The Pride of LIfe

We are all born sinners, and we are all capable of any kind of sin; but the one that trips us up the most is pride. Think about it: we’re even proud about being humble.

I got to thinking about this yesterday during church. The elderly couple was sitting behind me, and Miss Ruby would talk ever-so-often. Several times she turned to her husband and said, “Do you like me?” And if he didn’t answer right away, she would ask again. She has probably been asking that question for the past ninety years.

As a kid, I was too shy to go right up to anyone and ask, “Do you like me?”, but I wondered it often enough. From the very youngest age, our life centers around other people liking us. We want the neighbors to like us, our school mates to like us, the librarians to like us, our teachers to like us, the newspaper boy to like us – we even want our enemies to like us! That’s why we scurry around doing almost everything humanly possible to get someone to like us. And if they don’t like us, we sit down and cry. How many times have we come to our mothers with tears pouring down our cheeks, sobbing, “Mommy, he doesn’t like me!”?

And ninety years later – sick with dementia so she can’t remember her own name – Miss Ruby wants to know if her husband likes her. Or if I like her. Or if the guy sitting in the pew across the way likes her. She won’t remember two seconds later that we do like her, but she wants the assurance of being liked. Because to humanity the most important thing in the world is to be liked.

Pride is a weed in our life with a root so deep we can never completely be rid of it. But we can work at pruning it a bit. One way to do that is to remember that we don’t have to be liked by every Tom, Dick and Harry. Some people will simply never like us. And we just have to live with that. For at the end of the day, it doesn’t really matter if our garbage man likes us. If we know Christ as our Savior, then we have something much better than being liked. We are loved – by the Creator of the Universe. There is nothing better than that.

Happy Anniversary, Mom and Dad!


June 25, 1977
33 years

Remembering Dad

This very week I have been reminded how truly blessed I am to have a dad. Not just a father – everyone has one of those – but a dad. One who is living, breathing, working, and there if I need him. One of the women in my critique group found out this past week that I am the oldest of eight.

“Really? I’m one of ten.”

I made the remark that I loved being part of a large family.

She replied, “I did enjoy it, but my father passed away when I was quite young and I saw how hard it is for a large family to go on without a man in the house. You’re very lucky to have both of your parents living.”

I’ve come to realize that more and more. Last year, a beloved friend of mine lost her dad in an accident. She was only 20 years old when it happened. My mom lost her dad when she was 20. So many people today never even know their fathers. But my dad has always been one of my heroes.

Just today I was telling my grandfather I remember learning checkers from my dad. My dad is not a board game player. He forever spent time with us tossing around balls, but board games? Yet he did teach us checkers. We would sit there and Dad would say, “Okay. The first rule is: Daddy always wins.” And in checkers, that seemed to be the case. For I’ve only beat him once, and the only other sibling to do the same is Daniel. Soon we knew the routine by rote. A game would come out. Dad would ask, “What’s the first rule?” A chorus of young voices, “Daddy always wins.”

I remember going to the hardware store on rainy Saturday mornings with Dad. There were the times he would take me fishing. Or if we didn’t have time to find a pond, we’d get out the fishing rods and sit on the front porch where we would practice casting into the yard. Watermelon seed spitting contests, trying to toss our wadded napkins from the dinner table to the trashcan, learning the proper way to mop a floor. Every Easter Dad buys us girls orchid corsages. He taught us how to drive – and wash and wax our cars. He’d take us to the pool on hot summer days and then put towels on the leather seats in his old red truck so we wouldn’t burn our legs. Ice cream, popcorn, and hamburgers on the grill. Thos are only some of my favorite memories.

You know, dads aren’t perfect. It’s funny. On Mother’s Day we hear great sermons on amazing women. On Father’s Day, the men get a lecture. And my dad would be the first to admit he has not been a perfect father. But he’s done more than most dads just by staying married to my mother 33 years this week and sticking around for over 30 years of fatherhood. He’s not always right, but he sticks by his guns and doesn’t back down. He tries harder than any man I know to live as his God would have him to live. And does that make it tough to be his child? Sure it does. But it also makes me proud.

Happy Father’s Day, Dad!

Changeless

When you live a life like I have, you think a lot about change. At my writer’s critique group on Wednesday, the ladies got to chatting about how they know the people at Wal-mart, the pharmacist, the grocery store cashiers. “Don’t you like that feeling?” one of the women asked me. “I don’t know,” I shrugged. “I’ve never lived anywhere long enough to find out.”

Now, granted, that isn’t entirely true. I lived in New Hampshire long enough to know the librarians, my mechanic, and my dentist. I even ran into people I knew at the store once-in-a-blue-moon. The problem was I didn’t have a regular Wal-mart or shopping hours. I tend to run errands like that when I have a few minutes and go to the store nearest my location at the moment. And even if I did have a schedule like that, I’m also the sort of person who would rather slip and out unnoticed.

I’ve always rather envied people who grew up somewhere. What’s it like when someone asks you where you’re from and you say, “Tennessee. Small town near Nashville,” or “Denver, right on the outskirts.” When someone asks me that, I pause. Every time. It’s like staring at a multiple choice test question and knowing that the answer is “all of the above” but that isn’t one of the choices. Lately I’ve taken the, “Nowhere particular. New England mostly.” Almost makes me sound like I’m running from the law.

But then I feel sorry for those people who have never seen anything outside their own county. I’ve met people who have never seen mountains – a horrible thought. And even though I don’t like the plain country, there are people who can’t imagine seeing vast stretches of land for miles. Some of them have lived in the same house for twenty or more years – and you can tell. Never packed a box, never moved a whole ark of pets, and never felt like the new kid on the block. And even though I hate being the perpetual “new kid on the block”, I’m guessing it can be better than being the perpetual old one.

Not that change doesn’t come to everyone – even those who never leave their hometown. People come and go from one’s life. We learn and grow. Our choices always change things. God didn’t make us stagnant. And if He did, we’d complain about that, too.

I got to thinking about this last Sunday morning as I was getting ready for church. For the changelessness of God always amazes me. I think it is my favorite of His many attributes. It has seen me through the toughest moments of my life. And it will continue to. For just last Sunday I realized how this one attribute encircles all the others – but then, all of God’s attributes encircle each other.

Think about it. We pray that God would have mercy on us, our family, our situations, whatever. But honestly, we don’t have to ask for that. God is merciful. The Bible tells us that over and over and over again. And since He doesn’t change, He’s as merciful today as He was yesterday – or a thousand years ago. We ask God to be merciful not because He isn’t so. We ask in acknowledgement of our need for mercy. We ask because He’s the supplier of it. We ask because we can’t get it anywhere else.

The same goes for strength. God is strength. He’s the Creator of it, the Sustainer of it, and the Giver of it. And we need it every day. I don’t ask Him for strength in the morning because He requires us to ask if we want a supply. Thankfully my God gives me exactly what my need is every day. I ask because it acknowledges I am weak without Him.

God is sovereign – another of my favorite attributes. He doesn’t wake up in the morning, look down upon earth and say, “Those Israelites are griping again. And Moses is praying for mercy upon them. Maybe I should just skip the manna today. That would show them.” God knew when He showed mercy on wandering Israel that they would never be grateful. He knew they would become a nation filled with violence. They would forget Him and worry more about their precious land and the neighbors that threaten to steal it. Yet it didn’t matter what He knew – or knows. He chose those people. He is merciful. He will never, ever change.

Only God knows where my next “home” will be. And even though I pray for a place full of mountains, and mild summers, and snowy winters (hmm, sounds like some place I’ve lived before…) plus a long stay, a life with some kids in it, more time to write (maybe even a published book…), and the fastest exit possible out of this place called Texas – I must trust that my unchanging, sovereign God knows my heart and needs even more than I do. And He will be merciful. And He will give strength. And I can face a changing tomorrow – just like I have faced all those changing yesterdays.

Okay, I am taking this brief moment at work to take a deep breath and ponder on what I’ve been doing all day – besides running circles…

Of course, Mondays can tend to be a bit dizzy. It just doesn’t help when you get into work and the internet doesn’t work. That means I get to call my dear friends over at Verizon and have a nice chat with them. Which means an hour and a half gone from my day before one techie (who doesn’t speak English as a first language) decides it’s not Verizon’s problem and puts me in touch with our router’s tech support. No one there speaks English as a first language, and so I am losing my temper even faster. The problem? Well, it’s not the router and so I take a deep breath and re-call Verizon. This time – praise God – I get a guy who speaks English with a nice, slow Southern draw. That I can take. (I am fluent in both Southern and New England.) And somewhere along the way, the internet simply decides to work again. For now, of course.

And while I was busy chatting up the morning with my Verizon friends, a social worker from a hospital calls who wants to get a patient on service ASAP. That turned into quite a workout as the patient is dying and the family simply wants him to die in his own bed. Somehow, between three or four of us working on this, everything has fallen into place and the patient is on his way home. I’m not quite sure how that all came together.

I ended up with two major projects right off the bat this morning, which always makes for a longer day. Not to mention a few other things that needed to be done as it is a Monday. But I think I got everything that’s necessary done. Hopefully I’ll figure that out tomorrow when I get over my dizziness.

And tonight I’m off to tennis. It will be terribly hot, although there is a “breeze”. (Which means very little in Texas except the tree branches sway.) But it will feel great to hit balls all over the place, sweat half to death, and return to Grandpa’s exhausted.

Not up to much else this week. Grandpa gets back from Florida tomorrow afternoon. I have my writer’s critique group Wednesday evening. I’ll sweat a lot, for it will be in the 90s all week long without a drop of rain. Guess I could watch the lawn turn brown. I will purchase tickets to South Dakota this week, where I will fly in September to meet my family for a vacation. Possibly get Grandpa tickets to Indiana to visit my family in July. And there’s Father’s Day to get ready for. My aunt, uncle and cousin will come over to celebrate it with Grandpa. Of course there are always chores to do around the house. I have a good book I want to read, and I really need to do some writing.

So, yes, it could turn out to be a full week. I just hope work slows down a bit. I always find it nice to know what I’ve actually accomplished in a day!

When anyone asks my favorite time in history, I have two answers. First, the Civil War. Second, the Gilded Age. But most people don’t know what period that is. Think the final decades of the 19th Century. Think Vanderbilts, Astors, Rockerfellers. Think Fifth Avenue or Newport. Maybe that’s why I love that time period – I was born in Newport, wasn’t I?

And that is one reason I found the book She Walks in Beauty interesting. It’s all about the Gilded Age, and wealth, and debutantes, and…well, emptiness. For besides the fascinating background of what debutantes are required to do and suffer to keep their positions, I came away feeling that such a life is empty and vain. The book didn’t get really interesting until the last dozen chapters when – finally – the heroine faces the trials that have come and rises to the challenge.

So, yes, I still love the Gilded Age and I’ll ever be proud to be from Newport. But, I suppose, I would not want to live as a society debutante. For one, I don’t even want to imagine how tight my corset would be to gain me an 18-inch waist!

Find this book here: http://www.bethanyhouse.com/ME2/Audiences/dirmod.asp?sid=0477683E4046471488BD7BAC8DCFB004&nm=&type=PubCom&mod=PubComProductCatalog&mid=BF1316AF9E334B7BA1C33CB61CF48A4E&tier=3&id=059AF71781E14D289D82FE8B7165EB73&AudId=205F4A61B07648D98551934CA40DE116


This book was provided for review by Bethany House Publishers.

No, I haven’t forgotten to blog this week. There just hasn’t been anything to write about. Except the heat. And the brown grass. And the withering leaves. And the heat. And the dry air. And the sweat the runs down your back the moment you step outside. Oh – and did I mention the heat?

I’ve never been a big fan of summer. I don’t like the heat. The only good thing about it is swimming. But I don’t do that much since leaving our pool in New Hampshire. Unless you count the fact that I come back from jogging or tennis drenched – in my own sweat. So there isn’t anything I care for in temperatures in the 90s and 100s.

Besides that, I don’t think it’s rained for a month or more. Last night, the temperature dropped and dark clouds covered the sky. Plus it’s been humid. But I feel a little like Christopher Robin walking with an umbrella underneath Winnie-the-Pooh who is floating in the sky dressed as a raincloud.

“Tut-tut, it looks like rain,” I say.

But I doubt those dark clouds will give any more rain than Winnie-the-Pooh can.

Well, okay, I look out the window and the cars in the parking lot have drops on them. Just enough to make them even dirtier when the drops dry…

But now I do have something worth writing about. This morning when I arrived at work after taking my grandfather to the airport (he’s going to Florida for a week), one of the nurse’s took me by the arm and skipped me into the DON’s office with our young social worker (she’s 27 and has been married for 18 or 20 months). There Jane told us she is to have a baby – in November. Yea!!! We’re already discussing baby showers…

“Necessity is the mother of invention,” it is often said. And it times past, this often meant a marriage of convenience.

Passing the age of thirty, Ellie is an old maid. Worse; she’s plain and her only family doesn’t want to have much to do with her. Jackson is a few years younger. Encircled by the rumors of his first marriage and the scandal of his wife’s death, he finds security on his island in Pennsylvania in the midst of his apple orchards. But what is he to do with two very young sons – one who will not speak since his mother’s death? Ellie seems to be the perfect answer.

No matter how many stories are written on marriages of necessity, we never seem to tire of reading them. And here is the story of a young woman determined to make the best of her life in the service of others, even if that means marrying a man who has deep hurts. And although a happy ending is inevitable, the journey of the lives of these characters is well worth a few hours of reading.

Interested? Look here: http://www.bethanyhouse.com/ME2/Audiences/dirmod.asp?sid=0477683E4046471488BD7BAC8DCFB004&nm=&type=PubCom&mod=PubComProductCatalog&mid=BF1316AF9E334B7BA1C33CB61CF48A4E&tier=3&id=2BB25FE46C564FE4A1E2D19383EFC4EE&AudId=205F4A61B07648D98551934CA40DE116

This book was provided by Bethany House Publishers for review.