The Unexpected Big Brother

Never could we have imagined that the boy to which we were giving a hand up would end up paying it forward to our special needs son.

It all started at the beginning of the school year in our sophomore daughter’s English 3 class. Meredith filled our ears about the intriguing, hilarious, exchange students that were her classmates, and one in particular, Edvard from Ukraine, had become a close friend within a short window of time. Due to circumstances beyond his control, Edvard needed a different place to call his American home for the rest of the school year – and fast. Meredith came home with puppy dog eyes and lip rolled down, begging that we be his host family. Um, ahem. No.

However, the fatal mistake was when we as a family agreed to “pray about it and have Edvard over for dinner one evening.” The next week, he came to live in the Griffin house.

Since our oldest boy, Jonathan, has Down syndrome and doesn’t always adjust well to change, we had some concerns about how he might respond to Edvard and how our Ukranian guest might respond to him! Early on, it was difficult for the two boys to communicate due to Jonathan’s disability, but I noticed that very quickly, the boys began to bond – with words and without. They came up with their own private jokes and rehearsed them on a daily basis. Always aware of his older “little brother”, Edvard engaged Jonathan’s world in a way that words on this page cannot adequately convey. My special little guy adored this tall, blonde boy from Ukraine. He wanted to be just like him. When Edvard would return from lifting weights at the gym, Jonathan could be seen flexing his own muscles in front of the full length mirror. If Edvard crossed his legs, so did Jonathan. If Edvard rested his arm on the back of the chair, so did Jonathan. And so it went. Jonathan even learned to swish his Bieber-like hair. Just like his big brother did.

Our Jonathan has two stellar sisters who brighten his world on a daily basis!  They take him places, dote over him, and are immensely patient with him. But there was just something about having a brother…as our Ukranian exchange son was learning to navigate America, he was also teaching our biological son how to navigate life.

Edvard was with us for just over 6  months. One hundred ninety four days of adventure, laughs, inside jokes, exchanges of cultural richness and deep-rooted love. The middle of last month, all 5 Griffins and one honorary Ukranian Griffin made our way to the airport and did the ugly cry as we let go of the boy/man who came across the world and stole our hearts. Not a day has passed since Edvard’s departure that Jonathan hasn’t grieved, but we are learning to make Skype and Facebook our new best friends and walking the tight rope of holding on and letting go all at the same time.  Seeing the joy on his mom’s face as she is now reunited with her beloved makes it a little easier to swallow, too.

Thank you, Edvard, for bringing your love into our home and touching Jonathan’s life in a spot not yet cultivated. We are all better because of you and claiming the words of one of my favorite authors, Ann Voskamp. “Don’t grieve that it’s gone. Wonder that is was. Laugh that you lived and dance that you dared. Inhale that it happened and it was grace.”

Melodie Griffin is a native of the Pee Dee who now resides with her husband and 3 children in the Midlands of South Carolina. A popular speaker, musician, writer, and private music instructor, Melodie does laundry in her spare time. Find her at www.melodiegriffin.com to learn more or to invite her to inspire attendees at your next event.

The Prayer I Refuse to Pray

Hello, my name is Melodie, and I am a brave sissy. Unfortunately, I've yet to find a support group for such, so I will gladly leak out my thoughts here for all to see.

People who have only known me in my adult years are always shocked to learn that I was shy as a young child. I vividly remember the Christmas that my beautiful Mom crafted matching, long, silk, plaid, taffeta skirts for us to wear! I was so proud to look just like her. I remember gathering in our living room for a family photo and a neighbor that I didn't know very well had come to take the picture for us. I was scared of anyone that I didn't know very well and quickly hid behind Mama's skirt for refuge. The slick cloth made a happy noise as I wrapped the excess silk around my nervous little self.

I've stood up to many an unfamiliar neighbor since then. I've fought many battles, and have come out the victor because of the One Who was ultimately fighting on my behalf. I stand in the assembly and yell out His goodness. I belt His praises from the tips of my painted toes. I've championed the cause for mothers to choose life for their unborn special needs child, no matter how scared they find themselves. I have valiantly laid out hope for those facing infidelity in their marriages, reassuring them that what God joined together should stay together if at all possible. I meet with girls in their living rooms, in coffee shops, on the phone, internet, e mail and facebook - boldly, passionately telling them about the God Who adores them and that He will go to unbelievable lengths to woo their heart. He will. He did.

I am brave. I am also a sissy. The only way that I am ever able to step into the line of fire is through the strength and power of the One Who redeemed me. I really can do all things through Christ Who strengthens me.

But there are those weeks. Those days. Those hours. Those minutes.

Times when I'm just not sure I'm up for the fight. Recently, I have signed on for new assignments in His kingdom, co-authoring a book to encourage moms who have kids with special needs. This is so much more than a book - this is a project. A project designed to bring HOPE to the hurting. Apparently, this is the devil's stomping ground. I feel as if I have stepped into a pile of ants, and bumped face first into a swarming bee hive all at once! The enemy is snorting mad.

Good.

This morning, I pulled out my nifty Bible app and found today's reading - this place that brings things back into focus - this place that settles my anxious soul. Exodus 4:13 says, "But Moses again pleaded, Lord, please! Send anyone else." There it is. The prayer I refuse to pray. My apologies to Moses, because I am not trying to look down my nose at him. He belongs to my brave sissy support group. I simply want to learn from his mistakes.

God trusts us with hard things sometimes - what a compliment! When I see Him face to face one day (pause here for the happy dance) I don't want Him to say, "Melodie, I set you apart for great things in my kingdom, but you asked me to send someone else." No! No! Put me in, Coach! No matter how fierce the opposition, I choose to play for the winning side! And I don't want to sit the bench - no!

What was that assignment again, God? I'm all in.

Sidewalk Love Notes

There, plain as day on my front walkway was a love note - left for me by one of my precious little piano students. In bright blue chalk, she had etched “I love Mrs. Melodie!” for all to see. Scurrying out the door to rush to the post office before it closed, I almost missed it. I almost missed the handwritten message that sent me into a full body smile! Me! She loves me! She took the time to let me know…and I almost missed it in my hurry.

Surely this happens in my other relationships as well. My children hand me their papers from school, waiting for me to notice the blood, sweat and tears they spent over each answer and I barely glance at the grades scribbled in red across the top of the page, then toss them. My husband fills my van with gas (mortgaging our house to do so, these days) and do I even notice?

Even more so, the Creator of the Universe scribbles His love for me time and time again, but I’m rushing from one gig to the next, twirling plates as I go, without so much as even a glance. Romans 1:21 tells us that we can see Him in creation. “For ever since the world was created, people have seen the earth and sky. Through everything God made, they can clearly see his invisible qualities—his eternal power and divine nature.” I marvel each day at God’s fancy handiwork as I watch the woodpeckers, hummingbirds, and cardinals gather on my back deck for the all-you-can-eat buffet. The kids and I are constantly oohing and aahing at the various formations of clouds. Just yesterday, when I was taking my youngest to school, she and I thought the clouds looked like the ocean as it creeps up to the shore. Love notes.

Yes, God is constantly passing notes over to me, complete with the proverbial, “Do you love Me? Check yes or no.” Many times, His love is handed to me through people. I just got off the phone with my dear earthly Daddy and when I hung up, I was certain I had heard the voice of God – not because He has a booming, rich voice, but more because he speaks to me of my heavenly Daddy’s love for me. My friends hand me God’s love notes, too – like the other day when my buddy said, “You’re not doing so well today, are you? Sit down. I want to pray over you.” Wow. She did, and my burdens were lightened significantly. Love notes.

Who is writing love notes on your walkway? Can you see them? Are you looking? My guess is that love notes are all around you, awaiting your gaze. Take time to stop and see them. The post office will be open again tomorrow.

Lessons from the City Dump

When the non-profit magazine came in the mail from Compassion International, I almost cast it aside without even looking – but for some reason, I decided to flip through it. I stopped at page 4 and was mesmerized by the picture of Hannah and Florence, 2 sisters from Iloilo City in the Philippines. Captured by their story, I tried to imagine what life would be like for my own daughters if they had to sift through the garbage dump each day to help provide for their family. My mind struggled to even visualize it - the smell of filthy, rotting garbage in the heat of the sun, the small penance received for the back-breaking labor. No, I can’t even begin to imagine it. Don’t want to, thank you very much.

Hannah and Florence were still fresh in my mind later that day as my family sat around our dinner table, adorned with hot, fresh, ample food. The kids inhaled the beef stew and their Dad and I grinned as they shared the funny things that had happened during their school day. When there was a lull in conversation, I turned to page 4 and introduced them to Hannah and Florence from the Philippines. They listened intently as I read of the sisters’ plight and we all silently admired their courage and tenacity to be able to work at the trash heap every weekend, holiday, and even early mornings before school. I was probably not the only one at the table thinking, The audacity of me to complain about what I do or don’t have! My lifestyle is probably overwhelming wealthy compared to theirs! While we may never meet Hannah and Florence face to face in this lifetime, our family joined hands and prayed for them by name – like we had known them for years. We prayed for their strength and endurance. We thanked God for Compassion International and groups just like them who put feet to their faith. We asked God to bless these sisters in amazing, unthinkable ways.

I so much want to insure that my kids are givers. How do I instill in them a compassion for the less fortunate and a tenacity to touch the untouchable? I’m pretty sure it begins with the one whose fingers are typing these words. High on my “bucket list” is for my little family to go on a foreign mission trip one day. I am believing that this will happen at the right time. For now, I want my family to see me have the “knee-jerk reaction” to help others whenever possible, instead of looking the other way or claiming to be too busy. According to the Corporation for National & Community Service, nearly 9 out of 10 young people who give their time have parents and siblings who volunteer. Hmm.

My mind jumps to the words Jesus Himself told us that the righteous will hear one day. “For I was hungry, and you fed me. I was thirsty, and you gave me a drink. I was a stranger, and you invited me into your home. I was naked, and you gave me clothing. I was sick, and you cared for me. I was in prison, and you visited me.” Matthew 25:35,36 It seems almost heretical to imagine the Lord Jesus in line for free soup, but these were His words! The other day when I had the awesome opportunity to give out gloves and hats to the homeless, I found myself studying their cold, ruddy-cheeked faces for signs of the Savior. But it might not dawn on me to look for Jesus when my neighbor calls in a panic and needs me to watch after her toddler for an hour or two, or my other friend has a sick child and needs me to pick up her kids in car line, or someone needs a ride, or a meal, or a touch, or a prayer, or my favorite red scarf. When I do these things, not only am I doing it unto Him, but my kids are seeing this Scripture come alive before their very eyes!

Hannah and Florence, thank you for teaching us about hard work and reminding us to love and care for those who are less fortunate than us. We can’t wait to meet you in heaven one day…where there are no trash heaps…ever again!

Accidentally on Purpose

“I accidentally memorized my piano song this week, Mrs. Griffin.” Imagine this piano instructor’s glee when my student flippantly made that remark! Such commentary is a dead giveaway that a student has been spending ample time at the ivories. Any artist will tell you that the more time he or she spends rehearsing a piece of music, the more it becomes a part of them. This got me to thinking…what kinds of things do I accidentally (on purpose) want to be part of my life in this new year?

Fitness. There. I said it. Out loud. In print, even. I want 2011 to be a year of better fitness for myself. I keep waiting to “feel like it.” So far, nada. The reality is slowly dawning on me that I will have to put one Nike-clad foot in front of the other and groan my way through it until it becomes a habit. I have friends who seem to LOVE exercise. Me? Umm, no. Up until now, if you ever saw me walking briskly, or (heaven forbid) running, you could be fairly sure that someone or something was chasing me with a meat cleaver. But in those rare blips on the radar of time when I have made fitness a priority, I have felt so much better – so much more alive! Here’s to hoping for a new habit to emerge as I spend time on the move.

Fortune. Now hold your horses. This isn’t what you might think. This year, I want to daily rehearse the fortune with which God has blessed me. When I think about the people sprinkled across this planet that would be elated just to have a warm bed to sleep in at night, it dawns on me that I am a wealthy girl. I want to spend my days saying things to God like, “Thank You for waking me this morning. Thank You for instant grits…for a steaming cup of java…for instant access to my favorite music…for friends who “get me”…for delivery pizza when my afternoon is unraveling…for providing squirmy students for me to teach…for a husband who provides for our family – when he feels like it and when he doesn’t…for 3 intricately ornate children that teach me much about myself, my God, and life in general. Thank You for making my life so abundantly wealthy.” You probably have an impressive inventory that you could rehearse this year, too!

Family. We all have a deep desire to be seen, known, and loved. And with family, one definitely has that opportunity! Without even trying, we memorize the cracks and crevices of those with whom we spend the most time. My daughters can walk in the front door and immediately tell when Mom has a headache – their keen senses of smell pick up on the aroma of peppermint oil, a natural therapy that sometimes brings me relief. My Jonathan’s Down Syndrome hinders him from speaking fluently, so these past 17 years have given us ample time to practice an unspoken language that allows me to anticipate his needs before he even tries to verbalize them. My hubby knows my “sighs” and will often ask me what is wrong before I am even aware that I’m stressing about something. It sure is nice when we are memorized by those who love us.

Faith. If you’ve ever read even one of my meandering articles, hopefully you know that my faith is a big deal to me. The biggest of all deals! And since I am a wordsmith, I like to post words about my faith around my house as reminders. Take my family room wall, for example. It says, “GRACE”, then proceeds to list various definitions of that word. I chose that word because I want it to define our family - to be branded in our actions and obvious to everyone we encounter. The bottom line about grace is that I need it! As long as I remember my own need for it, I will be much more ready to give it out. I want to live out Deuteronomy 6:7,8 with my family, telling them God’s truths and shouting His goodness to us! “Repeat them again and again to your children. Talk about them when you are at home and when you are on the road, when you are going to bed and when you are getting up.” My Mom and Dad graciously did this for me, causing me to accidentally memorize treasured truths about God and His love for me. I want to pay that forward!

Whatever song you’ve been playing over and over on the ipod is becoming part of you, like it or not. This new year, how about you and I toss out some of those tired old tunes and download some beautiful new music together! Before we know it, we will have memorized them…accidentally on purpose!

(as published in SHE! January 2011)

What Does Christmas Smell Like?

“It smells like Christmas in here!” my daughter yelped as she walked into my bedroom. I had just started up a rustling blaze in the fireplace, heaving the splintery wood over the rustic hearth…okay, so all I really did was flip a switch and my gas logs turned on! But something about that smoky aroma transported my baby girl to a place swarming with happy memories. She plopped right down on the floor beside me and immersed herself in the moment, eyes closed, lips smiling.

I wondered where her mind was carrying her. I closed my eyes, too, and let the smell gently waft its way through the picture album flipping in my mind’s eye. Just what does Christmas smell like? It smelled like Russian tea when I lived under my parents’ roof. I can’t say that I really enjoyed the taste of that classic beverage, but when that unmistakable mixture of spices reached my nostrils, magic was in the air! Christmas also smelled like a fresh Frasier fir tree when I was younger. Mind you, we had to get that variety of tree since we bore the name, “Frazier” ourselves! Pay no attention to the spelling discrepancy. Close enough. And oh, the smell! For weeks after the tree was mulching someone’s garden, our house would hint of Christmas every time we used the vacuum, thanks to the left over tree needles inside!

As the gas logs continued to burn, I kept my eyes squinted shut and tried to imagine what Christmas looks like. Remember the uncontainable excitement you felt when you saw the “downtown” decorations for the first time of the yuletide season? You knew then that the fat man in the red suit was on his way! Unlike today, when holiday bobbles start showing up along with the Halloween candy, back then we had to wait until all the turkey and stuffing had settled before donning our garland, lights, and tinsel. Speaking of holiday city decorations, I was in a tiny SC community last summer and howled with laughter at the sight of Christmas decorations on the light posts! I guess it was just too much trouble to put up and take down, put up and take down. I mean, really. We’ve just got to do this thing all over again in 12 months, right? As we say in the south, “bless their hearts.”

Conjuring up the smells and sights of the season, I meandered my way to its sounds. As a musician, all 41 of my Christmas times have started in the early fall with crisp new music books and many a dog-eared favorite. I have participated in cantatas, dramas, concerts, recitals, caroling, and all things musical. I’ve witnessed shepherds in bathrobes who lost a tooth during the play and went crying to Mom in the audience, held my breath as angels flew suspended on a wire from the ceiling, and watched as my very own newborn son played the perfect baby Jesus. With all that music overkill, one might guess that Christmas music would lose its luster. Check back with me in another 41 years and I’ll let you know.

Ah, the smells, sights, and sounds of the season! Our memories of this amazing time of year vary vastly, I’m sure, but ultimately, there are some smells, sights, and sounds that are the same. I guess you could say that the true essence of the holiday has that “new baby smell”. New – newness that reeks of fresh beginnings, do-overs, and a better story. The sights? Yes, the true meaning of Christmas looks like the Father of the universe saying goodbye to the only Son He ever had so that we, the world, could say hello to a Savior. Oh, and the sounds! God’s Christmas story sounds like a love song – my, how He loves you and me! “For God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son that whosoever believeth in Him might not perish, but have everlasting life.” John 3:16 is the ultimate Christmas card from a lavish Father to those whom He wants to be His children.

May you take His gifts with you into a brand new year, full of hope – that new baby smell, the picture of a giving Father, and the sound of His love song to you. Merry Christmas!

(as published in SHE! December 2010)

Meditating on the M&M’s

I never met an M&M I didn’t like. Well, except for the other day…

My minivan was parched for clean oil and the indicator light glared at me condescendingly. So there I sat, waiting in the lube joint while my vehicle enjoyed a spa day. The shiny little vending machines caught my eye, calling out to me with their various vibrant primary colors. Peanut M&Ms. Yes! Only twenty-five cents invested, and my fist was bulging with peanutty chocolatey goodness!

I slowly chomped each morsel, sometimes sucking on them until the candy coating melted. Other times, I chomped right down into the layers at once. Sadness ensued as I look down to discover only crumbs of bright-colored candy coating left in my palm. Sadness quickly morphed into horror as I noticed a creepy, crawly MEALWORM among the leftovers. Eeeeeeek! I quickly fought off the urge to re-visit my formerly consumed candy, then tried to still the scrambling thoughts inside my head. Was there more than one worm? Did I eat any worms? Will I die? I thought these things tasted stale! Should I tell the lady at the desk? This is going on my facebook status! Once I regained feeling in my legs, I sheepishly told the receptionist and she promptly placed an “out of order” sign on the machine.

This kind of thing happens to me frequently. No joke. My kids even know it! As I was feverishly recounting this tale to my husband, I wondered aloud, “Who does this happen to? Really, WHO DOES THIS?” Without even looking up from the book she was reading, my nine 9-year-old quipped, “Apparently, you, Mom. Apparently you.”

She’s right. Crazy, awful stuff seems to happen to me! Nobody loves me, everybody hates me, I’m gonna eat some worms. But I have found that there is an upside to almost everything. Well, what in the world could be good about starting my day eating worms? Here were some of my thoughts:

• The day can only get better from here.

• Woo hoo! Extra protein!

• Maybe this will deter my chocolate habit . . . okay, for one day, anyway. Okay, for 10 minutes.

• I can’t wait to tell my SHE! friends about this.

• People all over the world eat worms. Some don’t have a choice. So glad that I do.

Do you ever feel like you started your day out with mealworms hidden among your candy? Boy, don’t I know it! It doesn’t take much to ruin a perfectly good day. A flat tire, a nasty e mail, a late notice on your power bill, a call from your child’s school teacher, a glare from across the cubicle at work. Mealworms.

“Finally, brethren, whatever things are true, whatever things are noble, whatever things are just, whatever things are pure, whatever things are lovely, whatever things are of good report, if there is any virtue and if there is anything praiseworthy—meditate on these things.” Philippians 4:8 puts it into perspective. Meditate on the M&M’s, not the mealworms! Don’t get so hung up on the mealworm that you miss the chocolatey goodness of the candy. You know, the candy! The giggling of your children in the next room, the blessing of a car that gets you to and from in one piece, a job that pays the bills, your health, the change of seasons, life lived in a free country, a dog or cat that loves you even when you’re a jerk. These are the candy in the palm of life, and while you will certainly encounter a mealworm here and there, you can choose to focus on the good stuff - the candy. Throw those mealworms to the ground, stomp them hard, then move on. Life is too sweet to let a tiny little worm ruin my love for the good stuff!

(as published in SHE! November 2010)

Putting a Smile on God’s Face

“When you do the most what you do the best, you put a smile on God's face.” Author, Max Lucado put words to my thoughts precisely. The idea of putting a smile on God’s face is a precious one to me. The idea of putting a smile on God’s face by doing something that I enjoy and do with proficiency only sweetens the deal! I mean, seriously, when I try to conjure up ideas about what kind of offering brings God pleasure, I guess that I have been guilty of “over-thinking” this whole thing at times. Surely God wants me to travel to some remote region of the world, eat bugs, and go the rest of my life without deodorant to bring Him glory, right? It needs to be a task so difficult and repulsing – surely that will do the most good! But wait, if I go and do that, who is going to touch these people right here in my current realm of influence?

Some people would hate my day job. On any given weekday afternoon, you are likely to find me perched patiently to the right-hand side of the piano bench. I’m smiling. Sometimes forcedly, but not usually. Even the wrong notes are music to my ears. These music learners are walking a treacherous path of notes and pitches that can be overwhelming at the very least. I am proud of their efforts and so very honored to help them reach their potential in learning to play the piano or sing with their voices. The students and I rejoice over the victories – that long, intricate piano passage that has plagued them for weeks, finally conquered with expertise! Or there’s that Italian aria whose pronunciations are quite a feat for a seventh grade girl with braces. The milestone accomplishments along the way are like oxygen masks falling from the overhead bin just in the nick of time. Plodding through music lessons can be turbulent.

But am I bringing God glory? Am I making Him smile with my day job? I choose to think so! There was a time when I did this particular job with less than stellar enthusiasm. It seemed like a chore to sit through all of the wrong notes – to yet again, be faced with a pupil who hadn’t cracked open their book since last lesson…ugh. Work. Laborious, tedious, monotonous work. But somewhere along the way, my thinking shifted. (side note to private music instructors: check out the book, Note by Note, by Tricia Tunstall) Instead of looking at this music teaching gig as a burden, I truly began asking God to help me love each student individually and to help them find their own God-song. Talk about a difference! Talk about a revolutionary change…in me! Gradually, I was smiling more – and I know that God was smiling!

These days, I still have to allow God to remind me of this truth from time to time. This is especially true when I am weary. T-a-r-d, tired. But ultimately, as I listen to yet another labored version of “Ode to Joy”, “Caro Mio Ben”, or even “The Entertainer” (okay, especially that last one!), I see beyond the surface duty and smile as I thank God for allowing me to be a small part of each student’s journey with Him…or toward Him!

How about your day job? Love it or hate it, I am guessing that God would love to help you find a unique perspective on what it is you do that makes Him smile. He will show you. Maybe He smiles when you assist patients with their annual, dreaded mammogram, or when you keep the restrooms tidy at your place of business because no one else wants to do it. Maybe you put your hands in other people’s mouths for a living or keep their locks of hair from being so unruly. Perhaps you live in a remote region of the world, eat bugs and don’t wear deodorant. Whatever God has gifted each of us to do, let’s live out I Corinthians 10:31 together! “So whether you eat or drink, or whatever you do, do it all for the glory of God.” That, my friends, puts a smile on God’s face.

(as published in SHE! October 2010)

Reconnecting

Some of my dearest friends in this world live 795 miles away. Louisiana is a long way from the Palmetto State! Until this summer, I had not seen those friends for 3 long years! Too long. As I threw my arms around each of them and squeezed tightly, so many of them whispered the same thing in my ear. “I knew I missed you, but I didn’t know how MUCH until I saw you!” How beautiful to finally reconnect with them. Facebook and e mails are wonderful things, but nothing is an adequate substitute for face time.

Our meaningful days were spent laughing over shared memories and catching up on all the nitty gritty. I remembered why I fell in love with them in the first place. Their quick wit, “knowing glances”, and even body mannerisms took me back to a time when we were part of each other’s daily worlds. I miss it.

That set my mind to wondering how all that might apply to my God-walk. There are plenty of times when God and I have a day to day, hour to hour, minute to minute connection. But other times are more of the Facebook and e mail variety. I Thessalonians 5:17 has always intrigued me. “Pray without ceasing…” or as the New Living Translation verbosely states it, “Never stop praying.” Just exactly what does that look like in real life? With all the demands and stress in my life, I sometimes have the attention span of a house fly and I’m supposed to remember to pray at all times? Usually when crisis situations have my life spinning out of control, I am keenly aware of my need for God. So we talk. A lot. God is on speed dial. When long-awaited answers to prayer arrive, we quickly give thanks. But I can’t always put my finger on what causes me to stay close to God. Who knows why sometimes I am more in tune with Him than others? It is, after all, relationship. And thanks to good ‘ole “Mr. Human Nature” there are ups and downs.

Are you like me when it comes to reconnecting with God? When I kick my spiritual shoes off and jump back into the Word of God, I find myself splashing around in His truth like a kid in front of a broken fire hydrant on a muggy, hot day (not that we ever have that kind of weather around here, mind you). His Word just spouts off of the page at me and I glance around to see if anyone else is looking – because it is SO personal! How could God know I was thinking that? Has that verse always been there, or did He just stick it in when I wasn’t looking?

The writer of Psalm 42 was reminiscing about grander times when he said, “My heart is breaking as I remember how it used to be: I walked among the crowds of worshipers, leading a great procession to the house of God, singing for joy and giving thanks amid the sound of a great celebration!” He missed the days when he and all of his friends spent time learning about and praising God in His temple!

Ah, the good ‘ole days! Well, forget the good ‘ole days – they can be in our past, present and future! We have access to our great big God all day every day. And when we do reconnect with Him, inevitably He hurls His strong arms around our neck and we blurt out, “I knew I missed You, God. I just didn’t know how much!”

(as published in SHE! September 2010)

Never Bark at a Dog

Kids crack me up. One can never predict what might tumble from their imaginative brains down to their unfiltered little lips! Thus was the case with seven year old Hannah the other day. Skipping along the sidewalk to the library, she spouted this random, unsolicited advice, “Never bark at a dog.” While waiting for her to finish pontificating, my grownup mind searched a list of possible reasons never to bark at the canine species. It might bite you was the response I was expecting, but her words interrupted my wondering. “NEVER bark at a dog because you don’t know what you might be saying!” This is true. I am not fluent in dog language. My little friend further cautioned me that I might even be saying bad words to the dog and not even know it! Oh, the humanity.

Words are powerful. God surely knows this and warned us to be careful with our words – long before the thought ever occurred to Hannah! Proverbs 18:21a tells us, “The tongue has the power of life and death…” Ruff ruff! It sounds like maybe I need to pay better attention to my own barking. My words hold the power of death? Yes – death to dreams, confidence, courage, hope, affection, trust, respect – just to name a few. I may never know the damage I’ve done by my careless words! Maybe I was being sarcastic or just making a joke, but at what expense? My beloved mentor, Florence Littauer, wrote a best-selling book years ago entitled, “Silver Boxes.” In this wonderful book, she shares her own experiences with the power of words. Here is her poem by the same name:

“Silver Boxes”

My words were harsh & hasty
And they came without a thought.
Then I saw the pain & anguish
That my bitter words had brought. Bitter words that I had spoken
Made me think back through the past;
Of how many times I'd uttered
Biting words whose pain would last. Then I wondered of the people
I had hurt by things I'd said;
All the ones I had discouraged
When I didn't use my head. Then I thought about my own life
Of painful words I've heard;
And of the times I'd been discouraged
By a sharp and cruel word. And now clearly I remember
All the things I might have done;
But, by a word I was discouraged
And they never were begun. So, help my words be silver boxes,
Neatly wrapped up with a bow;
That I give to all so freely,
As through each day I gladly go. Silver boxes full of treasure,
Precious gifts from above;
That all the people I encounter
Might have a box of love

Ah, my words can also be power-packed with life! I see this most of all in my relationship with my children. When I praise them or affirm the God-gifts in their lives, my words are like cool water to the parched soil of their hearts. The wilting stems of self-doubt begin to straighten themselves up into tall confidence and before I know it, there is vibrant foliage of resilience and striking blooms of courage!

I think that Hannah may be onto something. “Never bark at a dog…or your spouse, children, parents, boss, co-worker, umpire, or even that driver that cut you off in traffic today! You don’t know what you might be saying!”

(as published in SHE! August 2010)

One Man’s Trash is Another Girl’s Plant Stand (as published in SHE! July 2010)

God is in the repo business. He loves to take over where others have given up. I was reminded of this when I was dumpster diving the other day. Yes, you read right. I went dumpster diving. For those of you not familiar with this coined term, “dumpster diving” is when perfectly reputable human beings rummage through the garbage for things that others have tossed aside as trash.

It all started on a sunny Friday afternoon when I was barreling down Ballpark Road – the location of our city dump. The closer I got behind the pickup truck ahead of me, the more intrigued I became. There, in the truck bed before me, sat the most adorable scrolled wrought iron chair. Red, nonetheless. My thoughts yelled out, “Surely he isn’t going to the DUMP with that chair!” His right blinker began to pulse along with the beat of my heart as we drew near the garbage sight. Sure enough. The red, wrought iron chair was on its swan song. Well not if I had anything to do with it! I turned my Mustang right around and stalked the chair’s owner until he was out of sight. Sheepishly, I drove up beside the clanky, green dumpster that held the treasure. I wasn’t completely sure if I would be strong enough to lift the chair out, but I was determined to try. The first several attempts were completely unsuccessful. My arms were simply too short. So, I gave up and went home. OF COURSE NOT! Quicker than you could say “free chair”, I had a plan.

You should have seen me edging our red, Mustang convertible up beside that tall dumpster. I hopped up onto the car and began to reach over into the dumpster. The chair had become tangled among a discarded clothesline, yard swing, and a lawn mower. So I gave up and went home. NO! I plunged forward….almost literally! Feeling the staring eyes on me from across the parking lot (I wasn’t exactly dressed for the occasion) I summoned my arm muscles to work together in one sweeping motion and retrieved my prize! I did it! The red chair was mine now! Upon returning back home, I placed my treasure in a place of honor on the front porch with a lively plant in it. Next order of business was to post my dumpster diving adventure to my facebook status. I was pleased. One of the first comments on my wall was by my beleaguered hubby who was traveling on business and found out about my garbage procurement via social media. Oops! His comment read like, “Dear, do you really have to dig through the garbage? Has it come to that? And do you have to tell the whole world about it?” Why yes. Yes, I do. Not only was I excited about the chair, but there seemed to be a story here.

I can’t help but think of the parallel between myself and that red chair. Its paint is chipping and it is missing a leg, but that is somehow part of its beauty to me. There is still so much value in it and it is worth redeeming. When God saw life carting me away to my death in the back of a pickup truck, He did the unthinkable. He stood beside the dumpster of death and reached in to pull me out and redeem me. He placed me in a position of honor on the front porch of His love and placed new life inside of me. Psalm 103:4 says it beautifully, “He redeems your life from the pit; He crowns you with faithful love and compassion.” Does that not make you want to twirl around with joy? Can you grasp the fact that the very Creator of the universe, the Holy One, stepped into time and filth to redeem your life and mine from the pit? Amazing.

Next time you are driving past the city dump, let your heart take a twirl with the thought of being redeemed from the pit! And if you happen to see a woman standing on a convertible, keep driving. She’s plumb crazy.

There’s a boy outside

Boys are grose!

Boys have cooties!

I never bought into that line of thinking. Quite contrarily, I vividly remember thinking that boys were rather neato. They could run really fast, pick up slimy frogs without even wincing, and the amount of sweat they produced while running around the playground was impressive. They were all the things that I was not, and there was something enticing about that. They were the prince and I wanted desperately to be the princess.

The first boy I ever laid eyes on was as neato as they come. He called me beautiful and sang songs to me as he rocked me in his arms. The story goes that he would sit me up on the kitchen counter in my baby seat and even do a little soft shoe dance to the tune of “Tea for Two”, making me giggle ‘til I couldn’t breathe. That most neato of all boys happens to be my Daddy and he was the first to ever steal my heart away. I thought he was breathtakingly handsome, and still hold that belief to this day. He and I have always shared a special bond, so I can’t begin to guess how difficult it must have been for him to see me give parts of my fragile heart away to those stinky, sweaty boys!

Dad and I have sung a song together throughout the years that portrays a little bit of that saga. I thought I would share the words with you:

The men in my little girl's life

The men in my little girl's life

It seems like only yesterday when I heard my little girl say

"Daddy, there's a boy outside, his name is Rod.

He wants to play in our backyard

Can he daddy? Can he daddy? Oh please daddy."

Is it really so long ago she'd come to me and wanna know

"Dad, there's a boy outside, his name is Lee.

He wants to carry my books for me.

Can he daddy? Is it alright, dad? He's got freckles, dad."

The men in my little girl's life

The men in my little girl's life

Then came pony tails and jeans and my little girl was in her teens

"Popsie, there's a boy outside, his name is Tom.

He wants to take me to the prom.

OK, popsie? He's cute, popsie. We'll be home early, popsie."

Before I knew it time had flown and how my little girl had grown

Now it was "Father, there's a boy outside, his name is Eddie.

He wants to know if we can go steady.

Can we, father? Yes, father. Oh, can we borrow the car, pop?"

Yes it seems only yesterday I heard my lovely daughter say

"Dad, there's a boy outside, his name is Jim.

He asked me if I'd marry him. I said yes, dad.

Got something in your eye, dad? I love him, dad."

The men in my little girl's life

The men in my little girl's life

A child, an adolescent, a young lady, a wife

And oh yes, there's another man in my little girl's life

"Hi dad, there's a boy outside, his name is Tim.

I told him Grampa was gonna babysit him.

Thanks, dad. Bless you, dad. Good night, dad."

The men in my little girl's life

The men in my little girl's life

What a sweet song! What a gut-wrenching reality. Now that I have two daughters of my own, it leaves me weak in the knees to think of them giving parts of their hearts away to boys with cooties. How did my Daddy survive? How could he stand to the side and watch the story unfold? Like the time that I gave my big lollipop to the little boy who promised to be my boyfriend if I gave him my sucker, but then he and his stupid-head friend sat in the back of the bus, eating the sucker and laughing because I fell for their joke. I was out of a sucker, a boyfriend, and a big chunk of my heart. Daddy has heard me cry over many a boy, many a sucker, and sometimes they were one in the same. But ultimately, Daddy knew the secret. He knew that if I ever fell in love with the supreme Lover of my soul, then no matter what heartache came my way, I would be okay. And he was right.

See, girls - boys really do have cooties. Boys are grose. They will break your heart. But they also can take your breath away, waltzing you across the dance floor in beautiful glass slippers. They can make your heart beat fast and your imagination twirl with the possibilities of a magical future together. God designed this beautiful thing called love. But He is also there waiting for you when someone stomps all over your heart and doesn’t stay around to help clean up the mess.

Isaiah 54:5 is an intriguing verse and one that I have taken to heart. “For your Maker is your husband, the Lord of hosts is His name.” When we make God our first and foremost husband, then all the other boys play second fiddle. They don’t hold near the control over our delicate hearts that they did before. He is the One Who thrills us more than any human being could dare!

Is there a “boy outside” in your life these days? Congratulations, princess! But just remember to make God the ultimate Lover of your tender heart. Spend time with Him in His Word and in prayer and let Him sweep you off of your feet as you worship Him. Then suddenly, the Great Healer can soothe any cootie bites you may pick up along the way from those sometimes stinky, sweat “boys outside.”

Sittin' Pretty

“…for I have learned in whatever state I am, to be content.” Philippians 4:11b

The Apostle Paul said it – not me. I wouldn’t dare say that I have fully and completely learned this lesson, but I am certainly a work in process.

“Whatever state I am in” has changed several times over the last many years. Let’s see. There was South Carolina, North Carolina, Louisiana, then back to good ‘ole South Carolina. While I am fairly sure that the apostle Paul was not referring to a geographical state in which to be content, it is no secret that moving around can be tough. There’s a new house, new license plate, new friends, new school, new church, new grocery store, new bank, and new names to try to remember. Lots of new.

Each time the address has changed on my driver’s license, I have found the intense need to hang onto God for dear life. That’s not a bad thing. Whether searching for the laundry detergent aisle or that new best pal, God was quietly there assuring me with His peace. Psalm 121:5 says that the Lord stands BESIDE you. Can’t you just picture God standing in line with me at the DMV? What a thought!

I’ve had other addresses, too, that I didn’t mention yet. Maybe you’ve lived there once or twice yourself. I recall the neighborhoods of Surprise, Disappointment, and Stress. Oh, and let’s not forget the subdivision of Grief, Betrayal and Discomfort either. Those were doozies! How vividly I remember sitting on the front porch of those emotions and wondering where my fairy tale life had gone – silently asking God the questions that He knew were running around in my heart. “What just happened? Why? How? What now?” The numb throbbing was loud in my ears. The fear of the future ever present…but so was God’s unmistakable peace. People would ask, “How ARE you – really?” And I could honestly answer that I was pushing through with God’s grace and strength – really.

Then again, I have lived in some swank sectors, too. The view was incredible from the neighborhood of Maturity, Growth, and Fulfillment! And the birds were always singing when I made my home in Joy, Exhilaration, and Delight. Those places are my favorite. But the key is somehow to find the serenity and peace God gives no matter WHERE He has placed me for the time being. I don’t seem to find that in a Hershey bar (though it never hurt). No, I find my focus when I spend time reading the words God spoke, when I speak to Him and pour out the cares of my heart, and those delicious times I spend talking about Him over coffee or lunch with a friend. (We call that “soul slushing.”)

I will leave you with a more complete section of Paul’s writings from Philippians 4:11-12, and I will whisper a prayer that you and I can continue to experience more and more of the contentment that comes from knowing the lush love of an extravagant Savior – regardless of the current state in which we find ourselves.

“…for I have learned to be content whatever the circumstances. I know what it is to be in need, and I know what it is to have plenty. I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want.” (NIV)

Birthday Blurb

"My birthday was always a huge deal growing up - a themed party every year and lots of laughs and giggles. Through the years, the hoopla has dwindled, but I'm thinking that I don't like that trend. Since I'm turning 41 this year, I told my family that I would like for us to do 41 different things to celebrate! Let the fun begin!"

Moving Away and Moving Forward

- as published in SHE! July 2009

Last summer, we packed up our earthly goodies into multitudes of big, brown boxes and then watched as the moving truck slowly pulled away with all of our belongings. Filled to the brim with a mishmash of emotions, we were certainly excited about all the new spaces and faces to come! However, our excitement slowly faded to fear and apprehension as we began to settle into our new abode. This adjustment to our new surroundings was going to be harder than we thought! I am far from a control freak, but as the “Chief Operating Officer of all things domestic” in the Griffin household, I knew that it would fall to me to take the bull by the horns and help my little brood acclimate to their new world.

Where to start? There were millions of boxes to unpack, cabinets to line, pictures to hang, agencies to call, and Oreos to eat – but just what was the order of priorities? This family needed a plan! The first biggie on the list of “to do’s” was to find a place of worship. Some churches we visited were high energy, some more reserved. Some were well organized, while some were more chaotic. We even attended one place where the praise band didn’t wear shoes. Lack of variety was not an issue. We finally found a place where our family “fit” and could grow – with shoes on, nonetheless, but it took a while for us to really feel like a part of what was happening. People were so warm and welcoming, but each Sunday as we re-convened in the family van, the theme was the same. It really is possible to feel a little lonely, even in a large group of people. We longed to “know” and “be known.” In my quest to help get us plugged into this new church family, I contacted each of my kids’ ministers and asked how they might best serve in their area (notice I didn’t say how they could best BE served). The ministers were thrilled to receive the offer for help! My middle schooler is now utilized in children’s worship time as a “referee” with a cool striped shirt to display her authority! Having a place to serve turned out to be a big piece of the puzzle for each of us.

Finding new friendships was high on the priority list. Ugh. Who knew that this would be such a task? Our family is a collection of social butterflies – the more friends the merrier! But goodness gracious, we went through play dates like Imelda Marcos went through shoes! The kids had fun with their new acquaintances, but I could see the disappointment in their little eyes after their friend would leave. They missed their OLD friends! You know, the ones where you can be together and not say a word, and it’s okay? Or you laugh at all the same stuff, and have lots of stories and memories to share? That kind. Well, first of all – “that kind” takes time. No way around it. But I also told my kids that finding new friends was like trying on shoes. “They won’t all fit, so sometimes you have to try on lots of pairs til you find some that are comfortable.” We girls always get shoe analogies. Our youngest kid ended up being chosen to play on a travel softball team this summer. She told me just the other day, “Mom – the only reason I’m playing on this team is ‘cause of all my friends.” Listen: I don’t care why she’s playing, I’m just glad she’s making friends!

By far, the biggest hurdle in our move was found in the educational world. Many of you know that our oldest child has Down Syndrome. He settled in to his new learning environment without so much as a look back at Mom. This, my friends, is a new twist. Usually, Mommy walks back to her car on the first day of school, wiping tears onto her sleeve and begging God to help him have a good year. This year, I didn’t need to use my legs to get me back to my vehicle. I simply floated, knowing that Jonathan was going to have a phenomenal year. My youngest daughter transitioned beautifully. She had only known the “private school” world up until now, but settled into a precious neighborhood school with a teacher that was simply sent from above. Things didn’t go so smoothly for my precious middle school daughter. First of all, just being a middle school girl is hard enough all by itself – but to move to a new place, cross the threshold from elementary to middle school, AND transition from private to public all at once? Bring out the haz-mat suits. We had a full-fledged disaster on our hands. The first 3 months of school had me eating antacids like they were candy. Long, long story short – I ended up being TEACHER to my 6th grade daughter. I have many treasured friends who have chosen to educate their children at home, but to be bluntly honest with you, I never thought I was “home school material”. But when our kids are in despair, we will do just about ANYthing to save them, won’t we?

Yes, it has been quite the year of adjustments – and I’m just about ready for some “comfortable and familiar”, thank you very much. It has been hard, grueling work at times, but as we settle in and find soft places to land, I can honestly say that it has been worth it! 2 Corinthians 12:9 has proven true! “My grace is all you need. My power works best in weakness.” That, and a whole lot of Oreos have been just what I needed to survive.

Stop and Smell the Basil

Sometimes God shows up and I miss it. He goes “all out” to provide lavishly for me, interact closely with me, and love tenderly on me, yet I overlook it. Yes, I’m not at all proud to admit that sometimes HHHis spectacular goodness goes completely unnoticed and flies right under my radar. But then there are those other times. Those other times when I get it. I see Him and what He is up to. I trace His hand in the sand, pause and gaze at His handiwork and I am wooed all over again by His overt gestures of love.

This past summer afforded one of those gifts of God’s love that I actually noticed. I had come across a yummy pasta recipe that called for fresh basil and tomatoes and was licking my chops at the thought of making it for myself. My Daddy’s tomato plant had yielded the perfect ripe tomatoes for my culinary delight, so my quest to gather the right ingredients started off with a bang! The fresh basil, on the other hand, proved to be more elusive. The grocery store produce department lured me in with their precious little portions of fresh herbs (nicely packaged in their own tiny plastic contraption). I spotted the price. Ridiculous! Two measly leaves for how much? At this rate, an entire plant would cost more than my weekly grocery budget!

Dejected, I made my way to the lawn and garden department on my mission for the herb in question. Nada. The fresh basil plants were completely sold out. Apparently I wasn’t the only one with a hankering for that those lush, green, fragrant little pieces of flavor. Man! Without the fresh basil, the recipe would just be glorified spaghetti! That just wouldn’t do. Somewhere deep in my subconscious, I formed a pitiful whimper of a prayer – but God, I wanted basil! (insert pouty face here).

Not even a full week later, I was over at Laura’s house. As my friend and I sat on her back patio, yacking away and baking in the summer sun, I spotted a beautiful potted plant by her back door. Was it? Could it be? This plant was way too huge and lush to be…I jumped up out of my lawn chair and upon further inspection (including the smell test) all but gave that big ‘ole basil plant a hug and kiss! When she witnessed my undiluted joy at the sight of her herb, Laura kindly offered for me to take as much of her basil as I would like. Oh man, this was the best! Sure, I was excited to get my basil, but way more than that, I was excited that God heard me and knew the desires of my heart. Even if those desires are a bit random at times, He knows me. He knows what makes me smile. God was definitely in the basil.

I’m guessing that you’ve heard of Jacob’s ladder? Yes, even Jacob of the Old Testament had a basil moment. The story is found in Genesis 28 where Jacob didn’t miss God’s overture of love to him while on a cross-country journey. Mind you, Jacob was using a stone for a pillow. That would give me weird dreams, too. But Jacob saw the living GOD in his dream (angels ascending and descending up and down the steps and the Lord at the top, which was the opening to Heaven). Uh, wow. Wow. WOW! Jacob’s encounter with God was real – and he knew it! Genesis 28:16 says, “When Jacob awoke from his sleep, he thought, Surely the LORD is in this place, and I was not aware of it." He could have missed God – been too sleepy to really care, been too busy preparing for the next day’s journey, or worse yet, could have written the whole thing off as an overactive imagination. But he didn’t. God showed up in Jacob’s life and he noticed. So much so, that he took that rock of a pillow and turned it into a monument of remembrance of the time and place where God communed with him. I just can’t help but wonder how many times I have been in the royal presence of the Lord, and as Jacob so aptly put it, “I was not aware of it.”

God doesn’t have to send me visions of angels on steps (though that would be super cool). The free basil was just as much a visit from the Heavenly Provider as Jacob’s ladder was! When God sends a ladder or basil moment your way, don’t feel the need to build a monument, simply take the time to notice that there is a God who is crazy about you and is constantly doing things to win your heart. Just take time to stop and smell the basil!

Heaven CAN'T wait

It was such a blow to the gut last spring as we learned that Sugarlump's colon cancer had returned after five years of absence. It didn't sneak in, it crashed in loud and large and our heads swirled as we tried to grapple with the truth that this thing was big and there was nothing to do to stop it from slowly but surely taking her life. Such a hopeless feeling. Such an amazing lady. So giving. So gracious. So kind. So full of life. Such an amazing cook. Each dish prepared with her secret ingredient - pure undiluted joy in serving those she loves. Her smile hugs you warm and tight.

The chemo wasn't effective - her body couldn't withstand the poison. Surgery wasn't an option - the risk of her not making it through the surgery was too great and there weren't any guarantees that it could even be removed. Thus, started our agonizing wait for the inevitable. I marveled to watch each of her 5 children, their 5 spouses, 16 living grandchildren, adoring sisters, nieces, nephews, and lifelong friends as they each poured out from the overflow of love in their hearts for this amazing lady who had loved them so lavishly for years. How do you cram in all the words you want to make sure that she hears before her departure? How do you capture each sweet kiss and stolen glance for safe keeping?

It won't be long now. Things are changing quickly. While our hearts throb with the reality that we will be separated soon, there is a quiet peace knowing that this dividing chasm will be temporary. As we stand alongside her and wait, we thank God for the angels known as hospice who will guide us through this birthing process into her new life. Our deep sorrow is only trumped by our wide-eyed wonder at what lies ahead for her in eternity.

Chris Rice sings it well:
"And soon He turns the final page
We'll look the Author in the face
Then the book really begins
'Cause something tells me all these years of memories
Are only the first sentence of eternity "
("Nonny Nonny" by Chris Rice)

Home is where the TUBA is (SHE! magazine December '08)

I love Christmas. Love it love it love it! My special little guy, Jonathan (with Down Syndrome) agrees with his Mom that this is definitely the most wonderful time of the year. Jonathan doesn’t have a strong concept of “calendar”, but at the very first cold snap, he begins asking about Christmas. Over and over and over. Hence, begins the annual countdown. We are on the yuletide home stretch now and the excitement meter in the Griffin household is tipping the scale, for sure.

Only one problem. My little family is a bit “displaced” this Christmas season. We moved to a different city recently and are living in an apartment while we try to sell our house. Having downsized our living quarters over 1000 square feet, we are officially out of elbow room. Our current journey of “togetherness” is proving to be an exercise in self control, to say the least. It’s a good thing that Santa is making a list and checking it twice.

No matter how much nesting I have done in our new, space-challenged abode, it just isn’t home yet. It sort of feels like we are on an extended stay at a hotel. Who wants to have Christmas at a hotel? I mean, the song doesn’t say “I’ll be in Room 1225 for Christmas” – it says I’ll be HOME for Christmas!

I remember my very first Christmas as a married woman. It took place in a tiny little apartment that didn’t feel at all like home yet. We were dirt dumb poor college students, but all we needed was love. Okay, love and a Christmas tree. So, off we went to find our tree! We were so excited about picking out the perfect tree…until we saw the price tags! Good grief, they were expensive. I was heartbroken, because a real live tree was such a big part of my Christmas as a child. Hours into our search for forestry perfection, and cold, red noses to show for it, we had found a Christmas tree that we newlyweds could afford. Allright, so it was more like a Christmas bush. A spruce pine that stood all of 3 feet tall. Not a Frasier fir, but not bad for five bucks. Charlie Brown would be proud. I adorned our beloved tree with a plethora of red and white gingham bows and some leftover ornaments my Mom had given me from my childhood. It was a beauty. Suddenly, that apartment felt a lot more like home.

This year we’ve had to be equally creative to make our new pad feel like home. Our own special tree that we drag out from the garage each year (yeah, I succumbed to the ease of the artificial) and all of our cherished ornaments were a great start. As we unwrapped each tree adornment as though they were presents in and of themselves, we played “remember when” and laughed about the stories that were hidden in each of them.

Hanging the stockings was such a treat, too! While we don’t have a mantle this year, we decided that the high bar in the kitchen/dining room was the perfect home for our special socks. I just love to watch the eyes of each of my children as they try to imagine what treasures will stuff each crevice. And speaking of “stuffing”, we’ve been sure to do the ample amount of cooking and baking for the holiday season. Those cookies that come in a tube can be quite the culinary challenge, but when sprinkled with colored sugar, they are sure to please!

And last but not least, I’ve assured the kids that Santa will know that we have moved. My middle school daughter, Meredith, wants a digital camera (pink, of course) under the tree. My second grader, Savannah, has visions of a cell phone dancing in her head, but will probably have to settle for some new Hot Wheels cars, army gear, and Barbies. A creative combination, don’t ‘ya think?

Jonathan has quite the interesting request for the man in the big red suit this year. He has decided that he wants a tuba for Christmas. Yes, you read right. A tuba. Jonathan already has a trumpet and a trombone. It seems only fitting that he would top his collection with the crown jewel. A tuba. Is anyone thinking what I’m thinking? That a tuba and an apartment complex don’t mix? Ah, we’ll have to see what Santa thinks.

“Home” is a relative term, I suppose. Give us God’s love, each other, a hefty dose of Christmas nostalgia and we’re good to go. All that and a tuba is more than any family could ask for.