Category: Family

  •     I found out today that my dear friend's husband died last night, after a long battle with that dreaded enemy, cancer. My heart aches for her. These two forged the kind of marriage everyone wants, where love shone from their eyes and sparkled their personalities. A love that infused every day of their forty-four years together with certainty and strength, and brimmed over into the lives of their children and grandchildren, as well as all who know them.

        We've been friends for years, even though separated by hundreds of miles. Our get-togethers have been infrequent, but we never need to get reacquainted. We pick up as if we just saw each other last week. Now these last months I've been reading the blog of their "journey" since his diagnosis. Her open, honest accounts have moved my heart and enriched my life, broadened my understanding.

        These two shared a bedrock, joyful, living faith in Jesus, too. All along this has glued them together and empowered their days, but especially these last months. They've treasured each moment together and simply lived with gusto, making memories at every opportunity. They've prayed for strength and peace, of course. But they've also prayed that somehow they could be a blessing to the people around them. That included their family and friends who came from far and near, caring Hospice nurses, and former co-workers, friends and fellow Christians who've been bringing them meals for months. In more recent times, a faithful group of male friends have rotated staying overnight, keeping watch, so my friend and their family could sleep without need for watchfulness.  

        This good, loving man died at home, surrounded by his dear ones, as he wished and they wished. As they had prayed, he had a peaceful going home to Jesus. Their young grandchildren had been told that their adored grandfather soon would be leaving earth. A few nights ago one of their beautiful preschooler granddaughters prayed that her "Papa" soon would have fun playing with Jesus and that her "Nana" wouldn't be too sad without him.

        So this day is sad for me, but it's also glad. I think how differently this would have played out if this family had only their own strength to draw on through this heart-wrenching journey. And how much more devastating it would be for them to think of this much-loved man's life as simply  … "over."

        Christians cherish the sure knowledge that death is not the end, but simply one's last breath on earth. You'll find that truth many times in the Bible, especially in the New Testament. I don't know who coined the term "the Gospel in a nutshell," but here it is:  

    God so loved the world that He gave His one and only Son, that whoever believes in Him shall not perish but have eternal life.                                                            –John 3:16

        Every death reminds us that life is fragile–and precious. Each morning we open our eyes provides ample reason to rejoice! Let's hold our loved ones close and speak the words in our hearts … while we can.

        Let's make every day count!

        Lenore

        Your comments truly are welcomed!

    Remembering that Life is precious

  •     Although no one would ever call me an athlete, telecasts of the Olympics keep me up way too late every night.

       A more self-disciplined friend records the events that especially appeal to her family. Her daughters love to watch the gymnastics, over and over. They're the right age to imagine themselves on that scene, blissfully ignorant of what it costs. You'll hear Olympic athletes say, "I've dreamed of this since I was a young child."

        That dream–and loving, supportive parents–sets the wheels in motion. If you've listened to the interviews and commentary, you've heard the accounts of families moving across the country so their would-be Olympian could have the best training. One couple mortgaged their home twice to cover the costs. Their family caught Olympic fever, and it took over their life.

        I've been thinking a lot about goals. Sometimes we don't realize we're working on one, don't name it as such. But anytime we direct our efforts and energies in one direction, that's a goal. These can range from the sublime to the silly. To want to be a great mom is a great goal. To expect your kids to always make you look good is silly.

        For our kids and ourselves, the trick is to hang onto reality, but not to rain on the dream. So we search out what's achievable, what fits who we are. Not one of us is stamped out of a mold. It's unfair to think one child is like the other and look for behavior or temperament qualities as if they were. We are, each of us, created unique–and aren't you glad? We are "fearfully and wonderfully made." (Read Psalm 139 and be reassured.)

        The earlier we plug in that little truth, the happier we'll be, and so will our kids. Remembering that colors what we expect, how we evaluate each one and each situation. Or it should.

        So let's applaud the Olympic athletes, those amazing physical specimens, as well as their loving parents. But out here in the real world let's accept ourselves and our children as we are. Let's set real world goals that help us grow while keeping our feet firmly planted in reality. 

        Anything else is madness.

        Here's to appreciating who we are–and each of our children, too.

        Lenore

    Which goals are worth it for you?

  •     These past weeks I've been brain-weary, trying to put together this blog.It's been one trial-and-error after another, which seems to be my style. Of course, I made it more complicated by choosing to personalize the look of it rather than just use one of the excellent pre-designed banner templates. One of my husband's photos would be just the thing, I thought, which turned out (for this rookie) to take awhile. But finally, finally, here we are.

          The photo you see across the top gives you a sense of what we see from our back deck. We delight in watching this ever-changing panorama of sky, as well as looking over a bit of open space. My favorite trees, the huge, gnarled old oaks that drag the ground, stand sentinal, as they have for a century or more. Picture a walking trail winding through this. Occasionally small flocks of wild turkeys gobble their way across, sometimes invading backyards and strutting down the sidewalks of our little community. In the cool of the morning and at dusk our resident trio of deer may stroll the open space, enjoying nibbles of the now-dry grass. Morning to night we hear birdsong, everything from Mockingbirds to Mourning Doves.

          As we look beyond our "wildlife preserve" we see hundreds of roofs and treetops. The busy street running through guarantees background traffic noise, but we ignore that and look to the grassy hills beyond, where more ancient oaks punctuate the terrain. Off in the distance–on a clear day–we glimpse the Sutter Buttes, known as the world's smallest mountain range. If you've been to northern California, you know the look of our area.

         Each day ends with a sunset. Some sunsets, like the one you see at the top of this page, make us gasp with awe. We stand transfixed and silently watch the incredible kaleidescope shimmering before us, often forgetting to grab the camera. Always, one verse comes to mind, the only one that fits: <blockquote

    "Be still and know that I am God."   (Psalm 46:10)

        Do we know we're blessed to live here, and are we thankful? Yes. But do we always stop to drink it in? Sadly, no.

        I think that's how most of us are with life, too. We're often as blind to the wonder of our lives as to the magnificence of another sunset … or another dawn.

       Each sunrise officially signals the new day. Maybe yesterday we messed up royally, but today the slate is clean and we get a fresh, new beginning. Once more we can choose how we'll live the unsullied twenty-four hours before us.

        Some days our hearts brim with joy, while others leave us weeping. Most days we label, "just routine." Truth is, no day is routine. Like every sunrise and every sunset, each day is one-of-a-kind, with no instant replays to be had. 

        That's true with the people in our lives, too. We so easily take them for granted, especially the ones we know we can count on. We forget to say, "thank you," and sometimes we forget that love takes care and feeding, like a delicate plant that can wither and die.

        As for mothering–or any kind of working with kids, well, you know how it goes. We get caught up in all the "doing" and forget to just pause and marvel at the mystery unfolding before us. Each child is a unique creation, an individual, like no other human being on earth. Yet somehow God trusts us with this child's care and shaping and guiding, day after challenging–and rewarding–day. We're allowed to be on the scene for the miracle.

       Whatever age we are, it's worth remembering that tomorrow may never arrive. That sets the true value on today: precious. Irreplaceable. A time to savor and cherish. Something to live, not just get through.

        For me, at least, mastering this skill looks to be the work of a lifetime. But I am learning, and I'm praying for eyes to see the beauty of each day and each person in my life. I don't want to miss any part of it.

        So here's to 20/20 vision of the heart!

        Lenore Buth

    Looking out on the world