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.  

Waves of Sorrow on Shores of Peace

There is nothing more soothing and calming to my soul than to sit by the ocean, watching the tides roll in and back out again.  Each wave is unique.  Some waves crest quickly, and come in with a soft whisper.  Others build slowly, pounding with a sudden climax, reaching far up into the shore.  The ebb and flow of the waters never stops.  These have exited since creation, and will continue until God chooses to end this world.  

Yesterday, we visited a local congregation to hear a preacher friend speak there.  It was a great lesson, and one specific thing touched my heart.  He noted that all of us have a “hole” in our heart.  This hole may have come from a past hurt or loss.  It may have come from guilt.  It may simply be emptiness.  From where?  We do not really know.  These “holes” often become such voids that our lives become very challenging.   Our friend mentioned that these holes could only be filled by a relationship with Jesus.  What a remarkable thought.  Only the Savior can provide the fulfillment to such voids in our lives.

This year has been a particularly sorrowful season.  From the loss of a precious young woman, that I loved as my own child; to the death of a good friend and colleague through a senseless disease; to the suicide of a young man, who saw death as the only way to escape the pain of this life; to wonderful parents and friends simply struggling to face the hurts from it all.  Simply trying to make sense of the sorrow.  Simply trying to find some peace.  Simply trying to go on.

Waves of sorrow crashing down on us can paralyze.  Hurt can overwhelm.  Pain can physically sicken.  Grief can cause anger, doubt and fear.  Those waves of sorrow are much like the ocean waves.  Each one, unique in a sense.  Each one, with its own set of circumstances.  Each one, breaking our hearts.

Yet, when we have a relationship with the Lord, those waves do not drown us.  They truly may pour over our spirits, but they do not flood out our faith.  Those waves crash upon us, and they beat us, and they hurl us on jagged rocks of questions that may never have answers.  Those waves of sorrow have existed for most of time.  From Eve realizing that her oldest son had murdered his brother; to Job’s imploring cries for mercy in his infirmities; to Mary watching her beloved Son pierced with nail and hung on a cross.  And . . . they will continue until God chooses to send our Jesus back to earth. 

But, to a Christian, those waves don’t define our lives.  Jesus is there to help, to rescue, and to fill those "holes" created by life's sorrows.  Those waves don't defeat us because we live – or should live – on the shores of peace.  Peace, in believing that we don’t truly see the “big picture.”  Peace, in understanding that this life – and all of its sorrow – is temporary.  Peace, in the hope for tomorrow – and for eternity.   Peace, in knowing that God is in control.  

A Soldier's Effect on a Little Girl

So much of the significance of Memorial Day in the United States has become lost in cook-outs, boating on the lake, and fun times, noting the "official kick-off" to summer.  In my opinion, we, as a country, do not show proper respect and honor to the men and women who serve in our military.  Opinions creep in about our personal feelings about war; what we think is right or wrong; placing ourselves in a position of judge and jury on so many issues, of which we have no personal knowledge or experience.  We critique those who have served, and the wars and conflicts in which they served.  Hindsight is always 20/20, but in times of war, many times difficult decisions have to be made.  Certainly, there are numerous wars, in looking back, that might have been avoided -- perhaps, should have been avoided.  But Memorial Day, should not be a time for accusations, protests, or defacing military monuments.  Memorial Day is a time for remembrance of those men and women who have served this country -- for YOU; for ME; for all of us.

Throughout my fifty-one years, I have known many that have served in the military.  My uncle L.T. Eastland, served in WWII, and I am honored to have his Purple Heart medal.  My father-in-law, E.L. Sweet served in the Pacific during WWII.  My father was drafted for the Korean War, but became ill at Fort Jackson, SC, receiving an honorable discharge and never going to Korea.  My uncle, Robert Blaylock, served in the Navy during the Vietnam War.  I still have the beautiful dolls that he sent me, from the area following the war.  

I don't think I really ever grasped the true magnitude of the respect and honor due those who have served us, until I visited Arlington National Cemetery a few years ago.  The hills of military graves roll as far as the eye can see.  It is a quiet place for respect and remembrance.  It was especially moving to me because my sweet friend, Monika, had buried her precious son at Arlington, only weeks before I was there.  Ryan Maddux Lawrence was a dynamic young man with a bright life ahead of him; however, his willingness to serve, and his love for this country, changed the journey of his life -- and the lives of those who loved him.

As a very little girl, I did not really understand the aspect of war.  In the late 1960s, I saw black and white images of soldiers with guns, fields of rice, and Asian people in strange hats on television.  I saw images of young protestors that were against the war.  I heard the slogan, "Make Love, Not War," but I truly did not understand what it all meant.  However, I did understand that the war meant that a handsome young man from our church was going away, and everyone was very concerned about it.

I remember a beautiful young woman named Dottie that was dating a handsome boy named James Edmund Peay.  They were young -- in their early 20s, and so happy.  Dottie was a teacher, and they were going to get married one day.  I remember hearing my parents talk about a "draft number" coming up, and a quick marriage, only a couple of weeks before the young man, "Jim," left for army camp.  I remember the young girl coming to church alone, and I remember the happiness being gone from her face.

I also remember my mother crying one day in the kitchen.  I remember driving to Franklin with my parents, very quiet.  I remember standing in a line, down a sidewalk, at a house, close to the square in Franklin.  I remember going up the front steps and holding my mother's hand.  I remember the darkness of the house, and the muffled conversation.  I remember hugging my daddy's leg because this place made me feel strange.  I remember him picking me up and catching a glimpse of Dottie in the next room.  She was crying and wearing black.  I remember getting closer to her, and seeing Jim, lying in a box beside of her.  As we got closer, I could see him clearly.  His skin seemed darker, and there was a netting over his face and hands.  He wore a uniform.  As Mother and Daddy talked with Dottie, I remember looking at Jim's hands.  They were covered with scrapes and scratches.  I remember staying with my grandmother a day or so later, while my parents went to his funeral.  I remember their sadness, telling the young man's bride, Dottie, had worn her wedding dress at his funeral. 

I was not quite four years old, according to records that I found today online.  James Edmund Peay was born in 1945, and he died on January 7, 1968.  He was twenty-two years old.  For me, to be only three and a half years old on that cold, winter day in 1968, those memories have always been with me.  I always knew that this young man paid the ultimate sacrifice, but today, seeing his record -- and photograph -- online, truly made me remember.  Dottie continued to be at church following his death, but eventually, her life took her elsewhere.  I often wondered what happened to her.  I wondered if she ever remarried or had children.

So, this morning, that young couple came to my mind.  With technology, I searched online, and found some records on that young man from Franklin, Tennessee.  I also read a testimony of a fellow soldier, stating that Jim was the first Christian influence he experienced in the service.  Wow!  What a legacy

https://www.fold3.com/page/632317036_james_edmund_peay/

I also found an article from 2014, where a memorial bridge in Williamson county was named in his honor.  According to the article, Dottie had a different last name, so it is my prayer and hope that she found happiness in her life, following such a tragedy.

http://www.williamsonherald.com/features/special_sections/article_f48b66dc-691f-11e4-a0bd-df9c5ab73878.html

So, today, I thank U.S. Army, Specialist, James E. Peay for his ultimate sacrifice for this country; for YOU, and for ME. 

For Lexi

Writing has become such an outlet for me.  When I'm happy, I write.  When I'm sad, I write.  I just write. 

This week has been one of the hardest in my life.  On Tuesday, I sat with one of my dearest friends in an absolute nightmare.   I held her hand and rubbed her back, as life support measures were removed from her sweet nineteen year old daughter.  I saw first hand the worst fear that any parent has, and it will be with me for the rest of my life.

This baby girl was so wanted.  She was so loved.  She was such a blessing.  I hope she knows the effect that she had on the world.  The lives that she touched in her short time on this earth.

Tonight we will celebrate the life of Faith Alexis Wade.  There will be tears.  There will be laughter.  There will be unbelievable sadness, and there will be joy.  We have love because of FAITH.  We have hope because of FAITH.  Our sweet FAITH may be gone, but our faith in a loving Father, our hope in Jesus Christ, and our love for one another will sustain us in the coming days.

So, Lexi, this is for you.  Your "Darlena" wrote this the night you left us, earlier this week.  

 

“In a While”

(For Lexi)

So tonight, as the rain pours down,

My heart is broken; my tears fall to the ground.

The thought of you being gone is just too surreal. 

I don’t know what to think.  I don’t know what to feel.

The darkness came so quickly, and the sun went away.

What I wouldn’t give for a small glimpse of yesterday.

There you’d be -- that little girl with flowing, strawberry curls,

China skinned legs, with lacy socks, adorned with beautiful pearls.

Sitting sweetly in the church pew, up on your daddy’s lap --

Or snuggled close with your precious mommy, taking a little nap.

You’d be splashing in the backyard, or shopping at the mall;

Trick or treating in the park, or at camp, playing whiffle ball.

So many things left unsaid, undone.

So many things finished, really before they’d begun.

Nineteen years to be part of my heart –

Loving you from today, all the way back to the start.

That little girl, with those big, bright eyes, grew up and went away.

Oh, for just one more hour of hugs – Oh, for just one more day. 

But life was just too much for you – Too much for you to take.

Too hard to keep under control -- The ups and downs of life, they took their toll

Who knew the “best day of your life” would simply be your last –

There would be no more time for a future, but only memories of the past. 

So I will trust that there’s a reason that God took you home –

I’ll trust you’re at peace, and you are not alone.

You are with all the loved ones and friends that have gone on before –

They were waiting to welcome you at the waves of Heaven’s shore –

Where there is no more pain, and there is no more grief.

Where there’s only perfect joy and welcoming relief.

And so I stay here, left behind, without you, baby girl.

I’m not sure how to go on living, without you in this world.

But I know that I will somehow, because you will always be in my heart.

And one day in Heaven, I know then we will never more part.

So until then, my angel, soar high and be free.

This earth’s chains are gone – you’ve entered eternity --

So sit and talk with God, and smile your pretty smile –

And know that I’ll see you again, in a while.  

Today (A Mother's Perspective)

Last night, I dreaded for the night to end because I knew it was the last night my oldest son would be home – for a while.

Last night, I washed his clothes and helped him get his stuff together.

Last night, I packed a cooler and bag full of his favorite foods.

Last night, I fixed him a grilled cheese and bologna sandwich, because that’s been his favorite since he was a little boy.

Last night, we sat together, talked and laughed – again, just like we have since he was a little boy.

Last night, we binge watched the NetFlix series, Breaking Bad, that he got us hooked on over the holiday break.

Last night, I saw the same face of a little, red-haired boy, from the past, in the face of a tall, red- haired man sitting across the room from me.  

Last night, I said “good night,” and watched him go up the steps like so many times before.

Last night, I slept soundly, knowing he, and his younger brother, were both upstairs in their beds. 

Today, I got up and folded his laundry and packed away his stuff.

Today, I fixed him a hearty breakfast of bacon, eggs, and sausage crescents – because those are his favorites.

Today, I advised him on a political science response paper and his class schedule for the semester.

Today, I fought back the tears, as the morning passed, and it was time for him to leave.

Today, I remembered that I had given him roots, and I had also given him wings. 

Today, as he left, I hugged a grown man, but I held my little boy. 

Today, I sent a piece of my heart with him, as he headed back to school.

Today, I thanked God that He chose me to be that young man’s mother.

Today, I prayed for God to protect him and guide him, until he’s home again. 

See you, later, Nila

Tonight we honored an amazing woman.  Tonight we praised God for her life.  Tonight we loved on her sweet family.  Tonight many of us wore the color purple, her favorite.  Tonight we did not say goodbye.  Tonight we said -- "See you, later, Nila".

There will never be another Nila Sherrill.   Everyone has their "Nila Story," and many were tonight in remembrance.  But, last June, many were also shared personally with Nila.  The Madison women's ministry had chosen to have a celebration service in Nila's honor.  Several were asked to share stories about memories, friendships, and sisterhood.  I was not able to be at Madison that day, so I shared mine in a written note.  I'm so glad that I had this opportunity to share my thoughts -- and to give my thanks -- to this Godly woman.

My Nila Story

Recently, our youth minister at Donelson, had parents of seniors come up with one word that described our upcoming graduate.   I thought that was such a neat idea, and it really took some time to really come up with only one word to describe Conner.   In thinking of you, Nila, so many words could fit.  You probably have no idea what a blessing you have been in the lives of so many.  As well, you have always been such an encourager to so many, including myself.  You have been an example of a Christian wife to your beloved Jerry, and an amazing mother to my sweet friend, Lin.  You are so loved by your grandson, Zach, and he would beam this year in school each time we spoke of you – which was often. 

Again, so many years of fond memories, and so many words that could describe you, my sweet friend.  In really thinking back over the twenty years of our friendship though, the one word (although hyphenated) that comes to my mind would be “child-lover”.  As educators, we certainly have to love the children with whom we have contact – even on those trying days.  But you have loved generations of children in and out of the context of a school.  Children have been drawn to you because they know that you love and accept them.   They have also known that you have expectations and rules for them, that you expect them to follow. 

You have always made children feel so special.  I remember several years ago when you came and read a Christmas story for my class at Goodpasture.  Your creativity and imagination showed through, and the children were captivated. 

I remember you coming to me in 1998 or 1999, and asking me if Colton could be part of one of your Christmas programs at Madison.  Having been part of Summer Spectacular for many years, I was worried.  Colton was only four or so, and I knew how intense some of those practices could be.  I guess intense is the right description.  You could, honestly, be a little scary, at times.  We've all seen the "Nila look," and we all KNOW what that look means.   (Yes, we are both perfectionists, so I get it!  I can give those looks too!) 

At any rate, you assured me that he could do it, so we asked him.  I’ll always remember how he was immediately drawn to you, and fell in love with “Ms. Nila”.  He wanted to do his part right, and of course, he did!  You made that little boy feel like the most important person on the planet, and this mom has never forgotten that.  Neither has he.  Although he is now in Knoxville, he asks about you often.  I spent today looking through about fifty picture albums to find this treasure of you and him from the night of the play.  He made sure that he got the perfect corsage for "Ms. Nila". 

 

Thank you Nila, for loving children.  You have made such an impact on so many.

Love you dearly –

Darlene

No, there will never be another Nila Sherrill.  Nila loved people, and people loved her.  As her brother ended the service, he commented that Nila had accomplished "THE BIG TWO" in life.  What BIG TWO?  She had loved the Lord with all her heart, soul and mind, AND she had loved her neighbor -- all of us -- as herself.   What a lady!  What a legacy!  What a love!  See you later! 

A Winter Storm; Baby Goats; and an Amazing Smile

During the years that I have written this blog, topics covered have varied greatly.  Some topics have been cheerful and light; others more ominous or serious.  Some have given wings to young people moving to a new season of life; others have given remembrance to special people moving into the final season of life, and into eternity.   I remember my mother jokingly talking about reading the obituary section of her daily paper.  She commented that the older she became, the more friends', family members' and acquaintances' names were found in the columns of death notices.  As a 20- or 30- something, I thought that was a rather brash and distasteful thought; however, as I have moved into my middle years (and past that now), I understand her thoughts on the matter.  As we continue on our journey of life, many of those with whom we have shared life, simply end the journey before we do.  It seems that sometimes even death has heavy seasons, where we simply experience the loss of several loved ones or friends in a brief period of time.

This week has been one of those times.  News of a sudden and unexpected passing; news of an expected and dreaded passing.  Sometimes life is just hard.  Sometimes people wonder how much more can a person or a family endure.   Sometimes there are no answers, but a multitude of unanswerable questions.  Sometimes there is only faith. 

Last weekend, God called Mike Hart home.  It was a sudden and unexpected call, and the news of Mike's death spread sadly across social media.  Mike and his family had gone to Indiana to see his beloved Titans play the Colts.  Mike had suddenly become ill, and he had been taken to the emergency room.  Preliminary test results revealed a serious infection that was ravaging Mike's body.  Surgery would be required.  Mike would not survive the surgery.

The Sweet family began to worship with the Madison Church of Christ in 1993.  I don't remember exactly when our paths crossed with the Hart family, but it was probably twenty years ago.  At this time, Madison was a huge congregation.  Most of the people you got to know were those that sat near you, and that is how we met Mike, Debbie and Mikey Hart.  Mike and Debbie were always so kind and friendly with us.  Mike always talked about liking to sit near us because of Jeff's and my singing.  We were in Sunday School classes together, and it was evident that Mike and Debbie loved one another; they loved their son; but most importantly, they loved the Lord.

Through the years, our paths continued to cross as part of a wonderful church family.  Mike and Debbie soon added John and Sarah to their family; we added Colton and Conner to ours.  We learned that Debbie was a great cook, and Mike was a talented and knowledgeable heating and air conditioning technician.  When we purchased our log house and fifty acre farm in 2001, we had no idea how valuable Mike's knowledge of these things would be for us.

Within a few months of purchasing the house, the first, of three heating/air conditioning units began to freeze up.  This was one of the smaller units, but it was still important.  We called Mike to come out, and he said that the unit was not worth repairing.  It needed to be replaced.  Mike did some things to the unit to keep it going until we could figure out what needed to be done.  We had purchased a home warranty on the house, and we hoped it would allow us to have Mike do the work.  Mike hoped so too; however, the warranty company had another contracted vendor they required us to use for replacement.  Mike just smiled, and said that was fine.  He said, he was glad to help. 

Within a year or two, the second small unit began similar problems.  Mike came to the rescue again.  This time, he did some repair work that bought us about one more year of use.  Following another outage, in early January, Mike suggested that we replace it.  He researched the best type of unit for a log home, and spent several days installing it.   He ate supper with us one night while he was working.  He talked and told stories, smiling his huge and happy smile the whole time.  He loved cake, and he ate a small piece before going back to work on the new unit.  He finished all of the installation up one evening, just as Jeff was packing to go on a week-long business trip.  I will never forget him standing in the kitchen just smiling.  We talked a little bit, and Mike just kept on standing there smiling.  I remember wondering what in the world he was waiting on.  Wasn't he ready to go on home?  Mike stood there a little longer before it finally dawned on Jeff and me.  He was standing there, smiling, and patiently waiting --  to be paid.  We apologized and apologized, but Mike just stood there smiling some more.  That was just his way.  He knew that we had forgotten that he needed a check, but he was just going to stand there, in his kind and unassuming nature, until we remembered!

The next day, Jeff and I laughed again about it, and Jeff was soon off to the airport, for a week of training in Florida.  When the children were little, it always bothered me when Jeff was gone.  Something bad always happened, it seemed, when he was away.  Two days later, a winter storm and  freezing rain entered Nashville.   As well, our temporary insanity of deciding to raise goats, had produced a nanny, just about to deliver twins.  Add three young children into the mix, and you can imagine my stress level.

I got the children settled in the house, and made my way to the barn to see if "Momma Goat" needed any help.  Two darling little babies had been born, so I hurriedly got some fresh hay and covers together in an internal stall.  I moved mother and babies into the stall, and prayed that they wouldn't all be frozen to death by morning.  By the time I got back in the house, it was about 9 PM, and a thin sheet of ice had formed on everything.  When I came into the house, I noticed that it seemed really chilly in the house.  The upstairs of the house was warm.  The far end of the house, with the newest unit, was warm.    The majority of the main floor and downstairs was not.   Surely, this third unit was not going to act up in this bitter storm.

Out of the blue, the telephone rang, and Mike Hart was on the other end.  He was calling just to check to make sure the new unit was working right.  He was worried it might have frozen up in the quickly developing ice.  I informed him that the unit was working fine so far, but there was evidently something wrong with the big unit.  There was a moment of silence on the other end of the phone, before Mike said that he was on his way.  He'd be there as quickly as he could, but there was ice on the roads.  I told him that we could just use some extra blankets, and that we'd be okay.  He said if our big unit had really gone out, we would have burst pipes by morning.

Within an hour or so, Mike and his brother-in-law, Rob, were coming in the back door.  This storm was really getting bad.  Mike apologized for getting there so late, and they immediately got to work to see if they could figure out the problem.  Within a short while, Mike diagnosed that the big unit was on its last leg.  Of course, he couldn't replace it under the current weather conditions, but he would do his best to figure out how to repair it well enough to get us through this winter storm.  Mike and Rob worked tirelessly to try to get the unit going.  Finally, they got it going about midnight.   I fixed them some coffee or hot chocolate, and we stood in the kitchen laughing about the fact that we were all freezing, but Jeff was in Florida.  I told them about the goats, and Mike smiled.  He wanted to see them, so we all took off, toward the barn, through the storm, with flashlights.

Mike stood there smiling and watching the little goats nurse their momma.  He said he thought that was one of the sweetest things that he had ever seen.  I told them that I thought them coming out in the middle of the night to help me with my heat was the sweetest thing I'd ever seen.  Soon, they were back on the road, headed home.  I remember lying down with Katie that night and thanking God for a man like Mike Hart.  Someone that would come to my rescue in such a storm, and smile the whole time he did it.

Mike would call every day for the rest of that week.  He would make two more trips out to the house to rig the big unit until the weather broke enough for him to replace it.  He would rescue us and offer help, until Jeff could get back home.  But that was just Mike's way.  He was a kind and compassionate man.  He was a Godly man and a humble man.  He loved his friends.  He loved his family.  He loved his children.  He loved his wife.  But most importantly, He loved God.  He witnessed to others about his love for the Lord, and the Lord's love for him.

I saw Mike a few weeks ago.  He was driving toward me, and we saw each other at the same time.  He started waving and smiling.  Within seconds, he pulled passed me, and disappeared into the sea of traffic.  As I pulled into a parking lot to finish up some last minute shopping, I thought to myself, how much I really missed seeing Mike and Debbie on a regular basis; how I really would like to have them over for dinner; how much they both meant to me.  I thought how I knew that being together -- even after all this time -- would be just like old times.  That's how it is with Christian friends. 

That would be the last time I would see Mike's amazing smile this side of eternity.   I can almost see the glistening in his eyes and the brightness of his smile, as he walks the streets of heaven.  One day -- soon or not so soon -- I know we will see Mike again.  But until then, Mike has won the victory over death.  Mike has won the race, and he has finished his course.  Well done, my friend.  Rest well.