Re: God

Not only is this so, but we also rejoice in God through our Lord Jesus Christ, through whom we have now received reconciliation.~ Romans 5:11

I love the prefix "re." Think about it. Rebuild. Renew. Repair. To me, "re" means a do-over. God is the God of second chances. Today, I have the opportunity to make things right. With that relative who has the ability to drive me around the bend. With a friend I've neglected for far too long. With Joe, because I was snappy and tired this morning after a long round of midnight shift. And with God, who allows me to repent and start again.

This weekend I got a chance to reconnect with my best friend from high school. We sat at my old kitchen table and drank strong coffee and shared our hearts, our lives, our stories until the wee hours of night. Our children are grown, we've lost loved ones, and high school is a languishing memory. Thirty-five years have whisked by like a blown-out birthday wish. Yet our friendship remains unchanged and lovely to behold.
RE-union.

When I was ten years old, the Northern Lights appeared over our farmhouse. We ooohhhed and ahhhhhed at the sight of brilliant blues and greens and purples flashing against our starry Midwestern sky. Last month I gazed in awe again at the northern sky. Instead of the varied hues from my childhood experience, these Northern Lights glowed every shade of red. The sky above me pulsed crimson, ruby, and plum. Nature in all its fierce beauty. Living in Illinois, I never thought to see the Northern Lights twice in my life. But God the Divine Artist had a different idea.
RE-gift.

This morning I spent well over a half hour on the phone with my lovely, grown-up daughter. We laughed together and I handed out some wise old Mom-advice. I am so grateful for our conversations, our togetherness, our shared sense of humor. It wasn't always so. But a relationship that was once contentious has been rebuilt and we are not just mother and daughter, we are good friends.
RE-stored.                                       

Christmas-time is here. Christmas cards to write. Decorating, baking, list-making, shopping, all unfinished. Overwhelming. When I stop to breathe, I miss the anticipation and expectation that I felt as a child. I no longer care if it snows on Christmas and it seems that much of my celebration has become a chore.
RE-morse.

But in the silence of my early-early-morning coffee and devotion time, I recall that Christmas means one thing for all mankind.  God loves us with all His heart. So much that He will do anything for us. Anything. He proved that when Jesus, His Son, was born of Mary in a humble stable. Born to be like us and share in our human-ness. Born to die on a cross and save us for all eternity.

REDEMPTION. RECONCILIATION. REJOICE!

Thank you, my dear Father, for second chances. For gifts of family, friends and nature. For allowing me to begin again. Amen.

Some Things Change...

Change in all things is sweet. ~ Aristotle

I am not fond of change. Just because my life changes weekly due to my husband's rotating shift doesn't mean that I embrace change.

Yesterday we celebrated Thanksgiving. My house was full of change. Changes in appearances, changes in attitudes, changes in our roles in life. When my immediate family gathers, there are thirty of us. Thirty of my beloved and hundreds of changes.

It seems like yesterday that we celebrated Thanksgiving at our childhood home with Mom and Dad. But they've handed over the reins and now we take turns hosting the holiday. Change. Our children, in the blink of an eye, have grown from teenagers into young men and young women, ready to take on the world. Change.

The toddlers in our family are teenagers and my nephew(when did he get to be a teenager?) even brought a girlfriend. Change. And the babies aren't babies anymore, they're toddlers. My brother and his wife are grandparents and the rest of us are great-uncles and great-aunts. Change.

Joe enters the kitchen, a serving dish piled high with succulent deep-fried turkey. We all gather in the kitchen, inhaling deeply and anticipating mightily our Thanksgiving dinner. We're all here, each and every one of us.We bow our heads and I recite the grace that has been handed down in our family throughout  generations:

Bless us, O Lord,  and these Thy gifts, which we are about to receive, from Thy bounty through Christ Our Lord. Amen.

I choke up and tears clog my throat. Not from sadness or missing those who won't be with us anymore in this world. Not because of the passing of time or the changes I see on our faces.

I am simply overwhelmed. Filled to the brim with love.We have changed, for sure and for certain, but some things remain the same. We know each other's faults and strengths, we all share the same warped, wicked sense of humor, we start and finish each other's sentences. We are many, but we are one.

We are so blessed.

Dear Father in Heaven, of all the things I give thanks for, I give thanks for my loved ones the most. Each and every one of them. Thank You for these dear people. Amen.

The Glad Game

"There are so many things to be glad about," Pollyanna exclaimed. "I cannot begin to enumerate them all."
~Elizabeth Borton

It's that time of year again. Not that I don't love Thanksgiving - I do. It's one of my favorite holidays.

But how much more would I love Thanksgiving if we celebrated in the summer. I know, pretty silly idea. Can you imagine Thanksgiving without the red and gold falling leaves? Without the possibility of that first sugar-frosting snowfall? Thanksgiving without the spicy, seasonal pumpkin pie? No football? Unimaginable!

But I can imagine it. I can easily picture my family outside at the picnic table by the barbecue pit. The hot sun bears down and mosquitoes bite my bare ankles while a baseball game plays on the radio. Instead of pumpkin pie for desert,  I serve cherry cobbler made with the early June cherries from our orchard.

I'm a summer girl and this slide into the deep, dark days of winter has the ability to really get me down.

I have two choices: move to Florida or play the Glad Game.

The Glad Game originated in 1913 with the publication of Elizabeth Borton's book Pollyanna. This classic children's story grew so popular that the title of the book became synonymous for a person with a sunny outlook. In her book, Elizabeth Borton writes about Pollyanna, the orphaned child of missionaries. Forced to move in with her stern, humorless Aunt Polly, Pollyanna nevertheless finds a reason to be glad in each situation she encounters. She influences an entire town with her joyous attitude and teaches everyone she meets the Glad Game.

I think I'm in need of the Glad Game. Today, I'll be glad for this gorgeous fall weather, for even if the temperature is a cool 45 degrees, the day is full of sunshine and blue skies. While I'm at it, I'll rejoice that baseball season is over, because next year will be better for my beleagured Chicago Cubs. Joe has to work on Thanksgiving Day, but I can give thanks that my husband has a good job and that my family is coming over to celebrate Thanksgiving with us the following Sunday.

The Glad Game is really a simple game. No game board or pieces needed. Neither are any electronic devices or computer systems. All that's necessary is attitude. An attitude of gratitude.

.Heavenly Father, when my attitude needs an adjustment, please help me to remember the Glad Game. And to rejoice in all things. Amen.

You've Got Mail

"To send a letter is a good way to go somewhere without moving anything but your heart." ~ Phyllis Theroux


"Here's the mail." Joe places two magazines, one flyer, the local newspaper, a bill, and two envelopes on the kitchen table. "You've got two letters."
"For me?" I eagerly flip through the mail to find two hand-written envelopes addressed to me. Hand-written. And it's not even Christmas-time. Not quite.

Sweet memories of my grandmother wash over me as I look at those envelopes. Grandma adored holidays and birthdays. For every celebration the mailman delivered a card. From an early age, I learned to recognize Grandma's handwriting and I looked forward to her cards like no others. She always selected the most precious cards, cards that I knew were picked out just for me. When I opened one of Grandma's cards, I felt like the most beloved granddaughter in the whole wide world.

I eagerly slice open the first hand-written envelope. Inside is a cheery Thanksgiving card from my friend JoLyn. JoLyn is a grade school teacher and where she finds the time to send cards is beyond me. Yet she never forgets a holiday and she never forgets me. The second card is a from my writer friend, Jennie. We met at a writers' workshop and discovered a similar love of baseball. Not only has she written a letter, she's enclosed a column she wrote about baseball and a pair of baseball socks!

I spend the rest of the morning surrounded by a glow of friendship and memories. I feel special. Loved. The way I felt when I opened one of Grandma's cards.

Joe comes in for lunch, ready to feast on my spicy homemade chili and cornbread. He's been outside, working on his tractor, trying to breathe life into the old contraption. Getting it ready for another snowy season. In about an hour, he'll leave for work. He's on afternoon shift this week. He'll tell you that afternoons are his favorite shift, that he can get lots of chores done around the house before he goes to work. In our hundred-year-old farmhouse, there are always plenty of tasks to complete. But to my eyes, he looks tired. Like he might need some cheering up.

I dash upstairs to my desk. I've got note cards stashed away somewhere. I find cards with pictures of puppies and kittens. Flowers. Pretty birds. Gilt-edged scenery.
Please God, help me find the right card. Something special just for Joe.
Best Wishes! Congratulations! Happy Birthday! Nothing that says what's in my heart.
Finally I find a simple card, a farm scene with an old tractor in the foreground and a red barn in the background. And plenty of empty space inside the card to write my own message:

To my guy who takes good care of the tractor and our house and everything else. Who takes the best care of me. I love you.

When I pack his lunch for work, the hand-written envelope perches right on top of his sandwich. Where he'll find it first. I smile, picturing his smile when he reads how special he is to me.

Thank you, God, for good friends and hand-written cards that show they care. And thank you most of all for my Joe who takes such good care of us. Amen.

The Scrambled Egg Solution

"Green Eggs and Ham was the story of my life. I wouldn't eat a thing when I was a kid, but Dr. Seuss inspired me to eat cauliflower." Jim Carrey

When I was a kid, scrambled eggs were all I wanted to eat. Breakfast, lunch and dinner. Mom's attempts to seduce me with brown sugar and maple syrup-topped oatmeal failed. My once-favorite grilled cheese sandwich was pushed away. Even my dad's promise of a bowl of ice cream after supper was met with derision. I was in a rut. A scrambled egg rut.

Do you ever feel like you're in a rut? Same old same old day after day? Especially when Joe is on afternoon shift, I find that I fall into a bad routine. I hit the snooze button one too many times. I stay up way too late, engrossed with reality TV and re-runs. And I end my day frustrated with the little I've accomplished. My good resolutions become so easy to put aside: get out of bed early, start my day with a devotion, put in that extra half-hour of exercise, read something meaningful. The days seem to get away from me.

One day, when I was little, Mom slid another plate of scrambled eggs in front of me.
"What are these?" I stabbed a piece of green vegetation with my fork and held it up suspiciously.
"Peppers. Peppers are tasty with eggs. Try it."
Hey, Mom was right! The eggs tasted even better with that extra little zing.The next day, Mom added cheese and a bright, orange, crunchy substance to my usual plate of eggs.
"Mom?" I pointed at my plate.
"Grated carrots. Try it."
At supper, my scrambled eggs were accompanied by a summery-red, juicy, sliced tomato. A few days later, I finished an entire bowl of vegetable soup and a grilled cheese sandwich. No scrambled eggs in sight. I had crawled out of my scrambled egg rut.

Mom's gentle solution was to add crunchy, vibrant vegetables to my bland scrambled eggs, one meal at a time. Today, instead of being frustrated and trying to accomplish everything at once, I might try to add one lively activity to my usual bland week of afternoon shift. For that extra half-hour of exercise, I can take Ben the beagle for a walk and enjoy the last golden days of fall. I can visit the library and check out some of my favorite old books or that new bestseller I've anxiously awaited. Perhaps, I'll curl up with the book tonight instead of reality TV and re-runs. I might even take the book upstairs with me, read an extra chapter, then shut off the light and fall sleep at a decent hour. I bet I'll wake up earlier tomorrow with a much better attitude, ready to rise from that rut and begin a bright new day.

Dear Father, please bless my efforts today as I climb out of my rut. Help me to always appreciate the roof over my head, the job that keeps us and the food on my table. Even scrambled eggs. Amen.

Sacrifice....Or Gain?

"True happiness is not attained through self-gratification, but through fidelity to a worthy purpose." Helen Keller


My fingers are short and stubby; my hands are square and squat. I've always longed for my mom's hands. Long and narrow with beautifully tapered fingers and perfectly manicured fingernails.

One day, I discovered a miracle. Sturdy fingernails actually painted onto my own fragile nails. Durable! Shiny polish in any hue I desired! Perfect cuticles! My fingers still weren't tapered or my hands long and narrow, but my fingernails were lovely, giving me the illusion of pretty hands. Just like Mom's.

For seven  years, I kept a twice-a-month appointment for my acrylic nails. I loved having my nails filed, polished and when need be, replaced. I made a good friend in Nikki, who was an expert at creating gorgeous fingernails. My nail appointments were my treat to myself.

Then, about two months ago, I had to take a long, hard look at our checkbook.

I cancelled my nail appointment. I realized our budget just wasn't going to allow for such a luxury. Not if I wanted to take that creative writing course offered by the junior college. Not if I wanted to continue to work part-time so I could pursue a full-time writing career.

Sacifice. Merriam-Webster defines it as loss. Deprivation. The loss of my acrylic nails wasn't quite such a calamity. But this sacrifice does give me pause.

As the wife of a shift worker, there are sacrifices. Times when I've cooked at meal at ten 'o' clock at night and still have a sink load of dishes to do before I go to bed. Nights that seem to go on forever when the roads are icy and Joe still hasn't made his way home. Days that should have been spent at my computer but are interrupted by his schedule.

And the sacrifices Joe makes! Never-ending. Beautiful days bright with sunshine that are spent in bed because he has to go to work at midnight. Family time that he will never get back. Holidays and birthdays celebrated on alternate days.

But in our sacrifices, we have found gains. A movie night in the middle of the week or a day-time date spent pedaling along the canal. A picnic at the state park, the not-so-crowded state park because it's a Wednesday. The smile on Joe's face if I've managed to stay up well past midnight to welcome him home from the afternoon shift.

If you're a shift worker who's sacrificed an hour or two of sleep so you can watch your Little Leaguer catch a fly ball, you know what I mean. If you're the spouse of a shift worker and you create a five-star meal late at night so your sweetie can hit the midnight shift with a full stomach, you get it.

And perhaps in our sacrifices we find the finer gifts and appreciate all the more our time together. Not such a bad trade-off after all.

Lord, let my sacrifices be a gift to my loved ones. May I gain a true spirit of giving with love. Of giving without counting the cost. Amen.

Meanderings at Midnight

May the...meditation of my heart be pleasing in your sight, O Lord, my Rock and my Redeemer."
Psalm 19:14

Close to twenty percent of the workforce today are assigned to shift work. This means that approximately 13.5 million people are at work while many of us are asleep. Factory workers, nurses, EMT's, policemen are just some of the employees punching the time clock at midnight. Many of these shift workers, like my husband, rotate from shift to shift; days to afternoons, to midnights. Week after week.
Why blog about shift work?
In 2008 I was honored to be selected as one of the winners of Guideposts Magazine's Writers Workshop. My winning article dealt with my struggles as the wife of a shift worker. But even though the article contains advice, my change of attitude and a positive outcome, there are still times when I battle shift work. Insomnia, non-productivity in my career and general sense of malaise are some of the effects of a round-the-clock schedule. And those times when my heart just breaks for Joe when I see the fatigue on his face as he heads out into the gloomy night so he can provide for us.
What about you?
Do you clock in when you'd rather be in bed? Are you the spouse of a shift worker who is trying to plan a meal for the kids at normal hours and 'breakfast' at ten'o'clock at night before your partner goes to work? Is it your bed-time in the middle of the day while the rest of your family is enjoying planned activities without you?
As I blog about my shift work experiences - good and bad- I hope that these times I write about will help you learn to cope with less than normal hours. Even if you're like me and this has been your way of life for a long time, I hope to exchange ideas. Maybe together, we can help the newly-hired shift workers or the brand new couple learning to deal with midnights.
Tips for staying awake and falling asleep, family life, coping strategies and even an easy recipe or two are just some of the topics I plan to cover. An inspiring verse or quote, something positive to build up your day. An event or a 'God-incident' that lifted my spirits and helped me get through my day.
I want to help you get through your day, too, with a smile and a grateful heart.

Dear Heavenly Father,
Open my eyes to see your blessings of work and family and home. And open my heart to welcome these blessings with gratitude and love. Amen.