The message light was blinking as I entered the dark house. I’d been at church leading the Jr. High portion of the evening Youth Bible Study groups. I’d stayed for the Praise Worship but had slipped out quietly as it was winding down.

I flipped on a light and hit the “play” button to listen while I hung up my jacket. I recognized Beau’s voice. “Hey, Mama, this is for you!” he said gleefully as 30 kids sang “Happy Birthday To You” into his cell phone. A perfect ending to a good day. He told everyone I was 35.……. BACKWARDS! Ha, ha, ha.

My husband is a bed hog and he snores.





...I love him anyway.

I planted today. I had turned the beds earlier last week on a sunny day near 80°s. It felt so good to be outdoors working in the sunshine. I was sweaty and had to stop and rest now and then but I felt so alive! I never really feel alive until Spring comes along. I am like a Daffodil bulb resting in the earth, soaking up the winter rains and snowmelts enough to survive. They prepare me for the time when the sun will finally shine and the earth will warm and I can come out again to do what I am meant to do. Most of the time for me winter is somthing to be survived, tolerated, not enjoyed.

It was cold and windy this morning and rain threatened, yet I planted. Poking the peas down into the cold soil happily. Sprinkling the tiny lettuce seeds in the fairly straight rows I had just marked and then patting them into the earth. My hair was blowing all over the place and my fingers were almost numb but all was well with the world... at least at that moment in my mind.

It's raining now with a warm up to follow in a few days. I can almost see those little wrinly peas sprouting and reaching up toward the warm above... Busting through the thin crust at the very top into the sunshine. I'll bet they'd shout "Hallelujah! Spring is here!" ...if sprouts could shout.

I wonder if I would appreciate Spring (and life) so much if there was never winter. I wonder if I would appreciate God so much if my soul never experienced winter.

What else could you name an Irishman born on St. Patty’s Day??!! Why, only “Patrick“, of course! The family gathered on St. Patrick’s Day just like it always has… since long before I joined the family. Corned Beef and Cabbage and Potatoes. But this year, for the first time, it was without the family patriarch, Pat.

It was to be a small, informal family gathering but, well, everyone showed up. We all miss him.

So, allow me to reminisce about my favorite day with Pat. Angus was having some surgery and I was sitting in the waiting room of the hospital when Pat showed up. I was surprised and pleased to see him. We began chatting to pass the time and somewhere along the way the conversation turned toward his parents.

I had known that Angus’s grandfather was an immigrant from Ireland who came over during the great famine. I also knew that his mother came to the Midwest on one of the Orphan Trains and was adopted by an Irish family. I hadn’t known she was then raised as a “Domestic”. He said she was Irish, too. I’m not sure if that was just wishful thinking or fact but he believed it. (I do, too)

His Da had come over to America all by himself at the age of 14! A couple of his older sisters had come earlier and he followed them. He made his way to the Kansas City area by himself, too. He worked as a pipe fitter until the age of 86 when he had to give it up because his shoulder went out. (I complain because Angus will have to work ‘til he is 58!).

Pat filled in a lot of missing details of my husband and sons’ family history for me and I was totally intrigued. Perhaps he embellished here and there… or not. I was fascinated and he was in his element with his story telling. The waiting time flew by for both of us.

I miss him.

Bringing them back... that's what our annual ski trips are mostly about. Yes, Angus loves to ski and we go with friends that make the trip all the more enjoyable but what it is really about is bringing the family together again.

We've found that the boys will go to any efforts possible to make it back for the ski trip. If it's possible for them ot get off and get away; they'll be there.

It is a chance to be together with their brothers in a joyfilled event. It's an opportunity to see their Dad in a new light, too. They see their Dad having fun, not working. They see him playing... no expectations! They see their fat, ol' Dad out there showing them how beautiful skiing can be... they've mastered the game but not his finesse. They aren't father and sons as much as just men doing guy stuff. They love to ski together and ditch the girls. They bond.

I am not a part of that but I can see the joy in their eyes when they get back to the condo. They are wind-burned, limping and dog tired and the pure happiness is shining out of them.

It's a beautiful sight.

Snow tubing on the ski slopes... I loved it! We had a group of 17, no only 16 since we left Weiner in the Infirmary at the base of the mountain waiting for the Dr. to look at his brand new x-rays (broken ankle & knee).

The sky was darkening as we rode the Gondola to the top of the mountain. They told us the rules and sent us out to play. We could go down singly or in group. They'd spin you if you wanted to be spun, which I did, of course!

I slid down by myself, with Angus, with our whole group and even with a slope record-breaking group of 29. We could only get 28 people to grab on so one of the workers grabbed a tube, hooked on and shoved us off. I think he had more fun than any of us! I was near the back and could hear him laughing all the way down the hill.

My favorite slide was when I got to the top of the hill and all the women & girls in our group were waiting for me to grab on. There was five of us and they spun us and we screamed all the way down as if on a snowy rollercoaster. The silly screaming in the cold air made it all the more fun. What a release! Everyone was laughing, including all who watched. Ah, good times.

The best part of the evening though was not the exhilarating slides down the slopes but when they hooked my tubes on the pulley and I was slowly, gently pulled up the hill with a beautiful view of the snowy mountains beyond our hill. I was awestruck the first time. I felt so close to God and happiness. I used the minutes to reflect on the day, on life. I used the time to pray my gratefulness for all God has given and asking him to show me the ways I can return the favor... by showing me what I can do for him.

Give thanks to the Lord, because he is good;
his love is eternal.
Give thanks to the greatest of all gods;
his love is eternal.
Give thanks to the mightiest of all lords;
his love is eternal.
He alone performs great miracles;
his love is eternal.
By his wisdom he made the heavens;
his love is eternal.
He built the earth on the deep waters;
his love is eternal.
He made the sun and the moon;
his love is eternal.
The sun to rule over the day;
his love is eternal.
The moon and stars to rule over night;
his love is eternal.
~Psalm 136:1-9

It was one of those miserable, wintry afternoons you just want to be lazy; glad you are indoors. Kev had flipped the channels of the TV 'til he found "The Bridge Over the River Kwai". Beau parked beside him. I wandered in, too, and settled into the big chair, SuzeeQ jumping into my lap. The woodstove had us cozy and warm. We had all seen the classic old WWII Prisoner of War movie (a true & fascinating story) many times but that fact just added to the comfortableness.

"Hey, the Japanese colonel is the same guy as the pirate in "The Swiss family Robinson", Kev stated proud of the discovery. Beau and I weren't sure. Kev disappeared into the basement and reappeared a few minutes later holding our ancient video tape of the old movie that had been a favorite of the boys so many years ago. He checked the info for the River Kwai movie on TV against the back of the video box for Swiss Family and proved he was right. Sessue Hayakawa had played both roles. In fact, both movies were made the same year, 1957. Good eye!

Suddenly, the old video was popped in and we were watching the Robinson's adventure once again...this time through the eyes of adults. As we watched we noticed things we had never noticed in the dozens of times we had seen it before. Like Kev said, "It would take them fifteen years to build a tree house like that with the tools they had." ...and how about that giant pit they dug to hold the tiger...imagine how deep and wide that would have been! Looking at it through the jaded eyes of adulthood we saw that it was, indeed, a fantasy...but when you are a child it seems so possible! It is the hope and love and passion for life and each other that give it the feel of realism... those parts were true and honest.

We remembered, we pointed out our favorite parts of the movie, we shared our favorite characters, we talked about the funny parts, we commented all through it...afterall we'd seen it many times so no need for shuushing. Our afternoon was peppered with "Oh, I remember this" and "I love this part". There was the recognition of brotherly rivalry mixed with brotherly love and loyalty. There was also singing.."O Christmas Tree" only Beaus sang it in German since he is a student of the language. "O Tannenbaum"

It was a beautiful afternoon that some might considered wasted and unproductive. They would be so wrong! Any time you have an opportunity to spend time with your almost-grown children, wallowing in memories and remembering the joys of their childhood you should snap up that chance and never regret it for an instant!

~~~~~Moments from the movie that I hadn't noticed before:

Father: First thing we've got to do is to unload the raft. Then, put up some sort of shelter for the night.
Mother: No. That's not the first thing.
{Then they all have knowing looks of agreement on their faces and kneel together in prayer.}
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Father: Don't you sometimes feel that this is the kind of life we were meant to live on this earth? Everything we need, everything, right here, right at our fingertips. You know, if only people could have all this and be satisfied, I don't think there'd be any real problems in the world.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Father (upon discovering that mother is willing to stay on the island after they are rescued):
It's amazing how unimportant things are when they isn't anyone around feeling sorry for you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
AMEN!

Today I saw the faces of the 8 students (A.J. Jackson, Michael Tompkins, Ryan Mohler, Michael Bowen, Katie Strunk, Michelle Wilson, Jamie Ann Vidensek and Peter Dunn) who lost their lives in the tornado that hit the high school in Enterprise, Alabama. I read the stories of the heroic acts of the teacher who threw herself over one of her students. I read about the students who had just survived the tornado themselves running to the collapsed hallway to get the injured out long before any authorities arrived with rescue units. I read about the finger pointing and second guessing regarding the administration’s decisions. As I read all of this the tears were streaming down my face.

I prayed for all those children and teachers, administrators and families, neighbors and communities that are all suffering from the aftermath. Lives forever changed. They are going to need a lot of prayers and assistance and support… and love.

I have a deep fear of tornados that goes back to my childhood. I have lived on the edge of Tornado Alley most of my life but have never seen one. You’d think having lived for half a century in a high tornado region and not ever having seen one I’d be pretty skeptical, but here’s the thing. We have all either seen one from a distance or seen the aftermath and destruction. We’ve all been through “close calls”, tornados that came down for a few minutes and then lifted back into the sky… tornados that run wild through a nearby trailer park or through a farm. They are real and they tease and threaten and veer off from where they are headed… they jump over a house and flatten the one next door… they will snatch up a man covering his nephew in a ditch and leave the boy there (true story)... They can drop out of the sky with no warning no matter how much the weather man thinks he knows. You don’t have to experience it to recognize the power. And, of course, there are always the annual tornado warnings.

There were no big sirens that blared out to the whole community. No, it was every police car in town driving up and down the streets screaming their sirens through the black streets of the night. You’d wake in the night and hear the siren… a fire? A crash? But then you’d hear another siren a bit farther away, then another and another from all different directions and you knew…TORNADO! TAKE COVER!

Here is the one memory that I can’t escape. I grew up in a nice suburban neighborhood. I am not sure how old I was…maybe 8 or 10 years old. I was awakened by my obviously frightened mother who grabbed my little sister and me out of deep slumber and told us to “Run to the Fulks’ basement. Don’t stop. There was a tornado sighted on North Oak.”

The Fulks were the only people in the neighborhood who had a basement. Everyone gathered there during take-cover warnings.

We ran! I was old enough to know that North Oak Street was not far from our house (about 8 blocks). We ran through the rain in our nightgowns in the dark all alone down the street. We ran for our lives. We ran while our parents gathered up our young twin brothers.

We were welcomed into the basement where others had already congregated and were huddled about. I don’t think I have ever been so physically frightened. Other neighbors arrived and soon my parents joined us safely, too.

The tornado did not come. We went home. But the fear remained.