Our Loss...Heaven's Gain

I received the dreaded news today that a long-time friend lost her battle with ovarian cancer.  Although I knew her time was short, it doesn't lessen the sadness I feel. 

Friendship can transcend age differences. My friend was quite a few years older than me.  She was a wife and mother long before my husband and I married.  I met her one day on the church ball field where her husband and my boyfriend (now my husband of almost 38 years) were playing softball.  She was curious about the "new girl" that was dating the Hill's youngest son.  We sat on the hillside and did more talking than watching.  I remember her pretty red hair was cut short in a Dorothy Hammill wedge, popular in the 1970's.

Our friendship grew during summers where I was bookkeeper and she was the receptionist at our church's child care and summer camp.  Through the years, she taught hundreds, maybe thousands, of students how to read, and how to live for Christ, in four and five year-old-kindergarten. She mentored me in the art of being a godly wife and mother.  She had two sons, and I had two sons.  I don't know of a woman who loved her husband or family more.  Even in her latter years, she still thought her husband was the most handsome man she'd ever met!  She had plenty of advice for younger women on how to keep love alive through the years. 

My friend never pulled punches.  If she had an opinion, she was never afraid to express it.  You knew where you stood with her.  We may not have always agreed on every subject, but when you love someone...those are trivialities.  We just keep on loving through it all. 

Cancer is not "who you are"; it is a disease "you have".  Cancer did not define my friend.  She handled her diagnosis with grace.  Her continued faith and trust in God was an inspiration to many.  I'm sure her deepest regret was leaving her family behind...especially her dear husband. For the Christian, we know that death separates us only for a little while.  We will see each other again one day.

My dear friend, Sammie, you will be deeply missed by all the lives (little and big) you have influenced throughout the years.  Enjoy sitting at the feet of Jesus, hearing Him say, "Well done, good and faithful servant", and singing your heart out in that heavenly choir! 

Copyright 2012 Charlotte Laney

How Quickly Time Passes

Wow, when I read the date of my last Laney's Musings post, I was reminded how quickly time passes.  Calendar pages have flipped, and I've only given it a fleeting thought.  When I last wrote, it was springtime, and now here we are in the midst of summer.  Most of my outdoor potted plants are looking sad and weary, and our vegetable garden (what is left of it) is languishing in the sun from the excessive heat.  A friend said recently, "I don't have to cook my tomatoes, they are cooking on the vine". 

The one-year anniversary of my retirement has come and gone.  So many changes have occurred in my life this past year.  Last July, after years of heading out the door for work by seven thirty each weekday morning, I began adjusting to a new routine.  My to-do list in hand, with lots of plans for the future, I ventured into foreign territory.  I wish I could say I've put a check-mark beside each item on my bucket list, but that would be lying.  

In general, I am pleased with most of my accomplishments, although I've failed miserably at a few.  My exercise and weight-loss goals....well, let's just not talk about that, okay?  Spending more time with my precious grandbabies has been such a blessing.  They are growing so fast.  I see God's thumb print on their lives already.  Although at times I wish they could stay little forever, I'm also excited to envision their futures.  In the words of the wise sage, Dr. Seuss, "oh, the places they will go and the thinks they will think"!  But more importantly, I pray they develop a close personal relationship with their Creator at an early age, and that His hand keeps them close all the days of their lives.      

Seize the opportunity to build relationships with children, they are SO WORTH THE TIME.  Their curiosity is amazing, their sense of humor is contagious, and their honesty is refreshing.  Children will tell us the truth, whereas adults flatter with what we want to hear.  Point in fact, my granddaughter rubs the back of my upper arm and sweetly says, "Laney, your arms are so fluffy."  What a nice way to say, "Laney, your arms are fat".

I was reminded today of a crewel embroidery piece I stitched before our first son was born.  It hung in the nursery for many years.  Today it's tucked away --somewhere.  The piece depicts a young mother rocking her baby, and the verse quotes the last few lines of Song For a Fifth Child, by Ruth Hamilton, written in 1958.  

Mother, oh Mother, come shake out your cloth
empty the dustpan, poison the moth,
hang out the washing and butter the bread,
sew on a button and make up a bed.
Where is the mother whose house is so shocking?
She’s up in the nursery, blissfully rocking.

Oh, I’ve grown shiftless as Little Boy Blue
(lullaby, rockaby, lullaby loo).
Dishes are waiting and bills are past due
(pat-a-cake, darling, and peek, peekaboo).
The shopping’s not done and there’s nothing for stew
and out in the yard there’s a hullabaloo
but I’m playing Kanga and this is my Roo.
Look! Aren’t her eyes the most wonderful hue?
(lullaby, rockaby, lullaby loo).

The cleaning and scrubbing will wait till tomorrow,
for children grow up, as I’ve learned to my sorrow.
So quiet down, cobwebs. Dust go to sleep.
I’m rocking my baby and babies don’t keep.

James 4:13 & 14 says, "Come now, you who say, “ Today or tomorrow we will go to such and such a city, and spend a year there and engage in business and make a profit.” Yet you do not know what your life will be like tomorrow. You are just a vapor that appears for a little while and then vanishes away."

Life is short.  Time is wasting.  Invest in something worthwhile...go hug a child, rock some babies!

Copyright 2012 Laney's Musings

Mothering Instincts & Childhood Disappointments

The mothering instinct is a driving force in most females, although for some of us, it's stronger than for others.  I loved baby dolls when I was a little girl, although I wasn't always kind to them.  My parents had three children, my mom was a homemaker, and my father didn't earn a lot of money.  As children, we didn't have too many trendy toys, although I'm sure my brothers, like me, longed for them.  When I was in first or second grade, I desperately wanted a large, floppy, life-like Thumbelina doll.  She had a vinyl head, eyes that opened and closed, and a soft, squishy body.  She had a winding knob on her back that made her head, arms, and legs move just like a real baby.  When my mom and I were out shopping one day, I saw one displayed in a department store in downtown Gastonia.  It was love at first sight!  One of my friends got her for Christmas that year, and I was green with envy. 


Much of the vintage toy market today is likely driven by the childhood disappointments of baby-boomers wanting to either replace a much-loved toy or purchase one they felt deprived of as a child.  I certainly won't be satisfying my desire for a 19 inch, Thumbelina doll.  When I looked one up on EBay, the asking price was $600 for a near perfect one in the original box.  You see...I had an eye for value in future vintage items, even then.

As a child I also wanted, but didn't get, a Mattel Barbie doll and a Mystery Date game.  It's funny, today just about every little girl in the U.S. has had about twenty Barbies by the time she is four years old.  My granddaughter's Barbies are usually stripped naked and their hair looks like a rat's nest from their repeated bathtub baptisms. 

Woe is me!  I (tongue in cheek) had such a deprived childhood to not have even one "real" Barbie.  Mom got my fake Barbie with either gold or green stamps.  I loved her, but I just couldn't forget that she was an impostor.  The shoes fit, but she just wasn't Cinderella.  Well into adulthood, my mother-in-law bought me a My First Barbie doll.  I guess she got tired of hearing me lament about my Barbie-less childhood.

My mothering instinct carried over from childhood, adolescence, teen years, and adulthood.  I rescued stray kittens, tried rehabilitating (with mixed results) wayward friends, loved every minute of rearing our two sons, but grandmothering is the icing on the proverbial cake. 

Since I am now at home most days, my newest mothering instinct is as protector of baby birds in our backyard.  Yesterday, I thought I saw a cowbird climbing into our bluebird's nest.  I ran like a mad woman across our backyard to chase him out.  When I jerked open the nesting box door, a traumatized mama blue bird flew out.  Oops...my distance eyesight isn't what it used to be!  Her fuzzy bluebird babies were safe and happily chirping away.  Some things never change...God just made us mamas this way.    

Copyright 2012 Charlotte Laney

Birthday Challenge Update

I wrote a blog about a month and a half ago regarding my granddaughter's birthday wish to raise $50 in the 50 days preceding her sixth birthday.  She didn't want the money for herself; she wanted to send toys, clothes, food, and clean water to the children in Nicaragua. 

How would she know at the age of five that children in Nicaragua have needs?  Her parents have led short-term mission trips for years, and she's seen lots of photos of Haitian, Guatemalan, and Nicaraguan children in dirty, well-worn clothes, usually provided by mission-minded church congregations in the U.S.  Children in third-world countries have to grow up quickly in order to survive.  Life is hard.  Their homes don't have inside plumbing or running water.  Rivers, springs, and communal wells, often contaminated, provide their only sources of water.  Often the job of carrying heavy containers of water for long distances falls to the children.    

Village houses are usually made from scrap wood, cardboard, and sticks.  Entire families may live in one room, sleeping on pallets laid on dirt floors.  There are no glass windows.  Thatch roofs are flimsy protection from rain and wind.  Sometimes young children are raising their siblings because their parents have either died or abandoned them.  

Our granddaughter raised the $50 she wished for (and much more) through the generosity of people in the community, her church, family, school friends, and even people on the Internet she may never meet.  Someone even graciously provided airfare so that she and her family could personally take her gifts to the children in Nicaragua.  While there, they were able to share God's love by painting and making needed repairs to the village school, having an Easter egg hunt for the children, distributing clothing and toys, and feeding over 250 villagers.  My grandchildren shared many of their own toys with the village children.  I am so proud of them for their unselfishness.

This was a trip of a lifetime for our son and his family.  The photographs chronicling their week are priceless.  One can clearly see how the love of God in the hearts of His children can break down the barriers of age, language, culture, and race.  When that happens, it is a beautiful thing!   I wonder, what would life be like if children ruled the world?


Matthew 19:13: "Jesus said, "Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these." (NIV)

 

Copyright 2012 Charlotte Laney



There's No Place Like Home

My husband called me outside last night.  He wanted to show me the new home recently built in the neighborhood.  I was surprised at at how quickly it had been constructed.  The residents have already moved in, and the children will be arriving very soon, indeed.

Right outside our patio doors, a pair of Carolina wrens have built their home.  It is safely snuggled under an assortment of flower pots and other gardening stuff, haphazardly stacked in a standing window box planter I purchased last summer.  After cleaning and fresh paint, I planned to sell the planter at our booth at Carousel Horse Antiques in Locust.  It will just have to stay where it is, nothing will be disturbed until the five speckled eggs hatch and the babies fly from the nest.


Our Carolina wren neighbors are a bit sneaky.  I made a diorama in a planter to decorate the bistro table on our deck for Easter.  I mounded some garden soil, placed three stick crosses on the mound, inserted a small can to replicate the tomb, placed stones by the "door", symbolizing the crucifixion and resurrection of Jesus.  Since I was raised in the fast-food, instant gratification generation, I covered the dirt with moss collected from some shady spots in our yard, instead of waiting for grass seed to sprout.  I was quite pleased with myself; but after a few days I noticed the sticks had been moved and dirt was scattered on the table.  Our precocious grandchildren had been to visit and I thought they had been playing in it, but my husband said he had seen a small brown bird sitting in the planter earlier.  After a few more days passed, almost all of the moss had disappeared.  Now I know where the moss went.  Our Carolina wren couple, used the moss, along with an assortment of sticks, small pieces of thin plastic, and whatever else they could find to construct their home.  

I can't wait to sneak peeks at the baby birds in a week or two.  I read that Carolina wrens usually lay up to four eggs, but our family has five.  The mother bird sits on the eggs for two weeks, while the father feeds her.  That's going to been one crowded nest when all those eggs hatch!  Mama bird was sitting on the nest this morning, but flew off when I got too close.  I'll have to be careful, because I don't want them to abandon their nest because of my curiosity.

You know, we can find happiness no matter where our homes are...as long as the ones we love are near.  Did you know that Carolina wrens are monogamous, working together to build their homes, and the daddies help feed and care for their young?  Daddy wrens are beautiful singers, so I think they must be quite happily married.  Humans should take lessons from them. 

To me, one of the saddest verses in scripture is Matthew 8:20.  Jesus said, "Foxes have holes and birds of the air have nests, but the Son of Man has no place to lay his head."  It's humbling to realize that Jesus, the Son of God, who created all things, became homeless to purchase my salvation.       

After Jesus' death and resurrection, He spent forty days with his disciples and others before returning to the Father.  When it was time for Him to leave them, Jesus' followers were discouraged and frightened concerning the future.  Jesus told them, “Do not let your hearts be troubled. You believe in God; believe also in me. My Father’s house has many rooms; if that were not so, would I have told you that I am going there to prepare a place for you? And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come back and take you to be with me that you also may be where I am. You know the way to the place where I am going.”

Then, Thomas said to him, “Lord, we don’t know where you are going, so how can we know the way?  Jesus answered, “I am the way and the truth and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me. If you really know me, you will know my Father as well. From now on, you do know him and have seen him.” (John 14:1:7 - NIV)

Do you know the Father and the Son?  Is Jesus busy preparing a room for you in God's house?  They are waiting...and there's no place like home.

Copyright 2012 Charlotte Laney

Spring Has Arrived!

Although the calendar hasn't quite reached the appointed day, it's springtime in North Carolina!  After being in chilly Ohio for almost a week, I returned to find my sunny-yellow forsythia and daffodils blooming their hearts out.  I took a walk around the yard with my camera yesterday to survey the changes. All creation is awakening from winter.

Yesterday, the iris shoots looked like stern rows of soldiers lined up for battle. This morning, several buds have opened to show off their feminine side...fluffy white blooms.

The little tree I begged my husband to dig up and replant in our backyard last year is covered in pink blooms.  I'm not sure if it's a wild plum or cherry; no matter, it's gorgeous!  I know my husband loves me, 'cause he stomped through mud and thorn bushes behind our house to get it.

I noticed the dogwood blossoms are still tight and green, but by this weekend they'll unfurl to pure white.  Although they are the flower of Easter, our dogwoods never seem to be able to wait until Easter for blooming.  Each dogwood blossom has four petals, forming the shape of the cross.  Holes in the blooms are symbolic of the nails that pierced Jesus' hands and feet, each red-tinged petal, a reminder Christ's blood shed in atonement for our sin.  The spiky green centers of the dogwood blossom represent the crown of thorns placed on His head.  

The beauty of springtime reminded me of lyrics in All the Earth, by Parachute Band, "hear the trees' joyful cry, praising You, and so will I".  You can listen to it by clicking on the link below.  Don't let this day pass without enjoying the beauty of God's creation.  Life is short; stop and smell some flowers along the way.

All the Earth, by Parachute Band:  http://www.youtube.com/embed/ISbbVHRT50s

Copyright 2012 Charlotte Laney

Special Delivery...from God

So far we have had an unusually mild winter.  In many places, the daffodils are blooming several weeks earlier than generally expected.  When I see their sunny, yellow faces, I am reminded of an event that happened during a dark time in my life when my mother was dying.

Alzheimer's dementia stole my mother bit by bit.  A serious fall and crushed elbow forced us to move her to a nursing facility.  My father, also in poor health, could not adequately care for her at home.  Diminished reasoning ability changed her personality drastically.  Most days she recognized me, and often called me by name, but our mother-daughter relationship was lost and I mourned it.

In January we were told my mother had three to six months to live, so Hospice was called.  For anyone who has experienced making end of life decisions for a loved one, with or without advance directives, it is heartbreaking.  We agonized over not inserting a feeding tube when she refused food.  We begged her to eat or drink, but she no longer had the desire or ability to consume it.  Her weight dropped to the point that her emaciated body evoked images of starving Jews in 1940's Nazi concentration camps.  Although the separation that death brings was dreaded, it was also recognized as a relief to her suffering.  We had no doubts of her faith in God, so we knew He was waiting for her in heaven with open arms.

In mid March, Mom was still hanging on, although she grew weaker day by day.  The sadness I felt was overwhelming.  I was working full-time, and February and March were two of the busiest months.  I was physically and emotionally drained.  Spring arrived and I hadn't even noticed.  When we came home one afternoon, I saw there were literally hundreds of daffodils blooming in our neighbor's yard...much more than ever before.   

I had a tiny thought...an unspoken prayer..."God, I would love to have some of those daffodils.  They are so beautiful."  Later, I even thought of asking to buy some.  Daddy and Mama taught us not to trespass on others' property, and never take anything that isn't yours.  I couldn't just go and pick them myself....although I must admit, the thought did cross my mind.

The next day, I was busy in the kitchen when someone knocked on the front door.  My husband went to the door, and when he returned he held a huge bouquet of yellow daffodils!  I could hardly believe it!  Tears sprung up as I wondered, how could this be?  I told no one, but God, how much I wanted those daffodils.  Apparently, God in His love for me, whispered my secret to the little girl next door.

Two weeks later, my mother died on Good Friday and spent her first Easter in heaven.  Jesus Christ, God's perfect Son, in atonement for our sins, died on what we now celebrate as Good Friday.  Three days later Jesus rose again on Easter morning...victorious over death, hell, and the grave. 

I now have daffodil bulbs planted in my own yard.  Their stalks have pushed up through the cold, winter ground, but the buds haven't opened yet.  Although spring hasn't quite arrived in my back yard, I am anxiously awaiting the return of new life and color it brings to my world. 

Since that day seven years ago, daffodils have new meaning for me.  First of all, they are reminders of God's love and care of me--even in the little things of life.  They are also examples of Jesus' death, burial, and resurrection, and the promise of everlasting life.  Trusting Jesus, I WILL see my mother again one day.    

Copyright 2012 Charlotte Laney    

Count Down to Spring

I love snow, but hate winter in general.  Living in the Piedmont of North Carolina, a good snow is rare.  What is a good snow, compared to a bad one, you might ask?  A good snow is enough snow to blanket the ground and streets so that school is closed.  A bad snow is when you are confined to the house, and can't get to the grocery store (or the mall) when the need arises.    

Since snow is rare here, our city/county budget doesn't require us to spend a fortune on snow-moving equipment, as is the case for our northern neighbors.  When the weather forecast gives us the slightest promise of a few flakes, our citizens head out in droves--clearing grocery store shelves of Fruit Loops, Oreos, milk, and bread...you know, life's necessities in case of a natural disaster.  If we actually get any snow, the local news stations will suspend coverage of all regularly scheduled programs to give us a play by play of the event, including standing in the middle of the street with a ruler to measure one-inch of snow.  I know, it's pathetic!  But there I'll sit, eating popcorn, watchng their minute-by-minute coverage.

So far this year, I haven't seen a single flake, zilch.  Without the slightest encouragement of snow covering the brown ugliness of my January landscape, I am utterly miserable.  Life isn't worth brushing my hair or getting out of my pajamas.  Okay, that might be a bit of hyperbole, but you get the gist of my mid-winter mood. 

Each year, I passionately await each tiny sign of spring.  Once the calendar flips past December twenty-first, winter solstice, I note the sun comes up a few minutes earlier and goes down a few minutes later each day.  I've already pushed my fingers under the pine needles to feel for the sprout of daffodils.  When their sunny faces appear, and the forsythia buds burst open, we're on the backstretch of the race for spring.

This year we might not have a "good" snow, but when our city's abundant Bradford pear trees drop their snowy white petals in a warm spring breeze....it's the next best thing!

Copyright 2012 Charlotte Laney
     

Mama's Sewing Machine

Mama would be so proud of me.  Last night I pulled out the portable Brother sewing machine I was so excited to receive for Christmas two (or was it three?) years ago.  I'm not admitting I'm mechanically challenged, but even after reading the instruction book (and I do know how to read), I couldn't figure out how to get the cover off the bobbin case.  Yay...my "not" mechanically challenged  husband figured it out in short order and I was on my way!  But my frustration continued when the bobbin thread ran out and had to be reloaded, then the top thread broke repeatedly, and I had to rethread the machine.  I must admit the spool of thread looks like it's been chewed on by a puppy.  Since it's been a very long time since there has been a puppy in this house, therein might lie the problem...old and brittle thread.   

My Mama was a great seamstress.  I'm sure she learned the art out of necessity since she made her own clothes, and most of mine.  She also made my brothers' school shirts when they were younger.  I'm sure they probably laugh looking at those early elementary school pictures wearing their buffalo-check shirts with huge collars.  But, every other boy their age was wearing the same style, so they didn't look out of place. 

I have early memories of "helping" Mama cut out pattern pieces from the thin tissue paper.  She would take the patterns and lay out her fabric on the kitchen table to cut out a new garment.  She never followed the pattern for cutting, she always folded the fabric this way and that, making sure she used the least amount of fabric.  I didn't realize at the time, but she was an engineering marvel.  Sometimes she pinned patterns to the fabric, but usually she let me lay silverware on the pattern pieces to weight them down, then cut the fabric.  I thought that was the "fun" way to do it.  She would then take the pieces and carefully stack them for sewing.    

Mama's sewing machine was a Singer cabinet model with gold scroll work.  With Daddy's meager earnings, it must have been a sacrifice purchase.  But, Mama could make that sewing machine sing, and the clothes she made with it were not only made from fabric, thread, and buttons...they were made with love.

Sadly, Mama never passed her sewing art down to me.  My left-handedness got in the way.  But I must confess, I took advantage of it more than once, when I didn't really care to learn something.  Oh, if I could turn back the clock, I would have been more attentive.  I'd love to have Mama stand over my shoulder today and show me how to thread this machine, and make garments out of love. 

Copyright 2012 Charlotte Laney 

Madi's Birthday Wish

Happy New Year everyone!  Can you believe it's been 12 years since the panic of Y2K?  The world didn't end and the first graders of 2000 will be graduating high school this year. 

Where does the time go?  I can hardly believe our granddaughter, Madi, will be six years old in February.  Wasn't it only yesterday we were so excited about the birth of our first grandchild?


A few days ago Madi wanted to know the number of days until her birthday.  Her parents checked, and told her there were fifty days left.  She informed them she didn't need presents for her birthday this year.  Since her parents are involved with the mission, Project 127, Madi knows $50 can feed a Nicaraguan family of four for a month.  She told them she had an idea; if people gave her $1 a day until her birthday, she would have $50 to give to Project 127 for food, clothes, toys, and clean water for the children of Nicaragua.  Pretty good math for a kindergartner, right?


Our son videoed her birthday wish and posted it on the website of the global fundraising platform, IndieGoGo.  Like the biblical account of Jesus using the little boy's loaves and fishes to feed the multitude, within three days Madi's $50 birthday wish grew to over $500.  More friends donated to her cause today at church, and this evening Charlotte's Fox News affilliate wants to interview her. 

Who knows what the Lord will do with the simple wish of a child in the next 47 days?  The need is great in the country of Nicaragua, but we have a big God.  In the words of Isaiah the prophet, "....and a little child shall lead them."  We may not be able to do everything, but we can do something to make a difference in 2012.

Copyright 2012 Charlotte Laney