A REMINDER OF GOD'S PLANNING

Again, this morning, God reminded me of how He has planned my life; how He has woven a remarkable web of life threads throughout it -- from the beginning.  

Due to many activities of the late 1960s, my parents chose to send me to David Lipscomb Elementary School in 1970.  I am a "Lipscomb Lifer," meaning I went all twelve years to school there -- grade 1 - grade 12.  I also continued my undergraduate education across the campus.  During my time at Lipscomb, I knew, but not well, a girl named Emily.  She was a year a head of me.  We were never close in school at all.  We had many mutual friends, but we just did not run in the same circles. 

Fast forward two (+) decades into the wonderful world of Facebook.  In about 2009, Emily and I reconnected over FB just about the time that she was losing her precious mom.  I had lost my own mother in 2006, so that became an instant bond.  Grief.  We exchanged numerous messages, and the friendship began to grow.  

Emily and her family were just about as nutty over country music as our family, and so we began making summer memories for several years at the CMA Fest.  All of our children were young, and I think Emily and I did plenty to embarrass them through the years.  (That's what moms are for!) During this time, I learned to love Emily's niece, Meredith.  Meredith is always the life of the party, and her family became like family to us.  

Over the past few years, we haven't gotten to see each other as often.  Our summer CMA festivals went on hiatus, children grew up and went to college, and life simply took us in different directions.  But . . . the foundation of those relationships is solid, and remains so.  

Yesterday, I got a call from Meredith.  It was so good to hear from her.  She was calling on a specific mission.  One of her good friends need information from the special needs arena.  A good friend of Meredith's and her husband have recently been thrust into a situation of caring for an adult sibling with special needs.  This occurred as the result of the death of her father in law.  Obviously, she was overwhelmed with where to turn, whom to talk to, and what to do.  Meredith said that she just knew I could help.  I asked Meredith to have her friend call me today.  

As a parent of an adult child with special needs, my heart broke for this young couple.  Jeff and I had years to plan for Katie's future.  So, I prayed.  I prayed for God to guide me with the right words.  I prayed for God to put on my heart the correct resources to give this sweet young woman.  I prayed His Spirit to give me wisdom and perspective. 

So, this morning, I was honored to have a long conversation with this young woman.  What a treasure.  She was so loving and concerned that she and her husband were going to do what was best for his sister.  Just in talking with her, I felt God in our midst.  

We exchanged a lot of information, including pictures of our special needs loved ones. THIS WAS THE KICKER.  This precious young woman with special needs was also classmate of Katie's in high school.  They are the same age, and they were really good buddies in school.   

Coincidence?  God does not cause coincidences.  He plans, and His plans are perfect.  I am again thankful for the reminder today.  

Peanut Butter Balls -- A SWEET Christmas Memory

 My sweet mother in law was truly the sweetest woman I've ever known.  Hazel Harper Sweet truly lived up to her last name in every way during her 87 years on this earth.  She was small in stature but a giant in integrity, kindness and compassion for others.  She taught me so very much in our relationship, and there's not a day that goes by that I don't miss her terribly. 

Tonight, as I re-created her famous peanut butter balls -- a holiday tradition in her home, and now in our home -- I recalled, with a chuckle, a precious holiday memory surrounding this delicacy.  Holidays at Hazel's were a magical event that largely took place in her kitchen.  She was a wonderful cook, and she showed her family love in that way.  She never had a lot of monetary wealth in this life, but she was rich in so many other ways -- ways that truly mattered.  She always made you feel like you were the most important person in the world, and, in her world, you really were. 

In around 2000 or 2001, we were visiting North Carolina for Christmas.  We had been there several days, and Mrs. Sweet was in full, Christmas-baking mode -- Moravian ginger cookies, coconut pies, Amish friendship cakes, and yes, peanut butter balls.  

Conner was about four years old, and he had quickly become addicted to the chocolatey goodness of the treats.  He would've eaten a whole bucket of them, if we had let him.  We would try to limit him to two or three because they were soooooo very rich!  

This particular day, Jeff and I had some last minute Santa duties to finish up, so we left Katie, Colton and  Conner at home with Granny and Paw-Paw Sweet.  Colton was always content to sit and work on puzzles with Paw-Paw.  Katie was usually happy watching television or playing with Granny.  But Conner was the baby, and he had a way of getting his way.  

Granny had given in and allowed him to have more peanut butter balls, but she finally reached her limit, and put them away in the refrigerator in her favorite storage containers - an old, Cool-Whip tub.  (When she passed away, there were literally a hundred of these tubs in her pantry!)  As she put them away, she  told Conner that he could have more later.  Well, Conner had other plans. 

Granny Sweet went back to the bedroom to do something, so Conner recruited Katie to help him retrieve more peanut butter balls.  He was smart enough to know that Granny had stored them in a Cool-Whip tub; however, he didn't know that there were probably five other identical tubs in the fridge.  When little Bonnie and Clyde grabbed the container to heist Granny's candy stash, little did they know that they had accidentally chosen her Cool-Whip tub of chicken frying oil.  What a shock Conner got when he opened the lid, and the greasy container slipped from his little fingertips, flinging grease and oil all over him, his sister and the kitchen floor.  

Granny, hearing the commotion, ran into the kitchen to see Conner and Katie covered in grease and oil, and slipping all over the floor.  What an absolute mess!  But, being the wonderful Granny that she was, she didn't get upset.  She didn't fuss, yell or spank, like their momma would have done.  She just laughed.  And laughed, and laughed.  She was still laughing when Jeff and I arrived home, after she had bathed both children and was mopping the greasy floor.  

When Jeff and I began to be upset, she quietly said, "Now, just stop it.  The little fellow just wanted some candy."  And, that was that.  Conner claimed that it was all "Tatie's" (he couldn't pronounce the "K") idea, and no one could ever get mad at those sweet little brown eyes!  

My mother in law taught me a lot that day.  She taught me that laughter is always better than anger.  She taught me that children are going to mess up.  She taught me that children are only little for a short time, and that time is truly a gift.  She taught me not to sweat the small stuff -- even when the small stuff was a greasy mess.

So, tonight, as I made this year's batch of peanut butter balls, there were no small children in my kitchen trying to sneak some candy.  Those children are now grown, and this mother truly misses those days gone by.  But, there was the memory of a special lady that I love so much, and that taught me so very much!  There are no doubt going to be peanut butter balls in heaven, along with those people who have meant so very much to us!  Merry Christmas!  

"Bless His Heart" -- A Lesson Learned Over Chips & Salsa

Tonight i had a rare opportunity to have a mom/son supper with my youngest.  Jeff was working out of town, so Conner opted for us to grab a quick meal at Chili’s.  We were seated quickly at a table in the bar seating area.  I excused myself to go to the restroom, as Conner began perusing the menu.  After washing my hands and adjusting my mask, I started back to the table.  Literally everyone in the restaurant was on their feet, pointing and looking out the window.  As I got closer, I saw that everyone in the bar area was also stretching their necks toward the parking lot.  

As I sat back down, Conner explained that a gentemen had evidently had too much to drink.  He had staggered and fallen as he left his seat at the bar.  Other people were commenting that he had fallen several times in the parking lot on the way to his car.  The restaurant management had contracted the police for fear that he might try to drive away in his apparently impaired condition.  

The man made it to his car, and he just sat there.  Again, almost everyone in the restaurant made their way to the windows to watch the man.  The police eventually got there, and it appeared that the man had called someone to come pick him up  The police talked with him for a good while, and they did not leave until his ride arrived.   It was evident that the man was embarrassed.  He had made some bad choices, and it seemed as if “the whole world” (or at least all of Chili’s) was watching.  

As I reflected back on this later, I thought about the attitudes and actions of many of the restaurant patrons, servers and staff.  They were all sharing stories of how this man had sat at the bar for several hours; how he had been “cut off” from ordering more drinks; how he needed to be arrested; how “his butt was going to jail: and how “he was in big trouble now.”  

I also reflected on the comments and attitudes of my son, and how they really differed from the majority of folks there  As Conner told me about what had happened during my trip to the bathroom, he was quiet and nonjudgmental.  He simply said that the poor fellow had evidently had too much to drink, and he had fallen.  In true Southern fashion, Conner said, “Bless his heart.”  He went on to say how sad that man must be to sit at a bar, alone, all afternoon.  He commented on how so many have lost hope during this pandemic.  He commented on how mental illness was becoming so much more prevalent due to the never-ending issues of COVID-19, and how maybe this man was self-medicating.  Of course, Conner didn’t know the man’s story, but he had COMPASSION.  We talked about the fact that we did not know this man’s story, and “there but for the grace of God, go I.”  

I couldn’t help but to think of Jesus and those around Him as He was in His final hours on this earth.  How people around Him hurled accusations and judgments.  How His closest friends denied Him and left Him to face His fate all alone.  Of course, there were those who showed Jesus some COMPASSION.  Simon of Cyrene carried the cross for Him when our Lord stumbled.  A soldier gave Jesus vinegar with gall, when He asked for water.  John agreed to care for Mary, the mother of Jesus, as his own mother.  Joseph of Arimathea gave Jesus his tomb for burial.  But MOST people had no COMPASSION — only judgment and ridicule.  

The lesson I learned from our experience at Chili’s is this: I want to be like my son.  I want to be compassionate and nonjudmental.  I want to look for the best in everyone, even at their worst moments.  I want to “bless people’s hearts.”  The Bible talks about “older” people teaching “younger” people with our vast knowledge and life experiences.  Well, tonight, my young 23 year-old son taught his 56 year-old momma a few things!  

Giving Thanks 2020

As we approach the Thanksgiving holidays, my mind drifts back to holidays long ago.  When I was a little girl, I don’t think I really understood what the Thanksgiving holiday really meant.  Of course, there were long-standing traditions associated with it;  watching the Macy’s parade in my pajamas with my daddy; helping Momma stir the raisins into her jam cake; watching the homemade rolls rise; cleaning out pumpkin “guts” for pumpkin pies; packing everything up and heading up the road to my grandparent’s house; games and laughs with my cousins; a table filled with scores of vegetables, meats, and desserts; my grandmother’s signature depression glass tea pitcher. 

All of these memories are so vivid in my mind today, decades later.  The sights, the sounds, the smells are somehow embedded in my memory.  As a child or adolescent though I don’t think that I really understood the importance of giving thanks -- everyday, let alone on that one assigned day each year.  

Hindsight is often 20/20, and when we look in that rear view mirror of life, we are often filled with so many regrets.  So many -- “what ifs,” or “if only’s” from our past.  

Giving thanks for my family. Giving thanks for a husband that cares for me and loves me unconditionally.  Giving thanks for the blessing of three wonderful children.  Giving thanks for my health.  Giving thanks for my friends. Giving thanks for life; for the freedoms that I enjoy; for the grace given to me for the mistakes that I have made in life.  These are things that truly bring “giving thanks” into a clearer view for me today, as an adult.  

So, as we come into the season of thankfulness for 2020, I encourage you to count your blessings.  This year has shown us so many negative things, but we can use 2020 as a springboard to show us the importance of every gift we have in this life.  We can look at the “glass half full” rather than seeing it half empty.  We can look at its challenges as opportunities to show others the importance of giving thanks.  

In Philippians 4:11, the  apostle Paul stated that he had learned to be content regardless of circumstances.  I would think that he also counted his blessings regardless of situations and circumstances.  So, that’s what I am going to do.  I give thanks for the blessings of today.  I hope you will too.  

The Missing Piece of Christmas

Well, ready or not . . . Christmas Eve has arrived.  The stocking have been hung; presents have been bought; holiday greetings have been mailed; and the jolly, old, elf is readying himself for a midnight ride.  As I get older, I am amazed at how quickly the season now rolls around each year.  The days quickly turn into weeks, and before we know it, another holiday season is upon us.

It seems that some years are more bittersweet, and this year has been one of those years.  So many of my good friends, my "framily," have lost loved ones.  I, too, lost my stepbrother back in May, and it is going to be strange not having him with us this year.  Just in recent days, friends have buried loved ones.  Some lost loved ones after long illnesses, and some lost precious ones suddenly.  This Christmas will have a void that truly never goes away.  There is a missing piece of Christmas; an empty seat at the table; a silenced voice in the laughter; a longed-for hug that will never again be experienced.

My missing piece of Christmas has been a result of the loss of my mother in 2006.  This is an emptiness that time doesn't fully heal.  The loss of my dad in 1984 hit me hard, but nothing like the loss of my mother, my best friend.  Additional pieces of Christmas are also missing with the loss of Jeff's parents, my brother, dear friends and other family members.  I truly do not know how people survive these losses without a faith.  Faith is what pulls us through the sadness, and somehow, we smile through the tears.

So, as we prepare to enjoy the festivities of the season, it is okay to acknowledge that there is a missing piece of Christmas.  It is natural to have feelings stirred by sweet memories or the lyrics to a holiday tune.  Loss is a part of this life, but that loss is only temporary.  Again, as I get older, I am so looking forward to those reunions with my loved ones that have already journeyed into eternity.

I dedicate the words of this poem to my sweet mother . . . and to anyone else that has a missing piece of Christmas this year.

"The Missing Piece of Christmas"
by Darlene Sweet (2017)

The years have continued to pass;
No, time has not stood still;
The holly hangs on the mantle;
And Santa still merits a thrill.

Visions of sugar plums still dance
In the dreams of little girls and boys;
Time well spent with family;
The magical season is still filled with joys.

Binges of watching holiday classics;
Finding something yummy to bake.
Treasures found in ambrosia, peanut butter fudge,
And of course, your scrumptious jam cake. 

Yet, my heart aches for something
Someone that left long ago.
That void is never really filled,
And the emptiness continues so.

Something has gone away,
And it can never come back again.
Sadly, that something is you,
My precious mother, my friend.

You are the missing piece of Christmas,
And it will sadly never be the same.
There’s just an ache here, without you.
In my heart, there is such a pain. 

I see you in the memories
of ornaments and in photos of days past.
I hear you in my children’s laughter,
Yes, those memories do last.

The scent of you still lingers
In a bottle of your perfume.
Sometimes I spray it on me,
Making it seem that you are in the room. 

I feel you in my heart,
Although I know that you’re not here;
But you left a piece of your heart with me,
Christmas time makes that so very clear.

Flowers left on a grave stone
Don’t seem adequate enough
To cover the love that was shared by us,
To show Christmas is so much more than stuff.

So, packages will be opened,
We’ll be filled with Christmas cheer.
But the missing piece of Christmas
Returns year after year. 

What I wouldn’t give to have you,
Just once more here with me.
To have just one more holiday
But that will never be.

Yet, I know that one day soon,
The missing piece will be found,
And we will have eternity together,
While listening to angel sounds.

There will be no more sadness,
There will be no more pain,
We will walk hand in hand together,
Down that golden lane.







Merry Christmas!  May God hold you in His hand and give you peace and comfort!

Darlene

9/11 -- Where Were You When the World Stopped Turning?

There are moments in life that stay with us forever.  Happy moments, such as being baptized, or the birth of our children, or our marriage.  Days filled with laughter and happiness, that we carry in our hearts always.  Sad moments, such as losing a loved one, betrayal by a friend, or devastated dreams; broken hearts and tear-stained cheeks.  Then there are moments that change us forever.  There are those events that we know will never allow life to return to its former state; those moments that shake us to our core and cause us to question.  Why?  How?  Questions only to be followed by sorrowful "if onlys" and "what ifs," that would never be fully answered.

September 11, 2001 was such a day, and the horrific events of the day were such events.  All of us, who were old enough to fully experience that day, know the gut-wrenching pain felt on that day.  It was a day when we saw the magnitude of horror that man could do to a fellow man, and on that day, we saw hope in the sacrifice that men and women did for their fellow brothers and sisters.

All of us who remember the day so well, also well remember where we were when, as Alan Jackson so descriptively wrote, "the world stopped turning".  I was in a car, heading to our office in Franklin.  The car radio's music was silenced, as news of a plane crashing into one of New York's World Trade Center towers was announced.  There was confusion, and question on the air.  As I continued my drive south, I thought about the people on the plane, and wondered if there were any survivors.

By the time I reached the office, there was a group of co-workers huddled around a computer screen.  I remember Jeff telling me that a second plane had hit the second tower of the World Trade Center, and there were more planes believed to have been highjacked.  The nation was on emergency alert.  This was a terror attack on American soil.

Unsure of how the events of the day would continue to unfold, Jeff sent me back north, to get the children.  He said he would feel more comfortable if we were all at home together to ride out the horror of the day.  So, I packed up my work things, and got back in the car, just as news of the crash at the Pentagon aired.

As I drove back toward Nashville, I felt numb.  News of the towers falling seemed surreal.  How could these huge towers just fall?  How many people were trapped?  People were actually jumping?  How could this be?

I remember arriving at the boys' school, along with many other parents.  I collected two very surprised little boys -- Colton in 2nd grade, and Conner in pre-school.  I shielded them from the news as much as possible, saying we just decided to have a day at home together.  We picked up Katie, and got home by late morning.  As we ate lunch, I purposely kept the television off.  I somehow wanted the innocence that my children felt to last, although I knew it could not.

By the time that Jeff got home, we put a movie on for the children in the playroom, and we went to the other end of the house to get an update.  The news was unbelievable.  We had friends in New York with MetLife, and no one could get any information on their statuses.

Jeff and I were glued to the television, when we realized that we were not alone.  Six little eyes were behind us.  The innocence of their childhood was changed.  We carefully and generally explained that something bad had happened, and that many people were hurt.  I remember Colton's little face, asking me such a poignant question -- "Mommy, why would anyone want to hurt other people?"  It was almost too much to take, and I remember just hugging him and crying.  Little Conner was too young to understand, but he clung to me tightly, as well.  Even Katie understood that something was very wrong.  It was as if Jeff and I just wanted to cocoon our little family away from the rest of the world. 

By evening, prayer vigils had been set across the country, and the five of us headed to Madison Church of Christ.  I remember so clearly the faces, blank with shock; the tears; the sobs; the holding hands; and the prayers.

The days following were filled with hope, as survivors were found in the rubble.   The days were filled with happiness of finally hearing from so many of our friends in New York.  The days were filled with immense sadness of the reality of the loss of that day.  The days were filled with fear of what would come, as a result.

Yes, 9/11/01, was a day that we were forever changed, as a nation and as individuals.  It was a day that brought us together as a nation and as individuals.  It didn't matter the color of one's skin, or the lifestyle one lived, or the size of one's bank account.  We were all united, and we were all Americans.
I remember thinking that unity, love and compassion were probably some of the very few positives that had come from the tragedy.

So now, fifteen years later, we remember.  For some, it is a daily struggle to continue living without loved ones that perished that day.  For some, today is a hateful reminder of such massive loss.  For many, it should be a day to remember that unity that the tragedy inspired.  But we don't always want to remember.  Maybe we should.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TpZJD6deEGc

Independence Day?? IDK. Maybe . . .

July 4th.  Our nation's Independence Day.  So much more than fireworks, cook-outs and outings on the lake.  The day that the American colonies adopted the Declaration of Independence in 1776 and declared their independence from Great Britain.

But what is independence?  Simply defined, independence is freedom from outside control or support.  So, in reality, is independence -- whether on a whole, or individually, truly attainable?  I don't know.   From the time we are born, we are (hopefully) learning various forms of independence.  From learning to walk unassisted to learning to talk and dress ourselves, our dependence upon others lessens -- or does it?  Again, I don't know.

Humans are, by nature, self-centered creatures, and that nature often is dependent upon other people or other things. We want what we want, when we want it.  Think of a baby.  He cries because he's hungry, and he wants food now.  He screams because he is wet, and he wants a dry diaper now.  He wails because he wants attention, and he demands it now.  Of course, we expect that from an infant, but does it really go away, as we age?  Maybe.  Maybe not.

A few days ago, I witnessed such a display of selfishness at a pool.  A sweet little girl was so happy to be enjoying an afternoon of play and fun at a beautiful, resort pool.  She splashed on the steps.  She danced to the music on the clubhouse radio.  She was having a grand time, until her mother began packing up, indicating that it was time to leave.  The sweet, charming nature of the little dark-haired girl was immediately replaced with a devilish brute of a child that screamed and stomped, "I don't want to go!"  The screaming and stomping went into a full-fledged fit, and the mother begged and pleaded with the child to calm down.  (Of course, my parenting style would have been a bit different, perhaps, truly giving the child something for which to scream; but that is another topic, for another day!)  Seeing this child in the throws of a tantrum was not pleasant, but it reminded me of how, so often, we base our happiness on others and our dependence upon them.  This child was dependent upon a mother who had chosen a time to leave the pool.  The little girl knew she couldn't stay there alone, but rather, would try to dissuade her mother to remain.  She was exerting her independence in the only way that she knew.

Is this really so different than our actions, sometimes, as adults.  We want what we want when we want it, and it is usually NOW!  Although, hopefully we do not throw tantrums (right!), we do often resort to a variety of tactics to get our way.  We are also dependent upon things, people, addictions, whims, desires.  You name it, and we are dependent upon it.  Our happiness depends on a good job; a handsome boyfriend; a fast car; a strong, investment portfolio; an Ivy-league education; the proverbial house with a white-picket fence.  We thrive when we are able to keep up with the Joneses, or the Browns, or the Kardashians -- whoever the familial flavor of the month currently might happen to be.   So, if our happiness and livelihoods are so dependent upon such, are we truly ever independent?  I would say, no.

Some dependence can be healthy.  I depend upon my husband for so much.  He is my best friend; he's the father of my children; he's the main financial provider for our family.   He also depends upon me.  It's a partnership.  I depend upon my friends, and they, in turn, rely on me.  It's what we do -- we "do life" together.  I depend upon my church family, and we hold tight during troubled times.  A "village" can take on many forms, but villagers depend upon one another.

As I think of this Independence Day for our country, I am sad.  I'm sad because I still believe that we live in the greatest country in the world; however, this country has declared its independence from God in so many ways.   So many of us in this country have simply pushed God aside.  We live by our own rules, and God's way is seen as old fashioned and outdated.  So many of us have lost any perception of a need for God.  We seek to be free to do what we want, and to be whoever we want to be.  It's our right.  It's our freedom and our perceived independence, and it's in those freedoms and liberties, that many have become liberated from God.

In contrast, true freedom or independence comes only in a dependence in God.  Things will fade, rust, and lose usefulness.  People will disappoint, desert, or even die.  We will often fail ourselves miserably.  We simply cannot keep all of the balls in the air -- no matter how much we pretend to be in control of every minute of every day of our lives.  It is only when we gain a total dependence upon God that we can finally gain the freedom and independence we truly desire.

So, tonight, on this 4th of July, I am indeed thankful to be a citizen of this great United States.  It is a blessing; but leaders flounder; governments fail; and countries fall. I'm more thankful to have the freedom that only comes from total dependence upon the Father.