Monthly Archives: April 2013

One tired momma and lots of fun!

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Compared to where I grew up, I live in a small town. Right here I feel like I should insert a perennial Hee- Haw favorite. Marshall, MN – population 13,700 – SALUTE! More than once, comments have been made to our family with noses turned up, “What do you do for fun there?”

The truthful answer is we make our own. We spend time with friends doing all sorts of things, but nine times out of ten our fun has some food component. My favorite plans (and meals) are the ones that get put together about eleven minutes before they happen. It might be a chance meeting in the grocery store and then – Voila! – we have the makings of an impromptu party.

I relish small town living, and for me, personally, the only major drawback is the missed opportunities involving food, particularly fine dining. Another even smaller town restaurant had coursed meals for years, but the chef moved away, much to my broken heart. We loved driving down and enjoying a relaxing evening among friends and strangers alike. But those glory days are now done.

Over the weekend, I had the opportunity to put my love of food – cooking, eating, and fine dining – to good use. The result was an eight coursed meal for two special young people in my life for their first prom. I posted a few comments on Facebook about my busy day, which elicited quite a few inquiries as to what I was doing. So, I am using today’s blog to tell a story of food, but it is more so a story of two families who created their own fun for one afternoon.

All courses were homemade, except for the bread (which I simply just ran out of time) and cheese (but reassured I do know the cows).

Course One –lemon sorbet

Course Two – fresh fruit bowl

Course Three – bacon wrapped scallops

Course Four – strawberry gazpacho

Course Five – baby lettuce, pecans, red onions, feta cheese with homemade lemon balm/basil/blueberry vinaigrette

Course Six – Assorted cheeses, bread, dipping oil with pesto

Course Seven – Grilled T-bone steaks with steamed purple and gold potatoes served with steamed yellow and green summer squash with dill and sea salt.

Course Eight – Mini-cheesecakes with fresh berries

In the end, the sun was shining, the prom goers and staff (parents and siblings) were well fed, and many laughs ensued. So what do we do for fun in a small town? You never can tell what we come up with next!

Here we go . . . again

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It is April 18^th today, and my children were released from school early because of a snowstorm. I snapped this picture of my favorite goat (a tin ware caprine friend given to me by one of my favorite families). Poor Beauregard was plastered, prompting an immediate rescue. Hope springs eternal, and ol’ Beau has seen more than his share of winter in the two weeks he’s been back standing sentinel on the front stoop.

What he has witnessed got me to thinking about another time honored evidence of spring. Each year, we watch, waiting for our feathered friends to alight our yard. The arrival of robins in my neck of the woods also means the utterance of old time sayings. Most have something to do with the emergence of spring, but one in particular seems to be most fitting.

Gotta snow three times on a robin’s (or you could substitute guard goat’s) back before it’s spring.

This year the saying is definitely true. And it’s been verifiable a few other times in my life as well. Today marks number three for cold, white backs on our red-breasted birds.

While the rest of us begrudge and bemoan what seems like the worst winter yet (basically because we were spoiled with virtually no snow and warmer temperatures last year), there are others like a dear friend of mine who are thanking God for the miserable weather.

Sometimes it takes the wisdom of someone walking through a storm of life for you to really gain perspective. Chatting at church last night, my friend shared that she, too, was sick of winter, but then she figured God has a plan for everything.

Turns out a little boy very close to her is doing battle in his own body (Enemy #1 = leukemia). For the next so-many days, he is restricted to indoors while the war wages on. What’s the best way to stop sick little boys from playing outside in the fresh springtime air? The answer: make the weather miserable so he doesn’t want to go out.

Wow! Talk about a different perspective. While we still have our struggles here, some snow on the ground or extra days in school are pretty small beans in comparison to fighting for your life. Yet, it took the words of a worried friend to give me new vision.

Safe, secure, and snuggled in with my precious babes, today I am going to look at each flake as a blessing from God.

And just in case we get a whole lot more blessings on any backs, I will let ol’ Beau vacation a little longer in the house.

Just when I thought I was safe

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Picture found at www.awayathomemom.com whose blog on this subject made me chuckle.

I had the honor of speaking to a MOPS group in a town not-so-far from my own this morning. It was a blessing, bringing joy to my heart with the knowledge that my story of forgiveness touched other lives. Time and time again, God has used events in my life to teach me about His heart for forgiveness. Totally unscripted as I stood there before those sweet mommas; I knew how I was to end the talk.

Without forgiveness, mercy and grace are just words.

It was a great experience, and I am glad I had the chance to go. But that isn’t what I am choosing to share with y’all. No, today I am going to share one of those divine appointments that just make you smile.

One my drive to the church, I had drunk a large Coke which didn’t seem to be a problem until I was backing out of the parking lot to head home. Now here is a serious lesson in pride – something this girl could use some work on. I was too prideful to scoot back in and ask to use the church’s restroom. Racking my brain on what was available in Montevideo, I made a bee-line to the mecca of all Southern girls: Wal-mart.

As I entered into the bathroom, I ran into a mom of one of my children’s former classmates. We hadn’t seen each other in a while, and I don’t think she recognized me at all. Thus, it wasn’t time for a reunion in the potty department. First, I really had to go, and second, who does that? Hey! I know our daughters were not really friends, but your child used to be a classmate of my child. So nice to see you! Glad we bumped into each other. I love what they’ve done with the place. That probably never really happens.

I soon discovered that this mom wasn’t using the facilities, in the traditional sense. Nope! Instead of bathroom, it was her conference room. She was having a cell-phone conversation with another one of her children (who apparently made a bad choice at school). She proceeded to coach the child on what she expected of him; told him, yes in fact, he was in trouble; and explained how he was to apologize the teacher and make better choices for the rest of the day. She ended with the words all children need to hear: I love you.

Then it came over me, and I knew why God put me in THAT bathroom at THAT very time. Seriously God! I am tinkling here, and you want me to tell that Mom you are proud of her.

Apparently, her child thought the conversation was over and hung up. But this mom called back to the school to make sure she connected with the teacher. (This was a good thing because I still needed to wash and dry my hands, and I didn’t want to have to chase her around the rolled-back discounts.)

While she was on hold, I walked right over to her and said, “If no one has told you this in a while, God wants you to know: YOU are a really good momma.” I stayed long enough to see tears well up in the corner of her eyes, and then I excused myself.

I keep my eyes and ears open to how I can bless others, but this was new. . . even for me. So I guess, today I am thanking God for good mommas and full bladders.

Blessings not burdens

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Hinged AFO

Autism

Cerebral Palsy

Traumatic Brain Injury

Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder

Cushing’s Disease

Speech Delayed

Attachment Disorder

Lupus

Down’s Syndrome

Multiple Sclerosis

Attention Deficit Disorder

Spinal Cord and Nerve Injury

Depression

Schizophrenia

~~Different~~

~~Weird~~

~~Useless~~

~~Draining~~

BLESSINGS, but definitely not burdens!

Over the course of the last five years, God has given me a new type of vision. The visual clarity that sometimes only comes when you have a small glimpse into how someone else lives. Even though our son’s healing journey continues, his day-to-day activities become less and less impacted by the injuries he received.

Not so for many of the wonderful families we have met while in the hospital waiting rooms or on Caringbridge. This is something that I really took for granted prior to the day that changed our lives. I am embarrassed to admit, I never thought about the struggles that some families face. I remember the moment the tidal shift occurred in my visual correction.

We sent Sawyer to the store to pick up something that we had forgotten. He used his adapted bike to travel the few blocks to the store, and once there used the store’s mechanical cart. A store employee came over and berated him for playing with something he didn’t need, calling him inappropriate names. Apparently, this man didn’t notice the AFO or the scars on Sawyer’s leg or the struggles he had getting off the cart.

Distraught when he returned from the store, the news he brought home caused the Momma Bear in me to erupt with Old Faithful geyser-like timing. The problem was the same thing happened at two other businesses within the same week. After many tears and few choice words, I was exhausted battling stupidity.

I was disgusted with humanity. I was sick of people and their stares and their lack-of-understanding. Remember Kandy, this will be temporary in Sawyer’s life. That small realization straight from God completely changed my heart and my prayers. Back then, I had no idea that we would still be having surgeries now, but I knew some families wouldn’t have the same results that we would someday have.

After feeling the sting of discrimination and ignorance, my prayers changed. I began to ask God to see each person the way He does. The list at the top of this blog represents real people who have touched my life. Each one of them has blessed my life in ways so much more than I can explain.

Some of the greatest of these has been the ability to live in the moment, to love someone for whom they are, and to never see what you can’t do, only what you can. Those lessons will change your life. They did mine.

A promise I count on

Behold it was . . . Rachel

Eggs and underpants

An eggcellent tradition

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A few years back our honorary son and his girlfriend called us up asking if we had plans for one of the days of Easter break. They were free from college courses and wanted to come over and love on “their” younger siblings. For us the definition of family is those who we choose to love. I think Jesus would be okay with that definition. Josh had been a part of our kid’s lives since they were teeny, and after Reed’s death and later Andy’s death, he had assumed the role of oldest brother in this family. It was something for which we are forever grateful.

That call led to an epiphany moment, “Would you want to dye eggs with the kids?”. Always up for an adventure, Josh and Nicole both happily agreed. Egg-dyeing is one of those traditions that was hard to go back to after losing a child. So began the new tradition. Since that first year, we have had many memories as we embraced all of Josh’s extended family into the tradition. We have had stuff stuck in trees (long story), splatter painted sheets with leftover egg dye, and gotten downright funky in our egg-dyeing techniques.

This year was no exception. While we missed two members of our merry band, the rest of us – nine total – gathered around a table first for dinner, and then for the annual egg-dyeing eggstravaganza! When we broke bread (yes- the homemade kind), we read from a devotional that shared about Good Friday. It was divinely appointed that all of our birds (white pigeons which resemble doves) flew out of the cote exactly at the moment we read, “It is finished.” John 19:30 (NIV)

The thought of those sweet words being a Victory shout brought tears to the eyes of a few of us at the table. Never had I thought of those final words as victorious. It was a humbling moment for my heart.

After supper we were up to our elbows in eggs – eight dozen to be exact. We did try old favorites of using those hole protector stickers to create designs on the eggs. Who knew we had so many white crayons? We upped the ante by using electrical tape for some pretty bold geometric shapes and designs. Erin even pulled off a methodical and tedious checkerboard pattern using that same tape on one egg.

Once the last egg was dyed, the laughter and creativity lived on. Since our yard still had quite a bit of snow cover and I did not want Easter egg colored dogs, the sheet idea was O-U-T! (Sometimes a momma just has to put her foot down.) I remembered that we had some small blank canvases in the basement art stash. The wheels began to turn.

Out came the stickers and one canvas! Next came the paintbrushes . . . followed by a big dose of creativity. Everyone painted a small area, and in the end it was a beautiful group art piece.

What was even more beautiful was the creation of our hearts. Even though all present miss Reed, we have been able to go beyond the societal definition, and rise from the ashes of tragedy to create a masterpiece of enormous proportions – a family.

The link to our devotion:

http://odb.org/2013/03/29/shout-of-triumph/

The breaking of bread

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homemade bread and grape juice for Easter

I have survived the Crash of 2013. Never heard of it, you say? Well, I guess you probably haven’t. My personal computer died a slow death. I fought a valiant fight of frugality, but in the end, I had to purchase a new one. They surely aren’t made like old Betsy. I love that old gal – my 1968-ish Singer sewing machine. But I digress . . . I have lots I want to share. I apologize ahead of time that my blogs this week will seem a little outdated due to my lack of technology. I considered archiving them for a year, but I feel God has given them to me to write. So, write I shall.

Long ago as a new bride, the church we were attending held special events during Holy Week. One of those special events was the Thursday night service: The Blessing of the Breads. Each year, the church leadership asked ladies to make a special recipe of unleavened bread which makes about 8 loaves per batch. They call upon members to make the bread and bring it to the service to be blessed. Afterwards, each family (or individual) is given a loaf to take home and to remember Good Friday in their own homes, reflecting on the Last Supper Jesus had with his followers.

Growing up in a different faith, the whole idea was quite mystical to me. I had never paid any attention to the fact that bread was the food item that Jesus chose to represent the brokenness of His body. As I grew older I began to realize that every culture on earth has some form of bread. Using bread to share the story of Jesus life and death would be symbolic to every person in the entire world. To me, that is something quite incredible to ponder.

Even though I had been living on my own for almost 3 years prior, it came as quite a shock when the sweet, little, white-haired lady of the kitchen circle called me – a very new “grown-up” – to be one of the bakers. I was giddy with excitement and a tad bit nervous too. What if I messed up God’s bread? I love to cook and to experiment; so onward we went. Turns out it wasn’t that difficult of a recipe and we created pretty nice little loaves.

I remember the aura that travelled with us as we walked to the tiny off-white stucco church that evening with our basket of bread, nurturing it until we placed it on the altar. When we left the service that night, we took one of our own lovingly-made loaves back home with us. There was something quite calming in the ritual.

Twenty years later, the breaking of the bread is still a tradition in our family. We make the same bread each Easter, a tradition that we cherish. The well-worn and tattered recipe is the same one we now share with our current church family each time we have communion. Definitely one, I wish to pass down to my children and grandchildren, when I become the white haired Jesus lady.

Truthfully, I am transported back to that precious phone call each time I mix up a batch. I am filled with the same feeling of being loved and valued as someone who can offer comfort, even it is just a simple round of unleavened bread. And that is the yummiest of feelings!

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