How Could I Forget Thee?

This is the first Mother's Day without my Momma who went home to be with the Lord on the day before Easter, just three weeks ago. It is an understatement to say that I am missing her terribly, yet I and my family do not grieve as those without hope. Easter embodies all that I believe. It is fitting that my Momma entered the gates of heaven to celebrate that Good Friday had come and gone, fulfilling its promise of Redemption and offering to all who believe the hope of the Resurrection! What Glory! I find a deep joy in knowing that my Momma is free from all suffering and I am replete with the memory of a mother who loved deeply and well.

This post is from the archives:

"Can a mother forget the baby at her breast and have no compassion on the child 

she has borne? Though she may forget you, I will not forget thee. See, I have 

engraved you on the palms of my hand." Isaiah 49:15-16

     No mother would ever forget her child, for once conceived, a mother's children are hers forever. Yet the Lord makes it clear that His love for us exceeds that of a mother for her child. How can it be? And yet, He tells us again that no man can fathom the depth and heighth and breadth of the magnificent love He holds in His being for each of us. It is a love that defies description. A love that extends beyond all measure. It runs so deep that it forever scarred the hands of the One who gave Himself up for us. Even Isaiah who gave us these beautiful words could not have imagined the terrible price it would cost Christ to "engrave" us on the palm of His hand.
   Every mother alive would shudder to think of those selfsame nails piercing the hands of any of her children, yet that is precisely what happened to the Only Begotten Son of God. And it was love that compelled Him to go to that cross. Love for for you and for me.
   I began this Mother's Day by being thankful for my own Momma and her many sacrifices of love that have enabled me to become the woman I am today. It was she who rejoiced with me over the impending arrival of each little one; it was she who came at every birth and tenderly taught me how to love and care for my own babes; and it was she who has supported and championed me at every turn of my life as a mother. I owe her so much that I cannot begin to express my gratitude. A thank you seems inadequate.

   My heart is also filled to overflowing as I consider the treasure of the three sons and one daughter who have afforded me the priceless treasure of being a mother. There are no words to express the joy I hold in my heart for them, as well as for their wives and husbands. Daily I am also thankful for the joy of being a grandmother to Little One, Little Two and soon-to-be here Little Three. These little people are teaching me so much about the faithfulness of our God!

    Yet it is to the Lord Himself that I owe the greatest debt and the one debt that can never ever be repaid. For it is He who has given me and those I love life and breath and everything else. They and I are engraved on the palm of His hands. Those beautiful nail-scarred hands. It is simply too much to comprehend.

Grace, Grace, and More Grace

   

Wishful thinking at my house...

   Consistency with daily tasks is not one of my better traits. I will leave the unfolded laundry on the kitchen table until the surface is all but obscured before I will get around to dealing with it; I hate hanging up clothes I have just taken off so I end up piling them up in a chair where they eventually collect dust and the ever-present dog-hair; and I avoid the grocery store like the plague. Yet I have somehow managed to function as a daughter, woman, wife, mother, grandmother, college counselor, friend, sister, and domestic goddess (insert a smile here, this is supposed to be funny) for one reason and only one: the grace of God. You might think, as I once did, that the grace of God is reserved for the hard things one encounters in life or as a covering for the sin that so easily besets us; but I have come to believe something very different: the grace of God is at once for everything and for all of life: the mundane as well as the sacramental; the boring as well as the glorious, and the burdensome along with the transcendent.  I don't know about you, but I have just as great a need for the everyday circumstances of my life to be bathed in grace as I do the struggles that seem destined to impact my soul.
   A while back I encountered this tiny little verse that probably comes close to rivaling the ubiquitous "Jesus wept" as one of the all time shortest verses in the Bible, but despite its brevity, it has had a profound and lasting effect upon me and the way that I view my life. It is also found in one of the books of the New Testament that I have continually struggled for many years to understand and apprehend, the Book of James. I offer these words up to you today as a gift. A gift that I want to share. I also want to challenge you to meditate upon these six little words, this logos from the heart of God to you and to me to see if they will not change your perspective on living as much as they have altered mine. Without further ado, here they are:

     "But He gives us more grace..."James 4:6a

   Think about it. Never less. ALWAYS MORE. ALWAYS MORE. I cried the first time I comprehended these words. I had seen the words before, even read them before, but for some reason they were never able to penetrate through my grey matter to traverse the distance to my heart and they certainly seemingly never traveled that mysterious and incalculable distance to my soul. Yet somehow, in a manner I don't fully understand, this logos finally made that God-inspired, God-breathed journey to the place where bone meets marrow and heart meets soul. I got it.
    And for that I am so very thankful this Lord's day...that despite all that I am, He is all that He is and so it is that He gives us more grace. 

Grace. Undeserved, beautiful, and bounteous. 

Searching for Easter

   I go looking for Easter in Walgreen's. Even though one might be fooled, it is not there among the Peeps, the plastic baskets, and the fake green grass.

   I wander down the aisles of the Hallmark store replete with their perfectly aligned cards and matching envelopes. Scattered everywhere throughout the shop are pink, blue and yellow bunnies nestled alongside hand-painted eggs. This is not my Easter either.

   I join the throngs in the grocery store, filling my cart with treasures for a meal that I will serve to cousins and sisters and husband and children at Sunday lunch. The cash register goes ching, ching, ching, and I am out of there with a laden car and a tired back. This, too, is not my Easter.

   Once home, I set the table, arrange flowers, and slice mountains of squash and onions, grease casserole dishes, tear lettuces, and chop herbs. I am working ahead. It is special, this beauty I seek to create, but it is not Easter.

   I walk outside to bask in the warmth of the late afternoon sunshine. The silver maples are showering their helicopter seeds all over me. I wink at the sky and smile. But Easter? No, this is a compelling beauty from a Divine hand, but it is not Easter.

   I climb back into my Bible, suddenly thirsty for the Holy cup and the bread. I want to linger there at the meal shared with My Beloved, but I am called onward toward a hill outside the city of Jerusalem. It is here that I find a story played out that shakes my soul to the core. It is a tale, oft told, of a suffering and a sacrifice so wretched and so raw that it is at once almost unbearable and unbelievable. I am suddenly there. I smell the blood. I see the heavy splintered form of the cross and the broken God-man upon it. I look into the faces of the betrayers and know that their shame and their guilt mirrors my own. I know what I deserve. But the God-man hanging there will have the final word. "Forgive them," he cries as he shudders and gasps for air. Then He cries out to the Father.

   In a little while, the sky grows dark. The earth shakes. The bolts of lightening accelerate as they penetrate the darkness with a terrible light. I quake inside as I turn back to the cross. It is finished. The God-man breathes no more.

    I want to run from the scene. I am a betrayer and a rebel of the first-order. I don't even have to wait until the cock crows. I know my own heart. I feel the crushing weight of my own sin and my paralyzing grief. And yet. And yet.

    I limp through the days bereft. The morning of the third day dawns bright and beautiful. The women have been busy with their preparations. Their faces are worn with grief and exhaustion but they are filled with a sense of mission and purpose. They have come to anoint the body of the Beloved One. I have tagged along.

   One of the women runs ahead, spurred and driven by a need deep within her. Yet something is amiss. The guards have disappeared, and the giant stone is no longer blocking the darkened entrance to the cave-like tomb. A deep and powerful voice pierces the quiet surrounding the tomb. It is coming from an unusual creature standing vigil by the tomb, "Why is it that you seek the living among the dead?" The air seems to quiver at the sound of his words.

  The angel looks with something akin to incredulity at the mounting disbelief in the face of the stumbling weeping woman. Like her, my human mind struggles to apprehend the words and all that they imply.

   She runs to look inside. Her voice trembles as she announces that the tomb is empty. My vision grows blurry. How can it be? THE TOMB IS EMPTY. I fall to my knees, and something inside me begins to take on a life of its own.

   What is this glorious hope, this unspeakable joy rising up within me? Can the terrible suffering of the God-man on the cross find its completion and its consummation in an vacant tomb with its empty ledge and neatly folded linen?

   Yes, yes, my soul cries. Yes. This, this is my Easter. It is an empty tomb. It is here in the dust of the dimly lit cave that I have come to find life. And hope. And victory over an ancient sin and despair that have held my soul in their clutch. This tomb, this place of burial where the body of the Messiah was laid to rest is the Easter I have sought. And it is not just mine. It is for all who dare to believe.
    My heart leaps within me at the truth and the glory of it all.

Christ the Lord is Risen. 

Indeed, He is Risen! 

Let the earth and the heavens rejoice...

A Sweet Way to Remember a Loved One

   Death is no stranger to any of us. And if we have not yet suffered the loss of someone we love, it is inevitable that we will. Death has been a fact of life since Adam and Eve left the garden, and will be so until Jesus comes again. Even if we carry the surety of heaven in our hearts, the process of dying still gives us pause. When we bury someone that we love, we understand the fragility of life in a new and different way. As never before, we long for the day when death and dying shall be no more.

Then I saw a new heaven and a new earth for the old heaven and the old earth had passed away...

I heard a loud voice saying, God's dwelling place is now among the people

and God himself shall be with them...

He will wipe every tear from their eyes. 

There will be no more death, or mourning, or crying, or pain, 

for the old order of things has passed away. 

             From Revelation 21

    As a Christian, I am thankful to be of those who do not grieve without hope. Do Christians grieve? Absolutely! Yet the wonder is that the Holy Spirit miraculously keeps hope alive in our hearts. When we become believers, the hope of heaven is literally woven into the very fabric of our DNA. It cannot be denied. We may try, but hope works on us from the inside out, to bring us comfort, peace and a flicker of joy, even on the darkest of days. And so it is and has been with the Baby Sister.
     During the past two years, she and her husband, David, were an inspiration to me and many others, as against all odds, he chose life and fought hard and courageously to live each day on this earth that he had been given. When death finally came in July of this past year, David surrendered himself into the loving arms of His Savior and entered into the glory of life everlasting. Friends and family came near and far to cry, to weep, to rejoice, and to celebrate David Randell White's homegoing to heaven. My husband said it was the best funeral he had ever attended. It was hard, but it was good.
    My sister is keeping on with life since her husband passed away. I am sure that there are days when the depth of her loss takes her to her knees. And there are days when the grief of David's death is but a shadow that hovers and passes. Sometimes the nights are long and lonely and then there are times when she can sleep like a baby. Each day is different.
    The first holidays without a loved one can be especially difficult. The sense of loss is palpable. With Christmas coming, my sister came up with an idea for gifts for her children and grandchildren that would give them a tangible reminder of the father and grandfather they loved so much. Here is how it came about. In late summer when my sister began going through her husband's clothing, she found that there were several shirts that she was having a hard time parting with as they were a tangible reminder to her of her husband and of the special things he liked to do. There were his roping shirts (he was a team roper extraordinaire), his fishing shirts (he loved to flyfish and spend time on the Choctawhatchee Bay in his boat), his hunting shirts, his work shirts, his church shirts, and more. If you are getting the idea that this was a man who loved to spend time working outside enjoying God's marvelous creation, you would be right! David also loved to laugh, to sing, and as a man of great faith, he loved to worship the Lord with great freedom and joy. And even though he was a talented builder of note (one of his homes graced the cover of Coastal Living magazine), an incredible and creative problem solver, who was pragmatic, thrifty, and resourceful, he could be tough, if he needed to be. Yet David Randell White was a man with a great sense of humor, who loved his wife and his family and his Lord above all else. In short, he had the heart of a teddy bear. So the Baby Sister took his favorite shirts and made them into bears.
    One son loved to fish with his Dad, so his bear was made from a shirt he had seen his father wear when they fished together. One of the granddaughters loved nothing better than watching "Pa" roping his cows, so she was given a bear made from a roping shirt complete with a pocket with snaps. There was a bear with a camouflage look made from a hunting shirt, a soft flannel shirt oft worn became another favored bear. And the list went on. No two were alike. My sister had a bear made for herself out of a church shirt because some of her favorite memories were of standing beside her husband as they worshipped the Lord together. One special touch is that there are bears set aside for grandchildren yet to be born. 
   My sister's found a wonderful way to remember her husband. It's an idea that David would definitely appreciate. He would be glad that the shirts are no longer hanging unused in the closet!
    And from what I understand, on Christmas Day my sister's home was filled with lots of laughter coupled with the shedding of sweet tears. I'm pretty sure that was the case on both sides of heaven. 

 Here is the tag that accompanied each bear. My sister designed it and included a very special scripture that meant a great deal to her and her husband.

      It's a simple gift. Nothing too fancy and nothing too fine. Just a bear made out of an old shirt that belonged to someone they loved. A sweet way of remembering, wouldn't you agree?

The Big Reveal

    In the modern era, it is more common than not for couples to find out the gender of their baby before the birth occurs. It was not even an option for The Husband and me in three of my pregnancies and by the time we got to our fourth, we already had two boys and a girl, so finding out the sex of the baby beforehand was not of prime importance. In my own case, I can readily testify that learning whether you have given birth to a boy or girl at the moment of delivery is possibly the most wonderful surprise in life. However, today it seems that the vast majority of couples want to know ahead of time. And since technological advances have given us a window into the womb, if my children choose to find out the gender of their baby and are willing to share the news with us, then I am more than happy to forego the element of surprise.
   My eldest son and daughter-in-law planned a "gender reveal" for us the week before Christmas that proved to be a lot of fun. The plan was for both immediate families, his and hers, to gather at our house and enjoy a meal together. After the meal, my daughter-in-law promised that we would soon learn whether the grandbaby would be a boy or a girl.
    Here's how it played out. The two grandmothers had the honor of cutting the delicious homemade cake which contained a surprise. You can tell that we are just a wee bit excited.

 Those are the parents-to-be standing by to see our reaction.

In case you are wondering, we can't really tell anything yet...

 I'm still in the dark here...

 Can you tell that the other grandmother has figured it out?! I love her joy.

 Ahh...there is the proof. Our grandbaby will be a BOY!

I am hoping that May will get here sooner than later. 

I can't wait to meet this precious little one.

There are also some other little people in our family 

who are eagerly awaiting the arrival 

of a new cousin.

However, I think the biggest attraction that night was the idea of getting to eat some cake!

Recapping the moment!

Momma-to-be with her Momma!

The granddaddy-to-be and his girl!

Momma-to-be and her siblings!

The Daddy-to-be and his siblings sans one son-in-law...

And finally, here's the lovely couple with both sets of grandparents!

No matter the number of grandchildren, the joy is the same. Love has a marvelous
way of multiplying itself like a cup running over with the addition to the family of each little one.
We feel so very blessed.
I am mindful of the scripture I prayed before this first-born son of ours came into the world,
For this child I prayed and the Lord hath granted me the petition
I made unto Him, therefore, as long as he lives, he shall be given unto the Lord.
May it be so with the life of this little one.

Christmas Treasures

   The best gifts of Christmas are those you treasure in your heart. It's the moment when a child comes into a room with wide eyes and the biggest grin you have ever seen as she spies the gifts awaiting her under the tree. It's the unexpected bear hug from a tall son who also stoops to whisper, "I love you, Momma," into your listening ear. It's the quiet hubbub of little voices rising and the mothers' gently shushing them as Pappy reads aloud the timeless Christmas Story from Luke 2. It's the laughter around the dinner table. It's the grandchildren peering through the staircase spindles where once your own children pressed their faces in nearly the same way.  It's a granddaddy who rescues a squalling baby and whisks him away to a quiet room where it's just the two of them sharing a moment of precious peace.
   I count myself as one blessed woman. No Christmas is ever perfect, because we are an imperfect people in great need of that Holy One who came to earth on that fateful night so long ago. The real miracle of Christmas is not even the treasured memories we collect and carefully document in order to remember. It is undeserved grace poured out from heaven above. Grace for sinners such as you and I. It is a baby born to die. It is sins forgiven, negated, absolved and remembered no more. It is freedom. It is mercy that finds itself renewed every morning by the power of that majestic giver of all grace, Emmanuel, God With Us.

Getting ready for the celebration.
A lovely banner ordered here on Etsy and a caramel cake from the

incomparable Leland Riggin of Dessert Designs

The calm before the storm

All set and ready to go

And here they come

Say cheese, please!

And what to my wondering eyes should appear...

 "I don't know about you, but I am going straight for the glass slippers..."

 Nonna and the boys!

Things are getting crazy around here

 The girls' sleeping bags are a great hit!

Let's try them out in the teepee

 Good idea

Brother wants to get in on the action.
Note the matching socks. Not.

This guy is happy happy happy with his new book

Nothin' like a boy and his truck (and a few dinosaurs)

Hey, when do we eat? 

Uncle Bear and I are getting hungry...

While no one is looking, I'm gonna finish up the last of this spinach dip...

The girls feel special at their own little table

And then it gets a little crazy

 The aftermath

 Whew...now it's time to chill out, and let the food digest while the grandbabes watch a little Sound of Music

 And the adults open their stockings...

 
 Am I dreaming or is this room getting smaller
and smaller and smaller?!

 Pappy has found the perfect quiet hideout...in the teepee...with the grandchildren!

Then it's time for everyone to head home and put their sleepyheads to bed.
Merry Christmas to all and to all a Good Night!