This week I was thinking about the women who have helped me become the woman, especially the mother, I am. I hope that as you read through my words, the women who have touched your life, the ones who have “mothered” you, will come to mind and give you a moment to pause and thank the Lord for the effort, the prayers perhaps, the life each one has poured into who you are today.
My mom, Barbara Pyle, first on the list, I don’t think I really appreciated the strength of this woman until a few years ago. I loved her and respected her, but somehow I don’t think I really “got it” until she moved away and left a void in my days. Somehow, my mom managed to keep an orderly home, work a full time job, and get us to our various scout meetings, dance lessons, and whatevers, while still being “mommy”. Together, she and my dad taught my siblings and me what it is to really love one another. My mom taught me to be humble enough to say “I was wrong, please forgive me.” That wasn’t taught by lecture or scolding. It was a gracious example she never missed to show. Mommy also made sure to “tuck” me in at bedtime almost every night of my life until the day I got married. May sound silly to some of you, but sitting on my bed the night before my wedding with my Mom is one of the sweetest memories I have. It signified to me the bigness of the coming moment, the newness that was coming with the dawn, and the love of my mother as she sent me into adulthood. When my dad was in ‘Nam, I sat with my mom most nights and learned to play card games. I was only 8 or 9 and probably should not have been watching Laugh In or the Smothers Brothers. But at the time I felt privileged and comforted by the special attention from her with my Daddy so far away in a place I knew was not good to be. I didn’t know she needed me as much as I needed her back then. She protected me the best she could, but having been “Daddy’s girl” from the start, it was good to be “Mommy’s helper” then. A few years ago, while she and Daddy were living in Texas, I had the opportunity to walk with her several mornings while visiting. We talked and laughed, and I found out things about my mom that I never knew. I think it was sometime during those walks that I realized, not how much I love her, that was already a given, but how much I really like my mom; how privileged I am to be her daughter, to be loved by this woman; and that somewhere between that little girl learning to play cards and the woman walking with her along a road in Texas, she became my friend as well as my mom. A friendship that is one more treasure she has laid in my life.
When I look in the mirror I see more than me, I see my Grandmom Pyle’s mouth. Odd thing to notice maybe, but I remember her mouth. Because one of my earliest memories is Grandmom playing Airplane with the spoon to get me to eat and it’s her mouth making the noises that I see when I close my eyes and remember. I remember the sweet sound of her humming, and the way she pursed those lips sometimes. I find myself standing with my hands clasped behind me in her manner and playing airplane with my grandbabies. And I love pansies and lilacs because of her. She was the grandmother who did crafts and who had a tambourine she took to church. I see much of her in me (even if I don’t carry my tambourine to church any longer, I do still stand in her manner).
I have a fierce love for my family. Playing with my children and now my grandjoys is every bit as important as discipline is, and entertaining in my home is one of the best things in the world to me. I know that all was planted in my being by a grandmother I called Mom Mom. This is the grandmother I remember playing Rapunzel and Cinderella with, baking peanut butter and chocolate chip cookies along side of, and eating drumstick ice cream brought home from her job. Mom Mom loved her family and she enjoyed us as well. She had a high chair in her kitchen when I was little. It was metal with steps that pulled out from underneath. She would pull that chair into the middle of the kitchen and then she would pin a towel into my hair so that my “hair” hung down to my toes. She would become the evil witch who locked me (Rapunzel) into the tall tower (the chair); from the tower I would call for the prince and she would become the prince. On her knees below the seat where I stood she would quote the line, “Rapunzel, Rapunzel let down your long hair!” and I would kneel down and toss the towel-hair over the back so the “prince” could “climb” the tower and release me from my prison! The taste of raw homemade cookie dough, those metal chairs, and so many other wonderful things fill my memory with her. She loved me and I knew it without reservation or want. She had an energy that we used to joke was the caffeine from all the coffee she drank (and there was some truth to that). But her energy flowed from a deeper, simpler, sweeter place than that. It was a place of service; a place that was grounded in faith and a simpler time, of farm life in the depression and being the youngest daughter in a family of eleven children. To Mom Mom serving her family was the same as saying “I love you; you are important to me.” Serving others was as natural as breathing to her. Anyone walking into her home was welcomed with a fresh glass of iced tea, a hot cup of coffee, or a fresh piece of pie. I see her every time I look into my granddaughter’s face. She was named after Mom Mom, but she looks like the pictures of my grandmother at two years old. I miss her dearly, but I am thankful every day that she was mine to have, and I pray that someday if the Lord waits, my grandchildren will remember with a tenderness that says “I’m glad she was mine,” about me.
At 20 years old I married a man I had known for five months, but knew I wanted to spend the rest of days next to. And in doing so, I met a woman who was destined to own her place in my heart, my mother-in-law, Shirley Collins. I have said it many times, but it is still true, I would still be married to my husband if I had picked him out according to who was his mother. She befriended me and spent most days with me during that first year of marriage. She encouraged, taught, advised in the most gentle of ways, and loved me. This immature, naïve girl, trying to be the woman she thought she was supposed to be, fell short, so very short almost every day. But “Mom” helped me to navigate those rough waters and understand this man that, in truth, I knew very little about. Through the almost 30 years she has been my mother-in-love, I have come to respect her gentleness, her good nature, her wisdom, and her strength. She accepted me into the family and was my ally from the beginning. From her I have learned how to accept and love my son-in-laws and my someday daughter-in-law. From her I have learned (well, I hope I have learned) how to offer advice gently and how to allow my children to be adults. (My mom was pretty good at that too. I suppose I needed a lot of gracious examples.) I have been richer and become a better mother and woman because Shirley Collins is my mother-in-love, not just in-law.
Lastly, three special young women have taught me some important things about mothering as well as offering me the sweetest of treasures. These young women are my daughters Kristi, Melanie, and Amy. Watching each of them as mothers, doing things they learned from me or have improved on from me, seeing them gentle their babies, laugh with their toddlers, discipline in love, and loving their children reminds me that all that came before was worth it. Every bit of hard or tough road, every unsure moment as mom, every tear and every prayer were worth getting to this moment, when on Mother’s Day I celebrate with these three young woman whom I have the privilege of calling “daughter”. I know they can say I am their mentor, their Mom, but I also hope they can say I am their friend. And that treasure? Well, Proverbs 17:6 says it best: “Children's children are a crown to the aged, and parents are the pride of their children.” That’s why I call them my grandjoys.
There is not room to tell you of the impact others had, aunts and friends, teachers and sisters. Who has had an impact on your life, on who you are today? Who would you like to remind that you are the incredible person you are because of the love and encouragement that person had in your life? (And I can prove you’re incredible with a few scriptures, but that is a topic for another time).
Sunday, May 9, 2010
Monday, May 3, 2010
In the last several weeks I have had the privilege of reconnecting with some special people. April 1 a group of ladies I went to high school with all came together to enjoy a meal with one another, remember who we were, and to see where life had taken each of us. What fun it was to see pictures of families and hear stories of what each one has chosen to do with her life up to now. Some of these ladies had been good friends, some just barely, and some we really didn't get along "back in the day". But that night it was different we were adults and had a common point to come together on. That point was our 50th birthdays this year.
Just a week ago I met a friend that I hadn't seen in months and enjoyed a cup of tea with her as we chatted and reaquainted ourselves with each other's life. She and I share so much in common and so little. Our lives have woven through each other's now and then and I have learned much from her discernment mixed with compassion.
The very next day two friends came for tea. Nothing unusual in that, at least not at my house. But this day was special. These two women have never sat in my kitchen and enjoyed a cup of tea with me. I have not fellowshiped with either of them in almost 20 years. They came for tea and lunch and stayed until dinner time. We laughed and reminisced about the past, shared some tears over what has fallen into our lives, and found the precious relationship available through the Holy Spirit that makes us one in Him.
In the last year I have connected with cousins I have never met, others I haven't seen in years, long lost relatives and friends that I haven't seen since childhood.I found a friend on face book that I knew when I lived in Michigan for 2 years in 5th and part of 6th grade. I sort of recognized her picture, sent her a message asking if it was her and we have continued to communicate in what has become for me a special relationship. I have come to treasure her as a friend as I have learned about her and the things in common and the differences in our lives. I rejoiced with her long distance over her wedding in January, and hope that one of these days when she's traveling east with her husband on a truck run, she will have time to swing close enough to Delaware to stop for dinner. What a hoot that will be! A good friend moved away in 1983 and we met for lunch while I visited her area last summer. Picking up like it was yesterday we have found a sweet bond that time has not diminished.
As I think about the reconnection with all these people I can't help but notice how each has touched my life and contributed in some way to the person I am today, even the long distance, long lost relatives. I am reminded that our God is a God who renews and restores, who takes what is lost and dead, finds it and gives life. He grants us blessing and treasure beyond measure. I am aware that I am blessed everyday as I look into the faces of my husband, my children, and my grandchildren. But this recent flow of renewed and fresh friendships have reminded me just how full and overflowing my blessings truly are.
Just a week ago I met a friend that I hadn't seen in months and enjoyed a cup of tea with her as we chatted and reaquainted ourselves with each other's life. She and I share so much in common and so little. Our lives have woven through each other's now and then and I have learned much from her discernment mixed with compassion.
The very next day two friends came for tea. Nothing unusual in that, at least not at my house. But this day was special. These two women have never sat in my kitchen and enjoyed a cup of tea with me. I have not fellowshiped with either of them in almost 20 years. They came for tea and lunch and stayed until dinner time. We laughed and reminisced about the past, shared some tears over what has fallen into our lives, and found the precious relationship available through the Holy Spirit that makes us one in Him.
In the last year I have connected with cousins I have never met, others I haven't seen in years, long lost relatives and friends that I haven't seen since childhood.I found a friend on face book that I knew when I lived in Michigan for 2 years in 5th and part of 6th grade. I sort of recognized her picture, sent her a message asking if it was her and we have continued to communicate in what has become for me a special relationship. I have come to treasure her as a friend as I have learned about her and the things in common and the differences in our lives. I rejoiced with her long distance over her wedding in January, and hope that one of these days when she's traveling east with her husband on a truck run, she will have time to swing close enough to Delaware to stop for dinner. What a hoot that will be! A good friend moved away in 1983 and we met for lunch while I visited her area last summer. Picking up like it was yesterday we have found a sweet bond that time has not diminished.
As I think about the reconnection with all these people I can't help but notice how each has touched my life and contributed in some way to the person I am today, even the long distance, long lost relatives. I am reminded that our God is a God who renews and restores, who takes what is lost and dead, finds it and gives life. He grants us blessing and treasure beyond measure. I am aware that I am blessed everyday as I look into the faces of my husband, my children, and my grandchildren. But this recent flow of renewed and fresh friendships have reminded me just how full and overflowing my blessings truly are.
Monday, April 26, 2010
The Scent of Lilacs
The fragrance of lilacs takes me back
Back to days when Grandmom’s house was filled with their scent each May.
And one of the life’s sweetest rewards were cookies from her apron
A secret shared between us
Or so I thought.
Hiding in her cabinet behind the tea towel door
Sneaking down to the root cellar
Because it was scary
Hanging out in Poppy’s “garage”
Which in truth was only 3 concrete block walls
4 foot high
No roof.
But dinner at Grandmom’s was
Comfort,
It was love
It was family
And the scent of lilacs reminds me each year of how it felt to be loved by her.
Back to days when Grandmom’s house was filled with their scent each May.
And one of the life’s sweetest rewards were cookies from her apron
A secret shared between us
Or so I thought.
Hiding in her cabinet behind the tea towel door
Sneaking down to the root cellar
Because it was scary
Hanging out in Poppy’s “garage”
Which in truth was only 3 concrete block walls
4 foot high
No roof.
But dinner at Grandmom’s was
Comfort,
It was love
It was family
And the scent of lilacs reminds me each year of how it felt to be loved by her.
Monday, April 19, 2010
Adonai
Adonai, the word is translated Lord and in the Hebrew each time it refers to God it is plural, when referring to a mortal man it is singular. It means master, one in complete authority.
In this culture and this country it is difficult to get a real appreciation and understanding of that concept. We have such abundant freedom and are so fiercely independent that we fail to understand that in truth we are all under authority. We are under the authority of our parents until we are adults. We are under the authority of the government. We are under the authority of the boss in our job. But when it comes to spiritual things we often forget that we are under authority here also. Before we came to Christ, we yielded our authority to the enemy. In coming to Christ, I asked for salvation without any concept of Lordship. They go hand in hand. Jesus is Lord means He is master, one in complete authority. For many that thought will cause a rebellious disquieting of the heart. However, as we come closer to him, come to know him in the inner sanctuary, abide in that place of peace and soak in His love, we begin to see that this authority is so much better than being on our own without it.
His authority is based on and in His love for us. He created us with the purpose of relationship. He is our creator, owner. But he purchased us, redeemed us for the purpose of love. He is our kinsman-redeemer and has earned the right to be called Lord, even though He owned the right to begin with.
The deeper I get into this relationship with this Adonai, the more I treasure this name, this revelation of his character. For in Adonai I find a person that can be trusted in anything. You can trust him with that baby you lost. You can trust him with the past of bad choices that left you regretful. You can trust him with the pain of the memory of abuse. You can trust him with the failure in your responsibility. You can trust him with the shameful memory of that one moment you wish you could undo. You can trust him. Totally. Completely. Because his authority is based in his love for you and He has promised that all works for your good and his glory. How amazing and perfect is that?
My prayer for you today is that you will find in the name Adonai a tender and worshipful whisper of delight and wonder on your lips and that El Shaddai has shed forth something in your heart that helps you to see yourself and your God in a truer and deeper way, through his eyes.
In this culture and this country it is difficult to get a real appreciation and understanding of that concept. We have such abundant freedom and are so fiercely independent that we fail to understand that in truth we are all under authority. We are under the authority of our parents until we are adults. We are under the authority of the government. We are under the authority of the boss in our job. But when it comes to spiritual things we often forget that we are under authority here also. Before we came to Christ, we yielded our authority to the enemy. In coming to Christ, I asked for salvation without any concept of Lordship. They go hand in hand. Jesus is Lord means He is master, one in complete authority. For many that thought will cause a rebellious disquieting of the heart. However, as we come closer to him, come to know him in the inner sanctuary, abide in that place of peace and soak in His love, we begin to see that this authority is so much better than being on our own without it.
His authority is based on and in His love for us. He created us with the purpose of relationship. He is our creator, owner. But he purchased us, redeemed us for the purpose of love. He is our kinsman-redeemer and has earned the right to be called Lord, even though He owned the right to begin with.
The deeper I get into this relationship with this Adonai, the more I treasure this name, this revelation of his character. For in Adonai I find a person that can be trusted in anything. You can trust him with that baby you lost. You can trust him with the past of bad choices that left you regretful. You can trust him with the pain of the memory of abuse. You can trust him with the failure in your responsibility. You can trust him with the shameful memory of that one moment you wish you could undo. You can trust him. Totally. Completely. Because his authority is based in his love for you and He has promised that all works for your good and his glory. How amazing and perfect is that?
My prayer for you today is that you will find in the name Adonai a tender and worshipful whisper of delight and wonder on your lips and that El Shaddai has shed forth something in your heart that helps you to see yourself and your God in a truer and deeper way, through his eyes.
Monday, April 12, 2010
El Shaddai
Did you know that names are important to God? Names are important because they convey a message.
Think about your own name. Do you know its meaning? Take mine for example, Cheryll, means graceful. Although not evident now, I was a dancer for years and that requires an amount of natural gracefulness. My daughter Kristin’s name was prophetic of my salvation. Her name means Christian, follower of Christ and her middle name Renee means born again. It was for this child I started attending church again and pursuing Christ. My daughter Melanie Dawn’s name means darkness and gentleness and Dawn of course means the break of morning, the light after the darkness. We really didn’t know that when we named her. She was my melancholy sweet girl and Mel has the most gentle voice and personality you will ever meet. But she also lights the dawn when there is darkness in my life, she has the ability to bring the light and hope of tomorrow to me. My daughter Amy Nicole was named after the godly missionary, Amy Carmichael. Our prayer was that she would have the character and passion for Jesus that Amma had. Her name means beloved and victorious. I am thankful that I did not know when she was born how she would have to be victorious. Amy has had to face and conquer things that as a parent you hope and pray never come to your child. But she is victorious and passionate about Christ. Then there is Matthew. We named him that knowing full well that the name means Gift of Jehovah. Because he was just that, God’s idea, not mine. And you know how God’s ideas are higher and better than ours? Well, yeah, that’s my boy. He was the easiest going kid and still to this day is a gift to my heart straight from my Father’s heart. Then there is Crystal. We adopted Crystal when she was 12 and we were prepared for the drama that adopting an older child is suppose to come with. But really there has been very little and mostly because her personality is so sparkly bright, she is our Crystal, and in truth she is a diamond, because she has come through the fire and pressure of life that no little one should have to endure and still she shines and sparkles with sincerity of heart and clear bright joy. And then there is Timothy. One who honors God. We hope that his name carries some of who we are as well as being demonstrated in Tim’s life. What more could we ask for as parents?
I share that in hope that you will see that speaking a name carries a meaning, it has weight when we call someone “follower of Christ” or “gentle darkness and light” “beloved victory”, “gift of God”, “brilliant gem”, and “one who honors God”.
When we speak to God His name also carries weight and the impact of what we say is felt in ways we may not understand or recognize. There are well over 55 names and titles for God in the Bible. Some of them you would recognize immediately, others you may not have heard before.
For me, as a woman, the name El Shaddai has carried great comfort and promise. The name is translated God Almighty. A short study of the Hebrew words offers something much deeper than those words imply in English. Step with me into deeper water for a moment.
Our God presents himself to us as Father, a name that should speak of protection, of tender love, and of authority. Have you noticed that fathers usually do not need to shout or raise their voice very often? There is something in the authority of his voice that causes the child to listen and give heed. And so it is with our Father. He whispers to us in a still small voice and we can miss it if we do not learn to heed it. God presents himself to us in masculine terms so that we begin to understand the authority that lies behind it.
But the word shaddai in Hebrew is a feminine form and is derived from the same word as breast. It literally means to shed forth. Shed forth what? Think about the connection for a minute.
Did you know that mother’s milk is so perfectly suited to her infant’s needs that the child does not need anything else for nourishment for the first 12 months of life! It provides immunity, it feeds perfectly, it comforts. It sheds forth all that the child needs as the mother holds her baby and nurses the child. Her baby needs her. And God chose this root word to represent Himself in the name God Almighty.
When I think Almighty, I think of powerful, magnificence, complete control and authority. But God connected the name to the tender love of a young mother for her infant, the gentle flow of protection and provision that comes as a natural result of becoming a mom, because He sees us with that kind of tenderness. We are His precious little ones and He treasures us like a new mother treasures the perfection of her little one. His provision for us flows like mother’s milk in connection to our needs. Listen to the language of your Father toward you:
For he that touches you touches the apple of my eye. (Zech. 2:8)
I have carved you into the palms of my hand and your walls are continually before me. (Is. 49: 16)
Before you were born I knew you. (Ps. 139:15-16)
He keeps a record of our sorrow and our tears (ps. 56:8)
His child (1John 3:1)
A royal priesthood, a holy nation (1 Peter 2:9)
Loved (John 3:16)
The Bible says he rejoices over his people.
He Inhabits the praise of his people.
He delights in his people.
Over and over we are shown that he loves us and in the passage in Isaiah quoted above, he says even if a mother forgets her suckling child, he will not forget us. We are his, created by his hand, and bought with the blood of The Son.
And in the gentle language of scripture for those who will look, he has given us a name that indicates that while we relate to Him as our Father, he has the tenderness of a mother also and understands women, for in the spirit there is neither male nor female (Gal. 3:28; Matt. 22:30).
Did you know that names are important to God? Names are important because they convey a message.
Think about your own name. Do you know its meaning? Take mine for example, Cheryll, means graceful. Although not evident now, I was a dancer for years and that requires an amount of natural gracefulness. My daughter Kristin’s name was prophetic of my salvation. Her name means Christian, follower of Christ and her middle name Renee means born again. It was for this child I started attending church again and pursuing Christ. My daughter Melanie Dawn’s name means darkness and gentleness and Dawn of course means the break of morning, the light after the darkness. We really didn’t know that when we named her. She was my melancholy sweet girl and Mel has the most gentle voice and personality you will ever meet. But she also lights the dawn when there is darkness in my life, she has the ability to bring the light and hope of tomorrow to me. My daughter Amy Nicole was named after the godly missionary, Amy Carmichael. Our prayer was that she would have the character and passion for Jesus that Amma had. Her name means beloved and victorious. I am thankful that I did not know when she was born how she would have to be victorious. Amy has had to face and conquer things that as a parent you hope and pray never come to your child. But she is victorious and passionate about Christ. Then there is Matthew. We named him that knowing full well that the name means Gift of Jehovah. Because he was just that, God’s idea, not mine. And you know how God’s ideas are higher and better than ours? Well, yeah, that’s my boy. He was the easiest going kid and still to this day is a gift to my heart straight from my Father’s heart. Then there is Crystal. We adopted Crystal when she was 12 and we were prepared for the drama that adopting an older child is suppose to come with. But really there has been very little and mostly because her personality is so sparkly bright, she is our Crystal, and in truth she is a diamond, because she has come through the fire and pressure of life that no little one should have to endure and still she shines and sparkles with sincerity of heart and clear bright joy. And then there is Timothy. One who honors God. We hope that his name carries some of who we are as well as being demonstrated in Tim’s life. What more could we ask for as parents?
I share that in hope that you will see that speaking a name carries a meaning, it has weight when we call someone “follower of Christ” or “gentle darkness and light” “beloved victory”, “gift of God”, “brilliant gem”, and “one who honors God”.
When we speak to God His name also carries weight and the impact of what we say is felt in ways we may not understand or recognize. There are well over 55 names and titles for God in the Bible. Some of them you would recognize immediately, others you may not have heard before.
For me, as a woman, the name El Shaddai has carried great comfort and promise. The name is translated God Almighty. A short study of the Hebrew words offers something much deeper than those words imply in English. Step with me into deeper water for a moment.
Our God presents himself to us as Father, a name that should speak of protection, of tender love, and of authority. Have you noticed that fathers usually do not need to shout or raise their voice very often? There is something in the authority of his voice that causes the child to listen and give heed. And so it is with our Father. He whispers to us in a still small voice and we can miss it if we do not learn to heed it. God presents himself to us in masculine terms so that we begin to understand the authority that lies behind it.
But the word shaddai in Hebrew is a feminine form and is derived from the same word as breast. It literally means to shed forth. Shed forth what? Think about the connection for a minute.
Did you know that mother’s milk is so perfectly suited to her infant’s needs that the child does not need anything else for nourishment for the first 12 months of life! It provides immunity, it feeds perfectly, it comforts. It sheds forth all that the child needs as the mother holds her baby and nurses the child. Her baby needs her. And God chose this root word to represent Himself in the name God Almighty.
When I think Almighty, I think of powerful, magnificence, complete control and authority. But God connected the name to the tender love of a young mother for her infant, the gentle flow of protection and provision that comes as a natural result of becoming a mom, because He sees us with that kind of tenderness. We are His precious little ones and He treasures us like a new mother treasures the perfection of her little one. His provision for us flows like mother’s milk in connection to our needs. Listen to the language of your Father toward you:
For he that touches you touches the apple of my eye. (Zech. 2:8)
I have carved you into the palms of my hand and your walls are continually before me. (Is. 49: 16)
Before you were born I knew you. (Ps. 139:15-16)
He keeps a record of our sorrow and our tears (ps. 56:8)
His child (1John 3:1)
A royal priesthood, a holy nation (1 Peter 2:9)
Loved (John 3:16)
The Bible says he rejoices over his people.
He Inhabits the praise of his people.
He delights in his people.
Over and over we are shown that he loves us and in the passage in Isaiah quoted above, he says even if a mother forgets her suckling child, he will not forget us. We are his, created by his hand, and bought with the blood of The Son.
And in the gentle language of scripture for those who will look, he has given us a name that indicates that while we relate to Him as our Father, he has the tenderness of a mother also and understands women, for in the spirit there is neither male nor female (Gal. 3:28; Matt. 22:30).
Tuesday, April 6, 2010
An extra one in celebration of my birthday!
I celebrated my 50th birthday on Easter Sunday this year. I got some really funny cards (mostly from my mother-in-law!) and I was treated to some very special gifts both practical and just for fun. I have celebrated with my kids, my husband, my parents, and my mother-in-law. I will celebrate some more with Rich’s sister, Ginger and her hubby, Dave later this month and in August a week of celebration with my best friend Nancy and our dear friend Lisa (who introduced us at 12 years old). I met up with a bunch of girls I went to high school with to celebrate all of us turning 50 this year and we had so much fun we’re talking about doing it again. (Meeting up that is, but turning 50 again is ok with me!)
Celebrating, planning the celebrations, being surprised by the celebrations have all been the way to turn what to some people is a difficult age to face into the most wonderful birthday I’ve had so far. But I am finding that becoming 50 is a joyful (even if somewhat doctor filled) time. I looked in the mirror recently and noticed 3 deep lines on my left cheek bone and wow, when I smile the crow’s feet dance all over my eyes! But somehow, that’s ok. I stood back and looked not at the whole of my hair, but just the top where the natural crop is shining through and realized, I really LIKE my gray hair. Now, I know that is almost un-American. But I can’t help it. I really like it! I can’t wait to grow it all out gray. I want long gray curls before I turn 55. That’s an attainable goal:0)
And I have thought about why all this aging is ok with me when I am surrounded by a culture that screams “You must do all you can to stay young, to look 20 years younger than you are!” And I think I get it a little. First of all, I had 2 grandmothers who wore their age well. I don’t mean they looked younger. Quite the opposite. My maternal grandmother, Mom Mom as most of my friends and family knew her, had silver white hair at 38 years old and was proud of it. Yet, her youthful vigor and amazing strength out-worked me, out-lasted me, time after time. She was amazing in so many ways. My paternal grandmother also gave me something to look forward to. One thing I remember is that her dark hair lasted while streaks of silver slowly began to coat through her locks. I thought she was so pretty and I never told her so. But she was as active and lively, full of life and friends right up until she passed on. I have a treasury full of sweet memories with both of them and I know that is a precious thing. More than that, I want to be that kind of grandmother. I want to be remembered by my grandchildren for the vigor and accomplishments they saw when I am 60; and I want them to remember the fun they had with me when they are turning 50 (Lord willing).
Recently our seminary class had a class on goal setting and starting with Life goals. That lesson really spun my wheels and I have moved out with intention from that point. This blog is one of the results of that class. Coming just weeks before my BIG birthday, it struck a chord.
Although our society, our culture does not honor age, scripture does. It says that children’s children are a reward, that silver hair is a crown for the “aged”; and equates age with what should have become wisdom along the way. I want to stand before my Father, before my Savior, filled up with His precious Spirit, with my long gray hair, crows’ feet, and grand canyon face crevices and hear Him say “Well done. . .enter in”. Even more, I want Him speak the name of His child, my name on His lips, and know that I have served him better in my last than in my first days. I want to know that what I leave behind simply points others to the truth of His love, of His forgiveness, of His incredible desire for us to know Him and to know that He loves us. So I plan to spend the next 40 or 50 years accomplishing these things.
I have laughed as well-wishers make comments about becoming middle aged or NOW being over the hill. I mean I don’t know how ya’ all count, but the average age for a woman in this country is 85 and half (or midway to) is not 50, sorry. As for that hill, honey, I am sliding down the other side with a woohoo and a weeeeeee slipping through my teeth as I head toward the goal line. And with what I hope is a bit of wisdom, I encourage you to count the blessings and trust Him with the pain of life; take life serious for you only go around once, but not too seriously; and if you haven’t done so, make yourself a life goal list, then get to it! If you get stuck call me, I’ve got a few ideas. Blessings. Cheri
Celebrating, planning the celebrations, being surprised by the celebrations have all been the way to turn what to some people is a difficult age to face into the most wonderful birthday I’ve had so far. But I am finding that becoming 50 is a joyful (even if somewhat doctor filled) time. I looked in the mirror recently and noticed 3 deep lines on my left cheek bone and wow, when I smile the crow’s feet dance all over my eyes! But somehow, that’s ok. I stood back and looked not at the whole of my hair, but just the top where the natural crop is shining through and realized, I really LIKE my gray hair. Now, I know that is almost un-American. But I can’t help it. I really like it! I can’t wait to grow it all out gray. I want long gray curls before I turn 55. That’s an attainable goal:0)
And I have thought about why all this aging is ok with me when I am surrounded by a culture that screams “You must do all you can to stay young, to look 20 years younger than you are!” And I think I get it a little. First of all, I had 2 grandmothers who wore their age well. I don’t mean they looked younger. Quite the opposite. My maternal grandmother, Mom Mom as most of my friends and family knew her, had silver white hair at 38 years old and was proud of it. Yet, her youthful vigor and amazing strength out-worked me, out-lasted me, time after time. She was amazing in so many ways. My paternal grandmother also gave me something to look forward to. One thing I remember is that her dark hair lasted while streaks of silver slowly began to coat through her locks. I thought she was so pretty and I never told her so. But she was as active and lively, full of life and friends right up until she passed on. I have a treasury full of sweet memories with both of them and I know that is a precious thing. More than that, I want to be that kind of grandmother. I want to be remembered by my grandchildren for the vigor and accomplishments they saw when I am 60; and I want them to remember the fun they had with me when they are turning 50 (Lord willing).
Recently our seminary class had a class on goal setting and starting with Life goals. That lesson really spun my wheels and I have moved out with intention from that point. This blog is one of the results of that class. Coming just weeks before my BIG birthday, it struck a chord.
Although our society, our culture does not honor age, scripture does. It says that children’s children are a reward, that silver hair is a crown for the “aged”; and equates age with what should have become wisdom along the way. I want to stand before my Father, before my Savior, filled up with His precious Spirit, with my long gray hair, crows’ feet, and grand canyon face crevices and hear Him say “Well done. . .enter in”. Even more, I want Him speak the name of His child, my name on His lips, and know that I have served him better in my last than in my first days. I want to know that what I leave behind simply points others to the truth of His love, of His forgiveness, of His incredible desire for us to know Him and to know that He loves us. So I plan to spend the next 40 or 50 years accomplishing these things.
I have laughed as well-wishers make comments about becoming middle aged or NOW being over the hill. I mean I don’t know how ya’ all count, but the average age for a woman in this country is 85 and half (or midway to) is not 50, sorry. As for that hill, honey, I am sliding down the other side with a woohoo and a weeeeeee slipping through my teeth as I head toward the goal line. And with what I hope is a bit of wisdom, I encourage you to count the blessings and trust Him with the pain of life; take life serious for you only go around once, but not too seriously; and if you haven’t done so, make yourself a life goal list, then get to it! If you get stuck call me, I’ve got a few ideas. Blessings. Cheri
Just wondering
I wonder as you sat there with your bread in hand
Did he think about what his betrayal meant?
And I wonder as he listened to Your voice
Did he know the grace, the mercy the Father already had sent?
Did he know you knew? Did he see it in your eyes?
Though the others were caught off guard
You were not surprised.
And I can’t help wondering if he remembered moments when
Your voice calmed the sea and your touch healed men?
And it astounds me so that he could have 3 years walked with You,
And still not believed enough to understand too.
Did he know you knew? Did he see it in your eyes?
Though the others were caught off guard
You were not surprised.
And I can’t help wondering when the cock sounded his crow
Did Peter feel Your love as his tears began to flow?
And it astounds me so that he could have declared You the Christ
And then days later not understood that price.
Did he know you knew? Did he see it in Your eyes?
Though he was caught off guard
You were not surprised.
And I can’t help wondering how I can miss a day
Standing in amazement at the price you’ve paid?
Yet, I know I’ve betrayed you and I know I’ve denied
And I’ve wondered if I get it and that I too have lied.
That I’m just like them with my tears in my eyes.
Do I know you knew? Do I see it in your eyes?
Though I was caught off guard
You were not surprised.
One of the most intriguing things about the Passion Week to me is the love of Christ toward those he knew would betray him, deny him, leave him, and disbelieve him. He knew. Yet he called Simon, “Peter”, a rock. And he gave Judas the job of treasurer! They had heard his voice, seen his miracles, walked and slept and listened and looked into the eyes of the Eternal One and they failed him, and he knew they would. He loved them. Still. Even so. And in that wonderful, honest, naked truth of the gospel I see his loving kindness toward me. There is nothing I have done; nothing I am doing; nothing I will do that He has not already seen, planned, and touched with His spirit so that it will work for my benefit, shaping me into the image of the Precious One. His resurrection astounds me deeper than I can describe. His crucifixion mortifies me in the knowledge that it was because of me and every individual “small” sin I have ever committed. But His loving kindness, His gentle mercy toward me humbles me to tears. And all of this wrapped up in one man, one week in history is too much to comprehend. But that’s ok, because He’s not caught off guard and He is not surprised. He knows I am but dust and He loves me anyway. (By the way, He feels the same about you.)
Did he think about what his betrayal meant?
And I wonder as he listened to Your voice
Did he know the grace, the mercy the Father already had sent?
Did he know you knew? Did he see it in your eyes?
Though the others were caught off guard
You were not surprised.
And I can’t help wondering if he remembered moments when
Your voice calmed the sea and your touch healed men?
And it astounds me so that he could have 3 years walked with You,
And still not believed enough to understand too.
Did he know you knew? Did he see it in your eyes?
Though the others were caught off guard
You were not surprised.
And I can’t help wondering when the cock sounded his crow
Did Peter feel Your love as his tears began to flow?
And it astounds me so that he could have declared You the Christ
And then days later not understood that price.
Did he know you knew? Did he see it in Your eyes?
Though he was caught off guard
You were not surprised.
And I can’t help wondering how I can miss a day
Standing in amazement at the price you’ve paid?
Yet, I know I’ve betrayed you and I know I’ve denied
And I’ve wondered if I get it and that I too have lied.
That I’m just like them with my tears in my eyes.
Do I know you knew? Do I see it in your eyes?
Though I was caught off guard
You were not surprised.
One of the most intriguing things about the Passion Week to me is the love of Christ toward those he knew would betray him, deny him, leave him, and disbelieve him. He knew. Yet he called Simon, “Peter”, a rock. And he gave Judas the job of treasurer! They had heard his voice, seen his miracles, walked and slept and listened and looked into the eyes of the Eternal One and they failed him, and he knew they would. He loved them. Still. Even so. And in that wonderful, honest, naked truth of the gospel I see his loving kindness toward me. There is nothing I have done; nothing I am doing; nothing I will do that He has not already seen, planned, and touched with His spirit so that it will work for my benefit, shaping me into the image of the Precious One. His resurrection astounds me deeper than I can describe. His crucifixion mortifies me in the knowledge that it was because of me and every individual “small” sin I have ever committed. But His loving kindness, His gentle mercy toward me humbles me to tears. And all of this wrapped up in one man, one week in history is too much to comprehend. But that’s ok, because He’s not caught off guard and He is not surprised. He knows I am but dust and He loves me anyway. (By the way, He feels the same about you.)
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