changes

I thought several times this week about calling my mom and talking to her again...but before the thought is even complete, I let it go. My Mom died 3 years, 5 months and 10 days ago, on June 17, 2007. In the days before she found out she had cancer, we'd talk a lot around the holidays, mostly about cooking and recipes. We could discuss a good dinner and dessert!

Since Byron's unplanned early retirement, we are spending more time in Alabama and this year we celebrated a good Thanksgiving there with our eldest daughter, Amy, Lane and Sid and our good friends, while Holly and her family feasted with other family members in FL. It was different and even though we had a great time, I missed our usual get together with both our daughters and families.

My body is getting cranky. Walk across one field too many in the cold morning or wear the wrong shoes and it lets me know I've committed a great error that I will regret at 2 a.m. Eat right before bedtime and acid reflux will raise its ugly head. Plan too many things to do right in a row and my ability to multi-task becomes non-existent--either my brain can't--or won't--wrap itself around the list--and in which order to do them--or I just slow down to a crawl and don't come near to finishing them all.

My dog, Treasure, is having a problem with her hip. She's limping after laying in one position for a long time. There's nothing wrong with her foot. I checked. She's eleven years old, 69 in dog years, and I think she's just struggling to move around when she used to be so spry and lively as a pup--about 6 months ago. Right!

All these changes. Crazy, huh? I have a fifteen year old granddaughter! I have a ten year old granddaughter! I have an eight year old grandson! What happened? I didn't plan all this. They are growing up way too fast. Next time I blink they will be married with children of their own--if the Lord wills.

I've never been one who embraced change easily. Too many years ago, when I was a teen myself, I got upset when Pepsi Co put eight 16 oz bottles in a carton instead of the six they'd always had until then. Silly, I know, but I liked it the way it WAS and sometimes I still have trouble with changes. Oh, not so much the soda pop ones any more, but the big, life altering ones shake me up--like grandkids who are no longer my babies, painful legs in the middle of the night, limping dogs, unplanned retirement and the death of loved ones. These changes--these shifts in MY plans--have caused many fearful moments and not a few tears.

...Praise your God! He made your city secure, he blessed your children among you. He keeps the peace at your borders, he puts the best bread on your tables. He launches his promises earthward—how swift and sure they come! He spreads snow like a white fleece, he scatters frost like ashes, He broadcasts hail like birdseed—who can survive his winter? Then he gives the command and it all melts; he breathes on winter—suddenly it's spring! Psalm 147:12-18

I've been in the place where it seemed to be the middle of winter in the heat of July--when circumstances seemed bleak and disheartening and that the sun would never shine again. Sometimes I STILL feel this way. I was feeling especially overwhelmed by life changes when I found this section of verses, when I discovered that despite the depths of winter that HE allows, at His own command, it all melts and SUDDENLY IT'S SPRING! Winter may be here now, but summer is on its way. I may always struggle with change but with the Lord's breath on winter, it's going to be all right. The seasons will change. THIS season will change. What a relief!

Father, I'm so glad I'm not in charge. Even though I don't always understand your direction and choices for us, I know they are the best ones. There is one season I'm in right now that I wish would pass. Sometimes it's especially tough for me--like right now. I pray you will breathe on this winter and let it be spring. I love you so much and am trusting you for the answer to my prayer.

Suz

screaming ankles and cries for help

I had a very busy day today. I spent much of it in my best athletic shoes, running up and down the porch steps and back and forth through an unfamiliar super Walmart. By bedtime my ankles were screaming!

I took something to relieve the pain and went to bed. After dozing and waking and turning over and over again--kinda like a rotisserie chicken--I finally told Byron I was getting up for a while--but before my feet actually hit the floor, in a split second prayer--I asked the Lord why I had to get up. He said I needed to answer a friend's request for prayer. I had intended to send her a letter in the morning, but the Lord showed me that I needed to encourage her NOW.

So, that's what I did. I got up and wrote to her but since it was so late, she may not get it until morning, but I feel like I did what the Lord told me to do. It makes me wonder how many other sleepless nights the Lord tried to show me something and I didn't hear it or see it. Now I wonder if I had even asked Him why I was awake.

What strikes me most about this event tonight is the Lord's compassion for his children. Yes, my ankles hurt badly--but He knows how much my friend needed to hear from her friend. Her cries for help touched the heart of God himself. Her pain moved the Lord to allow me a bit of misery so she could receive support from her friend.

I am so glad the Lord will get one of His children out of the bed to help another one. I'm sure there have been times He's done it for me. I pray that next time I can't sleep--for whatever reason--I will ask Him, "Why?" If I were a betting woman, I'd bet He'd tell me!

Father, thank you for having compassion on my good friend. Thank you for answering our prayers for her. Thank you for your total and merciful love. I love you with all my heart.

Suz

roses at midnight

I was sitting out on my front porch tonight waiting for Treasure to potty one more time before bed when I noticed how beautifully my roses were blooming. They are pop-out roses...I think that's the name...and they bloom like crazy! Cut them back and it's only a few days before there are oodles of blooms again! They outdid themselves tonight!

Bloom after bloom, wide open--smelling great--smiling--just waiting for someone to notice them! They are amazing, and all this at night! In the dark with no one to smell them, to gaze on their beauty, to appreciate them--and yet they bloom on! I see them and smell them, but even I go back inside because it's late.

Why all this beauty with no audience? Why is there no one to applaud and appreciate them?

Then I realized that my roses have the best audience ever. Their fragile flower lives are not insignificant. The same Lord who designed them, painted their pretty pink petals, and gave them their sweet scent appreciates them fully because nothing the Lord does is insignificant.

In the same way, our lives are designed by God. He made me just like I am--with all my quirks...and qualities. Just as He selected the exact shade of pink for each petal of my roses and their specific scent, He chose which genes came together from my gene pool to make me exactly me--from my Bryant bone structure and body shape, to my mother's nose, or to my brain function (whether quick or slow). Each one was selected especially by God to create me. Whether I specifically like each one or not, they are part of who I am.

"Before I formed you in the womb I knew you..."Jeremiah 1:5

Even though others may not always appreciate my characteristics...even though I may not always appreciate my uniqueness...He does. I am not a mistake and neither are you! He sees me--He sees us as we are through eyes of grace and mercy. His grace and mercy!

We are His roses, so whether I feel invisible or in the spotlight, insignificant and vulnerable or valued and worthwhile, whether I feel insufficient or content--even when no one else sees--I know that He sees me and appreciates me for who I am. I am His rose at midnight.

Father, None of us are insignificant to you. Thank you for your hand in our design and for your eyes on us, your roses. We are important to you and we bask in your light even in the darkness of midnight. I love you!

Suz

searching

I've been blogging since Dec '06, and it's been more rewarding than I'd ever expected. When I started, I thought I'd write a few things and my family and close friends might read it, but I never thought anyone from another country would read what I'd typed. That is, until I put the Sitemeter on my page and found out they were reading what I'd written!

I am curious enough, or vain enough, to want to know where my readers are located. Sitemeter gives me lots of information, but no names, etc. It just lets me know where in the world my readers are. I love that those close to me are reading, but I have been constantly amazed that people all over the world are reading my blog.

Granted, there aren't a bunch of them, but over the last four years I have had readers in England, Ireland, Scotland, Sweden, and Thailand, as well as, Africa, Canada, Poland and New Zealand. Just in the last four WEEKS I have had readers in New Dehli, India, Phillipines, Turkey, Netherlands, Australia and New York City!

As far as I can tell, I don't personally know these readers, but EVERY ONE of them has one thing in common, and it's not that they love reading my blog because I'm famous the world over for my wit and wisdom. The common thread is that each one of them has searched Google for "peace of mind and heart, " or "how to find peace of mind and heart."

People the world over are shaken by the events of the day. There are floods, earthquakes, riots, financial ruin, catastrophic disease, and private emotional wars raging every moment of the day. Women and men are searching for what is lacking in their lives--stability, a firm foundation--protection in the midst of turmoil. Of course, we all want the storm, whichever one it is, to end, but we crave peace in the middle of what's raging, even more! We all do.

What did they find when they checked out my blog? Well, I have one post entitled "peace of mind and heart," dated January 16, 2008, and the first paragraph is,

John 14:27 "I am leaving you with a gift – peace of mind and heart. And the peace I give isn't like the peace the world gives. So don't be troubled or afraid. "

How like our loving Lord to send one troubled person here, another devastated person there, to the website of a small town, southern woman, where the first words of her post are His words of true comfort and security. Only He knows what that person is struggling with or going through. Only He can DO anything about her, or his, life struggles and troubles. The Lord promises us that when we seek Him we will find Him.

Peace of mind and heart. Peace--of mind. Peace--of heart. The Lord longs to give us what we so desperately need, so much so, that he directs a young Thai student, a Swedish mom of three kids, a middle-aged Phillipino teacher, or a Turkish shopkeeper to His Word of life typed in a blog from thousands of miles away. Now, that's a loving God, and it shows us all that He can even use seemingly insignificant resources to accomplish His desires!

We are to be salt and light and know that they will give the glory to God. Our savor will show His love for us and the world. His light in us will show Him to the world! Even if it seems so to you, what you do as a child of God is not minor. He will use it for His glory. He will make it more than we can ever dream or imagine.

Father, thank you so much for your attention to our cries for peace in a turbulent world. Thank you for loving us so much that you will stop at nothing to show us your love in practical ways. I pray that anyone who reads my simple words will see You in them. I pray for deep, abiding peace for us all, in You. Thank you. I love you so very much, Lord.

Suz

quiet time and peace

The last month or so has been a whirlwind. We've been to Alabama a couple of times, Kayla has started going to community college and Byron's mom died about two weeks ago. It's been way too busy, full of new adjustments, and extremely emotional. Seems like there's no time to breathe, let alone decompress.

Some people don't like solitude or private time. For me it's a necessary thing. Without it I feel swamped with things to do--with things to think about. Sometimes I just need time to think--to unwind. To pray.

It's why I often stay up late at night. Byron goes to bed pretty early and Kayla goes to her room to do homework or whatever, I put the three pups to bed and I stay up. Sometimes I read, or research stuff on the internet, or check out friends on Facebook or just watch reruns of Law and Order. There's something calming about a quiet house. I don't have to take anybody with 4 legs and a tail outside to potty. I don't have to talk. I don't have to get up unless I want to get up. I put my mind in neutral and coast for a little while. I might think about a family issue or plans for the next few days or, if I do the best thing, I think about the Lord and talk to Him.

Those big issues, those family situations, they are the Lord's specialty. It can be hard to find someone to listen to your problems, or give you sound advice, but the Lord lives for this stuff--for these special times when we are troubled or vulnerable or just still enough to hear His voice. The Lord won't shout us down, in fact, He will do just the opposite. "Behold, I stand at the door, and knock: if any man hear my voice, and open the door, I will come in to him, and will sup with him, and he with me." Rev 3:20 The Lord politely knocks and waits to be invited in--to be included in our lives. Sometimes I struggle with behaving politely...HA! I know you all are saying, "Well, YEAH!" But Jesus never bullies or yells or coerces anyone to spend time with Him. That's why it's so very special when we are alone with Him. We have His undivided attention. He listens to us. He gives us the best advice there is. He loves us enough to help us, but also enough to tell us the truth, not only about how to handle a problem but also how to handle ourselves and our shortcomings. He doesn't brow beat us down. He is the light and he simply shines on our path, on our heart, and shows us where we need to move up, to do better. There are so many places his light shines on my life and I need the down time to see them--to make plans to change them. To change them.

We all need work. There's not a one of us who is perfect in practice yet. Oh, but one of these days! I try hard most of the time to genuinely do well--to do the Lord proud. To walk in the place of peace and contentment and kindness. Sometimes, I'm there and I love it. Other times, not so much. I'm crabby and irritable and occasionally just plain mean. Yep. Mean. Not Christlike at all. Those are my most miserable days because I want so much to be better than this. I long for the best the Lord has for me, and being grumpy won't cut it. So I pray. I ask Him in and I ask the Lord to make me more like Him. I believe He will because spending time with him changes me. He changes me. It's a good thing.

My whirlwind will continue for at least the next couple of weeks--probably longer. And, I'll stay up late for time with Jesus because I won't find what I really need online or on Law and Order reruns. Knowing that he's my answer.--that He'll make a difference in my life. He's the peace I need.

Father, Thank you for your peace. Thank you for quiet time and opportunity to decompress. Thank you for knocking at my door and for guiding me in your way. I need YOUR way. I love you. Help me hear you and do what you say.

Suz

mom to mom

I've fallen down in a big way in getting to know my neighbors. Our neighbor's son died this week of a heart attack. He was 37 years old and used to wait on the school bus with our girls as kids. I took some food to the family yesterday and talked with the mom for just a few minutes and she let me pray for her and her family, but I don't really know her even though we've lived a few houses away from one another for nearly 30 years.

I knocked on the door and was invited inside where she and her other son watched a little television--passing the hours, the minutes. She seemed peaceful in her recliner as she held her coffee in one hand and tightly grasped my hand with the other. As I prayed for her, her grip grew tighter and afterward her gaze on me was strong. Not uncomfortably so, just intense--mom to mom.

I asked her a few questions about Paul. He'd already had a heart attack once before and open heart surgery. It was the second one that was fatal. His mom said he didn't want to die in the hospital. She said he wanted to be at home when it happened. I told her, "There's nothing wrong with that."

My visit was a short one. I didn't really know what more to say after praying. She thanked me for the food and I walked out the door and down the street back to our house.

Her quiet demeanor, her pain, her gaze, spoke volumes to me--deep unto deep. I can't get her off my mind and I've prayed for her often since yesterday. I don't know how mothers let their children go--even in death where there is no choice but to release them.

My heart breaks for her. Her tragedy pulls at me. I am so very sorry she is going through this--this neighbor, this stranger who lives a few houses down. Life can be so hard, so devastatingly and so unutterably sad. I pray her son was a Christian. I pray the Holy Spirit will comfort this grieving mother.

I pray I will be a better neighbor.

Lord, help me be your hand extended more than ever before. You've never let me down. I love you more than words can say.

Suz

family and Friday night

Our kids came over on Friday night for a family dinner. Something we haven't done in a while. Seems like it's been crazy lately with everything and getting together just hasn't happened. See, the thing is that getting together never "just happens." It's got to be scheduled in, planned and done deliberately. It's worth it to make the effort. We had a great time! I can't wait till we can do it again.

We didn't do anything fancy. I grilled some chicken and cooked a few side dishes. Amy brought a great salad with all the yummy accoutrement and Holly made a fantastic Not Yo' Mama's Banana Pudding for our dessert. All together, it was delicious meal! But the best part was having us all together. The girls and I laughed and talked about recipes, etc., the guys talked hunting, property, etc., and the younger ones chased chickens, carried chickens, and watched tv, while Hannah goofed off with us older girls and drove the golf cart around.

Each time I got close to one of my grandkids, I hugged and held on tight, whispering to her...or him...how much I loved each one. How glad I was to have them at my house. These children are my heart. I have missed them tremendously. I didn't want to let them go. As the evening progressed I thought about how blessed Byron and I are. I wouldn't change anything about my girls, their husbands or their children. This is the family God has given us. They are a perfect fit and I am grateful for them all.

And that's it. There's no huge story to tell. Nothing overtly exciting happened. We got together, ate a great meal, and enjoyed the evening. And for this, I am humbly grateful.

Father, thank you. Thank you! You are good to me. You are good.

Love,

Suz

real strength

I never considered myself physically strong as a kid. An athlete, I was not. I couldn't hit a softball very far. I wasn't a fast runner. I was a lousy arm wrestler. I also never considered myself to have a strong personality either. I wasn't popular in school with a grand following of friends, and when I tried to boss my siblings around they never listened to me. I know. I know. But it was all very frustrating anyway. I hated feeling vulnerable and powerless. I hated feeling weak.

There was a season of time though, in my 30's and 40's and early 50's when I was physically strong and mentally determined to do whatever necessary to handle whatever task was set before me. I had a husband and younger children that needed taking care of and I did it. During those years I worked part time jobs, taught children's church, took painting classes, volunteered full time at our church's food pantry, went to Vo-Tech and earned a certificate in Data Processing, and then earned my BA in English, with honors. I didn't strut around like Wonder Woman thinking I was invincible and able to leap tall buildings in a single bound, it's just that when I had a project or job to do, the necessary strength and energy to do it were there. They were always available for the job.

One benefit of accomplishing some of these things is that during that time I became more confident in who I was...who I am--enter more 'strength.' But, as the birthdays pile up, I find myself feeling more and more physically vulnerable. I still can't run worth a flip and I'm still a lousy arm wrestler. At nearly 58 yrs old, I doubt that's going to change much. There was a split second that I considered going on to earn my MFA in Creative Writing but I think that window is closed for the time being. I don't have the desire...I don't have the energy to do it right now. I need my go-get-em for other things, other projects, other dreams to reach for before my time here is through.

That's another thing I think about because of my age. I wonder how much time I have before the Lord calls me home. Now, don't get all goosey on me. I'm not being morbid. The fact is, I know a lot of people my age and older who are still thriving and doing well, but I have already read too many obits of classmates, acquaintances, friends and family who were about my age not to notice it. I'm just being practical. I want my years, however few or many, to be about the important stuff. I want to be walking in fellowship with the Lord so close that I don't make foolish missteps that cost precious time with Him. Enter real vulnerability.

Lately, I find that when I let down my guard and allow myself to be genuinely vulnerable with my Father, peace flows like a powerful river in my heart, steady and sure. Trust grows. Prayers become less of me telling Him exactly how I'd like Him to fix something and more of me bring my concerns to Him and asking Him to do what is best--in His own way. My confidence is still there, but it's confidence in my Father and His wisdom, not in my own. My resources are still available but they are in Him. Our bodies are made to grow up, be strong, grow old, then weaken. Our spirits are made to mature and discover our true strength is not in ourselves, but in the Lord, and our vulnerability, our powerlessness, and our weakness all show His strength. For when I am weak, He is strong.

Jesus loves me this I know. For the Bible tells me so.

Little ones to Him belong, they are weak but He is strong.

I love being one of His little ones.

Lord, let me always be weak--be vulnerable--with you. I need your strength, your wisdom and your direction. Thank you for caring about me...about us, your children. You are good. I love you.

Suzanne

the continuum

This is the last of the posts on my dad for a while. Though not nearly perfect, he was our family's champion. He was a loyal man and generous to a fault with acceptance and tolerance of others. I hope you have enjoyed meeting him.

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I've written a few stories about my dad but there are many more interesting things about him. For example, he was a TV repairman when sets had tubes and he was also a meat cutter. The TV repairman job didn't work out as well as he had hoped, so he was mostly a meat cutter. When he'd cut himself at work, which was often, he'd take himself to the Dr's office, get stitches then come home early. Then, when it was healed he removed his own stitches. Ewww. I was grossed out, but I still loved to sit at the kitchen table and watch him clip the threads and pull them out of his hand. His white shirts were always bloody from the meat market but that was just the norm for our house.

He wasn't much of a hunter but once in a while he'd go with Uncle Bill. One time he got a pheasant and brought the foot home to me. He showed me how to pull the tendon at the top, so the foot would close and grasp. I brought it in for show and tell.

I was a hit.

My classmates were amazed. I kept the foot in my desk in a Whitman's Sampler candy box with my other treasures the rest of the school year.

That's another thing. For every birthday, holiday and anniversary, Dad brought Mom a Whitman's Sampler. She loved it. We did too because she always shared with us. Of course, she always got to choose her favorite piece first.

When he left early for work before we got out of bed, he wrote poems to Mom and us with his red meat marking pen on the laundry cards that came out of his shirts. They went something like this:

Good morning to you, my beautiful wife
and my darling daughters three.
I have get out and go to work
so I'm not here, you see.
So have a good day
while the sun shines bright,
it won't be too long
and I'll see you tonite.

He was also given some pigeons which he kept in our large garage out back. He wasn't much of a keeper though--not very tidy--and the whole mess turned into a 2 1/2 car bird house. Yes, it's as bad as you imagine it was. ICK!

For each of several, icy Michigan winters Dad spent one freezing cold night making us an ice skating rink out of most of our backyard. He'd carefully bank the snow for the rink. Then he'd fill it with a layer of water, wait a couple of hours till it froze and fill it again. In layers. He explained if it was frozen in layers, there would be no pockets of water to pit and it would be stronger and smoother this way. Layer after layer, it would take him all night to complete it. We were the only kids in our neighborhood with our own ice skating rink in our back yard.

In the nearly 20 years since my dad died I have recognized some similarities between us. Curiosity, a quick temper and a mischievous gleam in my eye have gotten me into trouble more than once, and when I feel that golden itch to understand or learn something new, or I speak too sharply or I tease my granddaughters until they laugh at me, he's there. And sometimes, when the weather cools and the holidays hover, I walk outside at night and I see my dad sitting on top of the picnic table waiting for me to return home from a date. He's smoking a cigarette, looking at the stars in the clear, black skies, listening for the panther's scream.

my dad and cars

I was fourteen when we moved from the suburbs of Detroit to sixteen acres in rural, central Florida. We went from walking to school and neighborhood stores, to school buses and needing a car for every activity away from home. Instead of a gang of kids in our neighborhood around for play we had two teenage girls as our only nearby peers. There was a huge culture shock for my younger siblings and me but my dad had been raised in the north Georgia mountains and was in his country-style element. There were orange trees and two small lakes on our property and the undeveloped area was populated by possums, raccoons, snakes, hawks and even a Florida panther. My dad spent most of his off work hours exploring fields and back roads in his 1960-something red Chevy Bel-Air.

Mom always said when my dad got his hands on a car that no one else could ever drive it. When anything broke, he fixed it, but his way of fixing it was to rig it. The trunk didn't have a keyhole. It used to be a key hole. Now it was just a hole. He had a pair of vice grips in the floor of the back seat that he used to open it.

Groceries never went into the trunk when Mom used it to go shopping. They were lined across the back seat and in the floorboard because even if she could have maneuvered the vice grips to open the trunk, it was loaded with one of every tool my dad owned. There were also rolls of electrical tape, pieces of wire, tins of grease, quarts of oil and brake fluid in there. Just in case he needed it.

My dad wasn't known for being a particularly focused driver. He liked to 'sightsee.' One afternoon I saw him walking down our long, sandy driveway toward the house. He had to walk home because his car was in a ditch just down the road at the s-curve. He'd been chasing a snake across the road with his car and hadn't noticed where he was headed. His car was soon nose down in a small ravine on the side of the road.

One night after Byron and I returned to my house at my midnight Saturday night curfew, my dad met us at the door.

"B. You in a hurry to go home?"

"No, Mr. Bryant. What do you need?"

"I was driving around in the back by the lakes while a go and got stuck. It's up to the axle. Can you go with me to help me get my car out?"

Looking for any chance in the world to stay later at my house, Byron said he'd be glad to help get it out.

My dad, Byron and I went trekking out into the darkness with a flashlight and a shovel. We started walking down the path toward the lakes in the back and discovered we didn't need the flashlight because the moonlight shone nearly bright as day. I was sixteen and desperately in love so I held tightly to my guy as we traveled into the night. I stumbled, tripped and complained, making Byron also stumble and trip as we made our way off the trail into the high grasses to my dad's car.

When he'd heard enough of my complaining my dad said,

"If you'd let go of the man's arm, you could walk, Suzanne!" Patience wasn't exactly his strong suit when he was focused.

We reached the car and the two of them worked together in the bright moonlit midnight to free the thing from its sandy trap. Our ride home was jubilant and wild. We bounced all over the car as my dad drove us through the field to get us back to the house.

my chameleon

Pets weren't welcome and never fared well in our home when we were kids. We had a few kittens and I vaguely remember a couple of dogs way back when. The kittens developed a fatal affinity for hiding behind or sitting on top of our car's wheels and my mother routinely backed over them. My dad always buried the dead animal quickly and we children never saw them. If we cried when we "lost" another cat, we were sternly admonished by Mama.

"Stop it. It was only an animal."

My mother lashed out to cover the painful feelings that overwhelmed her. She never opened up very much and hid her vulnerability well. So, as a good daughter, I accepted her declarations, hid my sadness, and stifled any affection I might have had for pets. My mother once stayed upset for a long time after being the accidental executioner once again and declared that none of us kids would ever have another pet. And, we didn't--until my chameleon.

My dad bought it for me at the Michigan State Fair. He had taken us kids to the fair to give mom a break. The lizard and a small box of meal worms for food cost $1.25. The 4-inch creature had a thread tied loosely around his neck which, at the other end, was attached to a tiny gold safety pin used to secure him to my clothes. A leash and collar combo. He wasn't furry and cute like a kitten and I wasn't sure I wanted the little reptile attached to my shoulder. I didn't know anything about them. I wondered about biting and peeing. Sure, his ability to change colors to match whatever I was wearing was interesting, but it was my dad's excitement about the little guy's talent that sealed the deal for me.

After my initial hesitation, I proudly wore him around the fair that evening while his hue ranged from the bluish-green of my sweater to the red in the plaid of my blouse. I delighted in the stares and comments of the other fair-goers when they noticed him on my shoulder. I felt special. I felt brave.

Dad hadn't said anything to me but we both knew my mom wouldn't like it. The animal was too slithery and snakelike for her and she was terrified of snakes. When we got home that night, as my dad's co-conspirator, I proudly showed my mom my new present anyway. She had then what she called a "blue-nosed hissy" when I showed her my little green lizard.

She jumped back in fright, glared at me and through clenched teeth said,

"OH GOD! Get that thing out of here!"

The she went after Dad.

"MACK! What's the matter with you?"

I thought she was going to kill him. He tried to calm her down.

"C'mon, Bobbie. Just look at him."

He smiled, cajoled, and tried to sweet talk her into it. With his every ounce of boyish charm he worked hard to win her over. He cupped my lizard in his hand and tried to coax my mom into seeing how harmless it was. His eyes were full of mischief when he said,

"Look at his cute, little, pointy face and his cute, little, pointy tail."

She wouldn't have any part of it. Even with our smiling, sincere assurances that her fears wouldn't be realized and he would not "get loose in her house and scare her to death," she came completely unglued about the thing. She didn't want any creature surprises.

After much pleading, begging and even a few tears from me, she gave up and said she'd let us keep him if we promised her he'd stay in a cage down in the basement. Out of her sight. Which we did until he died 6 weeks later of natural causes. Or neglect.

As parents, Byron and I had various pets for our children in our home over the years; several dogs (including a pitbull), cats of various types such as a pregnant calico and huge male Siamese, and a little parakeet that was passed around from our house to my mother-in-law's to Holly's house because he was a very messy bird. Fun, but messy. Each one has been without emotional ties for me until eleven years ago. That's when one Christmas I deliberately determined to unpack my stifled affection for animals and learned to lavish it on a feisty, chocolate brown Chihuahua named Treasure.

my black patent leather shoes

I wore the black patent leather Mary Jane dress shoes to church every Sunday when I was eleven years old. I loved those shoes. I had gotten them for Easter, but it wasn't too long after I got them that the sole came loose from the top of the shoe and the side of my foot started sticking out of them. I knew we couldn't afford more new shoes right then, so I showed them to my dad on Saturday night before church the next morning.

He looked at my shoe and we went to the basement to fix it. I watched and asked questions at every step. He talked while he worked cleaning off each side of the opening in my broken shoe. He mixed the epoxy with its catalyst, explained catalysts to me, and carefully spread the mixture thinly over the openings. Then he placed a piece of cloth around the shoe before putting it into the vise so the vise wouldn't mar the shoe. The vise would hold the joint securely overnight until the glue could set.

The next morning while I was getting dressed for church he brought me the repaired shoe. It looked as good as new to me. My shoe only stayed together for a few hours while I was at church but I wasn't worried about it anymore. I knew he'd fix it again for me the next week.

He fixed it every Saturday night until I got a new pair.

the storm

Once in a while I dream about my dad and he's always well and happy. When I wake up I feel cheerful. He had the same effect on me when he was alive. He'd tell me a joke or an interesting animal fact he'd read or he'd try to poke me in the ribs because he knew I was ticklish. I depended on my dad to help me with my algebra homework in high school and he was the one who waited up for me when I went on a date on Saturday night. He was a peaceful man and he liked to sit outside after dark and just be quiet. Sometimes I'd sit with him and we'd listen to the night.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The Storm

I was eight years old and it was a Saturday at the turn of autumn in Michigan. It had been a drippy gloomy day but the weather turned worse in the early afternoon with strong winds, sharp lightening and lots of thunder. Passing my dad in the hallway of our small tract home, I made myself tell him I was afraid. We weren't supposed to give into our fears. Mama said it was silly and I didn't want to be a baby.

Dad stopped, thought for a moment, and ran his hand through his receding black hair. He looked at his own closed bedroom door. He knew then and I found out years later that my mother was lying across their bed with her arms over her head and her face buried into the bedspread, trying not to give into her own stormy fears.

"Come with me, Suzanne. I want to show you something."

He led me to the tiny bedroom I shared with my two younger sisters. He sat down on the edge of the roll-away bed I shared with six year old Karla and I sat on four year old Kathy's twin bed. He raised the wooden sashed window over the book laden table. I leaned on the table with my elbows toward the open screen and felt the cool breeze and rainy mist whoosh across my small, round face.

"Feels good, doesn't it,? he asked.

"Yeah."

Lightning flashed, thunder boomed, and I jumped. He looked at me through his thick black framed glasses.

"Did you see the lightning bolt? Did you notice how crooked it was when it flashed and then how it trailed across the sky?"

"It was real white, too," I said. I was very helpful.

"What about the thunder? Did you hear how full the rumble sounded? It was like it wrapped around the whole world. It sounded like drums," he said.

He pointed toward a large Maple tree in the center of our postage stamp sized front yard.

"Watch as the strong older tree stays straight and lets its branches whip around in the wind. Now, see the flexible young maple by the street bow down as the wind passes through here?"

I didn't say much as we watched. His voice was low but enthusiastic about the scene in front of us as he fed me child-sized bites of the storm.

The rain started coming down harder in great sheets across the small porch and sidewalk in front of the house.

"Suzanne, see the patterns of the rain over there on the street?"

I watched traveling sheets of water move from our yard to the street where they collided with other sheets of rain., Then they bunched up and disappeared down the drains under the curb of the street. When the next lightning flash lit up the sky and the next roll of thunder crashed, my eyes flew to Dad's face. His contented gaze didn't change as the storm raged. Taking my cues from him, I didn't jump at the next flashes and rolls. I now asked, "Daddy, did you hear that?" and said, "Oh, Daddy. Look at that one!"

I don't know how long we sat there as he pointed out the ragged, earthy beauty of the day's storm and I don't know where my little sisters were. I can't say how long my mother hid out on their bed, but I do remember my utter lack of fear when he closed the window.

my dad

I've been thinking about my dad a lot because today, August 7, is my dad's birthday. Had he lived he would have been 84 yrs old, but he died in 1990. John Mack Bryant, Jr., was not a perfect man. He was not a perfect dad--but he is the father that the Lord gave me. I have his genes in my body and despite his imperfections and because of his qualities, I am grateful to the Lord for him.

My dad was a good provider for his family. Not always well, he went to work anyway to supply food, shelter and clothing for us. He was humorous and good hearted. He looked for the deeper things in our everyday experiences. He loved nature and living things and he had reverence for our ancestors. He respected the rights and feelings of others.

He loved us and he loved my mama. Oh, how he loved my mama! It makes me smile just to think of them together. My mother was frazzled--a lot. A mostly stay at home mother with 4 children under 10 years old, I'd be frazzled too. She was often cranky but Daddy didn't pay it much mind. He'd love on her, tease her, hug her or even give her a good natured goose once in a while. I can still her her cry out, "Mack! Stop that!" We'd all laugh, even Mama.

As I thought about him today I couldn't help but wish I'd taken more time with him. He had so much to tell me about himself, our family, about life, but I was young and way too busy with my family and my little girls. I thought little about those other things. I thought I would have lots of time with him. It didn't work out the way I'd expected.

I do have some wonderful memories with him though. I wrote them down a few years ago and will post them one at a time for the next few days from my other memoir blog, Suzwrites.blogspot.com. The posts will start out of sequence because it's Byron's and my 40th wedding anniversary tomorrow so I am going to post the one about our wedding day first. The others will be in order.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Our Wedding

It was a hot, Florida Saturday night in August 1970. Byron was twenty-one years old and I was almost eighteen. The small town Church of God was comfortably full with nearly a hundred people the night we married--more than we usually had in our regular Sunday morning service.

White wicker flower baskets overflowing with daisies were placed near the two cascading candelabras at the front of the church. The glow of candles and dimmed lights softened the harsh angles of the rectangular sanctuary.

My sparkling white wedding dress with long sleeves, chiffon and lace inserts at the neckline and intricate beading , sequins and lace flowers interspersed over the length of the dress--all for $99.00 plus tax, at JC Penny--was the most beautiful dress I'd ever put on in my life.

As an adult, I now understand that despite our family's lack of saying "I love you," or telling one another our deepest feelings, that for my dad, when he calmed my fears, explained catalysts, fixed my shoes, or bought me lots of beautiful, but affordable daisies for my wedding he was showing me concrete expressions of his love.

The minister stood at the front of the church with the groomsmen all in place as my attendants promenaded down the center aisle. After my girlfriends and my sisters found their places, the organist's majestic-sounding music signaled everyone to stand and watch me walk down the aisle with my dad.

My parents had been surprisingly easy about our decision to marry at such a young age. When I told my mother what we were planning, there were no shocked reactions or arguments and only one requirement; I had to graduate from high school. The night Byron asked my dad for permission to marry they talked a long time about jobs and money and places to live. Both my parents had confidence in Byron to be a good husband to me.

Marrying at only seventeen should have scared me, but it didn't. Maybe I wasn't scared because I was seventeen and thought I knew everything anyway. I know now that marrying so young is the boldest and at the same time the most naive thing I've ever done.

I was sure I wanted to be with Byron and maybe it was because I saw some similarities between him and my dad. Opposites in most ways, they both displayed fierce loyalty to family and held great respect for the feelings of others. Despite my desire to marry him that night, queasiness overtook my stomach and my dry lips stuck together. My knees wobbled at the thought of being the center of this huge amount of attention.

The double doors opened.

It was show time.

Panic-stricken I looked into my dad's eyes, slipped my arm into his and we took a step together into the church. I said,

"I'm scared."

He smiled his crooked smile, comically raised his bushy eyebrows over the black glasses frames and said,

"Let's go, Suzanne."

We went.

As we took another step or two he bent his head down near mine and whispered into my ear,

"Look around to the left side of the church and then to the right. See all the people you know?"

I smiled and nodded to him.

"They're here because they want to see you and Byron tie the knot."

Until that moment I'd only seen faceless bodies--a nameless crowd--and it had unnerved me, but when I saw my Sunday School teacher, Mrs Bowman, my best friends from school, Rose and Alice and my sisters Kathy and Karla as my bridesmaids and all my family smiling at me, trying to catch my eye as we walked, I knew I had nothing to be afraid of. These people were my friends and family. They liked me. I returned my smiles and beamed at my dad. He only knew our immediate family there that night yet he basked in the moment proud to escort his eldest daughter to be married. We both enjoyed our stroll down the aisle.

Dad whispered to me as we walked,

"Look at Byron down there. He looks scared."

I saw Byron at the altar as he watched my dad and me walk toward him. I leaned in and whispered ,

"He's not smiling, is he?"

Byron wasn't smiling but time has proven that what we'd called fear wasn't fear at all, but solemn commitment. Dad and I shared another smile and walked a few more slow steps.

We reached the rest of the wedding party and my dad fulfilled his role of,

"Who give this woman to be married?"

He took his seat next to my mother in the pew. The ceremony proceeded, we promised to love and honor, I promised to obey, and Byron and I were pronounced man and wife. Forty years ago today.

We attended the same church for many years afterward so I know the building is small and I'm certain the aisle is short--perhaps only forty-five feet to the front--but that night, walking and talking with my dad, it was exactly as long as I needed it to be.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tomorrow: The Storm

reunions

There have been lots of talk and email communication about reunions lately. It's the year of my fortieth, read the big 4-0 year high school reunion. Good grief! I can't even type it without holding my breath a little. I absolutely cannot fathom that I've been out of anything for forty years. (We won't even mention Byron's and my 40th wedding anniversary this Sunday. It's a wonderful thing but there's NO WAY I'm old enough to be married 40 years! I must've been promised at birth. But that's a whole other post :)

All this reunion stuff has allowed me to reconnect with people I knew way back when. Some I knew well and some not so much, but I'm finding out that many that I didn't know are very nice people. Facebook has allowed sharing of current and past photos and quick comments and notes that we might not have had the opportunity to share with one another. I'm liking this reconnecting thing. It makes the world seem just a little cozier and the past not so very far away.

I like reunions of all sorts. There are the formal, planned-for get togethers with family and friends and there are also those little ones that sneak up on us at Publix or the mall when we run into someone we knew from a very long time ago. There are also those that happen at the funeral home when someone dies. Each type is sweet, or bittersweet, in its own way. We get together. We reminisce. We cry. We laugh. We reconnect with the past and one another.

All this recollecting and thinking about what 'was' makes me think about the best reunion of all--the one after this life is over. There are times now when for a split second I think I'll phone my mother--but before the thought is complete, I realize it's impossible. I want to sit down with my mom and talk with her again. I can't believe she's gone and I miss her terribly. Then, there's my dad and Uncle Bill whom I also miss so much. I'd love to visit with the grandmother I never met or introduce myself to Hannah who, in the Old Testament, gave her little boy Samuel to the priests to be raised for the Lord.

What about the best one ever...Jesus! To sit at His feet without a tear in my eye, a pain in my body or a care on my heart will truly make it Heaven. What a time that will be! I don't know how I'll behave. Will I sit still and bask in His presence? Will He put me at ease and let me ask Him questions? I have no idea except that it will be amazing!

I can hardly wait! To be free from this sad, sin sick world, loosed from this frail, human flesh and in the presence of the Lord forever is the best thing I can think of! I get excited about Heaven when I realize that even though I can imagine Heaven, I have no idea of the depth of the the Lord's creativity there. What we do know for sure is that the Lord is preparing us a place with Him.

John 14:1- 3 Do not let your hearts be troubled. Trust in God, trust also in me. In my Father's house are many rooms; if it were not so, I would have told you. I am going 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."

Where Jesus is, so will Heaven be! I can't imagine it good enough! Now, that's something to think about!

"What a day that will be,

when my Jesus I shall see.

When I look upon His face

The one who saved me by His Grace,

When He takes me by the hand

And leads me to the promised land.

What a day, glorious day,

That will be."

Father, thank you for who you are--our kind, loving Father who takes good care of His children. I love you.

Suz

peaceful porch moments

I let the chickens out of the coop this evening so they could peck around for a while and the first thing they all did was to run to the side of the house so I couldn't see them. I didn't run after them, although they have been known to follow the fence line down to the street, pecking and pawing at the ground for snacks and treats. But, I did make an effort to move that way.

I shooed them closer up toward the house and sat on my front porch swing. I expected them to stay there and eat all the goodies but they just weren't content. It was probably Redhead, that rotten rooster. I'm not afraid of him because he's all bluster and part showman, but he's sooooo mean that I don't want him anymore. He's really mean to my hens and I can't stand to put them through the torture any longer. My friend, LB, found the rascally rooster a nice home on 200 acres somewhere not too far away at her friend's house. He gets his new home on Friday morning. Anyway...

The chickens moseyed around back and I just stayed on the swing enjoying the early evening cool down. It was peaceful. I started to sing an old song written by Dottie Rambo that I hadn't thought of in a very long time. I wasn't loud--after all, I was sitting on my front porch and I wasn't so sure how well my neighbors would have liked an evening serenade by me.

As I sang:

Amazing grace shall always be my song of praise,

for it was grace that brought my liberty;

I do not know just why He came to love me so,

He looked beyond my fault and saw my need.

I shall forever life mine eyes to Calvary,

to view the cross where Jesus died for me,

how marvelous the grace that caught my falling soul;

He looked beyond my fault and saw my need.

all my hens and that mean old rooster, Redhead, slowly peeped around the other end of the house. Without his arrogance and nasty attitude, Redhead led his hens to the swing where I was sitting, singing softly. They moved in closely and stayed there on the porch with me as I sang. They looked at me. They seemed to listen to me and probably wondered what I was doing. After all, I'd never sung to them before. (Who knows what a chicken thinks?)

It was a nice moment, a peaceful moment, just the Lord, my chickens and me on a quiet Wednesday evening thinking and singing about God's grace. After a little while, they quietly moved along to the other side of the house and to the backyard, heading for the safety of their coop. And, that's what happened on my evening chicken watch. There was nothing outwardly earth shattering and certainly no huge epiphanies to shout out to the world on Oprah but I love when the Lord speaks peace to me in that still small voice. Now, that's earth shattering and life changing.

Lord, thank you for those sweet, tender moments that reach in directly to us and pull us closer to Your heart. I think the chickens liked it. I know I loved it!

Suz

singing and dancing

When our girls were young, about 10 and 8 yrs old, they put on plays for their dad and me on Sunday afternoons. Their favorite was Little Red Riding Hood. They had a small record player (yes, record player) and a 45 record that they'd set it up in the living room and play "Little Red Riding Hood," by Sam the Sham and the Pharaohs. Yup. The very ones.

They'd put the record on and then act out the story song in play form. It was fun for them and funny for us. They worked hard getting all their props and Amy was the bossy one who'd direct the whole show and both she and Holly would act out the story. Byron and I would sit and watch their efforts, sometimes over and over again. They worked on their acting skills and their timing. We loved their creativity and diligence in doing it over and over and over again. OK, sometimes we got a little tired but we mostly loved it. We loved it because they gave it their all. They practiced. They set up. They performed. Truth is, it was fun!

By Hollywood or Broadway standards, it wasn't a perfect performance. No Oscars or Tony's given around here. They were regular little girls playing in our regular little home for their regular parents. No stars. No reporters. No limelight. And we loved it! Our girls worked hard on something and gave us the gift of entertainment. It pleased us to watch and accept our girls' gift to us.

So, we're at church tonight and our young people had charge of the service. The lights were turned down lower than normal and the music is mostly different with a little of our familiar stuff with it. I didn't know some of the songs but it's all right because they post the words on the screen and they aren't hard to follow. The lyrics are beautiful and worshiping is easy. One of the young girls played and sang and she did a wonderful job. It was soulful and lovely. Our youth pastor, Pastor Shaun, preached and the message was timely and on target for the whole congregation. The message was about talking to the Lord first and then getting busy about His business. Pastor Shaun stressed that we need to spend more private time with the Lord before we strike out to tame the world and work for Jesus. It was a wise message and one we can all take to heart.

While we were enjoying our young friend's solo I thought about how our girls acted out their story for us and how much we liked it despite its imperfections. I also though about how the Lord must have liked our service tonight. I imagined Him sitting in Heaven in all His glory and perfection, watching His children doing things to please Him, to worship Him. I felt His smile of approval. It doesn't take human perfection to please the Lord. It just isn't going to happen. Nothing in us is perfect yet it pleases Him to receive our worship and praise. When we make ourselves vulnerable to Him, when we let go and open ourselves up, it gives Him joy.

I want to worship the Lord with abandon. I want to sing and dance for only Him. I will never sing like Dolly Parton. I will never dance like the best contestants on DWTS, but I want to bring Him moments of pleasure with whatever talents I have. I want to make Him smile.

Father, You give us so much. Thank you for our opportunities to give back to You. We love you! You're the best!

Suz

lightening up!

Fun was my theme for today. Does every day have a theme? Maybe. I like the Fun Theme. On a whim I posted a goofy pic of myself as my Facebook profile. It's a silly one, but then I've always been happy to be known as a bit silly and goofy. That is, until I started letting all the serious details and important issues of my life commandeer my crazy gene. Being the perfectionist that I am I allowed simple everyday fun to be sucked out of my everyday! Oh, I'd have moments when I'd let down and laugh at something I found fun--and often it was with someone who isn't necessarily driven by perfectionist tendencies, like my friend, LB.

I wanna be her when I grow up. OK, maybe it's a little late for the growing up part. I'm pretty grown up at nearly 58 yrs old. And she is many years younger than I am but who says I can't learn something from someone much younger than I? A wise former pastor of mine believed we learn something from EVERYONE we meet. Well, I wanna learn to be less perfectionistic (because it's just not happening for me) and not so intense about the details working out exactly as I'd like them to work out. That's my friend, LB. She has this laid back, coastal, beachy attitude going on--like she's relaxing on vacation--most of the time! I just hope some of it rubs off on me.

Anyway, she and I filmed a commercial promoting the photography contest in our magazine and we were a little silly with it. OK, we were a lot silly with it and we had a BLAST doing it. Then JB, the young man who filmed our commercial, saw my fun photo and said I should go ahead and post it. I guess all I needed was some encouragement and I was off and running with my goofy mood which continued on today with the evidence of my fun profile pic.

After my initial post, I got to read all the crazy posts my friends and family left for me! I loved them :) They were having fun too! After my hairstylist foiled my head all up with prospective gorgeous blonde highlights, I decided everyone would love to see a continuation of my day so I asked Wendy to snap a pic of me in all my aluminum glory with my same expression, which I immediately posted. None of this was done secretly in the beauty salon. The whole place was in on the fun. The caption for the second pic was from the stylist in the next chair. Everyone in the place was enjoying my little explosion onto the internet for all the "world to see." And there were more great fun comments from one and all! My daughter, Amy, wrote some of the best ones :) I have chuckled to myself several times over what I did today. I wasn't embarrassed. I had fun and because I allowed myself to be seen as I really was feeling in the moment, several others had fun too.

Have you ever considered the people and their personalities that the Lord puts into your life? Had LB not lightened me up yesterday and had I not had the encouragement of a younger person, I would not have made myself vulnerable and open to be laughed with or laughed at and all of my friends and family would not have had that light, humorous moment! Life is terribly hard and complicated at times and if all we concentrate on is on perfecting the details and making sure everything is done 'correctly,' it is easy to skim over all the light moments as though they don't count. But--they DO count! We need this comic relief. We need snickers and chuckles and guffaws and hee haws!

The Lord made us with our sense of humor. It's there for a purpose and I think when we let loose of our control of all the details and laugh, truly laugh, at something or someone in a good natured way, I think the Lord laughs with us. It's kinda like on the funniest videos tv shows when the babies laugh unreservedly and we can't help but laugh with them! I think God laughs with us.

"And who of you by being worried can add a single hour to his life?" Matthew 6:27

All those important but pesky details will be taken care of by the Lord. I won't change anything about them by worrying and I won't take away any of their importance by lightening up on the concentration of them.

Note to self: LIGHTEN UP, SUZ!

Father, thank you for the fun day today! I had a blast and i'm looking forward to having many more fun days with the delightful people you've put into my life. I'm grateful for each one. Please help me learn something positive from everyone I meet. I love you, Jesus. I can't wait for tomorrow with You.

Suz

hoop jumping

It's been a really long day. After months of jumping through hoops with the Florida DMV we thought we had everything together so we could officially begin the journey, literally, down the road, of Kayla's possibly learning how to drive. We've submitted forms, gotten her eye exams, had letters written by her docs and talked on the phone to way more than one person about how to get from step A to step B. Then with letter in hand that said we had to take care of this before the 22nd of July, we find out they have approved Kayla to take the final driver's test with hand controls, etc! They won't do ANYTHING at all. So we wait while the supervisor's supervisor talks with the medical review board in Tallahassee to see what can possibly be done for us.

How hard is it to understand that we're not there yet. We just need a simple driver's learning permit so she can be EVALUATED to see if she is able to learn how to drive. Anyway to make an extremely frustrating and long experience shorter, we walked out with a 60 day permit to have her checked out and tested to see if she can even drive at all. Thank you, Lord!

But, that's the kicker...

With her disability comes challenges I've never had to face. Thinking about her driving freaks me out. Will she be able to be taught how to drive? Can she even keep a car on the road? Will there ever be a day when she's independent with her own transportation and home? In the natural, I just don't see it happening. My vision is weak on this one. I'm worried.

BUT, on the other hand...with God! All things are possible...He is the only hope for a new day for her. This girl has wanted physical independence her whole life. I sure hope it happens. I pray it happens. I know I should give no thought about what will happen tomorrow. The Lord has it all under control and He doesn't need my help to fix any of this. Still...worry nags at my heart, my mind. I'd like to see the future of this situation all laid out step by step with the Lord's answers for my questions. I feel like a pancake on this stuff. First, I flip this way--then I remember the truth and flip over that way. Yeah, I know. All those laid out answers just aren't going to happen. I need to talk to the Lord about this one.

Lord, I'm still fretting over this stuff and I don't like it. Fretting is stressful and useless. I know you are in control and there's nothing that escapes your attention. Please take this whole issue and work it out the way YOU want to work it out. It feels scary to say it that way but I really don't want to be in charge. I'm not that smart and certainly not that wise. Take care of Kayla, your way. Help me cast this burden on You. I love you, dear Father.

Suz

ch-ch-ch-changes

It's been an interesting last few weeks. We've just bought a vacation place in Alabama. I said I'd never go to Alabama--but here we are, homeowners in a small town there. Fancy that! It's a lot to think about.

First, our good friends moved there last year. We love them and missed them a lot but not so much as to seriously consider buying property there.

Secondly, their new Alabama friends asked them if they might know someone who would want to buy their place. "Nope. I don't believe I do." That's what they said--until the guy said there's a hunting lease that butts up against their property. "Wait. Maybe I do know someone who may be interested."

Enter a phone call to my husband about said property. Photos are emailed to us. We like how it looks.

"Sure. We'll come look at it."

A quick trip to see it and a short bargaining conversation. They tell us a price. We make an offer. Said offer is accepted. Yay! We're gonna be new homeowners.

We go home to wait for closing date. In the interim we return to Alabama friends with motorcycle "pack" from our church. Excitement ensues. (read previous entry). We go home.

Another short (3 day) trip to Alabama. (In these two weeks I've been to Alabama more often than ever before in my WHOLE life.) We close on the house and return home to wait for our move in date. We're very excited--but I STILL do not know how we got to this point so quickly. It's amazing...but only because we're NOT people who move quickly on much of anything...especially large purchases. Still...

Truth is we didn't move as quickly as it might seem. We've been looking for a second place for a few years now. We even had our son in law checking out places on the internet for us. He's really good at that stuff. Anyway, everything simply clicked. I think it's often like this when it's right and this surely seems right. We've prayed long and hard for a place up the country where Byron can hunt and we can live at a slower pace...and that I would be happy with making the change. Well, miracle of miracles, I assure you that we are BOTH happy about it.

There are still some loose ends to tie up. Aren't there always loose ends? But, I'm sure in time we'll get all our ducks in a row and tie up those loose ends. How's that for a mixed metaphor? Do ducks have loose ends?

To this point everything has gone more smoothly that even I expected. This purchase means lots of changes for us. We want to vacation there and then sometime later become snow birds, spending chunks of time here and there. I'm not exactly sure how it will end up, but the Lord seems to be orchestrating this opera and I'm glad He is. It all feels too big for me to figure out.

So, here's to changes! Good changes! Good changes directed by Jesus' own hand.

Thank you Lord for your guidance. We appreciate your direction and your help in this big deal. This really is a big deal for us. We depend on you and love you so much.

Suz

The Rest of the Story--Ride With Purpose July '10

I love the movie Forrest Gump. One of my favorite scenes is when Forrest and Lt Dan were shrimping faithfully and still not catching anything. Forrest had been going to church and praying about it but Lt Dan only got angrier by the minute. Finally, in frustration, he asked Forrest where this God of his was.

Then Forrest says, "It's funny Loo-ten-ent Day-an said that, 'cause right then, God showed up!" Lt Dan had called God out and while He was at the top of the mast of their shrimping boat he argued and fussed with God while He turned loose His fury in the guise of a severe storm on the ocean. After a fight to the finish, the storm calmed and Lt Dan had supposedly made his peace with the Lord and all was well. Then they started catching shrimp like crazy! The Lord had been challenged and had given the Lt what he wanted. In the movie, God finally "showed up."

On our motorcycle ride last week we had definite challenges and trials. While riding down a two-lane country road in Alabama less than 10 miles from our day's destination, two of our friends had to lay their bikes down to avoid a horrible truck accident. In the process, Wayne swerved to miss the flying debris from the two trucks colliding. His bike had minor damage and he seemed uninjured, while Mike broke his hand, had terrible road rash and terribly sore muscles. His wife, Loretta, had really bad scrapes and bruises on her arm and bad road rash on her back. I'm not sure of the extent of the damage to his bike but it was messed up pretty badly.

The scene of the accident was a scary sight to behold. Trucks crushed. Motorcycles on their sides in the culvert. There were people everywhere. I don't know where they all came from on this little road out in the middle of nowhere. They were all over the place walking around in curiosity and shock and soon there were ambulances with their screaming sirens and red lights flashing. Our friend, Mike, wandered around stunned and bleeding. Loretta sat on the ground not daring to move until she could determine which parts of her were injured. Our group gathered around our hurt friends, comforted them and prayed for the Lord to help them.

Unlike Lt Dan, nobody had to pray for God to be with us and come to our rescue. He was already there! When we left the church on a rainy Sunday afternoon, He rode with us into the night. When it turned hot and steamy the next day, He came along. When tragedy suddenly struck on that Tuesday afternoon, we felt His presence. He was there in the Fire chief's daughter calling 911 at the scene. He was there in the nurse driving down the road who stopped to assess the injuries before the ambulances arrived.

The Lord comforted the young girl, a Baptist pastor's daughter, who felt terrible about how she had carelessly failed to slow her vehicle over the hill. He protected the rest of our team from being mowed down by the other truck she'd blasted into and shoved way down on the side of the road. He calmed our other friend who, although uninjured, was so distraught about the whole thing he was visibly shaken.

In time, we discovered that despite the horrible scene and "what might have been," the injuries were considered minor. There were no head injuries. There were no hospital stays. There were no deaths. What could have been overwhelmingly heartrending and tragic was a bump--albeit a BIG bump--in the road. Instead, what we had were our friends ministering to one another and others.

Our Comforter was there in the midst of our people gathered two or three together in His name as we prayed for everyone involved. God was there ALL THE TIME. We never waited for Him to show. He never decided to be with us and make an appearance. He was simply and beautifully with us all.

2 Corinthians 1:20 reminds us, "For no matter how many promises God has made, they are "Yes" in Christ. And so through Him the "Amen" is spoken to us to the glory of God." The Lord promises us in Hebrews 13:5 I will never leave you, nor forsake you." We can hold this truth dear to our hearts no matter what is going on in our lives. It matters not the storm, the tragedy, the turmoil, the heartache. We do not wait for the Lord to show up. He is right there with us at every turn.

I am so glad, Father, that there was never a second away from your presence on our trip and especially on that Tuesday. I am so glad for your presence even now. This life often has moments so hard that we feel we can hardly bear them. Lord, you are the only soft place in it. We are grateful beyond measure. I love you, dear, dear Jesus. You are a friend like no other.

Suz

a sweet savor

The skies were beautiful. No rain today. As we rode through the Alabama hills I caught the blend of the medicinal scent of pines and the sweet aroma of wildflowers in the heat of the day. I was immediately carried back to our family vacations in northern Georgia and its mountain flora. They were simple pleasures during a less complicated time. It was a time for enjoying one another without the distraction of extreme activities. We built relationship, one meal, one conversation at a time bathed in the scents of a southern summer.

As our group explores back roads in the south and enjoys our Creator's handiwork in sight and scents of these southern hills, we don't always know what lies around the next corner, but we can be certain that nothing catches our Father by surprise. He is attentive to our needs and is ALWAYS with us.

The smells of an Alabama country summer remind me of 2 Corinthians 2:15-17 For we are to God the aroma of Christ among those who are perishing...to the other the fragrance of life...in Christ we speak before God with sincerity, like men sent from God. Our simple trip together. Our lives for Christ. Not humanly perfect, yet still pleasing to our God. As much as we enjoy the clean fresh aromas as we go from place to place, our lives in Christ are a pleasant aroma to Him! Our heavenly Father! How beautiful is it that God, our Lord, is who He is and yet we please HIM?

Thank you, dear Jesus. I am especially grateful today. I pray our lives will always be a sweet savor to you. You are amazing! I love you utterly.

Suz

Ride with a Purpose 2010 Day 2

What a whirlwind of a ride today! We met for breakfast at 8 am but didn't leave right away. It had been raining most of the night and still going strong at time to hit the road. We loaded up everything and prayed for requests from home and for safe travels then left in the rain. We had discussed (ok, the guys discussed)earlier about going a different route to try and avoid some of the wet stuff. It rained hard for the first few miles and then we ran out of it. That's when the sun came out and "dried up all the rain, and the itsey bitsey spiders all came out again!" It got hot quickly so our clothes dried and we weren't wet anymore.

We traveled in the sunshine and blue skies for the rest of the day. We made our way to Andersonville National Cemetery and POW Museum where Ms Christy's grandfather's recorded stories of his POW time were told by him. It was a special time for her and I will let her tell her story of it's meaning in her way and time. The museum was awesome and touching. If ever you have opportunity to visit, it's definitely worth the trip. Our time was short there but we did have opportunity to drive around in the Cemetery. I have some gorgeous photos and will post them asap.

The museum and cemetery closed and we headed for parts, Columbus, GA, for our rooms for the night and dinner. The ride was a bit grueling and exhausting. My seat hurt and my head was itching like crazy from the helmet! I was miserable so I bailed and rode in the air conditioned truck with Ms Tammy.

What is it about the heat that just sucks the life out of your body? We are tired and calling it a night a little bit early and then it's up pretty early to get the Harley shop across the street by 9 am and head to Odis and Marsha Mooty's house. I can't wait to see them again.

Despite the rain and the summer sun, it was a good day. Any safe day on a motorcycle is a good one. Our path changed from the way we thought we'd go to the one with the bright shining sun. Pastor Gary says sometime we have to change our pathway to get to the good stuff. The Lord will let us stay in the rain--we could have kept our original plans and stayed wet all day--or we could move in another direction and find blue skies. We moved and are happy with the results!

What else does the Lord have in store for us on this trip? I don't know but I know it will be good. God's plans are always good :) Pray for us. We're praying for you!

Father, Thank you for a change in plans and sunny skies! You are the one we depend upon because "it rains on the just and the unjust." You know the beginning from the end. Thank you for taking such good care of us! I love you, dear Lord :)

Suz