Funny hats and things...

I feel like I should mention the royal wedding.  It is “the talk” today.  So I’ll say Kate looked beautiful, William looked dashing, and I’m thrilled they married for love and waited till they were mature enough to make a good decision. 

On a side note, today is my Dad and Sally’s (my stepmom) anniversary.   If you had told me that my Dad would remarry after my mother passed away, I never would have believed it.  But, he met a new love and married again.  It’s been five years.  She looked beautiful.  He looked dashing.  I’m thrilled they married for love, and I feel they were both mature enough to make a good decision!  The only difference?  No hats at the ceremony!

I could blog all day about the hats I saw as I watched footage from the royal wedding on my DVR.  The shapes, the colors, the sizes, the accessories… all I could really think was, how will anybody who is not in a front row seat see anything over those hats?  

Being 6’1” tall, I make it a practice to get to a movie theatre early and pick a seat with no one behind me.  If someone chooses to sit behind a tall person, that is their issue.  (Stadium seating has really solved this problem for everyone!)  But honestly, in Westminster Abbey, no one was going to see anything with all the plumage even if they managed to get stadium seating in there.

Speaking of weddings.  Maw-Maw and my granddad missed their 60^th wedding anniversary by 2 months when Granddad died.  Grandmother Faith and Granddaddy were married 46 years before he died.  Mom and Dad were married 46 years before she died.  I come from a family of people whose love was eternal and marriage vows meant hanging on through the hard times.  

Everyone one has hard times—everyone!  The keys that I saw, especially in earlier generations’ marriages, were communication, respect, friendship, and love.  I married my best friend, and I am so thankful I did.  We have learned over the course of 17 years to communicate, respect, and love each other through times that only God could see us through.  

In the end, I pray that our children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren will be able to talk about how Chance and I made it to our 60^th+ wedding anniversary.  And when that happens, promise me, you will come to the party and wear a hat filled with plumage!!

Riding the storms

Storms.  Last night we were up very late as some of the worst storms in the history of Georgia slowly crept through the state.  We were spared but so many were not.  It’s hard to see the devastation on the news.  The loss of life and property—it is heartbreaking.  Thinking of so many who are suffering today.

I marvel as I watch people giving accounts of the loss of their home and all their belongings while still praising the Lord for sparing their lives.  I love this attitude.  In a day and time when so many people are defined by their possessions, it is good to hear people that are thankful simply for life.  

I watched a video of a mile long tornado that went through Alabama before holding together and sweeping through Georgia.  As you watched the video, you would see the debris in the funnel and outside of the funnel twirling through the sky.  I thought to myself—what are those things?  Pieces of houses, buildings, roofs, furniture, pictures, letters, personal possessions?  Gone, twirling through the sky, landing who knows where. 

You have 5 or maybe 10 minutes warning to get to the basement.  What do you grab?  What do you hold onto?  As we sat last night waiting for the storm, we all were preparing for the possibility of heading to the basement.  Daughter got her pillow, flashlight, kindle, and stuffed bunny.  Son got nothing… he was already asleep upstairs.  As I thought about it, all I really needed in the basement was my family and my cats.  I also had my cell phone charged and by my side.  Seems like a good way to stay in touch if the house comes down.  I pondered other things as I watched the storm.  Should I get daughter’s asthma meds?  Should I grab my purse?  Maybe a picture or two?  In the end, the storms went just to the north and south of us and we never went to the basement. But it makes me think.  

 

What is important?  What am I clinging to that is unnecessary in my life?  If it all blew away tomorrow is there really anything other than my family that I would hold tight to in the midst of a storm?  I know my Savior would be there beside me.  I know His Word would be on my lips.  I know songs of praise would be playing from that charged cell phone to keep us calm.  I think I’ve got all I need in easy grasp.  All the rest could be replaced but maybe it wouldn’t even need to be.  This has me thinking today.

Baking Cookie?

How on earth do you come up with a blog name?  Well, if you live in my house, most big decisions are made with a dry erase board and a marker.  The ease of writing the words as they glide across the slippery board... the pure joy of easily erasing the crazy idea.  Many a great idea, thought, or next step has come from the dry erase process here.

Would you believe that Baking Cookie was the winner?  It's catchy and has many hidden meanings.  Intriguing isn't it?  I'm wondering who can guess the what it might mean.  Since only family and friends will be here reading, I bet someone can guess.

I love to write.  I think it is deep in the roots of my being.  I believe that the Lord gave me a desire to put words on paper long before I could pick up a pen.  It started early.  I lived five minutes from both sets of my grandparents.  I spent quality time with the prior generations of my family.  I grew up hearing stories.  My grandmothers were both amazing story tellers who had such rich stories.  The best part?  The stories were true.  They were stories of their lives and their families.  And while it was really just fifty to sixty years prior to my birth, the stories they told were of a time when things were so very different.  I was intrigued from the start and would listen with my whole heart and soul.  I remembered every word and stored it in my brain.  I realized the value in these stories they told, so I started to write my stories down.  Diaries, scrapbooks, anything to make a record-- a stamp on paper that said-- I was here!

My grandmothers lived long lives.  Maw-Maw lived to be 99 years and 11 months old.  She passed away when I was 41.  I was blessed beyond measure to hear her stories for so many years.  But beyond the blessing of knowing her and having her in my life was the treasure I was given when she passed away-- boxes and boxes of photographs, diaries, journals, letters, and scrapbooks from my grandmother, great grandmother and great-great grandmother.  My heart still skips a beat as I ponder the magnificence of these stories and words that have been left for me.  My ancestors whisper to me from a different time in history, and I cling to their wisdom, trials, and triumphs.

My Grandmother Faith lived to be almost 94.  My mother was her only daughter, and I was her only granddaughter.  The bond between the two of us was God-given and precious beyond my ability to capture with keystrokes.  I loved her with my whole heart, and she loved me without condition.  It's good to have someone from an older generation love you for exactly who you are.  It gives you confidence and wings.  Grandmother had a remarkable mind.  She remembered everything.  She shared her history with my brother and I through stories told over and over again.  We used to get frustrated thinking... why is she telling that story again??  But we realized as adults that she was leaving her stamp. She was saying, "I was here.' She just did it through stories told aloud.  She knew we would not forget.  She knew that we would tell her stories to our children, and the legacy of her family would be passed on.  Her legacy was love!  And I am passing it on to the next generation.

So... I begin this blog with so many stories to tell.  Not just my grandmothers' stories but the stories that I have been created through my life.  You see my family shaped me and molded me.  Their stories are my stories.  My stories are my children's stories.  I can no longer keep these stories to myself, and my fingers are itching to tap out the tales.

I have been mixed, shaped, molded, and BAKED by the legacy of love that came before.  Can you guess what my nickname was when I was a camp counselor?  If you do, you will understand my blog name.  Thanks for reading!