Collecting Attributes

"Each man has his own gift from God;

one has this gift, another has that."

1 Corinthians 7: 7

   
  I'm a collector from way back. As a child I collected fancy paper napkins. In high school, candles. Pitchers, irises, fans. 
   I've enjoyed my collections, even as I've abandoned one for another. There’s joy in the searching, joy in the gathering, and joy in the sharing. And for me, the search usually starts where there are antiques.  My favorite haunts are antique shows where dozens of dealers assemble their booths, teasing me with aisles and aisles of displays, just waiting for me to dive in. And drool.
   As I enter such a show, my eyes scan the booths, skimming past the Fiestaware, the Depression glass, and the Monkees lunchboxes. Like a missile locking onto its target they find what they are searching for: antique purses.

   Ooh, there’s a beaded one from the twenties. And another marked with a Whiting and Davis stamp. There’s a Lucite purse from the fifties (the fifties . . . does this mean I’m an antique?) The purses are not in perfect condition, but the fact they have missing beads, torn linings, and tarnished handles only adds to their character. I make allowances.

   I usually enjoy such gatherings, quite willing to drown in the smell of old wood and dust. Yet on one day, in such an antique-lover's paradise, I had trouble concentrating. Among the Chippendale chairs and the tin toys I was drawn to the dealers instead of the deals. A lady from Texas greeted every customer with a firm handshake and a southern drawl. A dealer from Oregon charmed with a soft voice, wearing a veiled hat. Another had a laugh that ricocheted off the glassware. Turns out the people were as interesting and unique as the items they sold. They were collectible.

   That's when I started collecting people—or at least their attributes Smiles, thank yous, the twinkle in their eyes. The way they sang in their cars, kissed their baby's nose, or offered me their place in line. The by-product of collecting strangers' attributes was that I began to open my eyes to some attributes in my own backyard.

   I now notice how my husband always warms my ever-cold feet when we share the couch—without me even asking.  I enjoy how our oldest daughter Emily emails photos of family events within a few hours of getting home (I am quite willing to relinquish the pressure of chronicling every gathering to her able hands.) My heart swells when I watch the face of our son Carson light up when he makes his new baby smile (wasn’t he a baby just yesterday?) And I marvel at the stories our youngest daughter Laurel shares (she's a special-ed teacher) about the students that challenge her—and that are changed by her.

   Once I started to look at the amazing qualities within my own family, it became easier to skim past the parts of their personalities I didn't want to collect. For just like antiques, my family is not in perfect condition—and shocker—neither am I. Yet the fact we have missing beads, torn linings and tarnished handles only adds to our charm, and even our value.  I make allowances for them, and I appreciate them doing the same for me. "Do not judge, and you will not be judged. Do not condemn, and you will not be condemned. Forgive, and you will be forgiven." (Luke 6:37)

   Although my collections come and go, I hope I never give up collecting attributes. There is joy in the searching, joy in the gathering, and joy in the sharing. There is good happening all around us if only we open our eyes and see it. The special looks, idiosyncrasies, and attributes of the people in our lives make them as collectible as precious treasure. And as such, they are . . .
   Priceless.

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Want more inspirational humor? Check out 

Save Me, God! I Fell in the Carpool: Help, Hope, and Humor for Drowning Moms       

What a Parent Wants

"Lord, you are my God; 

  I will exalt you and praise your name,
for in perfect faithfulness
  you have done wonderful things,
  things planned long ago."

Psalm 25: 1

     Our family is going through a season of babies. Children having grandchildren, a new generation springing to life.

Evelyn, Lily and Jackson

     I remember childbirth. It wasn’t easy, but it was far easier than what happened when we got the baby home from the hospital. I don't think any parent realizes the time involved in taking care of the bun-in-the-oven who's bigger than a bread box.

Jamison and me

     The sacrifices mothers make during pregnancy—the sacrifice of our waistlines, our wardrobe, and our freedom to eat the foods we really love—pale in comparison to the sacrifices we make once the bundle of joy has arrived. Every minute of our day is spent focused on this wiggly little being who has no inkling of our sacrifice. If our time is not spent actually touching them, talking to them, and caring for them, it is spent thinking about them, fretting over them, and talking about them.

Oliver

     Our baby is totally helpless. And so are we as we’re lured into their world and the spell of their tender existence. We revise our purpose for living to provide, protect, and prepare our child to be all they can be. They cry and we rush to their sides, eager to fulfill their every wish. If they are hungry, we feed them. If they are wet, we change them—or con Grandma into doing it. We give comfort and take it. We wrap them in too many blankets when we venture outdoors. We shackle them into car-seats when we drive. And when they start crawling, we follow their every move to protect them from stairs, sharp corners, and the consequences of porcelain knickknacks.

Hazel

     What do we ask in return? We don't ask for monetary consideration. We don't ask for awards or a write-up in the newspaper. We don't even ask for a thank you. All we expect as payment for our loyalty and attention is their love. And we aren't even picky about how it is extended to us. A smile. A laugh. A child's outstretched arms. The indescribable moment when their head rests against our shoulder. And eventually the most loving words they could ever say: Mama or Dada.

Oscar

     As we provide for our children, God provides for us as He protects and prepares us to be all we can be. What does He ask from us in return? He doesn't ask for monetary consideration or awards or a write-up in the newspaper. He doesn't even insist on a thank you. All God expects as payment for His loyalty and attention is our love. A smile. A laugh. Our outstretched arms. The indescribable moment when our head bows in surrender. And eventually the most loving words we could ever say: Father. Lord.
     In this sacred season, give our Heavenly Father what He wants.
     He wants you.

But from everlasting to everlasting

the LORD’s love is with those who fear him,

and his righteousness with their children’s children—

with those who keep his covenant and remember to obey his precepts.

Psalm 103: 17-18


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Want more inspirational humor? Check out 
Save Me, God! I Fell in the Carpool: Help, Hope, and Humor for Drowning Moms

CONFESSIONS OF A VALENTINE JUNKIE

“A new command I give you:

Love one another.

As I have loved you, so you must love one another.^”

^{John 13: 34}

My tongue is still stuck to the roof of my mouth from licking the stamps on the Christmas cards.  Now it's time to send valentines?

Responding to the valentines that grace our mailbox every year, I am supposed to send cards to my parents, siblings, grandparents, children, grandkids . . .  Come February first I've noticed our bank has a special loan officer handling Card Loans—not car loans—Card Loans to help defray the Valentine's Day crunch.



This year, I am not going to succumb. Blame the economy, the barometric pressure or the fact it's Tuesday, I will buy one valentine, and one valentine only:  for my hubby.

While I’m shopping in a neighborhood discount store, I decide the time has come.  I steer my cart toward the valentine section, my eyes locked on a row of masculine-looking cards.  Then it happens.  Out of the corner of my eye I spot a valentine with a white kitty on it, "To a Purr-fectly Sweet Grand-daughter on Valentine's Day".  Maybe, just one more . . .

"No!" I cry, averting my eyes.  My attention shifts to cards that say,

"Grandmothers are Special on Valentine's Day".  I shove my cart into traffic, nearly running into the blazing pole of a blue-light special. A guilt cloud forms above my head.  Lightning threatens.  I duck into the toilet paper aisle.

"Only one, only one . . ."

An elderly woman peers at me over her glasses and scurries away as if I am rabid.  I take a detour through the hardware section.  The red hearts are everywhere, hanging from the ceiling, plastered on displays of screwdrivers and hammers.  I hear their pulse dogging me.

Buy, buy . . . my mother, my sisters, my kids . . .

I feel a jolt as Cupid's arrow impales my cart.  The wheels start moving of their own accord as he reels me in.

"No, no, I won't go!" I yell.  I grab onto a display of bean bag chairs, but am yanked away amid a blizzard of foam beads. 

A clerk rushes out of the music section, smiles a pasty smile and says, "May I help you?"

"Pleeze!" I wail, hanging onto his pocket protector as my cart is pulled magnetically toward the greeting cards.  "Help me!"

He shakes me off like I'm a puppy biting his ankle.

Heart-shaped boxes of chocolate appear on my right. I'm close. Much too close. With a sudden rush of adrenaline, I whip my cart to the left, racing past the aspirin and bulk softeners. I commandeer a shelf of antacids. Maybe if my cart is full, Cupid will let me go in peace.

The intercom blares. "Security, aisle three."

A uniformed man with "Bob" embroidered on his pocket appears as I empty a shelf of strawberry essence shampoo.  I risk a glance.  I do not see a gun.

"Take me into protective custody," I scream as I swipe a row of deodorant into my cart. 

"Take it easy, lady," he says, his eyes searching for back-up. "What seems to be the problem?"

I stop commandeering, emptying and swiping long enough to notice a crowd has gathered.  Children clutch their parent's legs, whimpering. Fingers point. They whisper behind closed hands.

"I . . . I need to buy a Valentine's Day card for my husband but I'm afraid. . ."

Female heads nod.  They know.

A woman carrying a toddler ventures toward me, her hand outstretched.  "It will be all right," she says.  "I'll help you."

As I take her hand the crowd applauds.  I leave my cart with the security guard.  He shakes his head, unaware admitting my problem is the first step toward a cure.

The woman leads me toward the cards.  My heart races and my palms sweat but resolutely, she does not let me run away from my fear.

“I'll stay with you," she says.  The little girl offers to share her lollipop.

We stop in front of the Sweetheart/Ex Husband/Significant Other section of the cards.  The woman strategically positions her body between me and the Mother-in-law/Babysitter/ Milkman section.  With shaking hands I make my choice.

She nods, approvingly.  "There, that wasn't so bad, was it?" she asks.  

We head toward the check-out.  I snatch a red box of chocolates as we walk past and clutch it against my chest.  There.  I'm done.  I won't need to deal with this for another year.

As I pull out of the parking lot, I wave to the woman with the toddler.  She was so kind.  So patient.  I really should send her a thank you note. 

No . . . a valentine.

I speed homeward ever faster, feeling the wings of Cupid beating at my back.

Want more inspirational humor? Check out 

Save Me, God! I Fell in the Carpool: Help, Hope, and Humor for Drowning Moms

One for All and All for One

"And now these three remain:

faith, hope and love.

But the greatest of these is love."

1 Corinthians 13:13

     Let us consider love. And marriage. The whole "Two shall become one" phenomenon. 
     Or is it more like one-and-a-half?  Or negative three?
When two people get engaged, love sounds easy. Idealistic.  As easy as I John 4:19:  "We love because he first loved us."  Two separate human beings will join lives and become this perfect single entity called a couple. No problem. It'll be a piece of cake.

     The trouble is, my cakes always come out lopsided. 
     Maybe that's why after years of marriage I still have to work at having this "oneness" happen on a regular basis.
     It's not that my husband and I don't have our moments of one for all and all for one, like when we both miraculously agree to watch a M.A.S.H. rerun or both order chicken fingers with mashed potatoes at our favorite restaurant.  On occasion we'll even join forces to say no to a child.  At the same time. In answer to the same question (generally in answer to any question that begins with "Can I . . .?")  And there are the romantic times . . .
     I suspect God had a more constant union in mind, one that is less hit-and-miss, something beyond couch- and mashed-potatoes.  A bonding.  A binding.  A mutual merging of mind and soul. 
     And check books.  And schedules.  And . . .
     There I go again, being practical. It's hard to think philosophically when the practical aspects of life continually raise their hands and demand our attention, thinking they know the answer to the question—

     What was the question again?
     Yet, in our quest to find the oneness of marital bliss, there's nothing wrong with being practical.  After all, life's rules, car pools, toilet stools, and garden tools take up ninety percent of our time.  We long for the extraordinary while knee-deep in the ordinary.  We want to embrace the high points because those are the times when we feel closest to our spouse. Even the low points draw us close. Our hearts bond and we need only look at each other for a thousand words to be spoken. We are of one mind and soul.
     But we can't stay on the mountaintop. The phone rings, a child cries, the schedule ticks on without mercy, and we are forced to leave the communion of oneness behind.

     So it is with our spiritual lives.  We feel closest to God during the high and low points. Even unbelievers find God at such times—and quickly forget Him in the times in between.

Our daughter Laurel and her husband Jake

     It is those times in between that challenge our marriages and our faith. When the rest of the world is pulling us six ways, that's when it takes concerted effort to make contact with our spouse and with our God; to find communion among the chaos.
     How special it is then, while knee-deep in those chaotic moments, when we suddenly remember: I love him or I love her. During that brief recognition of our love fresh thoughts of God break through, and for a moment, we forget our frenzied toils and think of Him. "So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen. For what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal." (2 Corinthians 4: 18)
     The highs and lows of life are inevitable and thrust upon us. Yet with practice we can create special times of communion among the mundane moments: as we sit next to our spouse at our son's baseball game, we can reach for their hand; when we're busy working on the yard we can pour two lemonades, pull our spouse out of weeding the flower beds, and sit on the front step and talk; when the M.A.S.H. reruns come on we can turn the television off, snuggle on the couch, and wallow in the silence. 
     We can find the bond of oneness all around us if we search for it.  It's out there, like a firefly flitting past on the summer air.  For a split second we will see it.  We can let the chance for oneness fly by or with a little effort we can run after it, snatch it in our hands and carefully take a peek at its wonder; its beacon of light among the darkness.

     When we do, we will also find God. For He is there at the baseball game, among the flowerbeds, and in our silent home.  He is the firefly.  And His light glows for couples who've made a commitment to share a life.
     "And two shall become one" . . .  In His perfection, the "two" of a couple become one with the Lord. 
     Embrace the journey.
     And each other.

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Want more inspirational humor? Check out 

Save Me, God! I Fell in the Carpool: Help, Hope, and Humor for Drowning Moms