Granny's Quilt

Last night as I was tossing the quilt onto Katie's bed, old memories came flooding back. The quilt is a patchwork pattern called "SunBonnet Sue." Each doll is made from scraps of clothes Granny had left over from dresses she sewed for herself and for her daughters. I have had the quilt for as long as I can remember. It traveled with me through more moves than I have fingers to count.

Granny Box owned a modern sewing machine. It was a portable machine, in a beautiful case. It lived under her bed. I can't remember ever seeing it out of the case. Not one time. Granny also owned an old treadle machine. Most of my memories of her involve that old sewing machine. I would go stay with her sometimes during the summer. Her back was hunched, and her hands gnarled. Yet, she sat for hours at that old machine. The whir and clack of the machine lulled me to sleep many nights as she worked by lamplight in her bedroom.

Granny raised 6 children in hard times. Her husband was disabled, leaving her to provide an income for the family. She and the kids picked cotton to put food on the table. In season, they traveled to California with extended family to pick in the orchards. It was a hard life, much of it living as sharecroppers. With little money for luxuries such as store bought dresses, Granny became an expert seamstress. She made masterpiece artwork quilts for her beds, designed and stitched exquisite dresses for her girls, and practically clothed the boys - all from that treadle sewing machine.

By the time I came along, the years of hard work and the onset of severe arthritis made her hand twisted, gnarled, worn, and wrinkled. I vaguely remember her working as a receptionist in a hospital when I was a tiny girl, a huge step up in life after all those hard years in the fields. Granny's tall, slender frame was stooped and bent. She still rolled her short gray hair in pincurls on Saturday night to look good for church.

Her hard life was apparent in her lifestyle. When she passed away and we sorted through her things we discovered that she had saved all of her bread ties. Bread sacks were carefully washed and folded in drawers, and clothes given to her as birthday gifts - with tags attached - filled her closet. Why wear new clothes if the old ones were not worn completely out?

But back to the sewing machine. One summer, a particularly hot and dry summer, I spent a week or two with her in Piggot, Arkansas. I was totally engrossed in my Barbie dolls, as well as Little House on the Prairie (stop laughing). I wanted to pretend 1800's with my dolls, but they had no suitable clothes. Granny Box took this on as an exciting project. She threw open cedar chests, dug through piles of scraps left from formal gowns she had stitched for dances a lifetime ago, and went to work creating a new wardrobe for Barbie. She showed me how to sew, and we worked together to create a tiny patchwork quilt for my dolls. I picked out laces and ribbon to adorn the elegant gowns for my dolls. When we were finished, I thought I had hit the jackpot.

What I understand now as an adult is that every pump of that treadle sewing machine, every winding by hand of the bobbin, every stitch made with her gnarled hands brought her pain. Yet she never complained, and was excited to be able to demonstrate love. I learned to love sewing that summer, and more than that I learned to appreciate my Granny's talents. This stooped, bent, old woman was an artist at heart.

Parkinson's disease hit Granny hard. I was not able to go stay with her any more. She came and stayed with us, often for long periods of time, but the disease made it hard for her to communicate. She became extraordinarily critical, and unreasonably fearful. She lost most of her mobility, having to shuffle her feet to move around the house. But in all of the stages of the disease, she kept a project going on that old treadle sewing machine. I don't know how she managed to continue sewing, but she did. The machine finally stood silent after Granny collapsed with a stroke. She never went back home, instead eventually passing away in a nursing home.

That machine now sits in my old bedroom at Mom's house. Its drawers are still organized just the way Granny left them. It has not made a sound in many, many years now. It sits silent, at long last resting after years of use. But every time I see it, I remember that last beautiful summer of sewing. That summer that Granny found a way to use her favorite talent to love her granddaughter.

Valentine's Get-Away

Giddy. Excited. Butterflies. Primping. I remember those feelings as a teenager getting ready for a big date. Friday afternoon as I was showering, I was thankful to realize that I still feel all of those things when I am getting ready for a date with my husband of nearly 17 years. I still get excited about going away with him. I am still giddy, even knowing that I got the guy.

Our evening began with a less than stellar event. We were about two blocks from the house when we heard a very loud, "Kerthump," and the car stalled out. I have been through this twice before, both times alone in a mini van full of children on a major highway in Fort Worth. So I say, "Transmission. Crap." My husband throws it into reverse, the only way the suburban would still drive. We returned home by backing down the street, circling the cul-de-sac, and backing into the driveway. I couldn't help laughing about driving in reverse. It struck me as funny. I didn't see Shawn laughing.

We grabbed the keys to the other car and headed out again, determined not to be side tracked from our amazing evening. As we neared Dallas, Shawn let me choose where to eat. I debated about Olive Garden, but finally suggested The Magic Time Machine. We had heard such good things about it from friends. My bad!

1. They seated us in a narrow walkway so that people couldn't get past Shawn, so we had to ask for a different table. Hello- don't seat large people in tiny thorough-fares. It's embarrassing to have to say, "I'm too big to sit here."
2. Our waiter, Prince Charming, was less than charming. He repeatedly told us he was paid crap, his job was crap, and he didn't bother refilling our drinks.
3. The food sucked. My chicken parmesan was rubbery - you know how chicken is when it's been microwaved too long. I had a better chicken parmesan last week in a Lean Cuisine meal. For less than $3. Shawn's shrimp was tough and slightly freezer burnt. The food was bad enough that we could not even manage to finish our food.
4. Shawn mentioned the bad food to our waiter. He rolled his eyes and said, "I get that alot." REALLY!

To fully understand this experience, you have to know that Shawn loves good food. As in, he absolutely adores it. When he eats really good food, he makes rather loud happy noises. (Think "When Harry Met Sally") When he eats bad food, well, it's not pretty. His evening was pretty much ruined at that point. His favorite part of Valentine's Day, by far, is the good food. There was no redemption of the evening for him.

We spent the night at The Westin, a really nice hotel in Dallas. I was excited that it was an improvement over last year's microtel. They were even playing Norah over the speakers in the lobby. I enjoyed staying in the nice hotel, and we had a great breakfast from Panera on the way home this morning. Over all, it was not one of our best getaways (transmission and bad food kind of sucked it up). However, it was still better than last year's WinStar and Microtel. It was good to spend time alone with my husband.

Maybe next year we should just send the kids away and eat our own really good food cooked in our own kitchen and sleep in our own bed.

Valentine's Week

"What? You wanted a card? Why didn't you say so? You could have picked one up at the store. I would have signed it for you." Meet my husband - about 7 years ago on Valentine's Day. He was not romantic. He wasn't necessarily unloving, he just didn't "get it" about how to love a woman. He assumed that I knew he loved me just because he had married me many years ago. For example, on our 10th anniversary he offered to swing by the drive-through at Taco Bell.

Expectations can destroy a relationship. I had huge expectations about getting swept off my feet. I believed the Hollywood and Disney version of marriage. I absolutely expected "Happily Ever After." When I married, I expected to get blown away by romance. I thought my husband would always gaze at me with goo goo eyes. I thought he would wow me daily with romantic gestures. Then real life hit pretty hard. We were swamped with ministry, we had kids, and life was busy.

My husband had huge expectations as well. He expected "Leave it to Beaver." He thought that a loving wife always had supper on the table. She kept a perfect house, handled the children patiently, and allowed her hard-working husband to come home at night to his castle, prop his feet up in his favorite chair and watch T.V. in silence. Was he in for a shock! I stunk at all those things. I am well known for kitchen fires when I cook, I hate to clean, and I was not cool with my husband disengaging in the evening and ignoring me and the kids.

For many years we were both extremely dissatisfied with our relationship. I will say that my husband was the first to make an effort to change. My husband has learned in recent years how to love me. The way that I understand love is not necessarily the way that he naturally expresses love. It takes hard work on his part. That's what makes it so beautiful. For example, he now does Valentine's week instead of just Valentine's Day. I look forward to this holiday all year.

This year Shawn has written me a love letter every day. He has spent each day writing to me about why he finds me beautiful. The letters have addressed physical traits, personality traits, and spiritual traits. As with most women, I struggle with my self worth. It is refreshing and touching to know that my husband dwells on my beauty and thinks about me during the day. (Read - I cried a lot when I read the letters)

There have been gifts and special meals and candy, but I think the most touching gift was a music download. After I was asleep the other night, Shawn stole my phone and added new music. Some was just fun, but he added a song that he thinks describes who I have become. I didn't know what to expect when I listened, but I was honored beyond words. You see, he downloaded Leeland's "Tears of the Saints". It's a song about doing whatever it takes to reach the hurting and the damaged and the lost.

Tonight we celebrate Valentine's Day. He has arranged the baby sitter, made the reservations, and all I have to do is pack my suitcase and show up. This is a man who is living proof that you can learn how to be romantic. It can be an acquired skill if you are willing to work hard to love your wife.

I work much harder now as well at loving my husband. It is still true that I rarely cook, but I do try a little harder to clean the house. But I have also learned to build my husband up with my words. I have learned that he needs me to be impressed with him and to express that openly. I have learned about unconditionally respecting him in public, and also when we are alone. I have learned to speak to him in ways that communicate my needs and desires, without yelling, or being accusatory.

I firmly believe that with a lot of hard work and a lot of God's grace, we have discovered a love that is much better, deeper, and stronger than the "happily ever after" I was looking for.

Cadbury Eggs

In our first church staff position we made $9,000. We were in school full time and struggling hard to have food on our table. In fact, on more than one occasion, God provided groceries for us that we had no money to buy. Every dime was counted, and we collected and saved our extra pennies to be able to eat out. Somewhere along the way, Shawn heard me talk about loving Cadbury Eggs. I did not have them often growing up, but they were one of my favorite treats.

One Easter in our early marriage, he showed up at our little apartment with a Cadbury Egg in hand. Just one, because we could not afford two. It was for me a very incredibly beautiful act of love. I knew that he bought it on a whim at the checkout stand, just because he knew that I would enjoy it. A sheer unselfish act of love.

We spent many years in absolute poverty, adding children to the mix as we went. He made it a tradition every Easter to make sure that he brought me the first Cadbury Egg of the season. Times are much less tight for us now. We are able to afford a few special treats now and again. The Cadbury Egg gift is still sweet, but I had forgotten the depth of meaning behind it over the years since it is no longer such a sacrifice.

But Tuesday was a very hard day for me. I had a tough day at work, a really bad migraine, and was struggling with how God wants to use me in the future. I had not had time to talk to Shawn about any of this. I walked into the house very done and frustrated and exhausted. Then the smell of fresh, hot coffee assaulted my senses. Then I looked at the mountain of clean laundry in my living room. All the sheets were washed and dried. And my husband was sitting on the couch grinning like a Cheshire cat. Yep, he had found it. The first Cadbury Egg of the season and brought it home for me. Just one. Just for me.

All of a sudden I remembered. I remembered where we have come from. I remembered our story of a marriage redeemed. I remembered all the times God has provided for our family in miraculous ways. I remembered all the sacrifices that it has taken to create a great love. And I was grateful to be home to the best part of my day. My husband.

Love your enemies

What to write about tonight? I've been so crazy busy, but I don't know that it's anything interesting or insightful. I have lots of stuff on my mind - there's several cool and exciting things going on with some of my friends and with The Crossroads that I am not free to talk about yet, but also several deep prayer needs from my own life and the lives of my friends that are not internet material. So my mind is racing, hunting for something to write about that will not get me into any trouble.

I was thinking about something earlier this evening though that might be blog worthy. Sunday afternoon we took our children out to eat at a fairly nice restaurant along with some of our friends. James apparently accidentally sprayed spit on Grace when he was talking. So being my hot headed daughter (don't know where she gets that), she hocked one up and spit back at him in his face. Being my hot headed son (don't know where he gets that either), James decked her in the nose. Being overly dramatic (nope, don't know where that comes from either), Grace began screaming at the top of her lungs in the restaurant while holding her nose. They were suitably punished by their dad who controls his temper much better than me. They were not fed any lunch and were forced to sit in the car while the rest of us enjoyed a very leisurely dinner. Even this afternoon they were yelling at each other in the car until I had to enforce a zero talking policy until we reached home. TEENS!

But a few hours ago we were hanging out in the living room, and James was telling Grace all the nice stuff he's heard about her at the middle school from her teachers. She lit up like a christmas tree. She loves words of affirmation. They were suddenly the very best of friends. She was then telling him congratulations on making the A string football team as a starter. They chatted about teachers and classes and homework and were suddenly the very best friends ever. I was frankly just weirded out. These kids have been totally hateful to each other lately and abruptly shifted gears.

It made me think through the depth of the family relationship. It did not matter that my children had hated each other just a few days ago. They are family and family loves each other no matter what. Family looks for opportunities to build each other up. They stick up for each other and love each other like crazy. Sometimes they may go through tough times or even intense times of dislike, but they still love each other.

I was reminded of the importance of that depth of love relationship with our church family. I want to continue to see The Crossroads loving each other like family. Warts and all. I want to love other people like that, and I want to be loved that way. I want to seek opportunities to affirm my friends and to forgive my enemies and treat them with value and respect. It's amazing how many lessons I learn from watching my children!