Its always a great day for breakfast with my Emmy Baby!

Yesterday the time was right. We snatched a couple of Christmas presents from the Church and learned about love with eachother over some Mcbreakfasts. We were together alone. Not arguing. These times are rare now that she's a woman and I'm a woman. Talking about how her circumstance and mine were similar. I longed to prolong my father's life. He was really sick. Her father had a close call and she was right there. Why do we seek to prolong life, was the question on the table. Why should we concern ourselves with things like cellular regeneration and the pituitary gland and such. Why does a daughter rush her daddy to the hospital to get a "new stent" on life? She is our resident life-saver. I reminisced how my visits to my daddy were always repleat with new possibilities to help restore some of the uses of his extremities that were lost in his stroke. Necessity is the mother of invention. Love is the mother of regenerative ambitions. I felt a kiss from my daddy, this year, among other things. It was really a drop of cold persperation that dripped from my locks onto my cheek and if felt as though my daddy kissed me for cutting the grass, that day. He loved stuff like that. He loved wifely changes in roles to mark loving expressions and I could hear, or almost hear what he would have said. Just the moment that I was thinking that, the kiss on the cheek came to my face. Emily loves her daddy and our breakfast discussion was delightful as we gobbled down eggs and meat in a trip to pick up Ben for his Sunday School lesson. We worship together. We enjoy Sundays, but this Sunday was unique in that we had a whole half hour and a meal outside our home to mark the end of a trying, but victorious year of 2012. I love you, Emily!

At Tennis camp, as a child, I said I cannot do it- Serving into the sun is impossible!

I was so frustrated and Brother was so patient with me. He came from his usual "perch", (Running drills and such)and came to my side of the net to instruct me and give a personal demonstration of how to serve at 1 o'clock. I was shivering at such personal attention to me in my frustration. Brother was usually untouched by the "feelings of our feminine frustrations". He actually came to the service line and showed me how to do it. I will make him proud, I determined, because of this personal care that he showed to me. This morning I remember how many aces I hit because of the care of this man who showed me the correct toss. I am spastic throwing, as a rule. The toss was the worst part of my game. When the sun was at twelve oclock, I would just want to quit the game rather than try to serve on the sunglared side of the court. "Brother" made this, no longer a frustration. The sun is at twelve oclock serve at 1 oclock- he meant toss the ball a little lower than the sunglare and hit the sun, or perceive that you are hitting the sun. Blinding, at first, it is a lesson in dealing with perceived obstacles. I remember this, because I have children reared in the full sunglare of the presence of God in the home and this can be just as frustrating as serving on the sunny side of the court. Their father is such a wholesome individual and they are always judging this side and that side. I cannot get them to think outside of themselves. I take the ball from "Brother" I serve at 1 oclock and sometimes this gets their attention that they cannot be the end all and be all of the matter. Only God is God. Look at it from someone else's perspective is the lesson. For me it is try to climb over the obstacles and try to serve into the sun, as frustrating as this may be.

Who is in the house?

Happy Working Girl!

It is so delightful to see the working woman driving and taking good care of 4 boys. I love your enthusiasm of working. I love that you care for those fellows and love driving the distance. What God does to make us cranky women, useful servants is delightful isn't it?

I Love being 50

If I have the memory to recall, it seems that 50 is about the replays of the point. It is as though the great umpire calls a let and in your mind the points get replayed, only this time you have only your mind to play it. I would have run to the net and I would have hit a super topspin cross-court backhand, instead of that stupid drop shot. I see myself, as clear as day running to the net and being able to get under that ball and executing the shot perfectly. Then, I wake up. It is an argument and a 20 something year old has just hit me a dropshot that only a cross court backhand would be appropriate. I wouldn't hit her in the teeth. Insolence? No, just the age. You were that age before. What did Ruth say? "Youth is waisted on the young!" Are we in a match? Is the ball in play? Is there a match to win? Are we on holiday? Anyway, my bones hurt, as though I had a drill of lob backhands and loads and loads of overhands that I had hit, but I didn't. Just the pain in the neck from the children that God has blessed me with. I love that they bring me to the net. It delights my soul to put the ball away and not to knock the living daylights out of them. Some points they may win, but tennis {bless that game}gives me a certain perspective about the ball in play, with them. I tell them, You do not want to be on the other side of the net from me. You don't want me to put the ball away on you. That is surely what I always taught them when I took them out on the court. There is nothing more delicious to a tennis player, than a well placed lob to put away. It is instinct. I wanted them to see the natural way that I will put it away. You are my child and if you don't duck you could lose something. I want you to see that part of me. Don't give me that lob. I will put it away. They seemed to understand. Yet, and still they come home late and give me some stupid discussion about this and that. Elyse knows to duck. She sticks her head in the sand while the discussion takes place and Emily, {bless her heart} continues the rally without her partner. She hit a lob to mommy and she will get her head handed to her, if she doesn't duck. Yep. Well, thank goodness I was nearly asleep. My bones feel the pain of the match, this morning and there was no real match, just my imagination of points that I would have played. Grandpa's blessed "Hustle" yelling in my ear. Get to the ball, Jayne. There he is, in the building above me, yelling "Hustle!" Will I?

...Miles to go before I sleep.

My Father's eyes...

Being the first born, I do remember the days that my mommy and daddy were oogling at one another. It was so cute to me to see them enjoy one another. I studied their eye contact. They looked and blushed and enjoyed their young love so much, it was delightful. There were many delights that lit my father's eyes ablaze. He was a great admirer of all kinds of beauty. He could find delight in the interaction with intelligent, unintelligent, homely and painted women. He just loved people. His entire goal in life was to have his great grandma look at him as a good man. I think they did. But they were unswervingly honest. There were good men and rogues. They were sure that my father would be the latter. He tried and tried to stay true, although his emotions were not set in that direction. It surprised me when I saw the look on Fr. Manion's face talking about his mother's cookies. His eyes rolled back in his head, very much like my daddy, when he saw Yvette Mimieux or some other starlet on tv. Cookies? He looked me right in the eye, in church and he said no bakery on earth can match my mommy's cookies. First of all, he was very old and I very young. So, it was hard to imagine him having a mommy. We were delighted weekly or so with bakery cookies and my mommy could bake and cook, but the eyes that he made for these cookies is indellibly in my remembrance. I do love the look of delight on men's faces, eating and looking at things. In my meditations of these blessings of comfort that we enjoy, I think that the essence of home is the place where the twinkle in the eye meets the place where it belongs. The enjoyments have no or little negative repercutions. The closest to heaven upon the earth and the remembrances of love and treats at home are as much of God's lending Himself to us as we can stand in these mortal bodies. To look at the twinkle of the men in my life, Dad, Gramps, Dr. Lang, Mr. T., etc. are the memories that keep me motivated. maybe...

What profit is there for the godly woman? The presence of God is a treasure!

Why should I try to be a godly woman? Where is the advantage in trying to love God and live holy as a woman? So many questions come into the mind when you are trying to decide where is the advantage of knowing God in your youth. You feel like a sitting duck for the devil and his schemes. How will I ever get worldly wise, if I am following God from early in life? These are questions that lurk in the mind of the youngsters growing up under the grace of God and instructed early. You are early taught to see your sins and flee to Christ for mercy and pardon. You are early taught to prize the presence of God. Sometimes, we don't appreciate the presence of God, until we go into a far country. We don't recognize that we are blessed, until we live in a place without that blessing. Some people equate monetary blessing with the presence of God. That is what was the blessing of Rahab, in my estimation. She would never be deceived by such a lie. She lived in an oppulent society, without God. God is coming to judge our city, she would lure her listeners into her home to escape the coming destruction. Money is not a measure of blessing. Stuff is not a measure of blessing. The presence of God in worship and the presence of God in family life is the measure. Obed-Edom was that picture, in David's kingdom. He knew God. He followed the truth of God and God blessed his household. That is the measure. I can imagine that we will get to glory and see how much God longed to enter into our fellowship in our circumstances. How we shunned Him in our grasping for the straws of attainments? God's presence in our life is life indeed. His burden is easy and His burden is light. Learn from the testimonies of the godly elders that have gone before you and don't wait to make your calling and election sure. You have a treasure of godly examples and testimonies in your mindseyes. Don't despise such a treasure. Use these examples to launch you into pursuits and a life of love to God and love of His Word and a life of learning to live in the presence of God and with short accounts with man, but certainly with God!

And the Rockets Red Glare!

I remember reading as a little child, the story of Francis Scott Key, waiting for the morning, to see the flag.   I remember imagining the Rockets Red Glare, bursting in the air, the sights and sounds of horror and war.  The morning dawned for Francis Scott Key and the song of our flags' preservation was penned. 
Beyond our imagination, when our night of warfare of this life dawns into the presence of our Lord.  His truth and His holiness and His goodness, not torn or diminished by our warring against Him in our sin.   God will shine forth, just and the justifier of those that come to God in Christ.  Halleluia!

Fatherhood, {Thoughts on the death of Don Grady} It takes two to tango!

I was struck at what an impact Don Grady made on our lives.  We came at life with new expectations of parenting interactions.  Not just the silent children of other generations.  We would interact.  We would contribute some our neophytic observations into the lives of our parents.  Fred Macmurray and Don Grady acted out the intimacies of Father/Son love with microscopic precision.  We loved to laugh at the intricacies of their humorous interplay.  But, we came to expect more from our love.  When we held that little boy in our arms and when our sons grew we expected to really know them, or want to know them.  I thank the "hippy" generation for injecting this kind of expectation into our family "Love American Style".
I did have this kind of relationship with my dad and I wasn't a boy.  We talked about everything and he let me tell him stuff like that.  I really applaud the uniqueness of delving into the concentrated relationships of parent /child from a positive and even humorous perspective. 
Teenage parenting can be so intense and so stressful, but it can also be so fun and educational.  Thank you to the memory of Fred Macmurray and Don Grady for this contribution to our culture. Ernie said, I prayed that you would come in here, to the father. What a prayer, that the fathers would come up to the plate of fatherhood. I think they did, somewhat inspired by fathers like Fred Macmurray and sons like Don Grady. Thank God for some of the television we had.

Was Mr. Collins a Christian?

Poor is the wife of Mr. Collins, is the assessment of Jane Austen.  I concur with Jane Austen in this.  Is it Christian to be swayed by the authority of riches only?  That was the question that plagued their generation.  It also plagues our generation.  We have a tendency to genuflect to the Catherine DuBurghs of the world.  Like Mr. Collins, we, who are poor owe respect to so many benefactors, that it can eclipse the sun of the light of respect for God's word.  We heap damnation upon the benefactors by our worship of them.  We heap damnation upon our own heads in that we steal glory from God to give to those to whom we owe thanks, but not worship.  This is a hard line to draw for the poor.  Jane Austen attempted to show the carefulness of the instruction of her life that there is a difference between thanks and praise of people.  I, personally don't believe that Mr. Collins could be a Christian, and not see this flaw.  Worshiping people is a severe idolatry.

Found a new exercise video, Thank you Liza Minnelli--Keepin' us AARP's movin:)

Wind beneath my Wings

Mother's Day reminds me of my very favorite person in the whole wide world. My Grandma Monica was a treasure in my life. She blessed me everytime we saw eachother. She always had a good word, an encouraging hug, an uplifting thought for me. We never had enough time together. She spited my sports time and study time and anything that kept us from being able to go over to her house. We sat around her death bed, unwittingly and she encouraged me to take posession of this marriage on her behalf. Don't miss this ride, her eyes seemed to say. She said, I told Gloria the same thing with Milton. Don't you dare, not marry that man, she encouraged. I thought I wouldn't make it, because she died three days before the wedding. I didn't understand that she didn't have a marriage and that was why she was so descriptive and deliberate to us of what we should do. We just went on with the plans, as she encouraged us to do. She said, I love Bethel, because you have 2 aisles to walk down, so you can take the picture coming in the door and then get to your seat before the bride, she spoke to Aunt Lorraine. I had almost forgotten that she had gone on before us, until I saw Aunt Lorraine standing there taking the picture. As she ran to her seat, I started sobbing. People probably thought it was a shotgun wedding how we carried on. Sister Paris encouraged me to smile and I enjoyed the beauty of the moment, in spite of my initial sob. We were grabbing the ring on the merry-go-round that my Grandma had missed so sorely in her life. Weeks later, I was still crying that I hadn't gotten to sing Wind beneath my Wings to my Grandma on her deathbed. So, I was sitting in the car crying about that loss and the Holy Spirit spoke to my soul and transformed that song into this one and turned my mourning through that Evvy song, right then and there. Everytime I hear that song, I imagine my Grandma and me dancing at the Wedding of the Lamb, which we both would have missed, had it not been for the sacrifice of a perfect Savior. Halleluia!

Bumping your head against Heaven

Often I have thought of falling to my knees in prayer in relationship to my short volleyball season. Falling on the knees over and over, to get in the proper position to hit the ball. The knees are always the humble position to be in. This morning, though I think of the jump. I think of the awe that was ours to see our coach leap and hover in the air, as though he had wings. He taught us to hover, somewhat. For the spike and for the aggressive points in Volleyball, most of those points are hit with feet off of the ground. Sometimes, we hit our head against the ball, inadvertantly. Sometimes, I believe that we hit our head against Heaven, in prayer and in purpose for God. The aggressive stances of the Church militant, may be with feet in the air. When we hit our head against Heaven, though, it may not knock us out, it may just wake us up. :)

Fierce Kiss Volleys

I felt a kiss from Dad, today. I know it was him because it scared the bejeebers out of me and it was cold persperation on my cheek. I think the hours of volley practice teaches you to catch more than just a volley. Your reflexes are ready to receive the volleys of kisses from "those whose rest is won".

Dad and Baby Ben in '89

Oh happy ones and holy, Lord, give us grace that we, like them, the meek and lowly, on high may dwell with Thee!

Em not watching and Ez got lost!

We miss your pesky double checking where they are. We miss your constant yelling about where are they going and to whom will they be talking and how long will they be there, etc.
While I was driving around the neighborhood, I knew it was because my Emily wasn't at her post that this happened. 2 hours later we found him where he was all along. You would have known that already. It wouldn't have cost the years off our lives that we worried looking for him (Ez).
Thanks for all you do!

This morning Ezra and I took a trip back in time, as usual.

I look into his face and it takes me back to third grade and 5 younger siblings, at that age and how little of the concerns and cares look to be on his face. He wanted more sugar on his Cream of Wheat and that started my story telling of my sugar consumption. I "stole" all of the sugar cubes in the cabinet that were for the Rosarian luncheon. It was me. I had eaten them a little at a time, everytime, I hid in the cabinet to be alone or for "hide and go-seek". Little squares of sugar were the topic. I remembered out loud to him, as I sprinkled more sugar on his already sweetened breakfast. I remembered Grandma and Auntie, coming to our kitchen and letting me stir the gravy and offering tastes of this and that. "No, thank you!" No, Thank you, I was trained to say that and could say nothing else to them. I felt like Gram and Auntie were here with us as we reminisced. One day, Uncle Pat came with a brown paper bag and some egg custard for me. That started me eating some solid foods, more and trying things outside the box. I declare, Gram and Auntie must have prayed for a remedy to my hunger strike. The egg custard did it. That was the end of my eating the curtains and other pica problems and growing in health. Egg custard and prayer.