Jesus, If You’d told us this back in the ’70s, we would have said, “You’re kidding, right? No way could love at 71 be better than at 21!” After all, in 1925, we’d be a saggy, baggy, gray-haired couple whose idea of a wild night out would be playing euchre after 10 o’clock. And, we, in our youthful wisdom, would have been right.
But OMG, You, who are Love personified, have poured Yourself into our lives for decades. And love just keeps getting better.
Jesus, has it really been 60 years since Mom dragged us from backyard fun and sandbox joys to endure spit-on-kleenex baths for this photo? And 25 years since all five siblings gathered in one place. Thank You, Lord for rowdy, precious times together. Some of our descendants forced us to behave for the camera, but OMG, they knew better than to try the spit-bath thing.
#FamilyPhotos #Recreating #OfficialAntiquesNow
O Lord, years ago, this little guy declared his blue Play-Doh snake was bigger than God. Upon further reflection, though, he decided that no, the thing he’d made wasn’t nearly as big as the God of the universe.
OMG, thank You that he continues to mold his life with that wisdom!
Some elementary classmates considered choir cruel and unusual punishment. Not me. Although stuck in the back row because of my height, I didn’t permit boys’ cooties to lessen my joy in music. I grew up singing.
As an adult, I directed my church choir. We developed spiritual closeness and musical mental telepathy … that didn’t transfer to sitting/standing together. I’ve never seen another choir do the wave every Sunday. Still, we sang with gladness and authenticity.
After moving, my husband and I joined a large church with a bigger choir and classically trained director. How I missed old friends! But now I didn’t direct while belting out alto and/or tenor to compensate for members lost to the flu du jour. I sang my natural soprano!
However, our director discovered my past. Would I substitute for him? I attempted the game all God’s people, beginning with Moses, play: Ask Somebody Else.
Other directors weren’t available.
The director believed in miracles. He also promised his compassionate pianist would cover my back.
O-kay.
What to wear? Often, seams split and zippers opened as I conducted. In the past, arm motion sent shoulder pads traveling. Once, I appeared to grow a bust on my back.
Wardrobe decided, I caught cold. While I directed, would God send an angel to wipe my nose?
What if singers didn’t show? Without them, I was only a crazy woman waving her arms.
They came, though. A row of Bach’s descendants gave me the eye.
We practiced well, but questions erupted about missing music, standing up, sitting down …
“Only God is infinite.” I answered. “Ask Him!”
When I stepped up to direct, congregational eyebrows rose. But it wasn’t about me. Or anyone else.
We worshipped an audience of One: Jesus. All who lifted heartfelt praises to Christ belonged.
In His choir, nobody has cooties.
Your Extraordinary Ordinary: How do you deal with feelings of inadequacy?
Does your family celebrate Easter in traditional ways?
My siblings and I hid Easter eggs so well, truants were located weeks later by their potent odor. We awoke to yummy treats … in our polished shoes. Years before, Mom had possessed only pennies to spend on Easter. Having poured out frustrations in prayer — Mom talked to Jesus about everything — she recalled reading about Dutch children receiving Christmas candy in their shoes and nested jelly beans in ours.
My father, a pastor, celebrated Easter wholeheartedly, his bass voice leading “Christ the Lord Is Risen Today,” “He Arose” and … “Joy to the World.”
I thought everyone sang that hymn at Easter. As a teen, though, I realized other churchgoers sang it only at Christmas. I kept our odd custom a deep, dark secret, hoping no Easter visitors knew me.
Fast-forward 20 years. My children and I dyed eggs, their clothes and mine. One helpful toddler knew egg-zackly what to do with eggs.
Crack them.
Our family could afford Easter baskets. Repeating the story of their grandma’s faith, though, I filled my kids’ shoes with grass, chocolate bunnies and jelly beans.
My grandchildren still receive Easter treats in their shoes and hear of their great-grandmother’s prayer. They will dye Easter eggs — and their clothes. Our congregation will sing “Christ the Lord Is Risen Today” and “He Arose.”
Joy to the World”? Probably not.
I’ll save that hymn for a visit to our parents’ graves. I didn’t want them to die. They weren’t crazy about the idea, either. But because Jesus came alive again, they will too. Someday, we’ll all be together with Him.
Joy to the world! To all who believe in Jesus’ Resurrection.
Your Extraordinary Ordinary: How do you celebrate Easter?
Should I bother with a spring to-do list?
This past winter, I could have scraped old wallpaper in three rooms. Instead, I read books. Enriching my mind inspires me so much more. Hubby’s enriched his mind too, finishing a thousand-page book on American history.
We’ve enriched our minds so much we’ve lost them — when recalling winter to-do lists. But a little repression never hurt anyone.
Besides, it’s spring. Why waste time indoors when we can stay outdoors?
Between snowstorms and tornadoes, I mean.
The only problem: our enriched minds cannot agree on priorities.
Items on his spring to-do list:
My list:
Do Hubby and I share any common items on our to-do lists? A few:
Maybe we should put these — and, of course, enriching our minds — at the top of our spring to-do lists.
Your Extraordinary Ordinary: What’s on your list?
People often say they conceive their best thoughts at night.
I’m missing this microchip. My mother often told me that even as an infant, I wasn’t a positive thinker during the wee hours. When I grew old enough to read, I added hundreds of new items to my nocturnal Scary List. Take, for example, the 1960s obsession with outer space. If I read a story in Look magazine about flying saucers above a wheat field near Boring, Nebraska, I knew the little green guys would like Indiana sweet corn better. I resolved to eliminate bedtime in order to protect my state from alien invasion.
NASA spent millions to supply me with worry material — until monsters took over the task: Frankenstein, Wolf Man and TV vampires. When tired Mom nixed movie and television viewing, the local paper kept me informed. I read about a hairy, Bigfoot-like creature that cried like a baby and haunted Detroit. Nowadays, sports writers would deduce it was a Detroit Lions lineman, lamenting their playoffs loss. But then, I never knew whether the unearthly wails from the next bedroom came from my baby brother or the monster.
Thankfully, I outgrew all that. The Wizard of Oz’s Wicked Witch of the West no longer scares me.
At least, not much.
Your Extraordinary Ordinary: Do some childhood boogeymen still haunt you at night?
Have you noticed spring flowers don’t possess high IQs?
After years of “surprise” March blizzards, you’d think clueless flowers would wait until April before peeking out.
My daffodils also are poor communicators. Having often turned into flower-sicles, they should have the decency to warn the younger generation. New bulbs should don furry little mittens like spring-smart pussy willows. But they never do.
So, every March, I lecture my flowers about the virtues of sleeping in.
I never had to instruct my children about this.
But flowers don’t get it. Each year, they hear the same weather wisdom: come out too early, and you’ll freeze your buds off. Wait until the sun shines more than one day out of 30.
But do they listen?
No-o-o-o. While the ground remains iron and silvered with snow, dumb flowers poke their heads above icy earth and shiver in their shoots.
Not too bright.
Though I admit that doesn’t apply to color. Yellow daffodils and purple crocuses look like fresh, brilliant paint dropped from God’s brush onto a color-starved landscape. His gift after a long, weary winter?
Maybe spring flowers aren’t so dumb, after all.
Your Extraordinary Ordinary: When does your favorite spring flower first appear?
My husband and I often drive to Ohio to care for his elderly father.
Not like traveling along California’s coastline, with its infinite, sparkling waves. Not like coaxing our car up Appalachian heights, where scary curves rival breathless beauty.
A between-snows drive on Midwestern highways doesn’t raise pulse rates — unless a semi crosses the line.
Or if we focus on a sunrise. Pastel hues stripe the gray horizon, then amid sherbet-colored clouds, the butter-cake sun shines on dark chocolate fields —
Sorry. I’m driving under the influence of a post-Christmas diet. But the delicious scene raises my pulse rate. Maybe a bakery lurks nearby?
Hubby points. “The sun’s position has changed considerably since the fall equinox.” As he continues enthusiastic commentary on light angles, his pulse rate probably rises to new heights.
Mine doesn’t. Until he mentions ancient tribes who built mounds in the Anderson, Indiana, area. They marked seasons by studying scenes like this.
That’s how those Native Americans survived without phones?
My fascination with human behavior — Hubby calls it nosiness — quickly spreads to houses we pass.
I indicate a typical Indiana farmhouse. “Do they like strawberry or grape PBJ? Whatever, I’ll bet it’s homemade.”
Hubby’s look silences my mouth, but not my mind.
Yards that sport tired-looking Santas warm my heart. Someone’s farther behind than I. Others boast shining windows and perfectly sculpted bushes. Even their snowdrifts appear symmetrical. How do people live that way?
Pristine Amish homes grab me, though, with their simplicity and clotheslines full of black shirts and dresses dancing wildly in winter wind.
Slowing for buggies lets us enjoy trotting horses and large families snuggled like birds in a nest. However, rumspringa Amish teens skating down the middle of the highway don’t generate warm fuzzies.
Later, after a day of hugs, time with Dad and conversations with health care workers, we say bittersweet goodbyes. Hubby and I could drive the route home in our sleep, but watch each other closely so we don’t.
Against the sunset’s fiery rose, orange and purples, steeples along the way reach for Heaven. My thoughts do too.
Glory to God in the highest.
One more extraordinary ordinary drive.
Your Extraordinary Ordinary: Describe your latest amazing, everyday drive.
This post first appeared on February 10, 2016.
Even successful speed dating requires major time investment to identify Mr. or Ms. Right. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if those longing for true love could detect it within one day?
Ta-da! My revolutionary concept, Love Trials, cuts to the chase. This approach will benefit all humankind, plus make me a few million dollars. Each participating couple will know whether they have found their soulmates after five short sessions in which they:
Trial #1: Pack a suitcase. The girl and guy are given one small bag. Not one each — one. She does her best, but it only holds a weekend’s supply of lipsticks. And is he really going to wear that?
Trial #2: Visit a buffet with one plate. When a woman’s salad vies for space with the guy’s giant nachos topped with five pounds of bacon, she may reconsider. His passion may cool when she doesn’t want his food touching hers.
Trial #3: Dig a car out of a snowdrift. Even without debate as to who should have known about road conditions, speed and directions, this trial proves invaluable in unmasking polite claims of gender equality. She dubs him the stronger; therefore, he should push. He thumbs his nose at her so-called dedication to equal rights and claims superior judgment in rocking and rolling out of the predicament.
Trial #4: Hang wallpaper. Participants ask themselves: Do they really want to pledge their lives to someone who can’t distinguish a rectangle from a trapezoid?
Trial #5: Buy each other a $10 gift. She purchases an extra-long towel and embroiders his baby-in-the-bath picture on it (winning his mother over). He buys her a heavy-duty ice scraper.
Have the starry-eyed lovers fled the scene? If not, do they still speak? (Grunts count. So do weepy “how could you!”s.)
If so, light up a huge neon Congratulations! sign. Release balloons and confetti!
In the Love Trials, if he and she have not escaped to Mars and Venus, a relationship with a real, live human being has begun. Break out the chocolates, flowers, music and romance! This couple can celebrate true love until the next great Love Trial:
Planning a wedding.
Your Extraordinary Ordinary: What tried-and-true Love Trial would you suggest?