spite of our highest intentions, church is made-up of people, inherently imperfect, even sinful, and often very self-centered and unaware of the feelings of others (people, used in the general sense, avoiding specifics, but including myself ). I encouraged her to work through her feelings with the Lord and to address the wrongs done her Biblically, calmly, rationally, lovingly. She listened, she made every effort to take my advice, and in the end, she left our church and found another.

I've spent the last eight months trying to follow my own advice, and still my heart is broken, painful, and unforgiveness springs to the surface at the first instant of undirected attention or relaxed reflection. The tapes in my head play on and on with all the emotion of the original event. I pray all the way to church, all the way through church, and for the rest of the day trying to keep my mind focused on God's Word and how the Holy Spirit would apply it to my heart and my life, and not on the circumstances and people that have caused such pain.

The colloquial "last straw" came about during a recent visit to an out of town friend. I went to church with her on Sunday morning, and there, in the midst of strangers, I felt I had come home. I was able to worship with my whole focus on God, His majesty, His sovereignty, His provision and love for His people. It wasn't the giftedness of the speaker, the profundity of the sermon, or the skill of the worship team, though I thoroughly enjoyed it all. It was my own unencumbered worship! Fellowship with God, a heart poured out before Him with no interference, no replaying of mental videos or rising resentment over recent events; just worship!

I had so many conversations with God, and with myself, debating whether to stay and fight through my feelings, praying for healing and restoration; or to move on and work those things out from a distance, providing a cushion of space to protect wounds that have not yet healed. Because of other circumstances in my life, my need to be in an intimate relationship with my God trumps my desire to avoid change and to try to find the comfort of sameness in a place that has changed so much as to be unrecognizable to me.

The most difficult aspect of leaving the church is the prospect of leaving and missing people we have loved for years, and with whom we have a shared history and a common memory. It will take additional effort to preserve some of those relationships, to be sure; effort I'm committed to investing. For many others, we seemed to lose contact as we withdrew to nurse wounds privately in a desire to keep our dissatisfaction and disappointment from spreading to those who were adjusting much faster than we were. There seems to be nothing about this that's easy. But I'm committed to moving forward and finding a place where I can worship and serve and use my gifts to honor my God.

I Must Be Getting Old...

We've entered the age of electronics with no guidelines for acceptable social behavior, and the divide between generations has grown wider and deeper than ever. It is the obligation of each generation to model and to teach the tenets of good manners, social grace, and an ingrained respect for those we come into contact with in the course of our day, and we appear to have fallen down on the job.

Personal electronics are only the symptom of an underlying self focus. I thought, as these devices (cell phones, ipods, and now notebooks, ipads, etc) gained in popularity, that common sense and a normal regard for one's fellow planet dwellers, might guide us in this brave new world of instant access to communication and constant entertainment. Apparently not. Even in theatres, an audio/visual reminder is required to keep lcd screens from drawing our eyes away from the big screen in the dark, and the constant ringing or burring of phone calls or text messaging from competing with the sound.

Some time ago, I was driving my 12 year old niece to Disneyland. I bought her a season pass
with the idea of a monthly trip to the 'Happiest Place on Earth'. We were spending time together once a week, hopefully building relationship, confidence and happy memories, and this seemed like a fun addition to our routine. On this particular day, she climbed into the front seat beside me as I picked her up from school with a wire running from her ear to a small device cradled in her palm. I recognized her MP3 player (I DO have one of my own, though I plan to seriously reconsider its appropriate uses), but chose to ignore it and asked how her day was. Her response was limited to a shrug and one word, "Good". It wasn't uttered with impatience and didn't communicate any irritation with my interruption of her concentration on said electronic device, but nor was it given with any encouragement of further conversation. After a moment or two, she looked up and said, "I brought this with me so I'd have something to do in line." I thought about that for a second, "And what am I going to do in line while you listen to that?" I asked hopefully. "I can still talk!" was her response.

I decided to try a new tactic... honesty. "Sam, it's really kind of rude to stick that thing in your ear when you're spending time with someone else. It makes me feel like I'm interrupting you if I try to talk to you, and if I don't, I feel like my presence isn't really required, or even desired. It's unkind, and it hurts my feelings. I'm here because I want to spend time with you." "Oh," she said, "I'm sorry!" She sounded totally sincere, and I thought to myself, "See, you only needed to explain." We drove on in silence for a time, the wire still attached to her hear, her eyes on the display in her hand. I wondered what playlist she found so fascinating. I waited for a break in her concentration so we could resume normal conversation. My patience gave out before her attention span.

I tried again, "Sam, do you realize you haven't said one word to me in the last 15 minutes?" "huh?" she looked up. "Ok, put it away." I said calmly. "huh?", her eyes widened slightly, clearly she couldn't believe what she thought she heard around her ear buds. "Put it away", I repeated. "Why?" she looked genuinely puzzled. "How often do you see me use my cell phone when I'm with you?" I asked. "Ummmm... I don't know..." she said, clearly confused. "I don't use my cell phone when I'm with you because I want to spend time with you, not with every acquaintance who has my cell phone number.", I explained. "I spend time with you because I want to talk to you, hear about your day, and focus on you!" "Oh...", she seemed to be getting it. "Do you want to listen?" she asked, holding out the device. "No," I sighed. "When I take time out of my day to take you out for a good time, I do that because I want to spend time with you, doing something other than staring at the top of your head while you listen to that thing!." She nodded briefly, but didn't comment. I gave up. She lives in a world where what's happening in your ear and on the little display in your hand is every bit as important and entertaining as anything else that might be happening around you. Her virtual world has not just intersected with the real world, it's begining to dominate it. At 12, she doesn't understand the importance of relationship, or the antiquated manners with which I was raised. She only knows that I'm too old to understand her world and that if she wants to go to Disneyland, she'll have to humor me.

And how can I expect more when the adults I'm surrounded by daily, (adults who really should know better), mirror that same behavior? The lady who walks up and down the supermarket aisles trouble shooting a friend's relationship crisis at decibels akin to the proverbial fish wife in an open air market? Or the guy in the bookstore trying to referee a raging argument between the sibling children he left at home at a level of volume that calls into question the hearing of whoever it is he's talking to? Or the co-worker who asks you a question and then midway through your answer puts her hand in your face to glance down at her phone and read an incoming text?

Emily Post, where are you? Oh my... I think I'm turning into my Grandmother!

Walking On Water

There is a framed print hanging in my living room that shows Jesus, standing in the midst of wind whipped waves under a dark, forbidding sky. He is reaching out and clasping the hand of Peter, up to his waist in tumultous water with eyes fixed on Jesus as he is lifted safely from the waves that would claim him.

You have to love Peter. He says and does all of things we would say and do in his place, without forcing us to make the admission. From the safety of our time, our faith, we are just likely to shake our heads tolerantly as to admit we share his faults. Peter demonstrates for us the faithful love and provision of our Savior as he is forgiven, strengthened and instructed repeatedly without ever losing Jesus' love or his position as Jesus' servant and the shepherd of His sheep.

When Peter first sees Jesus walking toward the wind tossed fishing boat, he and the other disciples are stricken with fear, believing they are seeing a ghost! Immediately, Jesus identifies Himself and tells them not to be afraid but Peter wants more assurance. It was not enough to see Jesus exercising control over the elements to the extent of walking out some 3 1/2 miles (according to John 6:19) to where they struggled against the storm; Peter then says, "If it's You, command me to come to You on the water." Jesus answered him with one word, "Come!".

Peter's faith gave Him the courage to step out of the boat and onto the water, moving toward Jesus. But towering waves and cutting wind whipped up Peter's fear anew, and he faltered and began to sink, crying out to Jesus for help.

We know that Jesus reaches out to take Peter's hand and return with him to the the boat, whereupon the wind stops and the waves are calmed, the storm abated. Jesus asks Peter, "You of little faith, why did you doubt?"

Every time I read the this account in Matthew 14, I wonder: if Jesus thought Peter had little faith, what must He think of me? You see, Peter stepped out of the boat. When I am faced with the raging storms and circumstances of life, I'm clinging to that boat for all I'm worth! Step out of the boat? Not willingly, not me! And if I should somehow lose my grip and be thrown into the water... be certain that I WILL call out for Jesus and for rescue, all the while kicking, screaming, flailing and clinging to whatever bit of floating debri I can lay hands on! To save me from the tempest, Jesus would literally have to grab me by the scruff of the neck!

So what does that say about my faith? I used to think that I would keep my eyes on Jesus regardless of the threat; that I would rest in the knowledge that He is enough and can be trusted to pluck me from whatever danger I face. I ignored the evidence that in this life, good people suffer loss, and know pain and lose loved ones, living in some fairy tale of iminent rescue from any danger or suffering. You see it's one thing to talk about faith from the safety of my living room while the storm rages outside. It's quite another thing when the circumstances of life, completely beyond my control, begin to roll over me like a Mac truck. What then?

Slowly, I'm gathering my faith, and my wits, about me. We've been living with our particular circumstance, as are many, for the better part of three years, and I've run the gamit of trust and doubt. I've trusted in my efforts and in God's provision, I've trusted God for a future that may be far different my past. I've cried and I've pleaded and pulled myself together with determination and belief only to fall apart again with each new twist and turn that comes my way. There seems to be no end in sight, no sun breaking over the horizon, no end to wind and waves, but my God has proven faithful!

Most elementary Sunday School children can tell you why Peter sank. Because he let his fear of the wind and the waves overcome his faith in Jesus to preserve him. Simply put, Peter was distracted. And so have I been. I have allowed the struggles of life to pull my eyes form the face of my Lord to dart wildly around me, magnifying fearful circumstances and events. I've let the waves push me in one direction and then in another, allowed the howling wind to drown out the sweet voice of assurance. Fortunately, Jesus wasn't through with Peter that day on the Sea of Galilee, and He's not through with me either! I just need to focus! To narrow my gaze to the loving eyes of Him who loves me, and walk the path He's laid out for me without doubt, and without fear.

Proverbs 4:20-27 speaks about the straight path.
"My son, pay attention to my words;
listen close to my sayings.
Don't lose sight of them;
keep them in your heart.
For they are life to those who find them,
and health to one's whole body.
Guard your heart above all else,
for it is the source of life.
Don't let your mouth speak dishonestly
and don't let your lips speak deviously.
Let your eyes look forward;
fix your eyes straight ahead.
Carefully consider the path for your feet,
and all your ways will be established.
Don't turn to the right or the left;
keep your feet away from evil.

The straight path is a path without distraction. It involves a heart and mind fixed on God's wisdom and commands. It requires a life lived on the basis of God's Word and His teaching, with eyes fixed forward, walking on the path provided.

In the Parable of the Sower, we are warned about the weeds of worry, the seduction of wealth and other desires that can choke out the seed that is the Word so that it becomes unfruitful (Mark 4:18-19). Again the distractions of the world, of wealth, a desire for acceptance or approval, fear of trials and difficulties, and the weariness of struggles can steal away God's Word to leave us bereft, distracted, and tossed on the waves of circumstance. Colossians 3:2 reminds us to "set our minds on what is above, not on what is on the earth."

I need to remember that this is not my home. Jesus has gone ahead to prepare a place for me, and THAT is my security! Not homes, or businesses, clothing or jewelry, cars or wealth of any kind; but Jesus!

It seems that God never allows me roam far from His flock before showing up on the hill I've just run down with His shepherd's crook and loving expression to remind who I am, whose I am and where I belong! "His Word is like a balm to my soul!"

Thank you, Father, I love you too!

I love you too, Lord!

I'm continually blessed and amazed when our loving God chooses to stoop down and touch my heart at the most unexpected moments!

Like all of us, I've been going through some stuff lately. It's part of life... In fact it's a crucial part of life! The circumstances in our lives are the tools with which God shapes and molds us, the hammer and chisel He uses to chip away all those bits and pieces that conceal the people He intends us to be; people conformed to the character of His own Son. We can hardly be victors if we never face conflict; nor can we be overcomers without persevering through difficulties.

Most often, I turn to my Christian family for prayer and encouragement when dealing with tough times, but sometimes, those issues involve others who may not appreciate my sharing the details of their lives along with my own. The trial I've been dealing with lately is not mine alone, and so in order to respect the privacy of my family, I've kept my sharing to one trusted prayer partner and my God. The friend I'vd asked to pray is faithful to lift my name before the Lord, but in order to respect the privacy of others, we don't often discuss things beyond her reminders that she is praying and my VERY occasional and very general updates. God has been my confidante, my counselor, and my encourager. All this is just background to the blessing I received on Good Friday while attending a Seder dinner at church.

We had finished the second cup and were beginning our feast, each table being dismissed individually in order to facilitate serving. A somewhat new friend whom I don't often see, stopped as she passed our table to say "I have been praying for you! God has brought you to my mind lately at work everytime I perform a particular function on my computer, and I've felt a clear need to pray for you."

Later, when we could talk for a moment, I asked her what function it was that prompted her to think of me. She said that when she does data entry at work, there is a command to 'Maintain Records' that she must execute before logging off. She could not imagine why that particular function would remind her of me. I smiled, "Well, I'm a bookkeeper" I said, "maintaining records is a pretty accurate description of what I spend my days doing!" A grin spread across her face too. While she didn't know the reason for that particular prompt, it seemed a rather specific and clear indication that this was no coincidence! I understood that God was letting us both know that He was the initiator of her prayers and He delighted my heart with His very personal involvement in the circumstances of my life. I couldn't give her details, but I did explain that I've been going through some things that I really couldn't discuss with my small group. God obviously knew how much I needed prayer and how much we both would be encouraged by the evidence of His intense interest in all aspects of our days, right down to the computer command He used to bring my name to her memory!

What an awesome God! He has not only answered prayer again and again, but He instigates the prayers of His people on our behalf. He so clearly demonstrated His very tender love for me and His encouragement in my efforts to honor Him by keeping priveleged information from public venues in sharing my circumstances, that tears filled my eyes with gratitude! I recently read a comment made by Beth Moore in one of her Bible Studies. She said that we love God because He first loved us (1 John 4:19), so a more accurate response to God would be 'I love you too!', as He is the initiator of our faith, our love, our relationship with and to Him... hence the title of today's blog.

Mom

It's been four months since we sat at my mother's bedside, knowing that any breath could be her last. Four months since my sister and I rushed back into the room after the briefest time away, knowing we'd missed her home going. How like my Mom to wait until we'd left the room.

I still think of her so often! "I'll forward this email to Mom, she'll get a kick out of it..." or, "I'll have to save this book for Mom, she's going to love this author!", or "I wonder how she's feeling, or what the doctor had to say"..

I try to spend time with my Step-Dad, to ease his loneliness, and in gratitude for the way he has always cared for my mother. It's hard, I feel her absence keenly in his presence. There is a feeling of "alone-ness" in my days, that I don't remember ever having felt. How much of who I am had it's beginning in my Mother, in her early nurturing, in her example of hard work, a "can-do" attitude in the face of any challenge. She would sacrifice without complaint, defend any or all of her children against all comers! (Of course, then she'd take you home and give you what for!)

Rick and I, along with Dawn and Todd will take Clay to Sunday Brunch at Charlie Brown's for Father's Day this weekend. We will try hard not to notice the empty place at the table. I can so clearly see my Mom leaning forward, her left arm resting on the table from elbow to wrist, as she labored to make a point. I can see her small hand running through white hair, so much like my Grandmother's, or her finger raised like an exclamation point for emphasis.

I want to remember always the startling blue of her eyes, her little feet with such high arches, and little, pierced ears. I can see her wearing the Betty Boop levi jacket she so loved, or the Laker's jacket that was a miniature version of Clay's much larger one. I remember her big, deep breaths when she fundamentally disagreed with something said while she mentally prepared her argument. The way she would move her dinner napkin over the spot her plate had occupied once the table had been cleared. It was as if she were trying to clean up some invisible spill only she could see as she listened to the conversation and prepared her ammunition for the next volley.

I never thought I'd miss those uncomfortable moments of having to bite my tongue in the realization that if someone didn't keep quiet, we'd never get away from the dinner table! But I DO miss those moments... and a thousand others!

I'm so grateful to know that she is safely home... Not here, where I can call the one person in the world who would know something was bothering me before I'd said much more than hello, not where I can forward an email, or take her to brunch, but with Jesus! Comfortable, joyful, without pain or tears, knowing I will see her again.