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!