Playing House

I guess until one has a husband, children and home of one's own; girls never stop playing house. Or at least being interested in it. It's the way we're wired. God created us to be a helper and the nurturer of children. A keeper of the home. Even if the home is imaginary. Or so small only one's hands fit inside.

This weekend, a couple of friends invited me over to their house for dinner on Saturday. As I was leaving that evening, I stopped in their living room to admire the beautiful grandfather clock my very soul envied. Then I saw what sat next to it: a dollhouse worthy of the any little girl's dreams.

Every Christmas from the time I was four or five until I was nearly thirteen, I asked for a dollhouse. And every Christmas I didn't get one. I got over it until I was eighteen or nineteen and my youngest sister asked for a dollhouse for Christmas. She got one. I remember setting it up with her, happy that she got her dream but aching that I never did. Even as I write this, approaching the age of 31, my heart hurts that I never had one. I guess now I must hope and pray the Lord will one day give me a home of my own. And a little girl who will want a dollhouse. Then I can enjoy it with her.

I thought about that dollhouse on the way home that night. It was so lovely. It sat on a turntable. When you spun it around, the lights came on. It had wood floors, and lovely furniture, and a little family to enjoy it. Even though the little girls who played with it for hours are now grown, it sits in a prominent place for them to enjoy and remember. Remember the days and weeks spent imagining a home of their own just like that one with children to care for, and furniture to dust, and a kitchen to prepare meals in. It's odd to think it doesn't really matter that I now know children are a handful and time consuming, dusting and sweeping isn't what one does for fun, and preparing meals can be monotonous. I still want to "play house".

Remembering

I have been told many times that I remember things very well. I suppose this is true, but it’s hard to tell when that’s just the way I am. Doesn’t everyone remember things from when they were two years old?

Of course, some things are easy to remember. For instance, if you ever broke your arm, I suppose you would remember that. But I wouldn’t know because I never have. I would say most people remember their first car. Or their first day at school. Or their graduation from high school and/or college. Of course, maybe not.

Other things that are remembered live in infamy. Our grandparents can remember where they were on December 7, 1941: Pearl Harbor Day. Our parents remember where they were on November 22, 1963: the day JFK was shot. We all remember where we were on 9/11. But do you remember where you were today 25 years ago?

For that matter, do you remember what today was 25 years ago? It was the day the Challenger spaceship exploded upon take off, killing all aboard including school teacher Sally Ride (from New Hampshire). I was in Kindergarten, happily learning my alphabet or running faster than the boys on the playground. I don’t exactly remember what I was doing the moment the Challenger exploded, but I do remember watching it on television later that day…and the days that followed.

For me, it was the first catastrophic event in my time. At least, that I was old enough to comprehend. (Mt. St. Helens erupted not a month after I was born, but for some reason I can’t remember that…) The new elementary school that was built over the next two years had photos of the crew and the Challenger in the lobby. I remember walking past them and looking at them often. At the time, I wanted to be a teacher when I grew up so Sally Ride was an interesting person. But I never wanted to fly into space. Not after watching the Challenger explode.

It is good to remember the things that have passed. It is by those things that we learn and grow. Often, God recounted to His people the great wonders and signs He had given them in the wilderness. The Old Testament prophets used the history of Israel in their prophecies while the epistle writers of the New Testament continually point back to the death and resurrection of our Savior. As they say, if we do not learn from our past, we are doomed to repeat it. So as you remember where you were 25 years ago, think upon all the Lord has done for you since that day. And rejoice that He works every day in your life – writing a story way beyond anything you could ever imagine!

My Heavenly Father

For every one that asketh receiveth; and he that seeketh findeth; and to him that knocketh it shall be opened. Or what man is there of you, whom if his son ask bread, will he give him a stone? Or if he ask a fish, will he give him a serpent? If ye then, being evil, know how to give good gifts unto your children, how much more shall your Father which is in heaven give good things to them that ask him? Matthew 7:8-11

I've been thinking about these verses a lot lately. They just seem to fit in the myriad of things that have been going on in my life. But they were especially real to me this weekend. I had a few particular requests to make of my gracious heavenly Father. Things I wanted to fall into place very much. The pieces were all there. But I couldn't put them together myself. I had to trust Him - if it was His will - to do so.

When I awoke Sunday morning, I felt like it was my birthday. I didn't know what I was going to get for the special day, but I knew it would be something wonderful. My heavenly Father would give me a good gift. And He did! All those pieces I knew fit together fell right into place, one by one, guided by the hand of my Father in Heaven who I could almost seeing smiling down upon me, eyes twinkling.

Over the last two months, there has been one particular lesson God has taught me among the hundreds I have been taking notes on: how much He loves me. It is an amazing love. An astounding love. A love I cannot explain, but is so very real. I have a heavenly Father who hears my prayers, knows my desires better than I do, and truly does give good gifts to me. Truly, there is nothing better than that.

Events of the Week

In many ways, it has been a slow week. Work has been VERY quiet. A few deaths, but no admissions. Nothing exciting on the "social scene" either...not that there ever is. And now - finally! - comes the weekend.

My sister Grace arrived Wednesday evening to get her new car. Her flight was supposed to get in at eight. So, I left work at five, went for a run and ran some errands versus going home which is the opposite way of the airport. I got there early, but I "just happened" to pick up the book on my desk as I left work so I had something to read. Around 8, I started circling the terminal to meet her out front. I didn't count how many times I drove by, but by 8:45 I had the radio on to see if there had been any plane crashes, panic had set in as her phone went right to voice mail and I called home. Dad found the flight on-line and said it wouldn't arrive until 9:45. Apparently, my panic turns to anger (I wouldn't know as I don't panic much), and I said something to the effect, "Well, I'll lecture her when she gets here about calling." Dad replied that there was probably good reason and she would be just as tired as I. He was right. I sat in my car and read, but Grace sat on the tarmac in Kansas City for 2 hours waiting for them to de-ice the plane and no way to call me. I'm just happy God hears prayers of frustrated panic and my sister is safely here - and very happy with her new car which she drives quite well for only a few previous lessons on a stick.

God hears all prayers, of course, and answers them. A friend asked me to pray Tuesday for a meeting at the comptrollers office Wednesday morning. That could have turned into something quite messy but as it happened, it consisted of fifteen minutes and a clear review. For myself, I've been wrestling with an insurance company I've never worked with before pertaining to the billing of a patient since September. After hours on the phone and lots of failed attempts, my latest attempt at her September bill paid today! That headache is over and my boss will stop asking me about it (and getting upset). Praise God!

Last night as we settled down in the front of the fire and a movie, Haley and I got to talking about movie soundtracks and lamenting that you cannot get the beautiful score of North and South. However, there is a place online you can listen to it...which I have been doing all day long. Since I'll have the house to myself tonight (Haley and Grace are working the mission's conference at Haley's church), I am now contemplating spending all those hours in front of a fire, stretched out on the couch and watching the ENTIRE North and South.

Dad arrives tomorrow for the weekend. He and Grace will leave Monday to drive her new car back to Indiana. But I'm not sure Grace will want to leave. I think she get could very use to living the single life Haley and I enjoy: piling dishes in the sink until we get time to wash them; moving furniture all over the living room so everyone can be in front of the fire AND watch a movie; come, go and eat as we please. Of course, someone would have to ship her dogs down...and, I confess, it isn't always like that. When Haley and I pass like ships in the night all week, it's a bit lonely eating all by yourself all the time. Or eating cereal three times a day because there's nothing to be had out of cooking for one. I really could use a dog...

My sister Sally sent me her flights for a visit in February. She decided I need a visit for my birthday (which I hadn't planned to do anything for - what's 31?). I'm sure we'll have a good time, but it seems a little bit like one of those gifts you'd like to return to the store. For she leaves the day of my birthday at 6:40 in the morning. What kind of gift is getting up at 4 in the morning on your birthday? But, perhaps, she just wanted to get up at 3:10 and celebrate the very moment I turn 31. I think I'd rather just sleep until six as I have to work that day anyhow. Or do I? My birthday is a national holiday this year...

I remember as a teenager Dad asking me how I planned my days. The answer: I wake up in the morning, list off the things I have to do in my head and check them off as they get done. If there are too many to remember, I have a list. In fact, I usually have about ten lists going. Things to do, things to purchase, things to find out, etc.

My weeks are planned like that, too. Monday: work, tennis. Tuesday: work, dinner at Grandpa's, walking with Jenny. Wednesday: work, writer's group every other, write. And so the list goes. Of course, added in there are jogging, eating, sleeping, chatting with my housemate by the fire, reading. But that's just a skeleton of an idea. For things get thrown into my week every day I didn't plan for or need to be moved around. Sometimes, I can't stand that. I'm a very scheduled person. Lately, though, I don't care. My life is such that not much bothers me these days.

This week, though, will be different. For my sister Grace is coming on Wednesday. Her new car is sitting in my driveway. She is helping my housemate Haley with the mission's conference at Haley's church. So, my schedule on Wednesday changes: work, jog, run errands, pick up Grace at the airport. Hooray!

And then, on Saturday, my Dad flies in to help Grace drive her car back to Indiana. But Saturdays are pretty flexible anyhow. Two weeks ago, I cleaned off my desk, spending all day putting little things in order. This past weekend, a friend helped Haley and I bring a load of wood up to the house and then we had lunch and a movie. This Saturday: run, do some odd things, hopefully have a late breakfast with Jenny and pick up Dad at the airport. Followed by driving lessons with Grace, probably (she bought a stick shift and needs to learn to drive it well) and dinner with Grandpa. It will be fun.

I've heard some people say schedules are meant to be broken. I'm not sure on that one. Schedules keep me from going insane. But I'll let you know on Friday how this week's schedule in my mind works out. Will planes be late? Will it rain so I can't go for a run? Only God knows what sort of surprises lie ahead and that's fine. For I've nothing to fear when all my moments are in His loving hands.

Dear Mom,

Today is your birthday – we won’t say which one. But however old you become, know that every year you are appreciated more and more.

Truly, I don’t know where to begin. Or how you’ve done everything you have. I can’t imagine growing up in one town, only to marry a man who would take you to probably what seems like 101 towns. Moves every two years, houses that were not your own, most of your possessions in boxes, never to see light for years on end. I will never forget the move to Connecticut when I was eleven and you finally decided you were going to hang your pictures even if the house was only rented. I saw things I had never seen before. And after many moves, things disappeared that I would never see again. The never-ending task of lightening the load.

But wherever we moved – no matter how difficult – you made our new house home. School continued. Meals were cooked and served. Chores only changed location. You found us music teachers, activities and involved us with others so we would have friends. I can’t remember a time when you refused to take us to one of our activities, even though I imagine there were days you just wanted to stay home. After all, going out in the blistering cold with six, seven or eight kids – most of the under the age of five at any given time – just so someone could play the piano for 45 minutes couldn’t have been the life you dreamed about when you graduated from high school. But I would follow in your footsteps – and pray I would do it just as well – any day.

A whole book would not list all the things I have learned from you: cooking, math, time management, order, hospitality, flexibility, sacrifice, endurance and things I don’t even care to do like gardening, sewing and giving up what I want to do to do what someone else wants to do. Nor can I remember all the times you have listened to my complaints, sat quietly while I sobbed about my life, rejoiced in my high moments, and never failed to remind me that I am fearfully and wonderfully made even when I don’t think so. I couldn’t count all the clothes you have made for me or the quilts I have had on my beds. Even now, you faithfully stitch away at baby blankets for your grandkids – little ones that are now only hoped and prayed for.

Grey hairs and physical ailments have not made you any less amazing. Only more so, I think. I watched you this Christmas organize what could resemble a three-ring circus. Three vehicles, five drivers, four jobs (or six if you count Dad’s and that Grace has two), basketball games and practices (all of which you are in charge of arranging, contacting people about, getting refs, etc.) and still allowing your kids to go shopping or enjoy times with friends, get groceries and do their schoolwork. It’s true that toes get stepped on, feelings get hurt and someone is bound to feel slighted. Yet everyone is where they are supposed to be when they are supposed to be there. Not only should your kids and husband rise up and call you blessed, but so should coaches, other parents, bosses and friends.

For 29 ½ years, I lived under your roof. Not always happily, I admit; but now I often wish I was back there to find you at the sewing machine and tell you all about my day, my trials and my joys unspeakable. Over 900 miles and now nearly a year and a half’s worth of time don’t make you any less valuable to me. In fact, I have realized more and more these last two months that I need my mother more than ever. You have wisdom and experience that I didn’t know I would ever need. But then you always have. And I wonder if I shall ever be half as wise.

So today, I do rise up and call you blessed. I have never done anything to deserve such a mother as you. But I certainly praise God for you every day!

Love, Melissa

Me and Mom - the best mother in all the world!

Craziness

Okay, so I know I shall be 31 in six weeks. Which means I probably ought to be mature. And quiet. And all-together boring. Or, at the very least, sane. After all, when I was five years old, that’s what I thought of my 31-year-old parents. Even though it probably wasn’t true.

But snow does odd things to me. Like while other people gripe at the cold, wet white stuff; I find myself bubbling up with joy. Or others complain they have to drive in it while I have to force myself to pay just as much attention to the road as to the beauty of the trees covered with a blanket of radiant whiteness. And I got to enjoy it Sunday as I came home from church.

It was so lovely that after I parked the car, I went inside and got my camera to take some pictures. This led to tramping around, running and skipping through the glorious whiteness with my skirt held up so the hem wouldn’t get wet. And just to add to the winter wonderland, I walked about and twirled around as I laughed and giggled. Then I threw some snowballs at nothing particular for good measure.

Nothing like acting like an idiot when no one else is around. But sometimes I can act like one with people present. For example: on Wednesday I decided to take apart the DVD player.

Now I had perfect logic behind this. It wasn’t working. It had been dying since just before I left for Christmas. I came back and it was worse. My housemate, Haley, confirmed its passing on Wednesday. But I’ve worked in the hospice business for over a year now, and the thing didn’t have a DNR (Do-Not-Resuscitate). Therefore, I must try to save it.

Sadly, it was beyond my engineering skill. I don’t know how to fix lasers. By then, Haley joined me in the operation going on in the kitchen and pulled out another DVD player that also did not work. It was worse off than the first. Nor could I transplant one laser into the other. They didn’t match. So, we draped the house in black crepe and went into mourning.

Until Friday, when I stopped by Best Buy on the way home from work and bought another player. Our mourning turned into dancing. We can now be entertained after long days at work by something more than tales from our daily lives. (Neither Haley nor I live in a soap opera…our lives are more like watching the State of the Union address – okay, not quite that frustrating.)

Who knows what I might be up to next…

Dear Grace,

Tomorrow is your 21st birthday. Yet when I look back over two decades ago, I remember your birth as if it was yesterday. I remember waking up the night before and hearing Dad give the neighbor instructions before he and Mom went to the hospital. I remember waking up the next morning and Dad telling us we had a new little sister. And I remember wearing my favorite outfit to school (a blue skirt with a plaid edge and a red sweater with a Scottie dog on it) so I could brag about you to my friends and teachers.

Nearly a year later, I can clearly laugh at your first Christmas. You liked nothing better than standing by the tree, the ball to a "Jumping Jack" ornament in your mouth. Or the following Christmas in Connecticut when you tumbled down the stairs after your bath you were so excited about putting on your new outfit. A few years later, you gave us the scare of our lives when you banged through the glass of the back door in Massachusetts because the others wouldn't let you outside to play with them. To this day, seventeen years later, you are the only one of us eight to have stitches.

Growing up, you were the bouncy, enthusiastic, cute little girl. You couldn't sit still, wiggling all about your Bible as you read the large KJV words you had memorized, but couldn't sound out the small ones. We called you the little cheerleader. Every Christmas you'd count off the days, and lay awake waiting for the morning to open presents, and then count off the next two weeks with heightened excitement until your birthday. And then...you'd collapse.

You have been my exercise partner, riding the neighborhood on our bikes. You were there during the hardest time of my life, walking around that lake at camp as I told you what had happened back home. And yet camp was also one of the most special times in my life, a time I got to share with you. Whether is was tending bleeding kids, learning all about how odd guys of all ages are or sitting in the laundry room on the washer and dryers folding mounds and mounds of clothes. You have suffered me many cemeteries, battlefields and the homes of people you didn't even know. None of my other sisters have walked those paths with me: trampled all over Charleston, climbed rocks and waterfalls in the Blue Ridge Mountains, or eaten chocolate in Hershey. I will never forget those days. Thank you.

As your oldest sister with nearly ten years on you, there is ever the desire to give you wise advice for the days ahead. But I don't know what those days hold for you. I pray they hold your heart's desire. I hope they lead you back to those children in Africa. But know this: your God will see you through them all. The wait may be long. It will be hard. And it will be worth it all.

Don't give up. Persist, persist, persist - a quality you have had since you were young. I know the days seem long. I know the wondering of why God has me doing this when isn't what I desire just as good? I know the walls that seem to stand in the way and the absence of the doors. But I also know God sees all that. He knows your desires better than you know them - and the fulfillment of them will be better than you can ever imagine.

Have a wonderful birthday, Gracie. And I can't wait to see you next week!

Our Gracie, age 2.

Grace, almost 21, with her best friends Salem and Keats.

Back to Work

Well, 2011 has officially begun. The holidays are over. It's back to work. Oh, the joys of my life.

But it hasn't been too bad. I thought it would be a lot worse. After all, very rarely do I have to do ALL the billing on one day. (Usually I can split it between the last day of the month and the first.) Plus get my mind back into everything. Find out who has died (which can complicate the billing), who was admitted, how many supplies disappeared from the office, and - of course - catch up on how everyone's holidays went and how the patients in general are doing. (I don't ever see them, but the office manager has to know these things because someone is bound to ask as if I'm supposed to know everything - which, apparently, I am.) Not to mention answering a zillion questions on how my holidays went.

It took me a good hour before I had everything sorted in my brain again. (Yes, I can list nearly fifty patients in alphabetical order...) But I was amazed at what my mind files away on record. I have to remember dozens of numbers and passwords for all the systems I work with. They were all there this morning, filed away in my brain and waiting to be used. It all came back a lot faster than I wanted it to.

But, I have to admit, coming back from vacation to work isn't half bad. And the simple reason is because EVERYONE is so happy to see me. They tell me a million times I'm not allowed to leave again. Who are they suppose to call when I'm not there? How does anything get done? One of the nurses told me today they will do ANYTHING to keep me happy. Do I want a gift certificate to a restaurant every month (and not just at Christmas)? I've only to ask. What they don't know is all I want are opportunities to take off, leave the four walls of my little world and regain my sanity. What they also don't know is that I don't want to sit within these four walls for any long duration of time. There has got to be more to life than filing papers, billing the government and answering phones - no matter how much you're appreciated!

But, until then, it's been a good start back to work for the week...month...year (?). God has blessed me with great co-workers, the tornado that has been sitting atop of us for the last month seems to have blown over (for now), and I got all my work done for the day. Not a bad start to 2011. Let's hope I remember that tomorrow...