Here's a slide show of our photos from our trip last weekend to the Detroit area in Michigan where Gene's family live and over to Windsor, Ontario, Canada to visit Lou-Ann (Gene calls her Annie), a friend I met online through Gene who is also a Boomer and now my dear friend. This was my first time meeting Gene's family and Lou-Ann in person. We stayed at Lou-Ann's home where she was most hospitable. We had a lot of fun with her and her son, Matt and her little dog, Moose. Wish I'd taken some photos of Matt and Moose. Maybe next time. Enjoy!
All moms are working moms, but those who have to care for their families and also support them by going out to work each day have it especially hard. I was a stay-at-home mom while my children were growing up, but when my three were 19, 15 and 10 my husband of 17 years, having become addicted to cocaine, and I finally had to separate and I had to support my family on my own, with God's help. Some moms find themselves having to go out to work with little ones who need them even more, but they do what has to be done to take care of their children, even though it hurts so much to have to put them with caregivers who can never replace a mom's love and presence. Almost as difficult is the trying to still be mom and working woman, and do both well. But somehow she does it all.
For all of you who are alone raising your children, had to raise your children alone when they were still home, or had a mom who did this impossible task with love and grace, this song's for you....
She's A Working Mom
by Dean Friedman
She's a working mom. From the time the alarm clock rings, till the coffee's on, she can handle a million things. Their daddy's gone, but she keeps keeping on. First she picks out their clothes, then she wipes a runny nose, makes their beds and when the bathtub overflows, she remains so calm.
Let's here it for the working mom. She goes to bed with the night light on. 'Cause ghosts and goblins in the middle of the night, give sleepy children such a fright. With one touch, they're gone.
She's a working mom. And she keeps all her kids in line, with an outstretched palm, and a warning they'd better mind, cause one more time and they will see stars shine. But they're not scared 'cause Mommy starts to smile and they all know that in a little while, things'll be just fine.
Let's here it for the working mom. She goes to bed with the night light on. 'Cause ghosts and goblins in the middle of the night, give sleepy children such a fright. With one touch, they're gone.
She's a working mom and it wasn't the life she chose. Drive the kids to school and then off to work she goes. But heaven knows, how her love for them grows. At times it's hard, but she has no regrets 'cause in her heart she knows the love she gets, it overflows.
Let's hear it for the working mom. She goes to bed with the night light on. 'Cause ghosts and goblins in the middle of the night, give sleepy children such a fright. With one touch, they're gone.
And ghosts and goblins in the middle of the night, give sleepy mommies such a fright. With one touch they're gone.
Let's hear it for the working mom. Let's hear it for the working mom…
Uhh...for all the white-knuckle moments Easy has endured as a passenger in my car (red lights somehow seen as stop signs, fractions of an inch between my car and that one parked on the side of the road, etc., etc...just ask him LOL) I passed the driver's test...unlike some people I know...ahem...
I just thought to post a blog to all the Boomers letting you know the latest on Easy (Gene). He's going nuts up there in the UP not being able to get on Boomer, post his blogs and greet all of you. His internet connection has now gone down completely. He's expecting the technicians out to his place some time this week..just in time for him to be leaving (*sigh*...figures) to come down here to Chicago for a few weeks. We're not sure if he can access his Boomer account from here (tried the last time and no go..??) If not, hopefully he'll at least get some blogs written and I'll get them on here.
Island Lake is finally thawing out and everything is a mucky mess and will be for a while. His book has sold well and he's hoping for a second printing to be out soon.
He's also coming down with something and will have to wait for medication by mail from the VA. Please pray that he won't get any worse waiting for it to arrive. I wish he was here so that I could pamper him with hot tea and chicken soup!
Spring has arrived here in Chicago with crocuses and daffodils blooming and windows thrown wide open to receive the warm gentle spring breezes. Ahhhh...at last!
I wonder how many of us would have been willing....??
Subject: Beth Moore - Hairbrush Experience
For those of you who do not know Beth Moore, she is an outstanding Bible teacher, writer of Bible studies, and is a married mother of two daughters. (read on)
This is one of her experiences:
April 20, 2005, at the Airport in Knoxville , waiting to board the plane, I had the Bible on my lap and was very intent upon what I was doing. I'd had a marvelous morning with the Lord. I say this because I want to tell you it is a scary thing to have the Spirit of God really working in you. You could end up doing some things you never would have done otherwise. Life in the Spirit can be dangerous for a thousand reasons not the least of which is your ego.
I tried to keep from staring, but he was such a strange sight. Humped over in a wheelchair, he was skin and bones, dressed in clothes that obviously fit when he was at least twenty pounds heavier. His knees protruded from his trousers, and his shoulders looked like the coat hanger was still in his shirt. His hands looked like tangled masses of veins and bones. The strangest part of him was his hair and nails Stringy, gray hair hung well over his shoulders and down part of his back. His fingernails were long, clean but strangely out of place on an old man.
I looked down at my Bible as fast as I could, discomfort burning my face. As I tried to imagine what his story might have been, I found myself wondering if I'd just had a Howard Hughes sighting. Then, I remembered that he was dead. So this man in the airport...an impersonator maybe? Was a camera on us somewhere?
There I sat; trying to concentrate on the Word to keep from being concerned about a thin slice of humanity served on a wheelchair only a few seats from me. All the while, my heart was growing more and more overwhelmed with a feeling for him. Let's admit it. Curiosity is a heap more comfortable than true concern, and suddenly I was awash with aching emotion for this bizarre-looking old man.
I had walked with God long enough to see the handwriting on the wall. I've learned that when I begin to feel what God feels, something so contrary to my natural feelings, something dramatic is bound to happen. And it may be embarrassing. I immediately began to resist because I could feel God working on my spirit and I started arguing with God in my mind. "Oh, no, God, please, no." I looked up at the ceiling as if I could stare straight through it into heaven and said, "Don't make me witness to this man. Not right here and now. Please. I'll do anything. Put me on the same plane, but don't make me get up here and witness to this man in front of this gawking audience. Please, Lord!"
There I sat in the blue vinyl chair begging His Highness, "Please don't make me witness to this man. Not now. I'll do it on the plane." Then I heard it..."I don't want you to witness to him. I want you to brush his hair."
The words were so clear, my heart leapt into my throat, and my thoughts spun like a top. Do I witness to the man or brush his hair?
No-brainer. I looked straight back up at the ceiling and said, "God, as I live and breathe, I want you to know I am ready to witness to this man. I'm on this Lord. I'm your girl! You've never seen a woman witness to a man faster in your life. What difference does it make if his hair is a mess if he is not redeemed? I am going to witness to this man."
Again as clearly as I've ever heard an audible word, God seemed to write this statement across the wall of my mind. "That is not what I said, Beth. I don't want you to witness to him. I want you to go brush his hair."
I looked up at God and quipped, "I don't have a hairbrush. It's in my suitcase on the plane. How am I supposed to brush his hair without a hairbrush?"
God was so insistent that I almost involuntarily began to walk toward him as these thoughts came to me from God's word: "I will thoroughly furnish you unto all good works."(2 Timothy 3:17)
I stumbled over to the wheelchair thinking I could use one myself. Even as I retell this story, my pulse quickens and I feel those same butterflies. I knelt down in front of the man and asked as demurely as possible,"Sir, may I have the pleasure of brushing your hair?"
He looked back at me and said, "What did you say?" to which he responded in volume ten, "Little lady, if you expect me to hear you, you're going to have to talk louder than that."
At this point, I took a deep breath and blurted out, "SIR, MAY I HAVE THE PLEASURE OF BRUSHING YOUR HAIR?"
At which point every eye in the place darted right at me. I was the only thing in the room looking more peculiar than old Mr.Long Locks. Face crimson and forehead breaking out in a sweat, I watched him look up at me with absolute shock on his face, and say, "If you really want to."
Are you kidding? Of course I didn't want to. But God didn't seem interested in my personal preference right about then. He pressed on my heart until I could utter the words, "Yes, sir, I would be pleased. But I have one little problem. I don't have a hairbrush."
"I have one in my bag," he responded.
I went around to the back of that wheelchair, and I got on my hands and knees and unzipped the stranger's old carry-on, hardly believing what I was doing. I stood up and started brushing the old man's hair. It was perfectly clean, but it was tangled and matted. I don't do many things well, but must admit I've had notable experience untangling knotted hair mothering two little girls. Like I'd done with either Amanda or Melissa in such a condition, I began brushing at the very bottom of the strands, remembering to take my time not to pull.
A miraculous thing happened to me as I started brushing that old man's hair Everybody else in the room disappeared. There was no one alive for those moments except that old man and me. I brushed and I brushed and I brushed until every tangle was out of that hair. I know this sounds so strange, but I've never felt that kind of love for another soul in my entire life I believe with all my heart, I - for that few minutes - felt a portion of the very love of God. That He had overtaken my heart for a little while like someone renting a room and making Himself at home for a short while. The emotions were so strong and so pure that I knew they had to be God's.
His hair was finally as soft and smooth as an infant's. I slipped the brush back in the bag and went around the chair to face him. I got back down on my knees, put my hands on his knees and said, "Sir, do you know my Jesus?"
He said, "Yes, I do." Well, that figures, I thought.
He explained, "I've known Him since I married my bride. She wouldn't marry me until I got to know the Savior." He said, "You see, the problem is, I haven't seen my bride in months. I've had open-heart surgery, and she's been too ill to come see me. I was sitting here thinking to myself, what a mess I must be for my bride."
Only God knows how often He allows us to be part of a divine moment when we're completely unaware of the significance. This, on the other hand, was one of those rare encounters when I knew God had intervened in details only He could have known. It was a God moment, and I'll never forget it.
Our time came to board, and we were not on the same plane. I was deeply ashamed of how I'd acted earlier and would have been so proud to have accompanied him on that aircraft. I still had a few minutes, and as I gathered my things to board, the airline hostess returned from the corridor, tears streaming down her cheeks. She said,
"That old man's sitting on the plane, sobbing. Why did you do that? What made you do that?"
I said, "Do you know Jesus? He can be the bossiest thing!" And we got to share.
I learned something about God that day. He knows if you're exhausted, you're hungry, you're serving in the wrong place or it is time to move on but you feel too responsible to budge. He knows if you're hurting or feeling rejected. He knows if you're sick or drowning under a wave of temptation. Or He knows if you just need your hair brushed. He sees you as an individual. Tell Him your need!
I got on my own flight, sobs choking my throat, wondering how many opportunities just like that one had I missed along the way. . . all because I didn't want people to think I was strange. God didn't send me to that old man. He sent that old man to me.
John 1:14 "The Word became flesh and made his dwelling among us. We have seen his glory, the glory of the One and Only, who came from the Father, full of grace and truth."
Life shouldn't be a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in a pretty and well-preserved body, but rather, to skid in broadside, thoroughly used up, totally worn out, and loudly shouting, "Wow! What a ride! Thank You, Lord!"
Don't we all need a little space that's all our own? A place that reflects our soul? Mine has tall windows four wide and a double glass door leading onto the deck looking out on the world with varied birds and squirrels putting on a show for me and a big old tree that they call home. It has a map of the world (I think we should know where places are around the globe besides within our own borders, if that). It has grand and godchild creations, and a book corner for them when they visit. It has comfy places for my dog to sit, a chair with a cushion by the window and a custom-made recliner that WAS mine but has now been claimed by Mr. Pippen as his favorite spot. It has a five-foot tall bird cage where Iri calls out "Hello, baby" to welcome me each morning. It has the bright-colored artwork and whimsical sayings of Mary Engelbreit on wall and fridge and throw pillow and little plaques that express what is important in life. The newest one says "Life is either a daring adventure or nothing."-Helen Keller. My life HAS been an adventure (but that's the subject of another blog) and a new one is about to begin. I expect it will be the best one of all..and it's going to be easy..and this time I won't be alone on the journey.
