A Birthday Worth Celebrating

Many wished me a Happy Birthday earlier this week, and I am happy to accept the wishes and prayers on my behalf. The thought I had on the morning of my birthday was that, while I don’t feel I deserve to receive any special honor for just having been born (!), it feels good for people to acknowledge my birthday as a day to be thankful for.

Four days ago, I attended the “Welcome Home” party for a tiny baby who died 57 minutes after she was born. Her parents had chosen to carry her to term, knowing she would not live for any substantial length of time. After her birth, they chose to celebrate her shortened life, and in gratitude for God's gift, they shared her with all the extended family during those 57 minutes. Instead of a funeral, they gave her a party to usher her into the Lord’s presence, and it was filled with references to the joy she brought them just in that short time of being with her, and how honored they were that God chose them to be her parents.

I was struck at her service by the thought that so often, we work hard to be loved and appreciated, based on our own merit. We believe our value comes from what we have accomplished: how well we do our jobs, whether we are good parents, how much money we make, what our title is, what university degrees we have attained, what awards we have been given, our reputations, our bank accounts, how many people are on our Facebook and LinkedIn pages, what brand of electronic gadgets we have . . . the list goes on and on. But the takeaway from that memorial service for baby Brylen Rasco was this: God loves us and we are loved by others for who we are, not what we do. 

The sanctuary of the church was packed, but not a single person other than those most intimate family members and friends even saw little Brylen alive. And she did not live long enough to establish a personality with character traits nor a life with deeds that would gain her any merit. She was simply loved because God created her; God loved her and valued her enough to send her here even for that short period of time. Nothing else gave her worth. There was nothing Brylen earned or did to deserve the love people felt for her. Yet the sanctuary was filled with people who did love and honor her.

As I sat in the Welcome Home service, I realized that it’s the same for all of us, not just for Brylen. We are all valued creations of God just because He gave us life. And I think surely my friends and family have celebrated my birthday because He created me, not for anything I’ve done ~ because I surely have not brought fame or notoriety to myself through great deeds. And thankfully, I don’t have to! It is enough just to have been given life, and to use that life to celebrate God’s goodness.

Thanks to everyone who celebrated with me and Brylen this week. If you are still trying to earn your way to the approval and love of others, and if you are hoping you can earn God’s love, STOP IT! Don’t go there! It’s a lie, and it absolutely does not make you a person of worth. You already have that, just as Brylen did. Her worth existed without having lifted a finger to do one single thing to deserve it. So does yours!

(click below to read Brylen's obituary)

Brylen Danielle Rasco

Siblings Day

Siblings Day

Recently we celebrated National Siblings Day. I don’t remember ever hearing about that holiday before, so someone probably thought it up since April 10 of last year! Regardless, it is still not a bad thing to celebrate.

Siblings are those relationships that you didn’t ask for. Well, maybe you did ask for a brother or sister when you were a little kid, but you really didn’t know the implications of your request! For most of us, we were just born into a family that gave us brothers or sisters and we had no say about it ~ no chance to choose. Which is probably good, since at that age we might not have chosen very wisely.

My parents brought me home and introduced me to my sister, and while I don’t remember that day, I suspect we were pretty taken with each other. We still are.

To be honest, we fought a lot and frustrated each other a good bit when we were growing up and sharing a bedroom. With our age difference, we were on two different playing fields. I kept violating the rules on her field, and we were surely a source of frustration and disappointment to each other on many occasions.

But time has created a memory gap of all those times, and I remember mostly good things from those ten years when we slept under the same roof. She was always the one I looked up to and tried to emulate. If she did something a certain way, I copied it. If she had a favorite song or movie, I adopted it for myself. She set the standard for me in all things, and even as a young wife and mother, I still watched to see which way she stepped before taking my own tentative steps into adulthood.

Sometimes I rebelled and determined to go the opposite direction from her just to prove that I could. But in the end, she has influenced me in all things from the time we were just kids until the present.

I’m glad God picked her to be my sister. When she was only eight years old, she rose to the occasion and worked hard to be a good big sister. She still does. Our bond is tight, and despite the other relationships in our lives that come and go, she will always be my big sister. I love her, and I know God chose her just for me.

If you have a sister, call her right now to tell her you love and appreciate her! You may not always have that chance.

Of Grief and Loss

In my lifetime, I have experienced many occasions of loss. I lost a grandmother at a very early age, followed by deaths of other relatives, and even a few classmates, before I ever graduated from high school.

The older I have grown, of course, the more losses have come my way. Not all losses were to death. Some were job losses, friends who moved away, and other times when something or someone I cared about was no longer part of my world. Grieving comes with any loss, not just death.

Apart from the deaths of family members, I have probably grieved the most over the deaths of pets. Some of you have either never owned a pet or have not allowed yourself to become emotionally involved with one—and if that is so, you will likely not understand the rest of this blog.

My philosophy of inviting a pet into my home is this:

•  I don’t make the decision lightly; I weigh the costs in terms of time, money and energy before they ever set their hairy little paws in my house. (Well, there was one time when I broke that rule and allowed child number two to influence my decision, which culminated in the addition of not one but THREE cats . . . but I digress.)
• I tend to look at my lifestyle and current circumstances and what I think I can handle before saying yes.
• Once I have made the decision to bring a pet home with me, I’m fully invested. I believe that pets are helpless and at our mercy to give them good care, so if I have committed to shoulder that responsibility, I take it very seriously and try to give them an abundance of care and loving interaction so they have a good quality of life.

The time inevitably comes when a pet is no longer able to sustain a good quality of life and has permanently lost its good health. I have had to make the decision on five different occasions to let my pet go and not prolong its life, even though I was not ready to say goodbye. And that is one of the hardest things I’ve ever done.

Last week, one of my adult children had to make that same choice. After almost thirteen precious years with their little furry Oscar (a black and white cat who had been with them almost as long as they have been a couple), the humane thing to do was not fight to keep him alive even one more day. Although they had known over the past couple of years that that day was on the horizon, it descended on them with a suddenness that almost took their breath away. The vet said Oscar was in pain, and it did not appear that anything short of extreme life-saving surgeries and other measures would keep him alive for anything other than a very short time. While his mama and daddy were wrestling with that hard decision, he died in the arms of the vet. And they are grieving.

Is it the very same loss as the death of a parent or child . . . siblings or grandparents? No. But it’s a significant loss just the same, and the worst thing to do is to pretend that it didn’t matter, that it was only a pet—just an animal. It matters. When we expend love on any of God’s creatures, it matters . . . and God is pleased. He knows how much it hurts to lose someone you love. He knows that we sometimes close ourselves off from forming a bond with people and pets because we fear the gut-wrenching loss that inevitably happens on this fallen earth. But part of living the full life means taking the hurts as they come and learning to feel both the happy and the sad emotions. They are all God-given; our heavenly Father created both happiness and sadness, and there is a purpose for both. Yes, loss hurts. But most things in the world that are worth anything cost us something. Loving is no exception. Sometimes the cost of loving is loss and sadness.

I can tell you that each loss of a pet has brought me to great gulping tears, and wrenching moments of trying to find my footing again. Waking up to a quiet house instead of a cat meowing for breakfast. Coming home from work with no wet, pink nose pressed to the window to see if I’m coming, and no greeting at the door. No furry body that leaps onto the arm of the chair at night, looking for someone to scratch its ears. It is a time of grieving and adjusting to a new loss. But the memories of the times spent with each of my precious pets have given me joy in the aftermath. They add to my memories of the past, and those pets have become part of the family stories we recount as we sit around the Christmas table or celebrate birthdays together. Any family occasion where we recall family stories inevitably includes pet stories as well.

A few years ago, as I was grieving the death of my cat of 18 years, I found comfort in the following Scripture as well as this quote from Albert Schweitzer. Somehow they gave me permission to grieve appropriately and not feel foolish for feeling deep emotions at the loss of a pet that I had cared for and loved for almost two decades.

“The godly are concerned for the welfare of their animals.” (Proverbs 12:10)

A PRAYER FOR ANIMALS

Hear our humble prayer, O God,

for our friends the animals.

Especially for animals who are suffering;

for any that are hunted or lost or

deserted or frightened or hungry;

for all that must be put to death.

We entreat for them all thy mercy and pity.

And for those who deal with them,

we ask a heart of compassion,

gentle and kindly words.

Make us true friends of the animals

and so to share the blessings of the merciful.

~ Albert Schweitzer

Cousins

Anita, Meredith, Mary Beth

In our very large extended family, cousins abounded. Mama had three siblings and Daddy had seven, so we had more cousins than we could count. While most of my cousins were much older than I, we have still stayed connected through the years, at least on some occasional level. But there are a few cousins I see somewhat regularly, and we never seem to run out of things to talk about.

My sister and I had the opportunity recently to visit briefly with the two daughters of one of our cousins, now deceased. And this week, we had the privilege of hanging out with a couple of our other favorite cousins. Meredith, who lives in Oregon, was in Texas for some family events and not only made the time, but rented a car and drove over 300 miles to spend some quality time with us. We included Anita, who traveled a mere 120 miles to make it a foursome. And my sister came straight out of cataract surgery to be part of the fun.

The four of us spent about six hours, talking nonstop and laughing abundantly. Much of what we discussed revolved around childhood memories of family times together. You see, all of our dads were brothers, and even though distance sometimes separated them, they were inseparable at heart. Some of what we marveled about was how well the siblings all got along together; they and their spouses genuinely enjoyed spending time together, and made every opportunity to do so. My sister and I were fortunate to live within 30 miles of three of our uncles, and those four families regularly got together for Sunday dinner, backyard cookouts, and swapping stories. And swap stories they did!

One of my favorite memories was when the brothers told stories ~ and they and their sister were ALL master storytellers. A typical gathering would go like this ~

Sunday morning: my mother puts a roast in the oven, and we all leave for church. After church, we rush home and while Mama finishes the meal preparation, we all go into “help” mode and put a leaf in the table, set out silverware and plates, fill glasses with ice for the tea, and in minutes the door opens and in walks an uncle and aunt and two cousins.

Our small house is immediately filled with talking, laughter, and teasing, along with exclamations of how good the food smells. My aunt brings in her contribution to the meal: a coconut pie with homemade pie crust. Right away, we all gather in the tiny kitchen, which somehow has room for a table and enough chairs around it to seat 8 people! Daddy asks his brother to give thanks for the food, then we all begin helping ourselves to the bounty. The conversation flows back and forth, including exclamations about the delicious meal. Mama jumps up to refill tea glasses or get more homemade rolls from the oven. Finally, everyone is finished eating—but wait, there’s more! We all stack our plates and pass them to the person closest to the kitchen sink while Mama slices my aunt’s pie and the chocolate cake she made, and everyone makes their choice. My sister and I pass the dessert plates around the table while Daddy gets the tea pitcher and passes it around one more time. Despite the fact that no one was really still hungry after the main meal, we dive into the dessert with great gusto, amidst groans of “I am so stuffed!” But we eat it anyway and make appropriate comments to the two great cooks in our midst.

As the dessert is finished, the real fun begins. Everyone pushes back a bit, and the stories begin to flow. Dad and his brothers do not tell their reminiscences with “Remember the time we . . .” but rather start their stories as if it is the first recounting.

 “There was an old man who lived south of town, and one day he . . .”

“One time, Clyde was carrying the mail out on the route, and we had this big snow storm one day and . . .”

“Oran was always nervous—just scared of his shadow—and one night he . . .”

Those are the stories that make the rounds.

You can always tell when an epic tale is about to begin. We have each heard the story multiple times in our lifetime, so we know the punch line, we know almost word-for-word what is coming—and yet we all listen intently, waiting for the clincher, ready with the laughter and comments as the story unfolds. Each of the brothers leans back and laughs, enjoying the tale as if for the first time—and as a child, so do I. Even though we are sitting in a cramped kitchen, near a sink piled with dirty dishes, no one seems in a hurry to leave. Even we youngsters don’t jump up immediately to go play. We wait for the stories to develop, hanging on every word, laughing at all the right places and watching with delight as our parents regale themselves with memories of growing up in the first half of the 20^th Century.

Eventually, the men get up from the table and move into the living room to continue their conversation. The two wives wash and dry the dishes, having a sister-in-law moment to talk about the recipe for the cake, what the girls are doing in school, and where they found the material for the cute curtains in the kitchen window. We four girls leave the table and head for the back of the house. I don’t usually have a cousin my own age around, so I am forced to tag along with my sister and the older cousins, but they are usually willing to include me. We talk or play for two or three hours until time for the relatives to go home, and we all hug goodbye and they leave to drive back home before Sunday night church.

By today’s social standards, it sounds boring and lame. But as we four cousins talked this week, these were the times we all remembered with such fondness. We all treasure those times with family ~ listening to stories, relishing meals together, teasing one another, and lots of laughter. We were creating memories out of the everyday stuff of life, and all of us marveled at the power of those very simple times we shared.

Today, I am grateful for my cousins. My parents and all of the aunts and uncles are gone now. But they would be so pleased to know that their children still love each other and enjoy being together ~ not only telling their own stories, but recapping the ones they learned long ago.

The Joy of Simplicity

In a previous blog, I described memories of my Grandmother Martin. Recently, when reading an excerpt from Richard Foster’s Freedom of Simplicity, I was reminded again of the simple life my grandmother lived. Yet in that simplicity, there was profound meaning, joy, and peace. The world we live in could use more of that.

One example of Grandmother’s simplicity was how she entertained the grandchildren and great-grandchildren who came to visit. She had a wooden footstool with an upholstered hinged lid, and a storage space inside the footstool. It only measured 15” by 15”, but it held a few basic items that all the youngsters who came to visit played with contentedly, sometimes for hours.

An empty wooden spool for thread, an aluminum teacup, a baseball, a ball and jacks set, some scattered marbles . . . those were some of the toys we found inside. The stool was on wheels, so it was moved to different places in the living room of Grandmother’s tiny house—but each child who walked through her front door instinctively knew where to find it, and would be drawn to it like an invisible magnet.

I remember crouching down on the linoleum floor, lifting the creaky lid, and finding all the familiar, modest toys inside—“playthings” or “play-pretties” as Grandmother called them. I would pull them out, one by one, and enter into imaginative play while the adults talked. Sometimes, there would be a new item inside the stool—a yo-yo or a top, or some other small trinket. But always, there were jacks and marbles because those were prized toys to children in earlier generations, and Grandmother knew they would be a hit.

On occasions when I stayed overnight with Grandmother, I was entertained by other simple joys. She had an old stereograph and a series of photo slides that I would sit and gaze through for hours. They were a precursor to the Viewmaster pictures, and perhaps the ancestor to Powerpoint presentations or iPad slideshows.

Young folks today enjoy handheld video games, and other games on iPods and iPads. Grandmother entertained me with a game of dominoes or a trip outside to the well-house in the back yard, where I would hold the fuzzy yellow baby chicks she raised. We picked up pecans under the huge trees in her yard, or harvested fruit and berries in her garden. Often we sat, looking at old photo albums, with her telling me about the people in the long-ago photos, recalling stories from her past.

Grandmother never owned a television, but read books instead. She didn’t own a car and had never learned to drive, preferring to walk wherever she needed to go. An unpretentious life, filled with simple joys and pleasures. 

“Sure, but it was another time and place, and that’s not realistic or even possible in the 21^st Century.” Really? I believe we can still find ways to simplify our lives and establish priorities based on the things we value most. If we truly desire a simpler life, there are ways we can be intentional about achieving the balanced life we want. Do you crave a simpler life too?