Many, if not most, parents think back over their years of raising children and can pin-point those exact moments and events that would make Dr. Spock and James Dobson call the authorities...or at least add a chapter to their next parenting book titled "Don't Parent This Way".
Memories of these poor examples of parenting continue to romp through adult minds unbidden creating moms and dads who wish for the Do-Over genie to appear and wipe away words and actions that were momentary but which live in infamy in the heart of the parent.
Things said, actions taken, over-reactions, the list could continue. One wonders whether the child remembers and was influenced by these events with as much strength as the parent. A parent wonders just what a child remembers of their childhood.
And so it was with a small tear and a great deal of gratefulness for forgetting and grace that my daughter posted the following on Facebook.
"When
Lola and I were little we lived with our mom in a small apartment.
Every year at Christmas time she would create a fireplace on the wall;
brick patterned corrugated cardboard, cotton for snow, tissue paper for
fire, and hang our stockings from it. Thank you for giving us Christmas
magic, mom:)"
Merry Christmas to all who read this. May your memories be filled with joyous moments and your present be blanketed with grace and forgiveness. That is is message of Christmas...to all people....always.
Tuesday, December 24, 2013
Wednesday, November 13, 2013
The Blue Glove
Three things converged last week that culminated in a God-moment that some of my readers may find thin or even errant theology but which I find confirming.and comforting.
Number one was the change in temperatures in southern Indiana last week. Way too early for winter, nonetheless the mercury regularly dipped into the 30s overnights with morning frosts a daily occurrence. Short-sleeved shirts were replaced with heavier, long-sleeved ones in the semi-annual "changing of the closets."
Number two was the ever-increasing level of expertise in and reliance on modern technology. Already somewhat bored with Facebook, last week I figured out how to create a Twitter account and found, within the first ten minutes, I had 14 followers and I was following 35 news sources, writers, and other pundits. With my handy-dandy iPhone I could text, message, facetime, check Facebook, Pinterest, and now Twitter. So far I have tweeted three times. I could also make phone calls.
As an aside, the iPhone came in very handy last week. After several decades of carefully keeping all liquids and most crumbly foods away from my laptop, I spilled a cup of coffee on the keyboard. As the computer sat drying out in a bag of rice for two days, I relied on my phone to bring me news of the outside world. If there is an upside to this, as I sit here typing on that same laptop, completely healed now, every so often, like when I hit the Q, A, and Z on the left side of the keyboard, I can catch a whiff of Pumpkin Spice Coffee.
Number three was my birthday which called for a family dinner and gifts. Love both. One gift from my daughter was a pair of gloves. Because of numbers one and two, the gloves were specially made to allow the wearer to use the iPhone without removing the gloves to punch in passwords, numbers, texts, etc. while keeping hands toasty. Very practical; very warm; very fashionable.
Tuesday night was the meeting of our monthly book club. With temperatures dipping into the 20s, I wore the gloves. When I got to the church where the book discussion would take place, I took the gloves off in the car, since I was parked very close to the door, and hustled into the church. Hustling back to the car afterward I drove home, into the garage and put the garage door down. I picked up my book, purse and one glove. One glove? I looked on the seat, under the seat, in the back seat, on the floor of the garage, and being of the age where these things happen, began to doubt myself. Had I really worn the gloves at all? But yes, I had one of them so I must have. Surely I would not have worn just one glove.
Running through my mind were the following thoughts: How thoughtless of me to lose one of the gloves? What would I tell my daughter when she asked why I never wore them? I had been very careless and carelessness is a sign of being ungrateful. I berated myself.
The next morning I looked again in the car from bumper to bumper and on the garage floor. No blue glove.
I drove back to the church for an early morning meeting. "Wouldn't it be wonderful if I drove right into the parking lot and found that glove in the very space where I had parked the night before?" I thought to myself. My thoughts turned into prayers (here's where the theology becomes thin). If God cares about me, and I care about this glove, might he put me in the right place to find it if it were indeed to be found?
You're way ahead of me on this. I pulled into the parking lot and into the space I had occupied the evening before. There on the ground was the glove, covered with frost but otherwise undamaged.
What a wonderful coincidence some might say. Others might wonder if I really am going to equate my shallow prayer with finding the glove. Some might dismiss the incident as too inconsequential to mention. They will think, she dropped the glove when she got out of the car and found it the next morning. End of story. The more cynical might wonder if I wouldn't have learned a stronger lesson if I'd never found the glove and had to live with the consequences. At the very least, I love the fact that when I found the glove I could look up, grin and have a thankful chat with a God I know exists and delights me at every turn.
And that's what I think about it.
Number one was the change in temperatures in southern Indiana last week. Way too early for winter, nonetheless the mercury regularly dipped into the 30s overnights with morning frosts a daily occurrence. Short-sleeved shirts were replaced with heavier, long-sleeved ones in the semi-annual "changing of the closets."
Number two was the ever-increasing level of expertise in and reliance on modern technology. Already somewhat bored with Facebook, last week I figured out how to create a Twitter account and found, within the first ten minutes, I had 14 followers and I was following 35 news sources, writers, and other pundits. With my handy-dandy iPhone I could text, message, facetime, check Facebook, Pinterest, and now Twitter. So far I have tweeted three times. I could also make phone calls.
As an aside, the iPhone came in very handy last week. After several decades of carefully keeping all liquids and most crumbly foods away from my laptop, I spilled a cup of coffee on the keyboard. As the computer sat drying out in a bag of rice for two days, I relied on my phone to bring me news of the outside world. If there is an upside to this, as I sit here typing on that same laptop, completely healed now, every so often, like when I hit the Q, A, and Z on the left side of the keyboard, I can catch a whiff of Pumpkin Spice Coffee.
Number three was my birthday which called for a family dinner and gifts. Love both. One gift from my daughter was a pair of gloves. Because of numbers one and two, the gloves were specially made to allow the wearer to use the iPhone without removing the gloves to punch in passwords, numbers, texts, etc. while keeping hands toasty. Very practical; very warm; very fashionable.
Tuesday night was the meeting of our monthly book club. With temperatures dipping into the 20s, I wore the gloves. When I got to the church where the book discussion would take place, I took the gloves off in the car, since I was parked very close to the door, and hustled into the church. Hustling back to the car afterward I drove home, into the garage and put the garage door down. I picked up my book, purse and one glove. One glove? I looked on the seat, under the seat, in the back seat, on the floor of the garage, and being of the age where these things happen, began to doubt myself. Had I really worn the gloves at all? But yes, I had one of them so I must have. Surely I would not have worn just one glove.
Running through my mind were the following thoughts: How thoughtless of me to lose one of the gloves? What would I tell my daughter when she asked why I never wore them? I had been very careless and carelessness is a sign of being ungrateful. I berated myself.
The next morning I looked again in the car from bumper to bumper and on the garage floor. No blue glove.
I drove back to the church for an early morning meeting. "Wouldn't it be wonderful if I drove right into the parking lot and found that glove in the very space where I had parked the night before?" I thought to myself. My thoughts turned into prayers (here's where the theology becomes thin). If God cares about me, and I care about this glove, might he put me in the right place to find it if it were indeed to be found?
You're way ahead of me on this. I pulled into the parking lot and into the space I had occupied the evening before. There on the ground was the glove, covered with frost but otherwise undamaged.
What a wonderful coincidence some might say. Others might wonder if I really am going to equate my shallow prayer with finding the glove. Some might dismiss the incident as too inconsequential to mention. They will think, she dropped the glove when she got out of the car and found it the next morning. End of story. The more cynical might wonder if I wouldn't have learned a stronger lesson if I'd never found the glove and had to live with the consequences. At the very least, I love the fact that when I found the glove I could look up, grin and have a thankful chat with a God I know exists and delights me at every turn.
And that's what I think about it.
Tuesday, October 29, 2013
50th Milligan College Reunion
I was not sure it was a great idea but I signed up to attend my 50th reunion at Milligan College. In 50 years I had not been back for a reunion nor had I kept in touch with anyone in my class although I read about some of their accomplishments in various publications. But 50 sounded special and in a weak moment, I sent in a registration.
The fact that the school is in East Tennessee, one of my favorite parts of the county, was a draw. I figured if the reunion were terribly boring, or embarrassing, or awkward, I would simply head up to the Smokey Mountains.
Jim was a good sport about going. A school like Milligan is an entity foreign to his college history. While I had 112 students in my graduating class and the school had 980 students total back then, Jim's class at The Ohio State graduated 10,000 his year. Milligan must have seemed like a miniature institution, like a fern in a terrarium or guppy in a lake, to Jim; an aberration.
Yet Milligan is growing and above is a photo of one of the five new resident halls which were dedicated this weekend. Seven additional resident halls are planned.
Friday night we saw an excellent production of Godspell at the college theater. Saturday morning we were hosted by the college at a class brunch. Medals were handed out and worn proudly although I now realize, after a little thought, that we were awarded for simply living long enough to celebrate at this event.
The brunch was attended by about 50 50-year graduates and their spouses. Each alumnae was asked to give a synopsis of their last 50 years. That seemed like too broad of a request, summing up fifty years. No time limit was given, the second mistake. It was not long before we were transported to an alum's cross country trip, route by route, a 30 year teaching career and every grade taught and the years, the lives and times of each of the children, each of the grand children, and the darling-ness of great grand children. Twenty minutes later the first speaker sat down....I was mentally adding up the time it would take to get through with this exercise, most of which had already been printed in commemorative booklets given to each of us.At this rate, I was estimating that I would be grateful to return to southern Indiana by Christmas.
Lunch with a good friend, her husband and four children was delightful. The first afternoon event was The Parade. The campus has a main road running through it, about a quarter mile long. That was also the length of the parade. Every sports team marched and the graduates (50 years) rode in Corvettes throwing candy to the crowd. I guess a thousand people attended. Looking across the roadway I spotted my grand daughter who had graduated from Milligan in the Spring. She and her husband had driven down for the reunion and Bryan was playing in the alumnae-student soccer game. They were celebrating their half-year reunion.
A tall crane was set up in the middle of the road and all the reunion attendees spelled out BUFF (for Buffalo Nation, the buffalo being the Milligan mascot). The photographer snapped the photo from the top of the crane.It took some organization and I was thinking we should all be glad that we had a little four-letter mascot and not something like Pioneers or Polar Bears.
Attending the soccer game found the alumnae beating the school's current soccer team 9-1.We walked through a student photography exhibit, my first dorm (built circa 1880) and watched the kids on the inflatables.
Staying with friends who live in the area we met them for dinner and then hurried back to their home to watch The Ohio State - Penn State football game.
On Sunday we attended the church on campus and reconnected with a graduate student (doctorate) that I had met at one of our mutual seminars when I was at the seminary. Ben is the associate minister at the church. He excitedly told me that he had been granted a Lilly Grant and was taking a sabbatical next year. I was so excited for him.
Hopwood Memorial Church has been a fixture at Milligan for over a hundred years. Built of stone the inside seats around 200. At 8:30 a.m. about 100 were in attendance. A woman presided over the reading of Scripture; a woman presided over the communion service; a woman preached. I was delighted.
As we left the campus we stopped to take a photo of me with the bronze buffalo.
Milligan was a good place for me in 1959-1963: small numbers of students, protected environment, beautiful area of the country. It was a good place for me in 2013: friends with whom to reconnect, memories of good times and narrow escapes, and the launching of a lifetime of enrolling at colleges and studying various and sundry courses of study. I told the gathered classmates, when it was finally my turn, that both of my daughters had graduated from Milligan and most recently, my grand daughter and with each succeeding generation of student our family sends to Milligan the quality and character of those students rises exponentially.
And that's what I think about it.
The fact that the school is in East Tennessee, one of my favorite parts of the county, was a draw. I figured if the reunion were terribly boring, or embarrassing, or awkward, I would simply head up to the Smokey Mountains.
Jim was a good sport about going. A school like Milligan is an entity foreign to his college history. While I had 112 students in my graduating class and the school had 980 students total back then, Jim's class at The Ohio State graduated 10,000 his year. Milligan must have seemed like a miniature institution, like a fern in a terrarium or guppy in a lake, to Jim; an aberration.
Yet Milligan is growing and above is a photo of one of the five new resident halls which were dedicated this weekend. Seven additional resident halls are planned.
Friday night we saw an excellent production of Godspell at the college theater. Saturday morning we were hosted by the college at a class brunch. Medals were handed out and worn proudly although I now realize, after a little thought, that we were awarded for simply living long enough to celebrate at this event.
The brunch was attended by about 50 50-year graduates and their spouses. Each alumnae was asked to give a synopsis of their last 50 years. That seemed like too broad of a request, summing up fifty years. No time limit was given, the second mistake. It was not long before we were transported to an alum's cross country trip, route by route, a 30 year teaching career and every grade taught and the years, the lives and times of each of the children, each of the grand children, and the darling-ness of great grand children. Twenty minutes later the first speaker sat down....I was mentally adding up the time it would take to get through with this exercise, most of which had already been printed in commemorative booklets given to each of us.At this rate, I was estimating that I would be grateful to return to southern Indiana by Christmas.
Lunch with a good friend, her husband and four children was delightful. The first afternoon event was The Parade. The campus has a main road running through it, about a quarter mile long. That was also the length of the parade. Every sports team marched and the graduates (50 years) rode in Corvettes throwing candy to the crowd. I guess a thousand people attended. Looking across the roadway I spotted my grand daughter who had graduated from Milligan in the Spring. She and her husband had driven down for the reunion and Bryan was playing in the alumnae-student soccer game. They were celebrating their half-year reunion.
A tall crane was set up in the middle of the road and all the reunion attendees spelled out BUFF (for Buffalo Nation, the buffalo being the Milligan mascot). The photographer snapped the photo from the top of the crane.It took some organization and I was thinking we should all be glad that we had a little four-letter mascot and not something like Pioneers or Polar Bears.
Attending the soccer game found the alumnae beating the school's current soccer team 9-1.We walked through a student photography exhibit, my first dorm (built circa 1880) and watched the kids on the inflatables.
Staying with friends who live in the area we met them for dinner and then hurried back to their home to watch The Ohio State - Penn State football game.
On Sunday we attended the church on campus and reconnected with a graduate student (doctorate) that I had met at one of our mutual seminars when I was at the seminary. Ben is the associate minister at the church. He excitedly told me that he had been granted a Lilly Grant and was taking a sabbatical next year. I was so excited for him.
Hopwood Memorial Church has been a fixture at Milligan for over a hundred years. Built of stone the inside seats around 200. At 8:30 a.m. about 100 were in attendance. A woman presided over the reading of Scripture; a woman presided over the communion service; a woman preached. I was delighted.
As we left the campus we stopped to take a photo of me with the bronze buffalo.
Milligan was a good place for me in 1959-1963: small numbers of students, protected environment, beautiful area of the country. It was a good place for me in 2013: friends with whom to reconnect, memories of good times and narrow escapes, and the launching of a lifetime of enrolling at colleges and studying various and sundry courses of study. I told the gathered classmates, when it was finally my turn, that both of my daughters had graduated from Milligan and most recently, my grand daughter and with each succeeding generation of student our family sends to Milligan the quality and character of those students rises exponentially.
And that's what I think about it.
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