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Storytelling is an important part of life. From thousands of stage performances, both theatrically and musically, over 25 years of serving the local church as a pastor’s wife, musician, and Bible teacher, and now serving as a missionary wife, Amy weaves stories of her own life experiences with God as well as the lessons He has taught her through the lives of others.
Amy shares how a heightened awareness of God’s daily presence and activity in life changes perspective and makes Him very real and personal. It is easier to talk about how real God is when you are telling first-hand-account stories of His interaction with you.
When I was a teenager, Dad went through a phase when he would dream and make the weirdest noise. He would make a ghostly sound…OoooooooHoooooo!….just like you would hear on cartoons. It would make the hair on your head and arms stand on end. I remember one time when my oldest sister was home. She wasn’t used to hearing him like the rest of us. After he had howled at the moon, we heard a small voice, “Pardon me, please, but who is that?” Terror and all politeness—an hysterical story we love to retell and rib her about. Those of us who have heard Dad at his best know just how spooky it sounds.
Last night I was up late washing towels. Dad had already gone to bed. I was in my bedroom with a small fan on that makes noise. I needed to check the towels so I walked out into the hallway to head to the laundry room. As I walked out I heard him calling. Panicked, I ran into the area outside his room just in time to hear OooooooooHoooooo! OoooooHOOOOOOOO! I knew he had to be dreaming but it’s been a really long time since I heard that sound. He subsided in about 60 seconds. He was sound asleep. Not me! No siree! Adrenalin, like freshly sown fertilizer and a spring rain, ran rampant through my body. The hair on my head and arms stood to attention like a military battalion. It made no difference that I knew what it was or had heard it many times before. It was still spooky!!!!! Needless to say….short night last night. This morning, Dad said, “I slept really well last night…all the way through the night.” I’m glad he did!
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Stay strong
Keep a stiff upper lip
Hang tough
These are all idioms for remaining strong and positive in a difficult situation. Life will be challenging. I originally wrote can be challenging but the truth is that at some point life will be challenging. How we face and handle the difficulties is the key element.
My mother has Alzheimer’s. She has not known me for the last year or so however she is always glad to see me and enjoys my company. Every time she finds out I’m her daughter she is elated. (I am really glad about that!) This past week she moved into an Alzheimer’s Living Community. It was a difficult move, although harder on all of us than on her. Thankfully she forgets and is quickly interested in what is around her. The rest of us have the biggest adjustment—how to deal with our memories. I saw Mom for the first time on Wednesday. It was painful and yet good. She has a lovely place to be with loving people surrounding her and when she is distracted she is quite content. We’ve been asked to give her time to settle so our visits are spread apart for her adjustment to be easier. I’ve spent the week gathering up some things to take to her the next time I go. She needed some things in her room for decoration. Normally it would have been a joyful experience shopping for something Mama would like and knowing that she would enjoy it every day at home. This time was a little tougher. Hang tough. Stay strong. I’ve reminded myself.
As I’ve gone through her things, straightening out her closet and dresser drawers, I’ve been overcome with memories. Small things like scarves that she has that I wore when I was a girl…memories. Cards and letters we children and grandchildren wrote to her were in amongst things where she had tucked them as a keepsake. Photographs of children and grandchildren. Even letters from relatives who have already gone to be with the Lord. Sweet memories and hard to go through. Mom was a master at hiding things of value so I had to be particularly careful to check all pockets and try to locate any hidden items. Once Alzheimer’s set in, she hid all kinds of things. It’s sort of like discovering where a mouse has hidden things or a raven….bits a pieces of tissue, a hair pin, a discarded eyeliner, a piece of paper with something written on it, a single knee-high stocking. A smile crossed my lips when I found these stashes. My little mama.
I have found this to be a grieving time. It was unexpected although my friends have told me it is not unusual at all. This morning as I was gathering things into a pile to take to her, I thought about something I wrote when it was an easier time. Where there is abundant thanks, there is uncontainable joy. I have forgotten to say thank you as the memories have come. I have so much to be thankful for, I don’t know why that escaped me in the midst. Today I begin with a big thank you to the Lord for giving me the mother He gave me. Even though her memories are gone and her mind is no longer crisp, her faith is still strong. She will remind us and those around her of the faithfulness of the Lord. She will bow her head and pray and her words are not faltering. They are strong and clear. I am so thankful for that. She is not unhappy when we are not around. I am so thankful for that. She continues to teach me things even though she doesn’t know who I am. I am so thankful for that. I am so thankful for the example she lived before me all my life and the loving, long, 62-year marriage to my dad is an inspiration. Thank you, Lord, for all these things and much more. Today I will have a day of thanks. I have chosen it. I don’t have to keep on the sunny side, keep a stiff upper lip, or hang tough. I choose abundant thanks instead for where there is abundant thanks, there is uncontainable joy.
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Monday I had an interesting opportunity for cardio. I knew my connection through the Charlotte airport was tight but I thought surely I could make it. it was overcast but nothing unusually difficult about the weather. We landed and taxied a bit but then stopped before reaching the gate. I looked at my watch. What had been a 50-minute connection was whittling away while I watched. 45 minutes. 40 minutes. 35 minutes. “Do you have a nail clip I could borrow,” asked the old man next to me. Never been asked that before and, no, I did not have a nail clip on me. Finally we began to move. We eased up to the gate as I counted how many people would have to exit before me. Why didn’t I just pay the $25 upgrade to a seat toward the front??
120 people were going to need to exit before me. 30 minutes. 25 minutes. It was my turn and the little old man stepped into the aisle to let me through. I rushed off the plane and checked the monitor for my next gate. Of course it was on the other end of the airport. If you’ve ever flown through Charlotte (it is my favorite airport) you know that it is quite spread out. That is part of its charm but when you are in a hurry it is not designed to help you. I hurried past people as best I could only to get stuck in a traffic jam of people waiting to board a plane. I resisted the urge to scream, figuring I would be arrested, and eventually got through the bottleneck. 20 minutes. 15 minutes. I knew the airline lounge was just up in front of me. I ran up to the desk, thrust my ticket and preferred traveler card to them explaining that I was hurrying as fast as I could but was concerned I wouldn’t make it. “I can let them know you are on your way but I cannot get them to hold the plane,” she explained. “No problem. Thanks for letting them know!” I called over my shoulder as she picked up the phone to call them and I shot out the opposite door into an adjacent hallway.
Getting to Terminal E in the Charlotte airport is sort of like driving downtown in a small town—a straight shot but a few twists and turns and traffic moving slowly. Of course the moving sidewalk was not working (only in the direction I was going) so I had to bypass it and switch back around the side. 10 minutes. My calf muscles were cramping from trying to hold my flip flops on my feet with my toes and hurry at the same time. This is ridiculous I thought. I stopped, slipped off my shoes into my hand and started running. A few people stared…not sure whether it was the windswept look of panic, the bare feet, or a woman my age who is out of shape trying to run through the airport. 5 minutes. The gate was within sight. I might make it!!! If only I had had time to stop at the restroom. The two-hour flight from Houston and now a dash through the airport and no time to stop…..I ran up to the gate and asked a man if they had boarded the Montgomery flight yet. “Not yet. You’re in luck.” “I thought I would miss it,” I gasped between breaths. “No, you almost beat the flight attendant.” They had not even begun boarding yet!!! Yay!! “I’m going to the restroom and I’ll be right back,” I told the man as if he cared. As I hurried off he said, “Better go now…the lavatory on the flight isn’t working.” Panic wore across my face. I saw the WOMEN’S sign and made a beeline. There was a big piece of orange tape across the door. NO!!!!! My eyes shot all around and I spotted a family restroom. I ran to the door only to find it locked. I waited a good 6-7 minutes for the “family” that was inside to exit. I could see the man still standing to board the plane. There was time. I zipped inside and back out in record time and was back at the gate in time to catch the tail of the boarding line. Whew!!!!! I made it!!!! I relaxed into my seat for the hour flight and thought how crazy it had all been. No matter how many obstacles I faced, I had still made the flight.
15 minutes at baggage claim. No bag. I made the flight but my bag didn’t. Oh well. Flip-flopped.
I took this photo last spring. It’s one of my favorites. It captures so much of life in a small box. The kitchen window sill from which I watch the yard and part of my neighborhood. I watch my youngest son play basketball in the driveway. I’ve watched him from the time the goal was waaaay down low and now is up high. That’s his molar on the window sill….waiting for the tooth fairy—or the money rather. Lost molars and a higher goal are signs of an age gained. What looks like an orange is actually a large Meyer lemon. Even though cut it still shows the signs of how packed with juice it is waiting for the next recipe I’ve found to try. The sweetness of that lemon and the brightness of its color make me happy. What a strange mixture: lemon and sweetness.
The mint rooting in water is a glass of sweet tea waiting to happen. Spring with fresh mint tea and a sit on the patio before the mosquitoes move in…lovely in every way. Mint is one of the most tolerant of the herbs I grow. I finally quit trying to contain it and let it have a portion of the garden. It’s tenacity is an aggravant to my husband but he lovingly supports my need to plant and experiment with varying types. It is a memory of my childhood, those flower beds with mint growing under the iris and daylilies. Beyond the screen is a large bag of mulch ready for the herb garden. It’s almost time to plant again this year. I feel the urge and actually look forward to preparing the beds.
The most important thing beyond all these bytes of life is the house, my neighbor’s house. We have been blessed with really terrific neighbors. Although we don’t see each other often, the months we do see each other are coming. They will be out around their pool or boiling crawfish in the back and we are out repairing things or working in the herb beds and we catch a visit across the fence. Such visits have built a strong friendship over many years. Although I may not see them often I know they are there in a minute’s notice should I ever need them. We borrow cooking ingredients and share samples of recipes tried and liked. We go in together for the crawfish since neither of us has enough folks at home for a whole bag alone. A spring crawfish boil is a luxury and a feast and always more fun shared with friends.
I’m glad it’s springtime again. I look forward to the new growth in the yard, in my family, in me.
Monday was a very unexpected day. I wrote an email to Hubby telling him the list of things I had accomplished in the morning that day. I was so proud of myself for ticking so many things off my catch-up-to-do list. Sitting down for a brief moment after lunch, I heard our dog, Lucy Dog, whining at the door. Unusual for her…was it raining? No. I went to the door and knew she was letting me know that our escape artist dog, Bonnie Dog, had gotten out AGAIN. A nine-year-old mutt who has cheated death many times with her long list of defects. She held to four goals in life: love my people, eat any food I come in contact with, chase squirrels and attempt to catch them, and run free like the wind. Any time the fence door didn’t get completely latched, she would snatch the opportunity, escape, and run like the wind wherever she could go. She had a crippled hip so she couldn’t go very fast but she was determined to go. Our mail carriers would put the message out (they all knew her) and all the mail carriers in the area would start looking for her. And she was NEVER repentant for running away. She was always quite pleased with herself and had had the time of her life.
Back to Monday…I put Lucy in the house and went to look for Bonnie. It didn’t take long. She had not gotten far from the house but this time she had not run fast enough. Clipped by a car in the rear quarters, she was sitting by the side of the road surrounded by a crew of workmen. I picked her up and headed to the vet. The answer was inevitable and I made the tough decision. God was so gracious to let me get in touch with Hubby who was in the Amazon Basin. Difficult to get a signal at all and yet there was just enough for me to talk to him for a moment. I returned home to tell my kids. It is hard enough for you to grieve but an entirely different level when you watch your kids grieve their loss. There is not much you can do but love on them, encourage them through it, and trust the Lord within them to minister to their hearts. We wailed together until we were worn out: two kids, Mom, and Lucy Dog. When the wailing subsided I asked them if they wanted any dinner. It was late and none of us had eaten. We loaded up and decided to drown our sorrow in french fries and nuggets at McDonald’s. We took Lucy with us.
Everyone loaded into Hubby’s truck. The seat was back for his long legs and I pulled the lever to move the seat forward. POW! PPPHHHSSSSSSSSHHHHHHHHHH! Something started spewing, spraying all over my feet!!!! “What is that??!!!” I yelled. The kids and dog started coughing, coughing. I reached under the seat and grabbed it. A can of wasp and hornet spray was under the seat and got caught in the mechanism when I moved the seat forward. It had punctured the can and spewed out on my feet. I had wasp and hornet liquid all over my hands after removing the can to continue leaking it’s contents on the driveway. “I’ll be right back,” I told the kids as they continued to sputter. We rode with the windows down to McDonald’s… just like the Beverly Hillbillies… laughing over the craziness of the moment. 
To top it off, Lucy Dog, who doesn’t like men at all, growled at the man in the drive-thru window, even showed her
teeth! Another good laugh.
In the midst of sorrow and loss, laughter is healing. We’ve laughed off and on as we’ve remembered funny things about Bonnie Dog. Memories, tears, and laughter mixed together. There will be more laughter as each day goes by.
Bonnie Dog was a funny dog…odd and quirky. I included the picture at the top that we took of her “frog-dogging” as we called it. She put her head under my dresser and went to sleep. Why? Who knows!!!!!! She went out with a bang…caught a squirrel on Sunday and ran like the wind on Monday. What a great dog.
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When my nephew graduated from Baylor, we drove up for the ceremony. As a Baylor grad myself, I had not been back to the campus but once since my own graduation…blah-blah years before. Much had changed. The campus itself and definitely the surrounding area which was mostly slums when I was in school. I hardly recognized where we were as we drove in…it seemed such a distant memory. It was almost as if it weren’t really my own memory but something someone had told me about a long time ago. A lot of life had happened…important life events…since my years in undergrad school. Those years were somehow packed away with my freshman beanie—my slime cap—and sorority pictures, a four-year period of time that existed but only in a bubble. As we drove into his apartment complex where we were to meet him, I said, “I recognize this place!” It was the first thing that had looked familiar. I raked through my memory bubble to put a name or date on it. As I looked around I exclaimed, “I lived right there! In that apartment!” and I pointed to an upstairs unit. Hard to believe that memories could be that faded. Not even a sepia tone, they were nearly rubbed out.
Hubby and I have talked about this before. It seems that “life”, whatever parameters that includes, began when I went to graduate school. That’s where I met Hubby. My life forward from that time included him. In other words, I have currently lived more life with him than without him. Childhood memories are still very clear because I visit home and my parents and keep in touch with some childhood friends. However, until this past fall, I had virtually no face-to-face contact with anyone from those college years at Baylor. Last September, on the college sweep mom-daughter trip, I had the opportunity to stay with my college roommate in Nashville. Haven’t seen her in about 20 years. She still looks the same and, seeing her, a gate opened in my memory. We laughed about our escapades and the fun we’d had and people we’d known. Memories seeped back in and, as we have continued to have contact, more and more have filled the pond. Funny how that works. After all these years, we reconnected, our paths crossed yet again. We are now back in each other’s lives as adult women with husbands and children and jobs. God has taken that thread left dangling and woven it back into the tapestry. I cannot describe the joy I have experienced getting to know her again and seeing the woman she has become. You just never know when someone crosses your path if they will intersect it again. In God’s economy, recycling and redemption are inevitable and I am so very blessed because of it.
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This morning, I have to take a little break from the regular routine. My heart is full. I need to thank God for seven women in my life. There are many more for which I am thankful but today I am singling out these particular seven who are on God’s timeline with me. They are the original “test group” for Legacy-Lives ministry as well as my partner in crime, my college roommate. They have sat through evenings where we met and opened our hearts only to watch God move in the most overwhelmingly obvious and awe-inspiring ways. I give thanks to the Lord for prompting these gals to make themselves available. I thank the Lord for giving them the courage to raise their hands on the day I asked for volunteers and for giving them conviction to set the time aside to meet with me and share their lives, thoughts, pains, joys, desires, pasts and futures. I thank the Lord for allowing me to learn on them and with them. (I know we are not finished!) Thank you, God, for giving me people to diligently stand by me as I have sought Your will about this ministry. Thank you, Lord, for the hours of time and hands-on support You have given to me through them: ideas, willing hands and feet, talents, goods, financial support, and never wavering smiles and notes of encouragement. I cannot say thank you enough. And I thank the Lord for giving me a roommate in college (blah-blah years ago) who would reconnect with me after 20 years as if no time had passed. Only YOU can do that, God. Thank you for a roommate and friend who would travel hundreds of miles—twice—believing God that this was no coincidence. Thank you for the relationship she has with You and for helping her to hear You clearly, listening and pushing me to step out in faith. You have given me so much support and inspiration through her.
Tonight is Legacy Laughter. There are so many stories I’d love to tell about all of you and the joy you have brought into my life. Know that you are loved and appreciated for the sacrifices you are making to the Lord’s glory. I pray that your lives will be richly blessed for it. Tonight is a celebration. As we laugh together, I celebrate God for what He is doing and for working so mightily our lives. What an amazing journey…and it’s just beginning!
Ascribe to the Lord the glory that is due His name—1 Chronicles 16:29
Someone sent me this video awhile back. I still play it and laugh outloud. Not only is it funny but it is a great illustration of what we ALL need to do. We need to be big, bold, and impassioned about what we do everyday. Imagine for a moment that you could get up in the morning and be thoroughly energized about what you would be doing that day. That your appointments and phone calls would all be an adventure. That you would have time to imagine and create. That you could actually get excited about going to work knowing that you would be fulfilled when you came home that evening. Is that possible? Can you do that? It is and you can.
Set in our stable situations, it is frightening to think about change, unsettling to our comfort levels. We measure our supposed happiness by how much we have acquired, where we go, and where we eat out and how often. We tell ourselves, when we are stretched financially to the limit and stressed due to the time demands, that this is what we want and what makes us happy. We even tell ourselves that being involved in so many activities that our heads swim means that we are doing good things not only for ourselves but for others around us. We wind up in a hamster wheel churning, churning away.
Somehow the hamster wheel is vastly different from the little dog in the video yowling away with abandon. I love how this little dog is so expressive, emphatic. Howling for this little dog is a full body experience. And when he’s finished? Completely at peace. Sometimes the simplest, even funny, examples can point us to truths about ourselves. We cannot always control our circumstances but we can control our perspective. My mantra recently has been “and there’s not a thing I can do about it.” It doesn’t matter what subject I pick, I wind up at “and there’s not a thing I can do about it.” Life is like that sometimes and there is not a thing we can do about it. However, how we look at it…our perspective…may be what needs to change. Be honest with yourself about what you are doing and why. Is it time for a change of perspective? Tomorrow night here in Houston I will be presenting Legacy Laughter at HNW church. (you can check it out at www.hnw.org ) It’s all about perspective. I intend to throw my head back and laugh about life
. Be big, bold, and impassioned to enjoy the life you’ve been granted. Hamster on a wheel….little dog howling to his heart’s content. Which do you want to be?
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THIS is what sits before me….a pile of mail. Most of it is junk mail but among the junk are important things…a bill or two, invitations to important events, business documents, even a personal note from a friend. But most of it is JUNK. I sat here with my cup of coffee getting cold by the minute and considered it. A pile just like this accumulates about every 3-4 days. I have to sit down and go through it, tossing most of it in the trash. I would do this as soon as I brought it in from the mailbox except Girl-child is graduating and gets the mail every day before I can get out there—looking for scholarship returns, mail from her upcoming University, etc.
Yesterday, someone asked me if there were anything I needed for an upcoming event. “A new brain,” was my answer. My brain is cluttered up with JUNK. And yet, among the JUNK, there is important information I must not dump—dates to remember, calls to make, errands to run, requests to fill, meetings to schedule, and more. I have a Rolodex in my brain, cards holding something that needs to be taken care of today. There are also cards for things that need to be taken care of soon, and things that need to be taken care of in the near future, and things that need to be taken care of when I get a chance. At times I feel overwhelmed (I am hoping I’m not the only one) and it feels like that Rolodex is just spinning so fast that I can’t read a thing and can’t keep my eyes open from the rush of wind it is producing as it spins. I need to stop for a moment and toss the stuff that I’m carrying that isn’t important and prioritize the rest, delegating as much as possible.
The bottom line is that most of what I carry around in my head is JUNK, just like that pile on my ottoman. Worries, incomplete thoughts, lists and re-lists…all of which needs to be rolled over onto bigger shoulders than mine.
Cast all your cares on Him, for He cares for you—1 Peter 5:7
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Several years ago, Oldest Man-Child had a piano recital and I was asked to play a duet with him. I agreed, as I have tried to play at least once with them on a recital. By the way, I do not teach my own children piano…I know better than that. They have had EXCELLENT piano teachers and I value them greatly. This particular recital we were playing a piece that was not extremely difficult but I had a hard time following everything on the pages. Not having played many duets in my time, it is drilled in this old dog that you finish the left page and go straight to the right page. But that was not the required format. When you are playing a duet, one person reads the left page and the other person reads the right page. When you finish your one page, you have to turn to the next two. I was the page-turner. Lesson Number One: do not let the person who is least familiar with the music turn the pages. Lesson Number Two: do not let the person who has the most trouble reading a duet turn the pages. He had the really interesting melody part and I played a fairly standard pattern in the bass so I was the one who was supposed to turn the pages. Let me just say…Oldest Man-Child had to help the totally lost Old Girl find her way to the end. We looked more like a Victor Borge skit than anything. It’s worth including here. Enjoy!
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