Guest Blogger Barb Winters: Are You Awake?

My car thermometer read 38 degrees as I pulled into the driveway. Two girls came running out. Neither wore a coat, but what caught my eye was the youngest one's bare feet and runny nose. "Where are your shoes?" I asked. "I couldn't find them," she replied.

Several weeks ago I noticed an empty pew two rows behind me. An older couple, out of town for the weekend, typically sits there with their "kids" - children they pick up from various homes every Sunday morning. I didn't even know their names. But seeing that empty pew triggered a thought. There is no reason for those children to miss church when Mr. & Mrs. Evans are gone. I can pick them up just as easily.

The next Sunday I told Mrs. Evans I would gladly transport her "kids" the next time she was out of town. I didn't wait long. Mrs. Evans approached me a few days later. "My husband and I will be at my daughter's Thanksgiving weekend. Were you serious about getting the kids?" "Definitely," I answered.

That's how I ended up sitting in my van waiting for the girl with no shoes to hop in. She found a seat and I handed her a tissue. By this point my van was full. The three older children I picked up first helped these newer ones get buckled as we got acquainted. I learned the youngest one's name was Janelle. I wondered why I hadn't taken the time to know these children before. Could it be I was so wrapped up in my own world that I hadn't been awake to what was around me?

I dropped the children off at the proper Sunday school classes and proceeded to my own. Joy enveloped me. I had poked my head out of my comfortable world and helped others. No, it wasn't a big deal. It cost little. But God used this simple act to remind me I was His vessel to reach a lost world.

After Sunday school, I gathered the children and we walked to the sanctuary. Janelle sat next to me drawing carrots and pink crosses. When I asked about one sketch, she pointed to the chandelier hanging above her head and said, "It's that." She sang her ABC's and asked about the angel in a book she was looking through. I don't know why, but I was surprised by her intelligence. Her questions indicated a depth I didn't think was there. When the rest of the children were dismissed for Children's Church, I put my arm around Janelle.

The title of the sermon flashed on the screen: Are You Awake? As my husband, the pastor, joked that he was not testing our alertness at that moment, Janelle put her fingers in her mouth and leaned into me. A few minutes later, she scooted down, laid her head in my lap, and closed her eyes. As I watched this precious child sleep, I thought about how I would have missed out on this moment had I not been awake-awake to God's presence and aware of my surroundings. An empty pew led to a filled heart.

Read more of Barb's blogs on http://foodliesandtruth.blogspot.com/ as Barb explores lies we tell ourselves to justify eating improperly and the truths that dispel those lies. Also see her blog, written with her husband, Don, on adoption at http://thefatherheartofgod.blogspot.com/.

Thanksgiving Wish

I'm thankful for Corrie Ten Boom. She is one of my favorite heroes of all times...she and Harriet Tubman. Both were extreme followers of Christ. Gotta love that!



I recently read how Corrie once said, "I wish -" but then she stopped. She looked upward, raised a hand to heaven and said, "Father, you do all things well. Thank you!" A friend of hers had never forgotten.



When I read this, I immediately loved it! I read it again. I memorized it. I bookmarked it. Throughout the day, I tested myself to see if my lame long-term memory could actually remember it along with "stop and grab bread, pick up Meredith at 7 and start laundry."



I did! :)



Only a few days later, I was driving to South Bend, Indiana to meet my sisters (all 5 of them) and my mom and dad, to celebrate my dad's 75th birthday.



I was elated. Just the girls and mom and dad together...how fun! I really couldn't remember the last time we'd done something like this. I mean, I knew there were times it happened without me...a ten hour drive to Ohio is a little hard to make for a supper.



But this time, I got to go!



On the way, as I was making my 5 hour trek, the thought occurred to me, here I was drinking McDonald's sweet tea and pounding down Aldi's mixed nuts (the cashews and almonds, first) to stay awake and they were all together in one van telling funny stories and laughing...without me!



The funnest part of our whole time together could be the way there...and I wasn't with them!



A deep sadness settled
like sugar in unsweetened tea.



Then I thought it...



I wish I were in their van-



The Holy Spirit kicked in "You wish?"



Involuntarily, I raised my hand upwards to my precious Father, who knows everything, and said, "Father, you do all things well. Thank you!"


And I even meant it.

A Loss?

"Winning is fun!" That's Michaela's quote. I agree 100%.







That's why on a Thursday night in Dubuque, Iowa we were left feeling anything but...Matt's Greenville College soccer team had made it to 'the big dance.' They were in the NCAA tournament...an accomplishment only 32 teams in each division in the country can boast of.







At halftime we were leading 1 to 0. Within 4 minutes of the last half, Loras College scored. Within 8 minutes they scored again. They added a 3rd goal in the last ten minutes of the game.







I felt sick to my stomach watching the last ten minutes of the game.







Matt played with a whole heart the entire game. My mama's heart was 100% proud.







As the final seconds ticked away and the deep chanting voices of the Loras fans filled the stadium "Season's Over" clap-clap-clap-clap-clap, "Season's Over" clap-clap-clap-clap...my eyes remained glued to #17...my son.







His face hung. He whipped off his headband letting his long hair fall over his face. I searched to see him, his eyes...his slumping shoulders said it all.







Bobby then realized we left the bags of trailmix for Matt in the Durango. He left to go get them.







Inwardly I panicked as I watched Matt and other players slowly cross the field. Oh no, he's going to get here before his dad. What am I going to say? What can I say? His dad is so darn good at knowing how to do these things...what do I-







Matt had reached our side of the field. He swung a leg over the bleacher rail and pulled himself up. He flicked his hair back..then quickly looked down again.







I was speechless. I reached out and pulled him close. Tears filled my eyes.







"I love you, Matt. I'm proud of you," I whispered.







He pulled away, looked up and after a few seconds of silence said quietly, "It just stinks. For Terrance and the rest of the Seniors, it's over. Soccers over. I feel bad for them."







I swallowed hard, to hold back more tears.







Bobby arrived.







I watched him, with relief. I mentally focussed all of my pitiful listening skills on my man. What would he say? How could I learn from his gift of knowing just what to say?







He smiled sympathically at his son. Then he shrugged and said, "You got here. Most teams never do."







Matt nodded.







"You do have trail mix," his dad said with a grin.





"Trail mix will make it better?" Matt said with a twinkle in his eye.

I stood quietly. That's all? Is there no more we can say...to make him feel better? To give clarity? To make it make sense?

Silence.

Yes, Michaela. Winning is fun...and yes, Matt, losing does stink.







As your mom I feel inept to know what to say, how to help, how to encourage you in your faith during the poopy times of life.





I don't.





I do want to be there. I'm not sure exactly how it makes a difference, but it must. I'm sorry I can't give you more. It stinks that I can't give you more.

But wait...

Maybe 'the more' can only come from another place, another source...and praise His name if it isn't Jesus.

The only One who can take an L and make it a W.

Thanksgiving

The smell of turkey, a warm kitchen packed with family, laughter, noise and running children. Thanksgiving brings lots of memories. I also quickly think of my mom because it's her favorite holiday. As a kid, (I mean 'child' - my mother hates the term 'kid') I never understood my mom's favorite holiday choice. I mean, who picks thanksgiving as their favorite holiday?



My mother...that's who.



I am majorly tearing up. My mom totally embodies the spirit of thanksgiving. So many of my memories are of my mother happily whistling around the house. She actually whistled hymns. She told me once that her dad whistled tunes and that's something she picked up from him. But she didn't just whistle any tune, her favorite was "How Great Thou Art."



My mom is not a woman who has had it easy. She had 6 children in 8 years. She definitely worked in the home and out. The air hockey and pool table downstairs always looked they they were regurgitating the junior miss section of J.C. Penneys. Did I mention the ever wet basement...running girls around to basketball games and working full time as my father's dispatcher for his trucking company of 100 plus trucks?



If any woman ever had a right to complain or grumble or be overwhelmed it would be my mother...Eunice Hackenberger.



She rarely did. She worked hard. She still does. She chose to look at the blessings in her life...her man, (like that mom?...notice I didn't say your boss :)), her daughters, her God.



My mom is truly amazing. For her thanksgiving is not a holiday, but an attitude, a way of life. Thanks mom!

Bangs!

Bangs! Not a big deal for most people. I am not most people. I have a humongous collic.


It separates my bangs like warm gravy from the fat.

I sat in my hairdresser's chair several weeks ago.


"What do you want?" Chris asked.


After a busy day of teaching children, I felt brain dead. I couldn't think.


"Do you want a highlight or more brown pulled through your hair?"


Once again I stared at Chris with the stare of my daughters when I ask them if they've gotten their chores done.


I began, "I don't feel like deciding. You're the professional. Do what you think."


After saying that, I immediately felt relief which quickly turned to fear.


Chris looked intently at my big forehead, "I say let's do some heavy bangs and trim the rest."


"Bangs? I can't have bangs. I have a collic, remember?" I asked.

"You can't do wispy bangs. You can do heavy bangs," Chris said.


"Wow...I thought I couldn't have bangs."


Chris began adding color through my hair. She rinsed it. Then asked me to go back to my styling seat. As I sat down, I glanced in the mirror.


Fear! Fear! Fear...pulsated through my being.


What if she cuts my bangs and I don't like them? What if I don't know what to do with them? What if they look horrible? I glanced in the mirror at my ever-present, growing larger by the second, forehead. I hate my big forehead! What if I hate my bangs more?


Chris nonchalantly picked up her scissors and brought them to my hair. She looked calm and knowledgeable. Could she not tell I was starting to sweat like I did in Freshman Speech?

She pulled up a small segment of hair. Her scissors opened. It was like the slow motion in a movie before something dramatic happens.


"I'm scared!" I shouted, clutching her hand with the scissors.


Embarrassment spread like icing on a warm cake.


I looked around. Everyone was looking at me. Chris looked intently and questioningly at me.


Chris smiled, holding back what surely must be a full-belly laugh. "It's just hair," she replied calmly.


"No," I countered back. "To you it's just hair. You are good at hair. You know what to do with new hair. I don't. I'm not a hair person."


She smiled reassuringly and with one snip, I had bangs.


She finished cutting my hair. Thirty minutes later, while climbing out of the chair and glancing quickly in the mirror, I still wasn't sure.


When I first met up with my husband that night, it was during prayer meeting. He said nothing. He must not like it, I thought. Well, I'm not sure I like it either, I thought, while continuing my thought conversation with the man, who was either oblivious to my new hair or decidely against it, but unable to tell me.


After church, when he got home, he stared at me. I did not like it! My least favorite thing to talk about is hair. "Your hair looks good," he said casually as he hung up his coat.


Then he walked into the living room and started channel surfing.


That's it! All I got was that? Did he mean it? Was he sensing my insecurity and trying to make me feel better?


I glanced into the living room. He was already engrossed in a cop show.


The next morning I got up a little early. I needed to be sure that on my debut hair day it looked as good as I could do. I didn't wash it for fear it would look better a day-old but done by Chris, rather than fresh, but in the hands of an amateur.


I went to school.


No one noticed! (O.K. nobody except Linda, who was in the beautyshop, too.)


What could I make of it?


Two weeks later I met my beautiful 5 sisters, with (you guessed it) great hair, along with my mom and dad for my dad's 75th birthday. I checked to be sure my hair was as good as I could get. It was fine.


As we exchanged hugs....nobody noticed!


How could these sisters of mine not notice? Growing up they noticed if I had black socks instead of blue with my jeans. They noticed if a new pimple was starting to pop out along my hairline and handed me the consealer. They noticed if I said the word 'mirra' instead of 'mirror.' How could they not notice?


They didn't.


The next day, Carla said, "I noticed your hair looked really cute last night." Several other sisters chimed in agreement.


I smiled. "Oh it's just hair."

Dutch Blitz

Have you ever played Dutch Blitz? Last night Michaela challenged me to a game. It's fast paced and demands constant thinking, watching and slapping cards down into a center pile (with one hand, mind you) trying to be quicker than your opponent.

The first time I played Dutch Blitz I loved it. Matt showed me how to play several years ago. Let me say that more truthfully, I hated it because he killed me at it. Yet, I knew I would love it as I played it more and got better.

I have played that game 100 times...I am NO BETTER! I now hate Dutch Blitz. I always lose. No matter how many people play I am always the loser.

Now for those of you that simply play to have fun, you may not get this. Part of the fun of playing a game is in the unpredictability of who will win. Part of the fun of playing a game is the anticipation 'It may be me.'

I have no such anticipation!

Michaela tried to console me the other day. "Mom you should play grandma. You could actually win!"

I made a discovery last night...always losing at Dutch Blitz is not the only reason I do not like it.

Madison joined us after soccer practice. We started the game over...yes, Michaela graciously let me start over instead of continuing on with the 113 to 17 previous score. ("At least you're not in the negatives" she said with a smirk.)

So as I was flipping every third card over to see if I could play any in the center...I heard it! The sound I hate in Dutch Blitz.

Slap, slap, slap-slap-slap...the sound of Madison pelting the center piles with her cards.

I felt anxiety rise up in the pit of my stomach..."the game is passing me - I should be throwing cards in - red 5? - no I just have a 6! - wait...a green one just got put down-my 2? Shoot! Too late!"

If that weren't stressful enough, Michaela shouts "The yellow 7! Mom put down your yellow 7!"

"Yellow 7?" I ask stupidly. "Where's my yellow 7?" "Oh" I grab it and just miss the pile as Madison's yellow 7 glides onto the pile first.

Gosh, writing about this is giving me clarity. This doesn't even sound like a fun game! Why would anyone want to play it? I'm confused and I know (sort of) how the game works.

I hate Dutch Blitz because the sound of others "getting somewhere" brings ridiculous anxiety to me. I feel like I am getting passed by. I am missing my opportunities. I am being left in the dust.

Sometimes I feel like that in life.

I'm already 44. Where am I getting? What am I doing? Am I making my life count?

When I look around and see others zipping through life, getting master's degrees, going on expensive vacations and having it all...I might think, "What am I doing?" O.k., I do think "What am I doing?"

Then I hear it. A very small but comforting voice inside the pit of my stomach. A voice that is nothing like a game of Dutch Blitz...more like a Starbucks Peppermint White Mocha.

It whispers..."Darling, look what you do have. An amazing husband who you are crazy about. (D'ya like that, honey?) Four children who just thinking about them makes you tear up with pride. And Me...the God of the Universe who is doing more in your little peon life than you could ever imagine.

Nothing is passing you by! Drown out those loud slapping sounds with the sound of my voice. I'm here to remind you as often as you need.

I love you! Trust me! We are going somewhere...together. :)

I gotta love that!

Just one question...what ever happened to the card games where everyone takes their turn?

Meredith's First Kiss

Meredith came home from school today...with a smile as overflowing as my laundry basket. Of course, the second I walked in she was telling me all the details of her school day...in breakneck speed with no breaths.



Today was different, though.



She began by talking about what she had written. Her teacher, Mrs. Hochgraber, had asked them to think about a story they could write which had lots of emotion.



Meredith smiled demurely and continued..."So I wrote about the time I was helping in the 2's/3's class for church. We helped the rambunctious little kids line up and go into the big gym to play on the bounces. Then we had to help them take off their shoes."



Meredith continued on, "I felt this little tugging on my black gouchos. I looked down and there was little blonde haired, blue eyed Aiden."



He very quietly said, "I don't have anybody to play with."



Meredith bent down and looking into Aiden's gorgeous eyes said, "You can play with me?"



Aiden nodded, grabbing Meredith's hand. She kicked off her flip flops and the two of them jumped into the Noah's Ark Bounce. The whole time, they talked and talked and laughed and fell over.



After a little while, it was time to line up to go back to their classroom. Meredith quickly set out napkins while the teacher scooped out the cheese whales. She sat down between the little ones. She looked up as Aiden squeezed in between her and little Gabriella. She smiled at her new found friend. He beamed back.



After snack it was Movie Time! Everyone lay down on the rug to watch Veggie Tales. Aiden found his way to Meredith. Then it happened!



It happened!



Before Meredith even had a clue, Aiden cupped his chubby, dimpled hand around her neck and gave her a kiss!



"So," Meredith said smiling, "I've decided to title my writing..."My First Kiss!"