He Knows My Name
Sunday, March 24, 2024
Every End is a Start
Friday, September 16, 2022
How to Run Up a Hill
Thursday, December 9, 2021
Junk Food Junkie
Recently, my husband and I watched a compelling documentary on plant-based eating. Before the documentary, I considered making some changes in our diet, so, being an all-or-nothing girl, I decided to jump in with both feet.
I arrived at the local grocery with a manilla folder containing five plant-based meals, all with a long list of ingredients located in mysterious locations throughout the store, such as fresh ginger (hint: it’s not in the ginger ale aisle!), flaxseed, soy milk, leeks and so on.
Fully committed to bags of foreign ingredients, I decided to start our glorious adventure with veggie burgers. I had pots and pans, a food processor, and a ninja blender all in use as I sauteed leeks and lemon juice and turned walnuts to dust with the ninja, all the while slowly boiling the liquid out of my brown lentils. The smell was horrific, but my attitude was stellar.
Long story short—the burgers were possibly the worst meal I have ever served to my husband in 35 years of marriage. We did our best to eat them, but we agreed to toss the leftovers.
We enjoyed a Culver’s butter burger, fries, and caramel custard the next day.
As I licked away the last of my custard from my spoon, I remembered a song from a record my mom had played when I was a kid called Junk Food Junkie (by Larry Groce). He first sang it in 1975. He talks about how he’s known by all of his friends as being healthy, “In the daytime, I’m Mr. Natural, just as healthy as I can be—but at night I’m a junk food junkie, good Lord have mercy on me!” His worst fear is: “I'm afraid someday they’ll find me, all stretched out on my bed—with a handful of Pringles potato chips and a ding-dong by my head.”
If I am honest, I have felt the same fear about myself from time to time. Not concerning food, but involving the church. It is easy to put on the church face, say the right things, and appear to be a spiritual hero. But then, Monday always arrives with its share of unfair circumstances, unexpected tornadoes, and people who don’t understand things the way they should. And suddenly, a thought, a sideways glance, a word that would not be welcome in the church, a judgment that does not exemplify the character of Christ, and a sinking spirit from the realization of the reality of one’s humanity become the truth of who I am.
I become the me that I’m not proud of, the me who stares at her reflection in the mirror in an attempt to understand who that person truly is at her core.
I believe that each of us deeply, and often secretly, longs to be true to the person we know God created us to become. Even in the moments—or perhaps, especially when we are aware of our depravity. If we are never willing to look inside, the authenticity that comes only through the lens of truth will never find its way out. And quite honestly, right now, the world needs to see the authenticity of a life striving after the heart of God like never before. And part of that authenticity might be allowing others to see us when we aren’t pretending to have it all figured out.
Romans 12:2 reminds us, “Do not conform to the pattern of this world but be transformed by the renewing of your mind. Then you will be able to test and approve what God’s will is—his good, pleasing and perfect will.”
Maybe praying for God to renew our minds so we can become more like Him might be a good starting point. His Spirit in us gives us hope and changes us from the inside out. We cannot muster enough self-discipline in our strength to emulate the glory of Christ within, but as He renews our minds, we are more clearly able to live each day in His perfect will. Kind of a slow process of becoming a pure, authentic child of God even outside of Sunday morning.
Last night, after four days of recovering from the veggie burger event, I was back at it with vegan vegetable curry chowder. Much to my surprise, and even more so to my husband’s surprise—the meal was delicious.
I don’t have a clue what tonight’s dinner menu holds. It could be cauliflower macaroni, or it could be a frozen pepperoni pizza.
Good Lord, have mercy on me!
Stay the Course…
Sheila
Friday, November 5, 2021
Zumba
Monday, September 13, 2021
The Gift
Sunday, April 11, 2021
Life, Death & Garden Gloves
A few weeks ago I took an unplanned trip from my home in Michigan to my parent’s home in Wisconsin.
I didn’t tell my parent’s that I was coming to see them. I knew they were both sick, and my dad, who had been struggling with Parkinson’s disease for many years, had taken several falls over the last several weeks.
My plan was simple: show up, get them both back to good health, then hit the road back to Michigan.
The Word of God reminds us about something super important in the book of James: “Now listen, you who say, “Today or tomorrow we will go to this or that city, spend a year there, carry on business and make money.” Why, you do not even know what will happen tomorrow. What is your life? You are a mist that appears for a little while and then vanishes.” (James 4:13-14)
My middle daughter, Danielle, who happens to be a nurse, visited her best buddy in Minneapolis and offered to extend her trip to go with me to her grandparents to see if she could help.
I had no idea at the time how much help Danielle would provide.
We arrived at my parent's house at noon on Monday, just as my mom received the news from her doctor that she was positive for COVID. She was hacking up a lung and had been sick for almost a week. The next day Danielle and I were able to take my dad to the doctor, where he also tested positive for COVID. We realized that his lack of appetite for the last several weeks was due to COVID and not Parkinson’s. Danielle & I helping with my parents
At first, I was relieved. I thought if we could find anything at all that appealed to Dad to eat or drink, his strength would return, and he would be good. By this point, he was so weak that it was difficult helping him around the house. And he was so restless from the pain that it was difficult for him to stay in one place for very long.
By Thursday, when I arrived at my parents to see if Dad was any stronger, my heart sank. I took one look at him in his recliner and knew he would not get well—not this time.
Friday morning we had a meeting with hospice at my parents to get Dad some help before the weekend. His falls were adding up, and my mom was too weak to help him even with my younger brother’s assistance. Before heading to my parents, I stopped at Menard’s and purchased a pair of garden gloves. I figured after our hospice meeting; I would work in my parent’s yard.
Denial.
I have always thought of springtime as a season of life, not death. I left after the hospice meeting and returned later that afternoon with the pharmacy’s medication; Dad had taken a nosedive.
My heart skipped a few beats. I knew that Dad knew. My hands shook as I attempted to open the medicine I had just picked up. Pain medication that I didn’t think we would need for quite some time.
I felt totally helpless and completely unprepared. The resilient man who had always figured a way out of an impossible situation knew.
The siblings that lived far away were all on their way. All six kids would be together to help usher the man who had brought us into the world, out of the world.
I didn’t get back to my hotel until very late that night. I glanced at the passenger seat and saw my new pair of garden gloves, untouched. What a sudden turn the day had taken. How foolish was I to have thought I knew how the day would come together.
“What is your life? You are a mist that appears for a little while and then vanishes.”
Early Monday morning, March 29th, Dad took his final breath.
The funeral director warned us that visitations were not well-attended due to COVID. However, for three hours, people waited in line to pay their respects to a quiet, humble man who never wanted to be the center of attention. His walk with God, his weekly Bible studies, the many people he prayed with who gave their lives to the Lord, the dozens of people he mentored over the years. In life, he was faithful and obedient. Death revealed his legacy and impact.
Us 6 kids plus Mom in order of birth from left to right |
Last summer, I had a conversation with my dad regarding my garden. He loved gardening and was happy to see me loving it too. I shared with him that each morning I got excited when I looked at my garden and saw all the growth that had happened overnight. I wondered out loud if I would ever lose the excitement of working in my garden. Dad assured me that I wouldn’t, “The reason you love it is because we came from the dirt, and we will return to the dirt one day—it’s a part of who we are.”
We all gathered around Dad’s casket at the cemetery to bury him on Good Friday. Knowing that Dad had fought the good fight and had finished his race was bittersweet for his family who was feeling the pain of his absence. If only the veil could have been ripped open a little for us to witness the beauty of seeing Dad in heaven, eating his fill at a banquet held in his honor, surrounded by everyone his life had touched in his 80 short years of life.See You Soon, Dad.
“What is your life? You are a mist that appears for a little while and then vanishes.”
Stay the course…
Sheila
Monday, December 7, 2020
Then They Do
The holidays have a way of bringing out memories forgotten during the usual months of the year. We remember fondly (mostly!) traditions we have either started with our own families or carried over from our childhoods.
When our three daughters were very young, we began a new family tradition of purchasing a Christmas ornament for each girl representing something unique about them that had happened during the year. The plan was that one day we would hand over each daughter’s ornaments for her own Christmas tree.
Our daughters growing up and leaving home felt like something far away in a place called the future. I was too busy being a mom to contemplate the notion that our kids leaving home might happen.
While I was still knee-deep into parenting, country singer Trace Adkins came out with a song in 2003 entitled, “Then They Do.”
He sang about how crazy it is some days as a parent and how sometimes we wish our children would grow up.
And then they do.
I listened to the lyrics with a pang in my heart, contemplating a future without kids under our roof. (Not that the thought was a bad one, depending on the day!)
Yesterday our oldest daughter, her husband, and our granddaughter came over to go through our Christmas ornaments. She wanted to take her childhood ornaments to put on her own family’s Christmas tree. Later, our second daughter also arrived to collect her box of ornaments.
Although I knew in my heart the time had come to hand off the collection of the lifetime of memories contained in each ornament — even as I write this, I feel a bit ambivalent.
Throughout the years, our Christmas tree resembled an assortment of random, unmatching ornaments. To the untrained eye, our tree was far from perfect. To me, however, life slowed down with the placement of each memory on the tree. All the many phases, awkward experiences, sweet victories—stories remembered and re-told over the passing years.
Earlier this week, I had a real conversation with a lifetime friend. She shared moments of regret as a parent. Yep. The ornaments reflect the happy moments, the one-of-a-kind moments, and some moments I wish I would have held onto much tighter than I did. No matter how hard I tried to be a perfect mom—I failed over and over again. But some days, I got it right!
Two out of three boxes of ornaments left our house yesterday in the arms of our now-married daughters. The third box will be going one day soon when our third baby girl is ready to take ownership of her ornaments.
Until then, they will remain safe with me—the mom who prays for her daughter’s futures with hopes that every dream held within their hearts will come to pass. Hopefully, captured piece-by-piece, ornament by ornament over the coming years on their own ragamuffin Christmas trees.
Stay the course…
Sheila