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...

Woodland Theme Baby

    My daughter-in-law is doing a woodland themed baby nursery. The inspiration for her design came from a fabric she found with trees and tiny little animals poking their heads up and around a forest. It was love at first sight for her. Then she happened upon this adorable stuffed fox and everything began to come together organically. This daughter-in-law of mine is especially creative and loves to "up-cycle," finding creative uses for vintage items that were originally designed for an altogether different function. I can't wait to see what the nursery will look like when she's finished. Maybe she will let me share a picture or two before the grandboy arrives in May!
    In the meantime, I have been seeing all manner of woodland things popping up everywhere. I couldn't resist sharing some adorable baby shower ideas that give homage to the woodland theme!

Let's start with some invitations!

How cute are these?!

 I love how the envelope mimics a woodgrain pattern on the one below!

 Now let's move on to the party decor

 I love the use of rustic and natural elements

 And the charm goes on

and on...

And it wouldn't be a party without a cake...

or two...

How 'bout these cupcake toppers!

 gift bags anyone?

 Now this is some serious hedgehog love!

But you better watch out for those foxes, they just might steal the show!

And since we live in Music City, what could be better than a very special 

Woodland Mix for guests to take home

Be creative and have fun!

Book-a-Month Club

   It's not your normal Book-of-the-Month Book Club, but rather my personal spin on it and one that has quickly become a much appreciated and anticipated tradition in our family. As a library/media specialist's daughter, my house, like my Momma's and her mother's before her, is filled with books. There are bookshelves in nearly every room filled to overflowing, there are books in cabinets, and books stacked under beds. There are books in the attic and books in the playroom. I guess you could say that books are somewhat of an obsession of mine.
   One of the best things about being a grandmother is digging out old favorites. I am thankful that in one of those many cabinets filled with books are all the oldies, but goodies, my own children loved.  Some are missing pages. Some are so dog-eared and so faded that they bear little resemblance to the original. As do many of you, I delight in reading these timeless treasures to my grandchildren. There is nothing sweeter than the joy of exploration and discovery as seen through the eyes of a child.
   Thus when my daughter became pregnant with her first child, I began a tradition of giving her a book for every month of her pregnancy. And not just any book, but a book she had loved and read as a child. The major criteria for my purchase was that it must have been a book that I remembered seeing her return to over and over again. daughter. I have continued the tradition with both of my daughters-in-law, selecting books that their husbands, my sons, had counted among their favorites.
   Everyone thus far has been gifted with a copy of the perennial touch-and-feel book for babies and toddlers: Pat the Bunny. Who can't win with this little book? It never fails to enchant with it's simplistic and 50's style illustrations!

   Don't ask me why, but Daddy's beard was everybody's favorite page and the first to disintegrate. We must have gone through five or six copies of this little treasure. Each child had his or her own copy and then I purchased a few extra for emergencies.

Next up for everyone was another classic: Where the Wild Things Are by Maurice Sendak. Who would think that children would love a book about monsters, but there is just something so glorious about these monsters. They are just so....loveable. And every child in our family wore this book out. I don't know about you, but who doesn't want to "let the wild rumpus begin"!!!

    A few years back when we made a family trip to Boston, each adult child made it a point to stop by to see the ducklings, i.e., the brass ducklings erected in the Boston Public Gardens in honor of the wonderful Momma Duckling and her babies made famous in "Make Way for Ducklings" by Robert McCloskey. And here they are in all their glory: Jack, Mack, Kack, Lack, Nack, Oack, Pack, and Quack. We were on first name basis with these little guys for a long time!

This book is multi-generational in our family: it is one that I also loved as a child!

And here's another favorite that everybody gets because it reminds us all about the
 power of love and how important it is to become "real."

I'm always amazed when I stop to consider the wisdom found in this little book.
Here's a little snippet for you to enjoy.

"What is REAL?" asked the rabbit one day. "Does it mean having things that buzz inside you and a stick-out handle?"

   "Real isn't how you are made," said the Skin Horse. "It's a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long,long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real."

     "Does it hurt?" asked the Rabbit.

    "Sometimes," said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. "When you are REAL you don't mind being hurt."

   "Does it happen all at once, like being wound up," he asked, "or bit by bit?" 

   "It doesn't happen all at once," said the Skin Horse. "You become. It takes a long time. That's why it doesn't often happen to people who break easily or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don't matter at all, because once you are Real, you can't be ugly except to people who don't understand. 

I really believe I learned more about life philosophy from children's books than any course I took in college. It's another reason why I love giving these books to my grandbabies.

Two of my four children were also enamored with the book about the
 little bear who lives in a department store, waiting for someone to take him home.

And while my daughter loved anything illustrated by the inimitable Tasha Tudor...

the boys, on the other hand were completely besotted with any
 and everything written and illustrated by Richard L. Scarry

These books were so "busy" that they drove me crazy at times, 

but everybody loved looking for goldbug!

See if you can guess the name of this famous book...??

Yes, that's the Very Hungry Caterpillar by Eric Carle, Who wouldn't love a caterpillar who eats Swiss cheese, cupcakes, sausages, lollipops and watermelons, among other things!

Next up is a series of books that make me smile. They weren't around when my children were little, but I am giving them to the grandchildren for one major reason.
Baby Llama has lots of drama...and so did all of mine!

My children were also great friends of the Man in the Yellow Hat and his famous sidekick, George.
Somehow, George's antics seemed all too familiar!

And for some reason, Babar was a much beloved read-aloud for everyone. There is something magical about an elephant in a green suit and the little old lady from Paris who takes him in. I am certain
that De Brunhoff may now be viewed as being politically incorrect, but I will not be teaching
Babar as a purveyor of truth...he is the product of a vivid and and incredible imagination ...
something I hope to inspire in my grandchildren, as well!

Happy Reading!

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.

Acts of Kindness

     A hospital is a study in contrasts. As a place of employment, it is a bustling place that never sleeps. While nighttime does bring an ebb and flow of sorts, the siren's wail, the beep and whir of endless machines, and the quiet voices of the nurses and technicians as they move about the hallways remind one that the business of caring for human life in its various stages forms the crux and the impetus for the hospital.
    The waiting rooms are filled with another kind of energy. The weariness on the faces of those who shift uncomfortably in already uncomfortable chairs does little to disguise the tension and emotion that simmer beneath the surface. When the phone rings and a volunteer announces a family, you can feel the room rise, shift, and settle much like a wave in a football stadium. Sometimes the waiting seems interminable and the passage of time moves at a snail's pace. I am glad that I am not there today. Waiting in a hospital can be a difficult thing. But not today; thankfully, not today.


   Today I am thinking that I am especially thankful for the tender mercies and kindness of health professionals: physicians, nurses, technicians and volunteers...for care given that moves beyond competence to become compassion. For hands that move with skill coupled with gentleness. For the willingness to see each patient as an individual with unique and special attributes in addition to his or her medical needs. So often the medical issue seems to dominate, but the gifted health professional has the wisdom to see beyond the need of the person to the person with the need.
   I have spent some time in hospitals recently. Either as a patient myself or alongside someone who was receiving medical care. The kindness of those who care does make a difference. Today as I prayed, I found this meditation by Teresa of Avila tucked in a page in my Bible. I offer it to all those who labor in hospitals to make a difference in the life of someone in their care. May you be blessed in your endeavors.

May today there be peace within.
May you trust God that you are exactly where you are meant to be.
May you not forget the infinite possibilities that are born of faith.
May you use those gifts that you have received, and pass on the love that has been given to you.
May you be content knowing that you are a child of God.
Let His presence settle into your bones, and allow your soul the freedom to sing, dance, praise
and love.
It is there for each and every one of you.
  Teresa of Avila