When exploring the book “The Keeping Quilt” with Nolan and Brooklyn last week, I knew the memories of my paternal grandma’s quilts would come flooding back. Now that I am “grandmother quilting” age, there are things I wish I would had known in my pre-grandmother days. I wish I had known to take better care of them. My dad reminded me several times what a special gift it was from grandma but I wish I would have known how incredibly special. I wish I would had known about each tiny stitch put in by hand. I made my grandkids simple quilts with a sewing machine. She made detailed quilts by hand. Every. Stitch. By. Hand…with love. I wish I would have known about each piece of fabric and how she collected it. Who’s old dress…shirt…sheet? I wish I would have known about the pattern she picked and how she embroidered our names on the quilts. Was that the finishing touch? When we visited her one of our jobs was to thread needles for her and leave them poked in the arm of her chair. Now that my vision is compromised, I wish I would have known that wasn’t just a “job”…it was a gift for her…for her gift to us. I wish I would have known to tell her the comfort the sunbonnet girl quilt brought me growing up when sleep came slowly and fears came quickly. That quilt enveloped me in comfort so many nights. My grandmother was amazing. She raised 3 boys on her own. She lived in a small humble apartment. Each time we visited she made an amazing chicken dinner and she gave us each a $1.00 and an orange to eat in the car on the way home. And she cried each time we left. She would sit in the chair by the window and wave to us as we pulled away. The same chair where we left the threaded needles for her quilts…her keeping quilts. Being a grandmother gives you the gift of re-living memories that might not have been born again. I wish I would have known to be more appreciative when she gave us the quilts. There are not many gifts you cherish for the rest of your life…these quilts…these memories…are one of those gifts…I wish I had told her that. I wish I would have known.
I Wish I Have Known – The Keeping Quilt – Part II
When exploring the book “The Keeping Quilt” with Nolan and Brooklyn last week, I knew the memories of my paternal grandma’s quilts would come flooding back. Now that I am “grandmother quilting” age, there are things I wish I would had known in my pre-grandmother days. I wish I had known to take better care of them. My dad reminded me several times what a special gift it was from grandma but I wish I would have known how incredibly special. I wish I would had known about each tiny stitch put in by hand. I made my grandkids simple quilts with a sewing machine. She made detailed quilts by hand. Every. Stitch. By. Hand…with love. I wish I would have known about each piece of fabric and how she collected it. Who’s old dress…shirt…sheet? I wish I would have known about the pattern she picked and how she embroidered our names on the quilts. Was that the finishing touch? When we visited her one of our jobs was to thread needles for her and leave them poked in the arm of her chair. Now that my vision is compromised, I wish I would have known that wasn’t just a “job”…it was a gift for her…for her gift to us. I wish I would have known to tell her the comfort the sunbonnet girl quilt brought me growing up when sleep came slowly and fears came quickly. That quilt enveloped me in comfort so many nights. My grandmother was amazing. She raised 3 boys on her own. She lived in a small humble apartment. Each time we visited she made an amazing chicken dinner and she gave us each a $1.00 and an orange to eat in the car on the way home. And she cried each time we left. She would sit in the chair by the window and wave to us as we pulled away. The same chair where we left the threaded needles for her quilts…her keeping quilts. Being a grandmother gives you the gift of re-living memories that might not have been born again. I wish I would have known to be more appreciative when she gave us the quilts. There are not many gifts you cherish for the rest of your life…these quilts…these memories…are one of those gifts…I wish I had told her that. I wish I would have known.
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I Would Have Taken That Deal
Andy went to heaven 11 years ago today. He was only 19. He died suddenly from an undetected heart condition. The very day his unhealthy heart found new life in heaven….our hearts broke. Actually...they shattered. One of your first thoughts is that he died too young. We only got 19 years with him. That seems way too short when measured by an auntie’s heart. I can’t imagine how cheated a parent’s heart must feel. So…how do you come to grips with the death-grip grief has on your heart? Well…you pray and search for answers. You soon realize there are no answers for the “why?” but there are answers that bring comfort…not a healing comfort…but a band-aid comfort. My band-aid came in an article I read. I don’t even remember who wrote the article but it was about a dad who lost his son and was trying to make sense of the senseless and trying to figure out how to muddle through the grief...how to muddle through life. This is what he said…When that baby boy was born…on that glorious day…if God had said “He is yours but you only get to keep him for 19 years.” On that joyous BIRTH day…you would accept that questionable deal. You wouldn’t have said “no thank you”….you wouldn’t have given him back…you wouldn’t have a second thought about keeping him…and keeping the deal…if only for 19 years. You would have taken that deal…in a heartbeat…a tiny newborn heartbeat. I don’t really believe that God makes “deals” but when the boys were diagnosed with cystic fibrosis and a life expectancy of only 15 years…my comfort band-aid then was they were just on loan from God. They are a Child of God and He let us borrow them. I learned to be grateful for borrowed days...borrowed miracles...borrowed lives. I realized we are all really just borrowed from God. With Andy we only got 19 years of borrowed time. But there are so many memories…so many moments FULL of life…packed into those 19 years. In those 19 years...we got summers together...holidays together...a family room full of his goofiness...late nights online chats...hockey rink memories...a NYC trip and incredible hugs that I can still feel...almost. Andy was so full of laughter and energy and shenanigans and strength and love…and life. He packed a lot of moments...zeal...and memories...in that short life. It’s almost like God knew about “the deal”. I still don’t believe that God makes deals and I know everyone grieves in their own way…and has their own band-aids of comfort. But…as an auntie…when I held that 10 pound baby with that fuzzy hair and beautiful face..if God had said “You only get this nephew for 19 years.”….I knew then he was so damn special …I would have taken that deal. Every August 2nd for 11 years I have listened to Diamond Rio’s song “One More Day” because...deal or no deal...he “leaves me wishing for one more day with you”. Happy Heavenly Birthday, Drewbs. Miss you lots...love you more. Sentimental Journey ~ When working in the classroom this morning I was putting away this picture I always put out the first weeks of school. It is a picture of me in first grade (maybe kdg.). Today as I was packing it away for one more year I realized all the meaning tucked in this time-worn frame. Because my mom was sick, my dad always cut our hair before picture day. He cut our bangs really short and then curled our hair (usually with spoolies). I remember the time and effort he took to get our bangs wet and tape them down and cut them even with our eyebrows. (Way too short.) And I remember how we sat on the stool in front of him as he lovingly and patiently curled our hair. (Usually a ritual saved for Saturday night for church on Sunday.) Today I realized how messy and disheveled my hair really looked...but on picture day I always thought it was beautiful...because my dad did. The other things I took in on this sentimental journey: the hand-me down outfit that my sisters also wore before me. I remember it was gray with red plaid. And...this picture is from Nanny's house. It used to hang in her bedroom. She had it professionally framed. Today I noticed the paper on the back and the label of the framer and the hanging wire. It's just a school picture but she must have thought it was pretty important to get it framed in such a special way. Today it became more important to me too. Today I decided to hang it up by my desk instead of packing it away. Today...the whole "picture" of this picture got a new meaning. Sentimental journeys will do that to you...and to a picture and a memory. #mydadwasthebestmom #missingnanny It was August 2, 2008, when my nephew Andy died unexpectedly of an undetected heart defect. When your sister asks you to talk at her son’s funeral you don’t say no. You try to write a eulogy but you hate the word eulogy so you never use it and decide to write a thank you letter instead. Here is my thank you letter from Andy’s funeral 10 years ago. Sometimes the 10 years seems like 10 days and sometimes it seems like 100 years. No matter the time frame, I try not to cry because he is gone, but rather I smile that we got to borrow him for 19 amazing years. And I thank God for all the ways Andy blessed our lives and I thank “Drewbs” for these gifts:
~ A THANK YOU LETTER TO "DREWBS" ~ I am Sharon’s sister, Sheila, and this is my husband, Pat. He is my pillar of strength so I asked him to stand with me while I do the hardest thing I have ever had to do. Before I go further, on behalf of David, Sharon and Michael, I would like to thank the hundreds of you who have offered so much help, support and comfort. Most conversations start out by saying “I don’t know what to do…” but, truth is, by your support, your love, your prayers and your very presence today, you not only know what to do. You are doing it. And I know David, Sharon and Michael, and all of the family, are so grateful…more than you know. As I said, I am Sharon’s sister but, more importantly, today I am Aunt Smickmee. I guess Aunt Sheila was hard to say so Michael started calling me Aunt Smickmee and Andy…like a good little brother…did what his big brother did. Only two people in the whole world get to call me Aunt Smickmee. So today I stand before you today as Aunt Smickmee. When Sharon and David first asked me to give a talk for Andy, after I said “sure” I wondered two important things. I wondered how I would ever have the strength to stand here at my nephew’s funeral and talk. Then I remembered I have been blessed with a new guardian angel. He is big and strong and has those arms that he gave the best hugs with. So I didn’t have to wonder about strength. I know Andy is holding me up with his hugging arms. Then I wondered what I would say. How could I do justice to his powerful 19 years of life? Then I remembered what my dad taught us and what Sharon and David taught their boys. When you receive a gift…especially one you really treasure…you write a thank you letter. Andy’s life was a gift that I will always cherish, so with the help of our sister, Susan, this is our thank you letter to Andy. Dearest Drewbs: (He called me Smickmee. I called him Drewbs. It’s part of the goofy fun we had together.) Thank you for the gift of your life. Thank you for blessing our lives from the moment we were expecting you and for gifting us on January 24, 1989 with your being. People pray and pray for a healthy baby and you didn’t want us to worry. You came into the world at 10 strong pounds and we didn’t have to wonder if you were healthy. We didn’t have wonder anymore if you would be so cute. Your fuzzy little hairs and your beautiful eyes secured right away that you were a beautiful, healthy baby. You were a gift from God. Thank you for being born to such incredible parents. You don’t get to pick your parents. They are a gift from God. So, now as we question why such sad things happen, it is good to remember that good things happen…like being blessed with Sharon and David Gauthier as your parents. David Gauthier as your father! How blessed can you be? I wonder if God said I have two little hockey guys who will need guidance and someone to direct their determination and their goals (literally). Then God blessed you and Michael with David Gauthier as your father, and, in turn, blessed your dad with two amazing sons. In talking with your dad on Sunday, just hours after your death, I remarked how lucky you were to have him for a father. I recalled all the time he spent coaching you and your teams, all the games and tournaments he went to, all the memories you made together from hockey to fishing to watching that movie together last Saturday. He looked at me with tear-filled eyes and said “I have no regrets.”. WOW! How many parents can say that? That speaks volumes to the type of father you were blessed with. And, Andy, what about your mom? Could a mother love children more than she loved you? You and Michael are her world. She was always at your side. Always. From learning to crawl, to walking, to riding a bike, to the first time you were on skates. She was there to support you. Not to keep you from falling but to help you up when you did. The words “family first” are tattooed on her heart. She supported and encouraged from the sidelines and the proof is in a golf picture that I love. I have seen it several times over the past few years. You at a high school golf tournament taking your beautiful golf swing. That’s why I loved it. You are so tall and the swing seemed so perfect. This week is the first time I noticed your mother in the background of that picture. How typical of your mom. Always in the background encouraging and supporting while her sons do amazing things. Proof again that she is always there. When you were a baby your crib got little use because she loved to have you sleeping in her arms…or sitting on her lap while she read a book. Lots of pictures of both of you and Michael safe in her arms…close to her heart…where you will always be. Hey, Andy, thanks for having the best brother in the world. He taught you way more than how to say “Aunt Smickmee”. If big brothers are supposed to be role models, you hit the jackpot. Your love of hockey and desire to excel had to come from watching Mike on the ice. Your assets as a teammate and your leadership as captain came from first seeing the letter “C” on Mike’s jersey. From fishing together, to late night talks, to video games, to pond hockey, to cheering for those Red Sox, you weren’t just blessed with a big brother, you were blessed with a best friend…and you did what best friends do best…you laughed, you cried, you argued, you loved and you took care of each other. We were looking at pictures the other day and I think we decided it was when Michael was 8 years old and you were 6 that you caught up to him in height. We laughed about that. Even though you got taller, you still were the one looking up at your big brother. You knew he would watch over you. He has spent the last few days reminding everybody to hug their brother and say “I love you”. He is broken and devastated and he needs a guardian angel. So now it’s your turn to watch over him. Like always, I know you will be there for your brother. On a personal note, thanks for being a great cousin, nephew and grandson. I know your grandparents in heaven are rejoicing and I know your grandparents here are mourning. But I hope Grammy and Grandpa Jim realize all the fun you had on those trips to Florida and the special memories you made there. I hope your Gauthier relatives realize the memories you made with them created some strong bonds. The great times camping, Christmas parties and the fun times in Muskegon. Heck, I would see the pictures from those family gatherings and wish I could be a Gauthier. You knew how to have fun and take care of each other. I know you are watching over them all in a most special way. Thanks for putting up with our family every summer. I knew then it was a privilege to watch you and Michael all summer. I just didn’t realize what a gift from God that time was. Not many relatives get to call a cousin “brother”…but you are both like brothers to Joey, Tim and Adam. Instead of wrestling with you in the family room, they are wrestling with devastation. It’s the hardest thing they have ever faced and the magnitude of their sadness is proof how important you were in their lives. Don’t worry. They will never forget you. Big, strong Joey is crushed. He remembers we always warned them that “one day Andy would be bigger than you guys.” Joey will still boost to be the oldest but concedes you are the tallest. He misses his big, little cousin. Tim will still share video game stories with you and visit you in prayer at the seminary. He told me St. Andrew is the patron saint of fishermen so we hope you are having good luck fishing in heaven. Through tears, Adam took Michael skating for you the other day. They knew going back to the rink would be hard so they went on the ice together. He will still set aside hockey sticks for you and never step foot on the ice without thinking about the other #6 jersey. Speaking of that, Andy, most of us here would like to thank you for being such a great athlete. Watching you play sports was such a privilege. That determination that challenged your parents (and some teachers) was the same determination that allowed for such tenacity on the ice. I have many favorite hockey memories from all those years we stood by the edge of the rink. I loved how you looked for us there during warm ups. I love how you fought in the corners and denied so many goals. I loved your powerful shot and I loved that surprised look you had whenever the ref ushered you to the penalty box. Thank you for being such a great teammate and captain. It’s not by accident you were so respected by coaches. You earned that respect. And it’s not by accident that all your pall bearers are former teammates…some of them from your earliest hockey days. I don’t always recognize them off the ice but I know I would recognize the names on the backs of their jerseys because they were such an important part of your life. Each teammate can say you made them better by being their teammate and leading them as captain. You had many great moments on the ice but one of my favorite was after a high school game against East Lansing and I watched you look for Michael Kelly so two captains could shake hands as opponents and reconnect as friends. Thank you for being such a great friend. How many people get to have a friend that is caring, funny and intelligent all in one package? When I read the facebook comments (by the way I hope you can see them too), I read about how you took care of them, how you were goofy with them and how you helped them with AP classes. For years I thought Ryan Neilson was your middle name because I heard his name so often with yours. There are friends that we have heard about and stories we never knew. Like how you befriended a teammate who had a season-ending injury. While you were being captain on the ice leading a team…you were being friend off the ice sitting with a kid who couldn’t play that year. I’ve heard how proud you are of Anthony as he serves his country. All your friends mean the world to you and you treasure each friendship. All these kids that walked into this place today are the same kids that walked into your heart. Thank you for walking into their heart and making them better because they got to call “Gauth” their friend. And, Andy, speaking mostly for us grown-ups here, thank you for being such a responsible, courteous young man. Another gift from your parents’ expectations for you. It’s a lost trait for some people these days but you always used your manners. There was always a please, a thank you, a “Can I help you?” every time you were around parents. You always acknowledged us, usually with a hug and a smile. Speaking of that… A BIG thank you for your hugs and your smiles. It wasn’t a secret that you had a beautiful smile because you shared it with so many people. It wasn’t a secret that you had the best hugs…the strongest hugs. It just seems a cruel twist that when we need your smiles and hugs the most, you aren’t here to spoil us with them. I guess that is where the memories come in. It doesn’t take much to envision your smiles and the power of your hugs. And yes, Andy, I am almost done. I know I am the auntie that always went on and on. I would message you late at night and ask a ba-zillion questions that you patiently answered but I secretly know you were saying…”enough already, Aunt Smickmee…” So…just one more thing: Thank you for your Christian heart. I know you are in heaven because of your Christian heart. Your grandfather Sims loved the word compassion. We all saw it. When you held Dagen and Nolan, when you drove across town to show me a stray kitten you and Kate found, when you sat with Champ, Riley and Calli at your feet, when you worried about cousins who were sick and when you prayed so hard for your friend, Micah. Andy, I know you get to see the face of God. While you are there could you please tell Him that we all have questions? LOTS of questions. We are all trying to make sense of this and we are trying to understand His plan. We know He needed you in heaven…maybe he drafted you to the hockey team up there. Even though we all have so many questions and are desperately seeking some peace, I hope we can take great comfort in knowing this very important fact: You already have the answers. You have already asked God the questions that swirl in our minds…and in our hearts. Not only do you have the answers, you have peace. May the fact that you don’t question God’s plan…may the fact that you have found peace…bring some peace and comfort to us all. Also, I have heard that Mary, the mother of Jesus, sits by God in heaven. Could you please do me a huge favor? Could you please ask Mary to watch over your mom and your dad? Mary, too, had a son who died. She was human who suffered the same pain they are feeling. She understands their broken hearts and she weeps for them. Mary can truly whisper to their hearts and say “I understand your pain. I have been where you are.” Could you please ask her to shower your mom, your dad and your brother with extra special graces so they can feel her comfort, her love and her faith. Lastly, I know your Christian heart believes that Jesus is the Good Shepherd. That He gathers the lamb safe in His arms, holds him close to His heart and carries him safely home. Thank you for being safely home. Thank you for making the tapestry of our lives stronger and more beautiful because it was woven with Andy threads that will remain forever. Thank you in advance for being the best guardian angel ever. You’ve got a big job ahead of you. We love you, Drewbs. Always, Aunt Smickmee. O Maple Leaf – (From the family tree)
(from June, 2011- my first writing for Red Cedar Project By: Sheila Sims Iding Homecoming. I love homecomings. Not the kind they celebrate with floats at a high school football game in the fall. Not the kind that crown a king and queen. I love the kind of homecoming that brings family back together. One of my favorite homecomings gave me an opportunity to explore the home I come from. It was the summer of 2007…or 2000-something. The year isn’t really that important. What is important is that it was the summer that brought my middle son, Timothy, home from a long year…a LONG, WHOLE year of missionary work in China. It wasn’t long for him. He loved every minute of it…every day of it…every month of it…he loved the very year of it. As happy as I was for him and the peace and purpose he found in his work there, China is a long way away in a mother’s mind and a year is a long time if measured by a mother’s heart. So Tim came home and brought those hugs that I missed so much. He is known for his hugs and his kind greetings. His hugs envelop you and you can imagine them but you can’t really feel them…until there is a homecoming. When Tim came home it had been a long time since he had seen his older brother, Joey, who lived in New York City. Joey worked for adidas and summer is a busy time for events and programs so he couldn’t come home to see Timothy so I took Tim to him. I loved our New York visits now because they weren’t about tourist-ing anymore. Joey had lived there so many years that we could go and just “visit” and not be tourists. We could sit in Central Park and read books and walk to Bryant Park and watch other tourists do tourist-ing. The best part about New York visits now was just sitting in the sweltering heat of the city and visiting. So we stayed up late at night talking about life and we “visited”. Joey and Tim both have cystic fibrosis. They both were given the life expectancy of only 15 years. Those are tough words for a parent to hear one time…even tougher the second time. They both have worked hard...damn hard...to beat those odds and be “healthy” CF people…to this day. They say the letters CF stand for Cystic Fibrosis but my boys have shown me that they really stand for “continuous fighter”. By the grace of God, and their own brave fight, they are the greatest enemy CF has ever known. While visiting we were recalling all the days when they were young and so sick. There were a ba-zillion doctors appointments, tests and retests. I held their hand so many times for so many tests it created it’s own bond. There was more medicine than a little body should have to take and medical words they shouldn’t have to know. No five year old should have to ask if he had his “Pulmozyme” yet and no six year old should be so sick that as you hold him in his hospital bed, he looks at you and asks “Is this the time I am going to die?” For that matter, no youngest brother, Adam, should have to watch his two older brothers be sick all time and share his mom with two brothers, breathing treatments, hospitalizations and this damn disease. So as we sat there and talked that night in Joey’s NYC apartment, we recalled all the challenges we went through and all the obstacles they have overcome (too numerous and too painful to remember at this writing), they asked me “Mom, how did you do it?” Well… for once, the answer was easy. My dad taught me how. Without even knowing it at the time, he was the perfect mentor for caring for someone who was chronically ill. My mom had multiple sclerosis and was bed ridden from the time I was in first grade. I watched my dad lovingly care for her in so many ways (again too numerous and too painful for this writing) but he taught me the honor of this special job and the medicine of positive thinking…with a bit of humor and couple of beers thrown in. So…the answer was easy. I told them straight up…it was papa. It was papa who taught me and it was his strong Canadian blood. He was determined to make the best of any situation…ANY situation, even life and death situations, and he taught me how to do just that. If he couldn’t find a silver lining, he pretended he could. He was the champion of smothering a negative with a positive. My dad’s heavenly homecoming was right before Tim was born. It’s been 29 years but I’m still wishing he hadn’t left me but I am forever grateful my boys got his green eyes and his strong Canadian blood. So…that night as we were talking about my dad who was born in Canada and tough as the tundra there…Joey said “You know, I’ve always wanted to get a maple leaf tattoo in honor of papa.” Tim quickly concurred that he had too. So they decided to celebrate their roots and our strong Canadian blood and in NYC get their maple leaf tattoos together. Since we had been thrrough so much…and he was MY dad…I decided to get a maple leaf tattoo with them. So off we trekked to celebrate our family bond, our Canadian roots and our “strengthening” coach. It even happened to be on July 4th, 2000-something…all three of us went together to get our tattoos. They let me go first and being I was a little nervous, Joey held my hand like I held his for all those tests and medical procedures. I realized then we had come full circle. But that day we were more than connected by hand holding. The three of us were connected by a special homecoming, strong continuous fighters, green eyes and our tough Canadian blood And now we are connected by three inspired maple leafs tattooed on our skin…and in our hearts. Meet My Family
52 Week Blog Challenge – Week #4 2-5-18 Family – The Gifts They Share This blog challenge is challenging in that I have to limit it to my immediate family. I have always considered extended family as…family. But for the purpose of the blog, “Meet My Family” I write about the nine names I whisper first in my daily prayers. And I share with you the gifts they share with me. Pat – his gifts of gentle understanding and unending generosity comfort my restless heart. His faith is unquestionable and his love for family, even more so. Adam – his joy in the simple things and his perseverance in sports and in life…inspire me to take the high road like he has done…again and again. Timothy – shares his gifts of unshakeable faith and belief in God’s will. The power he finds in prayer empowers me to be more faith-filled…or at least try. Joey – shares his determination to plow through adversity and come out a stronger person on the other side. Adversity has nothing on Joey. Never has. Never will. His parenting blesses his children and makes my heart smile. Addie-Adele – she shares her beautiful smile so easily and shares her beautiful maternal soul so deeply. She made our family better the second she said “yes” to forever with Joey. Suzy - She is everything to everyone in this family. She shares her wisdom, care and comfort even more readily than she shares her generous gifts. She, herself, is a gift to us all. Sharon – Many years ago she taught me the importance of going above and beyond. Give all you can to others…and then some more. Her heart is forever broken now but her life lessons are forever instilled. Brooklyn – My Bia – gives the gifts of discovery in imaginative play, in the pages of a book and the unfolding of a newly cut heart. To hold her hand while she falls asleep is one life’s best simple pleasures. She steals my heart each visit. Nolan – My Jacquesy – he gives the gift of excitement in being one year old and jumping up and down at the sight of a ball, a dog, some music playing…or his papa walking through the door. His ever-present smile…makes my heart smile even more. There's No Place Like Home
52 Week Blog Challenge - Week #3 "Top Five Places You'd Like To Visit" - January 14, 2018 (I'm a week behind already.) Week 3's Blog Challenge has me traveling to the 5 places I most want to visit. Tim is the world traveler...not me. He is always thinking about his next trip. I dream of traveling, but for the most part, I can "travel" in my imagination and be fine. But if I had to pick 5 places these would probably be on my list: 1. New York City - (surprise!) because it calls to me and I am always sad when I leave there. And...I can't wait to go back. (24 more sleeps...but who's counting?) 2. Europe - the BIG trip - If I won the lotto this would be on my "to do" list. A family trip to Europe for a month. The whole family...for a whole month...but I would settle for two weeks. 3. Iceland - It intrigues me. Maybe the snow. Maybe the quiet. Maybe the simplicity. Maybe the name...Ice Land. (I wonder how sparkly their snow is?) 4. Disney World - to see it through the eyes of Bia and Jacquesy. We got to go so many times when the boys were growing up. We went the first time after Joey was diagnosed because the doctor recommended it. He said it would be magical. He was right. Our hearts started to heal right there on Main Street. I can't wait for Brooklyn and Nolan to see the magic. 5. London - I want to move there for a year. I would sublet our NYC apt. to family (Or just let them borrow it) but I would love to live in London for a year. Not sure why. Maybe the accents. Maybe it's familiar but different at the same time. Maybe it's because I watched Notting Hill a 100 times?? Wherever my travels take me...or the dreams of my travels take me...my favorite place to visit is home with a family room full of people. Family together is a good thing. And...there's no place like home. 52 Week Blog Challenge - Week#2 - Your Favorite Holiday?
All is Calm ~ All Is Bright - Page 2 Christmas isn't my favorite holiday. That will surprise some people who know how very much I love Christmas. Christmas is my 2nd favorite holiday. My first favorite holiday? It's Christmas Eve. To me it's the calm before the celebration. There is the anticipation and excitement of the Holy Night...St. Nick's journey...and family gatherings. But the hope of Christmas coming is all still in tact. The presents are still wrapped under the tree. The wonder of what Christmas Day will bring is still quietly resting in the hearts of grown-ups. The excitement of Santa is still contained in the imaginations of little ones. Christmas Day will be filled with gifting and gathering and joyful celebration. But on Christmas Eve there is a stillness of what will be...a hope of what will come...and reflection on that Holy Night where all is calm...and all is bright. Well browsing Pinterest I found a 52 week blog challenge and on this first day of 2018 I accept the challenge and I will write a blog each Sunday taking a topic the challenge list or taking one from my heart. Here is the first entry...it's about my New Year's Resolution...It's about being Six Years Old...Again. On Being Six Years Old...Again - Page 1
52 Week Blog Challenge ~ January 1, 2018 When you spend your days with 6 and 7 year olds you learn the joy in simple pleasures...even more...you learn the power in them. When you are 6 years old you don't question God...you just trust how much He loves you. When you are 6 years old you don't quiet the giggle...you get lost in it. When you are 6 years old you are innocently honest...without filters. When you are 6 years old you don't need a hairdo, lipstick or matching socks. When you are 6 years old you jump up and down with excitement, dance when you hear music and twirl whenever you want. When you are 6 years old you hold hands with whomever walks by your side and eagerly help anyone in need...any one.. When you are 6 years old you it doesn't matter so much when people judge you. When you are 6 years old your imagination and creativity renew and refresh you...everyday. When you are 6 years old you not only seek out simple pleasures...you create your own. When you are 6 years old you have an inner child celebrating life...every single day. Here's to celebrating life. Here's to simple pleasures. Here's to 2018. Here's to that inner child. Let's go get her. Happy, Blessed New Year! The One Way Ticket –
Sheila Sims Iding This picture is from Tim's first trip to China. That very first trip almost 10 years ago to be with an "uncle" was all he needed to fall in love with the country, the community and the "home" he found in Jilin. There he had someone who believed in him…someone to talk theology with…someone who helped him find his worth…his purpose. He made many trips back and forth to his beloved China while working on two master degrees in theology...because he loved it there so much. After his 2nd masters degree, he was invited to come live there. And again, because of this gracious invitation, he had renewed purpose and worth…at a time when he needed it most. I remember getting his ticket that time was harder than all the rest because the ticket said "one way". I actually cried when I checked the "one way" box. Now, he wasn't visiting China. He was moving there. He was moving to a polluted, communist city in Northern China where he found the winters brutal and the food even more so. Still he longed to be there. Even more…there are no cystic fibrosis doctors and no cystic fibrosis medicine where he was going. Still he couldn’t wait to go. He loved the people, the country and simplicity of his life there. He loved China and, even more, he loved going back “home” to China. As excited as we were to greet him at the arrival gate, he was equally excited at the departure gate…because he was going “home” to the place he loved. He was so excited to be with the "family", friends and community he made there and the subtle mission he felt called to do. It was his calling. It was his purpose. It was his humble work…his subtle mission. He would teach English but that wasn’t his vocation. His vocation was the lives he would touch while he was there. He had friends from all over the world and many asked about his religion and they asked about his saint statues and they asked about his theology books and some even asked to go to mass with him. In a communist country you can’t have a prayer service, or a Bible study group, or talk about religion to your students. You can only live your life so others would ask about it. And that was his humble mission. Until it wasn't. Until things changed. “Family” changed. International friends came and went from the college campus. Community was taken away. And he was alone. Alone isn’t a good place to be halfway around the world. And still he persevered…even with the changes…even when the excitement wore off and the difficulties set in…he kept going because he said “it felt more like a sacrifice” because it was harder now. He offered it up. And he prayed. It became even more difficult being alone…being sick at a hospital alone…teaching on Christmas Day and being alone. It was always hard to leave family…even harder to leave a God-daughter. It’s hard to think about a future there without a chance for marriage, without a job with benefits and without enough money to save for anything…even a ticket home. So he prayed. For over a year, after much prayer and much discernment and much reflection and even more prayer, he has decided to come home after this semester. He will search for a job in the States hoping that two master degrees in theology mean something to someone. And that his yearning to do God’s will can renew his sense of purpose and sense of worth and comfort his servant heart. So…sometime in the near future he will be getting a ticket home from China for the last time. And once again…like I did six years ago…he will check that “one way” box…and I will probably cry. And pray…”well done good and faithful servant.” |
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February 2018
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