For the sake of a smile...

Recently, Sean and I took Micah with us to the mall for lunch. He said he wanted Root Beer, and since that is a treat for our kids, and it had been quite a while since he had enjoyed a day out with Mommy and Daddy, we thought “why not?” and went to the mall where A&W is located. Upon arrival, Micah was swung between Sean and I by the hands…taking in heavy gulps of air and squealing like the toddler he is every time we lifted him off the ground from our van to the front door of the mall.

In the mall, as soon as he made it through the door, Micah ran all the way to the counter, bouncing curls flopping everywhere with every trotting step he took to his favorite spot: the A&W counter. The employee working there smiled big as she saw this curly headed toddler skipping all the way from the door to her location, a good distance to say the least.

We ordered food, and after being given our drinks walked to our table and sat down. Sean said he was going to wash his hands real quick, and walked in the direction of the rest rooms. Micah didn’t see him walk away. He was sitting next to me, just jabbering away about his Root Beer, putting straws in the cups, insisting on helping me put my straw in my cup, and then wanting to do the same for Sean’s cup as well. So he and I worked together to get Sean’s straw in his cup, and Micah turned around to tell Sean his drink was ready. He didn’t see him, so he turned to me and asked, “Mommy. Where Daddy?” I said, “He went to wash his hands.” His reply, “Ok.” And then this child proceeded to turn, and from our table, began to yell…”Daddy! (pronounced Dadday), You’re drink! It’s ready!...Daddy!!” Needless to say…the chuckles were audible by the time Sean made it back to the table. It was priceless!

We were a bit stressed that day, getting some news that we were not fond of, and these short, amusing, priceless moments with this innocent child were all we needed to have our ‘break’ from the stress we had been enduring, and are still enduring. Even so, his innocence, his child-like joy, hope, faith, trust, and that of his older siblings as well, mixed with the funniest of funny moments provided by them ALL, are reminders of why we endure what we endure…I’m a happy, fulfilled, proud (in a good way) Momma. My babies are my blessings, no matter when, where, or what…my children are my light, my life, and my heart. 

Celebrate Mom!

I know it is a bit on the late side, but I will not let the Mother’s Day celebration pass me by another year without voicing my heart.

Mother: The woman who carried her child in the womb, nurtured and gave life at birth.

Mom: The woman who cares for her children (or those who biologically belong to another), raises them, loves them, teaches them about life, love, trust, strength, and gives everything she has for them.

My mother is both to me.

* My Mom *

December 5, 1983 my mom underwent a cesarean operation to give birth to me. Bitty Becca was born at 8lb 10 oz, and heaven knows how long I was. Ha, ha! I was bald, BALD! *sigh* Lord knows how many people asked my parents the question of the year. “What’s His Name?”

As I grew up I became one of the most picky children that ever graced this planet with their presence! If my shoes were not BOTH buckled (yes I said buckled) on the third hole, every time, I’d sit on my floor and pout until they were, or until new shoes were produced to be worn. If those new shoes were laced, you better bet those bow loops and ends better match up too! Socks had to be even on both legs. I remember folding and re-folding my socks so many time I started rolling them instead so they’d both hit my ankle bone and I’d be satisfied. Bread with a crack in it? Sandwiches with pieces of bread were not facing each other and matching on both sides? Broken cheese? Hot dog buns that broke when closing over the hot dog? Food touching? None of these things were tolerated by yours truly! And these were just the early years…and let us remember that I was not the only child in this family either.

I have an older brother, and two younger sisters. My  brother is two years older than me, and my sisters are ten years younger and thirteen years younger than myself. My mother home-schooled all four of us, three of us for our entire education, and my brother for most of his, beginning in Second Grade. In fact, she is still finishing up high school with my youngest sister this year. She was also the support group leader and President in our area for many years. As long as I can remember she was heavily involved with things to educate and entertain her children. My mom’s family has been the center of her world always, right alongside her God.

Years and years of sharing my mother with the world, it seemed, I remember that she STILL had time for her children and husband. Why? Because my mom’s family came first. Besides Home-school groups and their drama, she was involved with Homemakers and Ladies groups in church as well. With her plate full constantly, my mother never wavered (from my outside perspective) from her faith, her graceful attitude, or her kindness.

My mom has always been there for me. From the scrape on my knee when I was a little girl running on the sidewalk, to the cuts and bruises my adult heart has endured. I was told by a couple of different people in recent times that  in the last 5 years of my life I used my mom, and that I became dependent on her to do things for me. This may be partly true. I used her…she was the pillar I was able to lean on during difficult times and emotional crisis. She was strength that was unseen by many to me. My mom is one of the three main reasons I overcame recent difficulties in life, my husband and children being the other two. Those many days and nights I spent with my family were times when I was gleaning strength and peace during some of the hardest times in my life.

Family Picture February 2013: LtoR My brother Jacob, my sister Leah, Dad, Me, Titus, Mom, Angel, Levi, my sister Joanna, and my husband Sean holding my baby Micah.

In recent years I have been living over 2,000 miles from my mother, and since moving out here with my husband I have seen her all of four times. I have enjoyed the best of times visiting with my parents and sisters (oh yeah, and my brother…hehe)…not as often as we all would like, but blessed with the chance to do so just the same.

Even so, I talk to my mother on the phone nearly every day. We talk now and then on Skype, so we can all see each other and they can enjoy the goofiness of my children that they miss so much. For as long as I can remember my mom has been there for me, and knowing my mom she will be there always. If words could describe the things she did for me before I moved, how she has always been there for me, supported me, prayed for me, loved me, and put up with me and my kids (hehe), I would put them here. But truthfully there are none. I could say my mom is amazing, in astronomical proportions, but would that cover it? No, not really.

A mother’s love cannot be measured. Whether she has given birth physically to children, or she loves, raises, and cares for children birthed by another, she is a mom. Proverbs 31 speaks of a woman whose worth is far above that of priceless jewels, Rubies. She works hard, she educates her children, trains them, cares for them, as well as the servants of the household. She is up early, and oftentimes retires late. She is trustworthy, which in itself it priceless these days. A woman of great worth, this chapter of Proverbs described. A woman whose value is priceless to those who know her…yes, my mom.

 

The best examples a young Mom could follow, My Mom, Grandma, and Great Grandma. Great Grandma is no longer with us as of the beginning of 2012, but the legacy she has left carries on.

Where's My Spot?

Everyone has their favorite place to sort out their thoughts and write. They also have their favorite writing buddies, such as something to munch on, sip on, listen to, or see. My favorite place to write my thoughts and heart is beside my sliding back door. I pull the blinds open, and sit beside the clear glass (when there are not little hand and paw prints all over it), looking out into my back yard where the dog and children play. When they are all inside, I get to enjoy the vision of little, colorful birds flying around and sitting on my back porch, enjoying the open, big yard with nothing but space and peace to enjoy.

In a house with four children and a dog, and of course my loving husband and myself, it can be hard sometimes to find a peaceful place to think and write. Doing school work is sometimes a rather eventful thing for this momma. But even in the chaotic times, when kids are fighting and supper is being made, I am behind in an assignment for a class, the baby’s diaper needs changed, my husband isn’t home yet, and the dog is digging holes instead of playing with his toys…I find myself sitting at “my spot” at the table, in the middle of the craziness all around me, and close my eyes…and…breathe. I then open my eyes to the view of the back yard, sometimes heavily obstructed by those little, muddy hand and paw prints all over the glass door, and sometimes clearly seen, with a sigh I enjoy the sight for a moment………..and then I send the children out there so that my entire house will be as peaceful as the back yard appears to be from my spot at the table.

My main issue now is determining that where I sit is “my” writing spot. My challenge is discovering where my children prefer to call their spot , “my spot”, and it is indeed a challenge, as Titus has a horrible time staying in a spot to do homework or projects. Levi has the attention span of a squirrel on a caffeine high, and Angel pretty much plops wherever the crayons are at the moment. Micah has a spot for the time being…my lap. I am ok with this, most of the time, because he enjoys just sitting, and I enjoy his little self being with me. This is half the fun, I suppose, as I do my best to discover along with my children their learning styles, place preferences, and communication styles as well. I look forward to helping Titus get settled in his “spot” so we can begin moving forward with his studies.

And I have to remember that my spot is mine. They don’t want it. And although I may THINK I want them to want it, I truly do not want them there. Why? Because I would, then, have to find a new spot. Four little bottoms sitting in my thinking/writing place would not be welcome when I go there to find my brain now and again.

I used to think that my spot was only that special to me because I do not have a desk in that part of my house. But the more I think on it, if I were to have a desk in there, I would do my best to place it right there, beside my table, facing out the back door. There’s just something about “that place” that sooths the mind, and often eliminates writer’s block. Ah yes, writer’s block: the worst enemy of a paper deadline, which is exactly what I have today. Glad I’m in my spot!

The Gladiator's arena...and mine

Thunderous roars and earth shaking stomps in the stands of the arena, along with the stench of sweat and blood fill the air as the crowd chants “Live. Live. Live. Live.” Shaking their fists high in the air toward the center of the arena where the gladiator stands, awaiting the command of the Emperor. Thumbs up, his fallen opponent is to survive. Thumbs down, he is to dispatch his opponent to the other world. The gladiator has become loved by the people for his numerous victories, and stands yet undefeated, gaining fame and adoration of the entire population of Rome. In the end, the Emperor has the final say, but it is not his word that stands remembered it is the slave of Rome standing in the sand below, a slave who has gained power higher than anyone in his time: the power of the people. After years and seemingly endless battles and countless victories the gladiator is granted retirement and freedom by the Emperor, given gold enough to keep him for the rest of his life, and he leaves the arena forever….and is eventually forgotten as a new star shines on Rome’s bloody sands.
Pondering the stressful, strenuous, and somewhat monotonous life of the gladiator, who lives only to survive, driven by the shouts and adoration of his fans, and struggling through battle after battle in the name of the Emperor, winning only to fight yet another battle, I realized that he is not much different than I. No, I do not live in 70A.D. Rome. I am not clad in armor, wielding a sword, and bellowing a war cry that rivals the shouts and cheers of thousands of people standing over me. Contrasting as it may seem at first glance, our lives are quite comparable to the scene of the gladiator built in our mind’s eye.
Daily struggles for some; school, work, kids, house, money (or lack thereof), and other issues dealt with create a sort of monotonous routine for us. As the gladiator rises to train and eat, eat and train, we rise to do the same things, day after day, until it seems there is no end. The gladiator enters the arena to battle an opponent, and we enter an arena in our lives, prepared to battle for what we believe is right, our faith, health, love, trust, and honor. With every victory we gain testimony that for some people raise us up in their eyes. We become an example to follow, just as the gladiator becomes the role model for young soldier’s sons, using his techniques in their training to be better fighters for Rome. The longer we fight, the more victories we achieve, the closer we come to ultimate freedom. Yet the self-proclaimed god of this world, our Emperor, sends us under the arena, in the cages, to set us up for the next battle, for his entertainment…placing bets on whether or not we will win the next one and survive.
Today we do not wield swords and spears, but we battle with different weapons. We have a Will to keep moving on, Determination to overcome our struggles, Strength to stand even when we are weak, and Help that comes not from our own hands, but the Hands that fashioned us to run this race and battle in this arena called Life. Will we be forgotten when our final Freedom has been granted us, and we are released from this life to the next? Will my name, or yours, fade from the pillars and monuments in the minds of men? What have we done in our time in this arena to leave a lasting impression, made our mark in time for others to remember? Was it good? Will it make a difference for others? Those who were remembered in the Roman arena changed the way others fought, the way they defended themselves and others, and most of all, changed hearts and minds to achieve equality and excel to greater heights and finally freedom, not only physical, but freedom of spirit and mind.
Let us fight our fight, run the race, and most of all obtain victory after victory, to achieve the highest liberty of all…the freedom from this arena to a peaceful eternity in the home of our Maker. May we become an influence for others for good, and not evil, be an example to follow, as we have an audience standing over us every day, either cheering us on or waiting to see us fall. Carry ourselves with Grace and Dignity, through every trial and every test of our strength, making a difference not only for ourselves but for those who will surely model themselves after us. The memory of the gladiator has faded, but not his battles and his final and greatest victory. Yes, we, as people, will eventually be forgotten, but through those whom we mentor, set an example for, and through our words and deeds as well we will live on.

To Love and Cherish

This book, To Love and Cherish, written by Tracie Peterson and Judith Miller, is definitely a recommendation by yours truly!  The story of Melinda Colsen and Evan Tarlow is a touching story, with lessons of love, trust, and Faith!
Melinda and her brother were among the highest of society before the death of their parents, which led to the revelation of financial struggles the family had, that left Melinda and Lawrence with nothing to their names, not even a shred of respect. Melinda stays behind in Cleveland, taking the role of ladies’ maid to one of her mother’s peers, while Lawrence goes on his own way.
Bridal Veil Island is the winter get-away resort for many wealthy families from northern cities and states, and the home of Evan Tarlow, where he is hoping for a promotion from game and huntsman to a position where he can support Melinda and they can finally marry. Melinda wonders why Evan doesn’t propose, and every spring returns, still hoping, to Cleveland with her employers’ family.
After their return one summer, however, a hurricane struck Bridal Veil Island and the surrounding areas, leaving disaster and death in its wake. News of the hurricane reached Cleveland, and the household of Melinda’s employers. Melinda hadn’t heard from Evan in weeks, and now believed that he may have been injured, or at worst, killed in the disaster that occurred on Bridal Veil. Against the wishes and pleas of her mistress, she set out on a mission to return to the resort and make certain her love was alive and well.
With the mysterious and sudden return of Lawrence, Melinda’s brother, and his suspicious cargo, Melinda is hesitant but asks for his presence to accompany her on this unconventional mission. Together they set out for the devastated shores of the resort and surrounding areas.
Upon arriving, Melinda discovers Evan is alive and well. Against his better thinking, Evan agrees to Melinda’s securing employment on the island until the guest season began. With the arrival of the guests and investors came news of the President of the United States’ visit, and rumors and suspicions along with them. Nobody can be trusted, and everyone is held in suspicion. Can Evan trust Melinda? Can Melinda trust Evan, or her brother, Lawrence?  Will Melinda see her dreams come true? Will Evan?
Going through trials that test faith, trust, and love can make or break a relationship and any individual. Seeing how they go through their trials, and the outcome (I’m not telling), gives me pause to think about my own response when faced with suspicion and doubt. A great read, and a happy addition to my favorite book shelf!
Provided by Bethany House Publishers for the purpose of review. A review I was happy to deliver!

Thanksgiving

Thanksgiving. 

In History, we have learned that Thanksgiving is a celebration of the harvest provided by the Natives and the Pilgrims alike, as they joined together and enjoyed a feast in each other’s company. In annual celebration, today’s society takes a day to give thanks for all that we have. And what do we have? Why are we truly thankful? There has been a wave of Facebook status updates every day in November for the past couple of years, giving thanks for something different each day. I have been participating in such activities as well, but have given myself pause to think lately…and I have realized that those who I am truly thankful for in my life, and have been such an inspiration to me all these years, creating and leaving a legacy that few can fully understand but those who are blessed with this legacy, they are those who do not have Facebook. They may not even have the internet in their homes. If I wanted them to see the words of Love and thankfulness that I have for them, someone who is close to them would have to share it with them. I will not have this happen this year for me. Last year, on the final day of the year, I lost my great grandmother. I don’t have another chance to tell her what her life meant to me. However, I do still have other people in my life that need to hear these things. Hear them for themselves, not from some social networking cite that they don’t even participate in. 

This, for me, is not going to be merely a November event. I will be sharing with family and friends what they mean to me, how much they mean to me, and what they have done for me in my life…and I will do this often. New year’s resolutions have nothing on me. I’m making a resolution. I am taking a position in life to make a difference for good, no matter the outcome of elections, disasters, tragedies, and even joyous times, blessings, happiness, recovery, transition. In the good times and the bad, those who have your love need to know they do, and why! 

In my hometown, just in the last month, people have lost their lives that shouldn’t have. Their time was cut too short on this earth. This is something I never thought would happen where I’m from. Knowing that it can, and did, happen in my hometown, and that it could happen to anyone, anywhere, there is no time to spare in sharing the love….being a blessing…being an inspiration…being THERE! 

I will not name those in this blog that I plan to address personally. I enjoy the element of surprise. However, this is a message to all…don’t wait. Enjoy your loved ones, be they family or friend. Be thankful for them every day, every hour, and in everything. Don’t be silent! Tell them you love them! Tell them you are thankful to have them in your life! Share happy memories! Share life. Thanksgiving is just a day…but the inspiration lives on, every day of the year, every year of our lives. 

Happy November! <3

Happy Birthday Grandma Canup

I do not have all of the pictures that I wanted yet, so I will be editing this blog and adding the photos once I locate them all, and once my scanner decides to work properly for me again. Until then, be blessed and enjoy the memories, as I do.......

Every change in the seasons brings to my mind sweet memories. There are memories of Holiday celebrations with family and friends, memories of conversations with loved ones, adventures I’ve taken alone and with others, near and far from home. Today I have memories of my dear, Great Grandmother, Alberta Canup. Today, September 16, 2012, would have been her 94th birthday. However, she passed away December 31, 2011, after living a long, full, and wonderful life. To share every memory with you would be to write a book. It would be a lovely book, because I treasure and cherish those memories as gold. But, here are a few.

My great grandma was many things. Hard of hearing, down to earth, an amazing story teller, and loaded with wisdom and some common sense on the side.

One special memory I have of her was when I was a young child, and first realized she couldn’t hear as well as I could. We were sitting on her swing, in the yard under a shade tree, shelling pinto beans fresh picked from her, very large and bountiful, garden behind the house. It was a beautiful summer day. The breeze was soft, and under the shade tree it cooled the temperature nicely. As we were shelling the beans, Grandma was telling me stories of her childhood, her walks to school, and her first kiss, which turned into the first boy she smacked. The front door was open to the house, and from inside the house I could hear the phone begin to ring. Grandma paused the swing, stopped shelling the beans, and tilted her head. “Hm. The birds are comin’ out I hear.” I stifled a little giggle. She continued, “I wonder what kind of bird that one is though. Huh. I ain’t never heard that one before. Almost sounds like a mocking bird of sorts.” Finally, I couldn’t hold it in, as the phone continued ringing, over and over… “Actually Grandma, I think that’s the phone ringing.” She stopped completely, smiled, and without missing a beat said, “Ha! Well…I’d rather that had been a bird.”  No, she didn’t get up and go see who called. Nor did she care at the moment. She continued shelling the beans, and telling me stories about life, and lessons learned from it. Yes, a memory of pure gold.

Grandma could name every flower and plant under the sun, tell you how many different colors they produce in, and when and where best to grow them. Her knowledge of all things green never ceased to amazing me.
The things that make me smile a humorous smile are her response to someone who is speaking too low for her to hear. “HeH?! EH!?” To those who heard that so often, you know exactly what I’m talking about. You are probably hearing her voice in your head as you read this, “Whaat?!” (and smile). Also, if anyone has ever talked to Great Grandma on the phone, they would tell you she doesn’t generally say “Bye” at the end of the conversations. When she’s done talking, she simply…hangs up. I’ve been on the phone with her many a time when I would be in the middle of saying something and the line would disconnect mid-sentence. I would just shake my head, smile or laugh, and then hang up my end as well.

Throughout her life, Grandma remained faithful to her family, and to her God. Every time I saw her outside, she was either working with her hands or reading her Bible. Our church did a program called “Daily Bread” which is a Bible reading program that takes the reader through the whole Bible in a year. Great Grandma went through the whole program multiple times, every year, taking every verse to heart. One thing that made me laugh was when she would refer to scripture and then say, “Yeah, that’s in Matthew somewhere.” After having read the book of Matthew more times in five years than most have probably read in their lives.
Among my most recent memories, when my dear great grandmother was no longer able to mow her own yard (and the neighbor’s as well), plant her own garden, go to church every time the doors were open, enjoy her weekly breakfast and shopping day with her daughter (my grandmother), or walk outside her house, enjoying her flowers alone, I sat with her nearly every day for a month. During that month, I took advantage of every moment I had that was good. Every memory she shared, I cherished and held dearly in my journal. The conversations we had together were about family, friends, loved ones gone one, and the baby that I had growing inside me that July.

I had reconnected with a very close friend in June of 2010 (now known to all as my husband, Sean), and he came to see me and my family, all the way from Crete, Greece, where he was stationed at the time in the United States Navy. He and my brother came out to Great Grandma’s house one afternoon while I was there with her. She and I were sitting on the front porch swing, enjoying the afternoon air, having just finished our daily rounds around the yard, naming the flowers and remembering times and events that surrounded her gardens. Great Grandma asked Sean what is was he did for a living. He told her he is a Master at Arms in the United States Navy. She smiled, and began to tell us three about my Great Grandpa, Micah Canup, who was also in the Navy in years past. She told us of his tour to Australia, and shared some of his stories about ship life. She told of the closeness they shared, and the love they had for each other, and of their children. Every story brought more joy to her face, and peace to her mind. In her love for sharing her memories with others, I have been very blessed to be one of those that she shared such riches with throughout my life, and I will be ever thankful for those opportunities and blessings.

I could go on and on about the things I recall in my life with my dear great grandmother, and my great grandpa as well. The camping trips, their vegetable store off the back porch, the early mornings picking produce from the garden, and the candy that Grandpa would so often tell “Maw” to get from the cabinet for the kids, because we looked “hungry”. Without fail, she would get up from her chair, go to the cabinet, and pull out a single butterscotch candy piece for each of us and send us on our way, “full”. So today, on the day of her birth, I remember her vigor, strength, love, grounded faith, and the treasure that she was to all who experienced her in her life and theirs. Happy Birthday my dear, Great Grandma. You are missed so much, and we will all hold dear the memories that we shared with you.