Little did she know...

[I wrote this post several months ago after the death of my dad. It's cheating, I know. But it is the first thing that comes to mind when I think of "bouquet".] Like my dad, I am a sucker for fresh flowers. Like my dad, I have a stubborn streak. Like my dad, I love to laugh. Like my dad, I adore my siblings' kids. Like my dad, I can be ornery. Like my dad, I know that exaggeration gets the point across. Like my dad, I work on an ambulance because I care about people. Like my dad, I have a January 31 birthday. Like my dad, I like to bundle up and go find adventures in the snow. Like my dad, I like to cheer for the Nebraska Huskers. Like my dad, I love to camp and hike and sit around a campfire. Like my dad, I love me some good harmonies and guitar. Like my dad, I have tasted and seen that God is good to us. Like my dad, I am a sucker for fresh flowers.

There came a point in my life where I realized that I was no longer able to physically beat my younger brothers, so I turned to my next best weapon: my words. Now, there's something you need to understand about my family: we thrive a little bit on the argument; the "discussion". Having a constant verbal battle was no strange thing in my house. However, when I decided to prove my dominance over the younger siblings through my words, I wasn't doing it just for the joy of discussing the finer points of Whatever We Were Discussing, it was to wound. I took satisfaction in those first few seconds of seeing that my words had hit their mark. Hey mom, at least we aren't physically beating each other up, right? Ouch. To this day I cringe at the thought of how thoughtless and careless I was with my words. The proverbial blowout of my anger and pride and selfishness, however well crafted, was never worth the victory of the moment. I hated it when my dad made us d...

I heard an interesting comment the other day. It was something to the effect that most Christians see church as a habit of convenience.  "If nothing else is going on, then I will make it to church." Church, gathering with other believers, is something that is not generally prioritized by most in the scheduling of the week, month or year, etc. This is something I am just as guilty of as anyone else. I remember when I first was really on my own, not just out of the house but still in Bible school. I had no-one who was dictating my behavior or habits. I could make my own choices about my time. This was liberating. Intoxicating?  And, as most "kids" do, I used my liberty to serve my selfish desires. I told myself, "You don't lose your salvation over not going to Sunday school (or whatever other service I wanted to skip)." And I was right. I didn't. You don't.  But what I failed to see, or just refused to acknowledge, was tha...

Squawking and squealing and "talking".  Laughing and rolling and whining. Drooling and chewing and thumb-sucking. Dark blue eyes. Or are they grey? Soft blonde fuzz. Or is it brown?  Copy-cat faces. Or was it an accident? Grabbing and holding. Careful balance. Writhing in joy. Notice me, mamma.  I see you, baby. And my heart is bursting with love for you.  More than you will ever know.

Something terrible happened in my house today.  I ran out of coffee beans.  Now, I have an entire drawer full of boxes and bags and bins of tea, but I am a coffee girl through and through, so this thing of having no beans is kind of a big deal.  I remember being in Johannesburg and surrounded by the choice of either instant coffee or tea. And most of the time, I chose tea. My brother Arnie and I tease each other about all of the nasty coffee substitutes to be found in that part of the world. One morning in the office at Lambano Sanctuary, the volunteers and I were taking our morning cuppa' and I was lamenting the fact of no real coffee. "You sound like you're describing a boyfriend!" they laughed. They weren't far off, I suppose. For me, coffee is more than just a warm caffeine or sugary drink to be enjoyed. It's about the ritual of heating the water, taking time to smell the aroma of the beans as I measure and grind them. It's about taking th...

It was sometime when I was in high school (along with my twin brothers), when we got "adopted" by an elderly couple in town. By adopted, I mean, they hired us to work on projects around the house and the yard. And by work, I mean that we spent some time doing actual work and a lot of other time sitting on the back porch with a pop (soda, for you other people), listening to stories from Mr. R's childhood and time in the military.  We had a lot of laughs that summer as we stained and built and mowed and painted. Like the time that we were trying to fix the hot tub, and ended up with soaking wet pants. I hadn't brought a change of clothes, so I cycled home wearing pants approximately 10x too big for me. And then there was the day when I was left to paint the brand new shed with some oil based paint. It ended up in my hair and all the way to the bottom of my feet.  They were patient, those two. They were gracious as we made mistakes and slowed progress. But we both b...

I have been missing this creative outlet, and after five months of being home with the little dude (and several frustrating months of computer problems), I am more than ready to get back into this space. How better to do that than to jump into the deep end commit to a Write 31 days challenge? You're right, THERE IS NO BETTER WAY. Since I will be traveling for a good portion of the beginning of October, this could be interesting, but ya know, I'm all about adventures!  When I was single, (and not ready to mingle) I would spend a lot of afternoons or evenings on lone walks. Sometimes I would have a book. Sometimes I would bring a journal. Sometimes, I would just go. Almost always, I had a camera.  Since this was before the time of my life when I had a smart phone, it was such a fantastic time to be alone with my thoughts. To be bored. To people watch. To let my imagination run.  These days, it's much harder for me to be alone with my thoughts when I walk. Part...