Love Keeps no Record of Wrongs

In I Corinthians Paul reminds us that love keeps no record of wrongs . Far be it from me to disagree with Paul, but sometimes my love for my grandchildren records the things they do wrong and chuckles and holds them dearer because of it. Hopefully that is not rejoicing in wrong because I do hold the Bible in very high esteem as a guide for my life. The instance I am referring to happened during the holidays. Miriam, eleven months old, managed to find a little time to be alone in the living room. On the coffee table there is a bowl of artificial apples. They are bright red and look very real. To her they probably looked exactly like the large strawberries her granddad had brought her a few weeks before. The strawberries were good so why shouldn't she try the apple? She tried the first one and her little teeth left cute little marks on the apple. It didn't taste good so she tried several more before her time of exploring came to an end. Is my display of apples ruined? Absolutely not. It has been made more precious by the little tooth marks on several apples. The apples have become a family treasure.

Humbled and Comforted

When my children were small, they kept me humble. They have been grown up for some time now and no one has humbled me for awhile. I am not so vain that I think every song is about me, but I haven't been put down for awhile at least not until last Thursday morning when I kept Josiah, 4, Esther, 2, and Miriam, who doesn't have a number yet. I was having fun playing war with a deck of cards with Josiah. As he laid down a very high card, he growled in a very stern voice, "Take that you black-hearted fink." Then he smiled lovingly at me. What strange words from the mouth of a four year old. I quickly recovered from being referred to lovingly as a "black-hearted fink. It was then that Esther sat down by me and we had this conversation:

Esther: I just love my mommy.
Me: That's wonderful.
Esther: I just love my daddy.
Me: I am so glad.
Esther: I just love Granddad.
Me: Good.
Pause, very long pause. I am feeling very left out. Is the conversation over? Gingerly and softly I say: Esther, do you love me?
Pause. Very long pause. She is ruminating. And then in a perfunctory way: Yeah.
End of conversation.

Luckily when Miriam awoke from her nap she was very glad to see me which somewhat comforted me.

England and Scotland Trip

We recently got back from a trip across "the pond" to visit Charles, Erin, Jack and Theo. Although the primary purpose of our visit is always those four special people, we did do some traveling. We have discovered during the years that Charles and Erin have lived in England that they are both good travel agents. This year Erin arranged a lovely visit to Scotland. We left London in the morning, traveled four hours through the lovely English and Scottish countryside to Edinburgh. It was a challenging trip for the Andersons as they had to deal with the necessities for two small boys. However, they bravely accepted the challenge and the trip was a great success in our eyes. Here are some pictures that show parts of our trip. Theo enjoyed the trainride. Jack posed with guard at Windsor Castle.

We had a lovely apartment on the main street of Edinburg and visited many beautiful castles.

What does a lovely apartment need?

A living room to relax in, a kitchen to cook in. What more could a lovely apartment need?

What else?

Perhaps a lovely pool? And a mother who visits?
And a father who pays for dinner?

The Biggest Unlimited

We recently spent a wonderful weekend visiting Brian in his new city of residence Houston, Texas. We arrived about four hours late because of the biggest storms Houston had experienced in awhile which made landing a plane impossible, so wisely Southwest Airlines decided we should not take off from St. Louis until we were assured of a place to land. We arrived but not at the same time as our luggage which was a checked bag of board games Brian had asked us to bring. We decided not to wait on the bag, but to pick it up when Brian took us to the airport for our return to St. Louis. We set out for Brian's apartment and were given a wonderful place to sleep in his bedroom which is a large closet wall to wall with his double bed---it gives new meaning to the punishment "Go to your room." On Saturday we ate at a lovely coffee house that is very near his apartment. We then traveled through the biggest puddle I have ever seen, (Houston was experiencing rainfall far bigger than cats and dogs.) to the Galleria which was the biggest shopping center I have ever seen. On Sunday we decided to be real Houston visitors and go to NASA. We checked with Mapquest and determined we were approximately thirty minutes from NASA. We got on the right freeway and after thirty minutes had moved about 20 feet. We were part of one of the biggest traffic jams I have ever seen. An hour later and a only few miles closer to NASA we exited the highway and returned to the vicinity of Brian's apartment---- Mission aborted. However, we found a lovely coffee house to assuage the stress of over an hour in non-moving traffic. Brian took us to his office on the 37th floor of one of the biggest---never mind. It was a wonderful visit and I came away very happy about the city my son lives in.

My Claim to Fame as an Artist

I was reminded by a friend that I haven't blogged for awhile. There has been a blog dancing around in my head ever since I heard that my oldest granddaughter, Amaris, won first place in the city-wide homeschoolers art contest. Being proud of her is a given. My memory is not so happy as her victory. In fourth grade my artwork, a picture of a daddy owl and his son the baby owl in lovely fall browns and oranges, was picked by my teacher for the city-wide art contest. My parents were flabbergasted. No one in our family had ever been detected as having even a smidgen of art talent. The Sunday of the art show came. Mother, Daddy and I donned our best clothes and set out for the showing of all the art work. Up and down the aisles of the art show we walked. We did not see the picture. We retraced our steps our eyes glued to each picture. My art creation was not there. My parents went to the curators of the artwork. The curators checked the back workroom. The picture was not there. The curators apologized profusely and promised that they would continue to look for the picture. It was never found.. In my Walter Middy role I like to think of my picture hanging in some renowned art museum sold to them for thousands by some very art-savvy worker at the art show who appreciated its value and hoped to secretly profit from its sale. When I escape my Walter Middy role, I picture it lying in the trash at the bottom of the barrel which is where it belonged. My day as an artist came and then was incinerated with the rest of the rubbish in the barrel.

Canine Courage

I recently heard a news clip about a lady who while at work felt the need to check her web camera at home. She was shocked to find that robbers were in her house eating her food, stealing her valuables and playing with her video games. Ofcourse she called the police and the robbers were immediately caught. Because of her web camera she lost nothing. A few days later she was interviewed on the morning news. The interviewer asked her about her three dogs--Where were they during the robbery? Were they hurt in any way? The lady replied that her dogs were fine because they hid the minute the robbers entered the house. As I was listening to this news, I thought of my own dog. We have long known that she is not a watch dog. She does not bark when someone enters the house unless there is another person already in the house with her to protect her. As I was thinking of this, she proved my point by jumping up to the window to survey her territory. Woe unto her---there was a strange dog in the yard--in HER yard---she felt compelled to bark---but softly and politely. See the video to hear how politely Miss Scarlett barks. She would be terrified if the trespassing dog heard her even with the glass window there for protection. Polite barking is her forte.

Mr. Plumbean's Nightmare

When my children were small, we had a story we read often about Mr. Plumbean. We read it so often that I memorized parts of it. In the story Mr. Plumbean moved into a neighborhood where all the houses were exactly alike---a very neat street. Mr. Plumbean individualized his house which angered his neighbors until one by one they adopted Mr Plumbean's philosophy which was "My house is me and I am it. It looks like all my dreams." We all applauded Mr. Plumbean as one by one the houses in his neighborhood moved from uniformity to creativity. It was no longer a neat street, but a street where each house looked like its owner's dream.

In the story this was laudable because all the neighbor's dreams were pleasant to the other neighbors. However, what happens when one man's dream is another man's nightmare? This morning I rode through the neighborhood where I grew up. It is a neighborhood of not too big and not too small houses---each looking different yet all related by a certain commonality. A neighborhood of sidewalks made for roller skates, tricycles, two wheelers and skinned knees. A neighborhood of trees made for climbing, of backyards perfect for digging holes, hopefully to China, and of front steps comfortable for sitting on while licking popsicles that drip onto the concrete on hot summer days. Since my last trip through the neighborhood, one of the houses with a lovely backyard view of the Missouri River had been torn down. That is no crime; time marches on and new often replaces old. But in the place of the charming torn-down house has arisen a modernistic nightmare built of gray concrete with angled and curved walls that rise like a skyscraper above the charming brick houses surrounding it. It looks like a fat gray whale in a goldfish bowl. I am sure the view of the river is delightful, but the house ------- what can I say? Fortunately, I live far from the house and will not be forced to look at it when I ride my bike, eat my popsicle or attempt to dig a hole to China, but my heart aches for the people who have to live with the gray whale on their neat street. I think even Mr. Plumbean would find it unacceptable.

What to Give Up for Lent

Today is the first day of Lent. I have never been inclined to make huge adjustments in my life because of Lent although I can see advantages to doing something different to remind myself of the sacrifice made for me at Easter. As I pondered how to move forward during this Lenten season, I was reminded of something my daughter Erin did to honor Lent. She was about seven years old. As I was putting her to bed one night, we were having our good night chat. I commented to her that I had noticed that her school papers which had previously been rather sloppily done had recently become very neat. Wonderfully neat. I asked her what had inspired this change. She confided in me that she had given up being sloppy for Lent. This amazed me since we had never made giving up something for Lent a tradition in our home. Happily the habit of neatness that she formed during that Lenten season remained a part of her throughout the rest of her school life and into her adult life. Perhaps I will follow her example and practice a habit that would make me a brighter light to the world during this Lenten season.

Belated Valentine Trip Down Memory Lane

While I was cleaning out a closet, I came across the heart-shaped box in this picture. It has survived for fifty years in one closet or another. I come from a sentimental heritage. When I was around ten years old, I saw this box in the local drugstore window. I thought it was the prettiest box of chocolates I had ever seen. I went home and collected the money in my bank and went back to purchase it as a Valentine gift for my mother and daddy. When I got to the drugstore and counted my money out to the pharmacist, I was about fifteen cents short. (If I remember correctly the box cost $3.85. That is a story in itself.) Seeing my disappointment, the pharmacist told me I could just owe him the fifteen cents. He put the candy in a sack, and I headed for the bus stop. Proudly I presented the candy to my parents. Then I told them that the nice man had let me have it even though I was fifteen cents short. After each of us enjoyed one piece of candy, Mother and I returned to the drugstore and paid the pharmacist the fifteen cents we owed him. Debt was not something my family accepted. The blue lacey box has survived the years and so has my reluctance to leave debts unpaid.

Liver and Onions

I am reading through the Bible in one year. Right now I am in Leviticus which is described on One Year Bible Blog as the "liver and onions" of the Bible--liver and onions is good for you but most people don't like it. Thus the description seemed appropriate to me. I am trying to figure out what parts of Leviticus are "good for me." Leviticus is difficult for me to read and even more difficult to find applications for my daily life. It sometimes bothers me that although I try to live a life in keeping with biblical principles, I totally ignore most of the rules in Leviticus. I think most Christians ignore the rules in Leviticus. I wonder when it became acceptable to eat barbeque pork sandwiches and to touch dead animals without going through an unclean period until sundown. I will get through Leviticus and trust that someday I will understand the parts that are "dim" to me now.

Baa Baa Do Baa Baa

Jack, my three year old grandson, is a huge fan of Colin Buchanan, an Australian Christian singer. One of the songs on Jack's CD goes, "We all like sheep have gone astray, baa, baa, do, baa baa." This morning as I was reading my Bible selection for the day, Exodus 39-40 I was reminded that this going astray is not a new thing. The people of Israel had just finished going astray while Moses was up on the mountain. In today's chapters they had turned over a new leaf, and they were doing things "as God commanded." I was amazed at how many times this phrase was repeated. As I read, I was not particularly interested in the ark or the priestly garments, but I was struck by the fact that I need to do things "as God commanded." Because "I like sheep have gone astray, Baa baa do baa baa!"

Unnecessary Beauty

I am reading Vision for God by Brand and Jost. It is a wonderful read---the story of Dr. Margaret Brand who spent many years as a medical missionary to the people of India. During her years as a missionary she raised four children---a challenging job in any country but perhaps more so in India in the midtwentieth century. Yesterday,in the book her son Christopher said, "Didn't God make that sunset unnecessarily beautiful?" That question really stuck with me. As I drive home many evenings and see the glorious western sky I ruminate on the beauty that God has provided. Could we live without beauty around us? I guess we could, but isn't God wonderful to provide us with beauty that takes our breath away in the midst of a world where humans don't always live lives worthy of all that beauty. Thank you, Lord, for the unnecessary beauty you have provided me.

Grandmother Bunts

Yesterday I played baseball with my four year old grandson Josiah. He has a unique approach to the game that I was not aware of. He decided that I was the batter and he was the pitcher. The first pitch went behind me so I let it go---good eye grandmother. The second pitch was hitable so I hit it---as hard as I could like I was taught to do. It went pretty far. Before I could revel in the joy of my hit, Josiah yelled, "Now you drop the bat and chase the ball. Hurry, Grandmother, that's how it's played." I followed his directions making a mental note that from now on, I would bunt if I was going to be the one who had to chase it. Later Natalie, Josiah's mother, confessed to me that she is the person who taught him these rather unusual rules because she didn't want to chase all the balls that Josiah hit. At some point I hope he learns the real rules, but until then, I remain the bunting grandmother.