FRIED POTATOES

My grandmother was affectionately known to all her grandchildren as “Mam.” She was 100% English. Her father was from the aristocracy, and her mother was from the lower class. A true romantic, her father left England for the United States because his family disowned him after he married her mother.

My mother’s side was extremely affectionate. Much of this affection came from my Mam. She was always quick to give you a smooch on the lips, or pull you up on her lap to be rocked. We all grew up with tons of kisses and hugs. Love was to be felt. This legacy continues through me to my own children. My daughters will still plop down on my lap for a snuggle and they are in their twenties. My son is quick to plant a kiss on my lips, even in front of his college friends.

Her generosity did not stop with affection. She was generous in many ways. One way she showed her ability to give and give was when she’d make fried potatoes. Often, when she’d start preparing lunch, friends would pop in for a visit. Mam would just pull out another of her huge cast iron frying pans, and wash, pare and slice it full of potatoes. Once I remember there being many of the grandchildren, and several friends who happened by, and she had four black iron skillets full of potatoes frying. Mam bought Heinz ketchup by the gallon for all the potatoes we’d eat. I remember her potatoes stretching like the loaves and fishes in the gospel. Mam was always willing to cook for and feed others out of compassion, much like Christ’s for the masses. Her fried potatoes became renowned.

There always was enough to go around, even though they didn’t have much. Many of Mam’s pastors and their families found refuge in her home around her kitchen table. It’s no wonder that two of her daughters ended up becoming pastor’s wives. It’s no wonder several of her grandchildren became preacher’s kids.

Through Mam’s example, we were taught the blessing of hospitality. She exemplified it well for us. One didn’t need the finest or the best to be hospitable. You only needed to be willing to offer whatever you had. Mam only needed a kitchen table, a scoop of lard, an onion or two, a few cast iron skillets, a bit of ketchup, and a bin full of potatoes. I can hear her voice now telling me, "Keep the bin full, and never turn anyone away!"

PAP-Protective Strength

My maternal grandfather was affectionately called “Pap” by all of us grandchildren. I called him Pap when I first could form the word until the day he died. My Pap was my protector. He was larger than life. He was a very manly man. He was a tough as they come.

Some of my earliest memories of him are of him working or involved in some type of activity. He was often found on a ladder, lying under a car, up in a tree stand, cutting grass, shining shoes, cleaning guns, tilling the garden, etc... He kept a muscular figure even as he aged because of all this activity.

Pap was an oxymoron. He was as tough as nails to the outside world, yet loving and affectionate to those blessed enough to be called family. As a very young child I loved being in his lap with his rugged arms and hands embracing me in a heartfelt hug. He had a very deep bass voice that could resonate in a chest cavity when he wanted to get your attention, but how tender that voice was when he was attempting to sooth your pain while cleaning and bandaging a cut. Pap could stomp through any kind of wooded land and cover more ground than anyone in his work boots, yet he could glide on the living room floor in his Sunday shoes, with my grandmother in his arms like Fred Astaire.

My love for him began as an infant. Those rugged arms held me, that deep voice spoke to me, and his lips kissed me my first day in this world. I had the privilege of spending my first five years next door to him. I always felt safe and secure with him around. In fact, when I was 4 and 5, my mother would allow me to walk over to his house with a flashlight before bed just to give him a kiss and hug goodnight. Somehow, I just felt safer when I laid down and closed my eyes at night after having been with him.

One of my last precious memories of him, was when I took my three young children to see him when he was laying in bed, dying from pancreatic cancer. I lived several hours away and had just had my youngest child. I wanted her and Pap to meet before he died. She was only several weeks old. He was pretty wracked with pain, but still wanted to hold her. I laid her down on his chest, he wrapped his weakened arms around her, softly kissed her on the head, and deeply breathed in her baby freshness. He spoke to her in that deep, soothing voice of his.

He died a few days after that. I remember being thankful that all my children had a chance to be wrapped in his arms and experience his loving, protective strength.

KARA-Sweet Contentment

My daughter Kara has always been an easy-going, laid back, very contented person. On this day, (September 22) 23 years ago, she came into the world. She is my first born. Kara has been sweet, and easy-going since the very beginning. I was only in labor for 2 hours with her, and the “hard pushing” only lasted 10-15 minutes. I loved holding her. I loved nursing her.

She was a “sweet snuggler” from the get-go. She loved to be held, caressed and kissed. As she got older, she loved to return touch. She would often initiate holding hands, or giving a hug or kiss. This continued throughout high school and into adulthood. She will still come and sit on my lap with her arms wrapped around my neck and talk and giggle and laugh...in a rapture of perfect contentment. When Kara touches you, a calm serenity seems surround.

Jesus possesses many of the qualities that He graciously bestowed upon Kara to bring to this world with her arrival. Hence, Kara was attracted to Him at a young age. She told me she loved Jesus and wanted Him to live in her heart. It was my wonderful privilege to pray with her as she accepted Christ as her Lord and Savior at the age of five. Kara and Jesus have been dear friends ever since then.

Life was not always easy for Kara. Her dad and I divorced when she was eight years old. What had been her stable perfect little family, came to a crashing halt. She had to step up in a big way when I had to go into full time work. Yet, throughout it all, she remained sweet and eventually found her contentment in Christ. With Jesus, Kara became such a picture of contentment.

Others seek Kara out and want to be with her because she ushers that peace and contentment around them and into their circumstances. She is the calm word in the midst of chaos and confusion. She is often the Peace that passes understanding. Kara would be the first to tell you that her relationship with Christ the Source from which she draws this strength.
Kara is an adult now. She is happily married. She continues to be a devout follower of Christ. Kara would be the first to happily tell you that her relationship with Christ the Source of her sweetness and contentment.

I fell in love with Kara the moment I laid eyes on her. I have been in love with her Kara for 23 years. She has surely become one of my nearest and dearest friends. Kara continues to be an example and model to me of genuine sweetness and true contentment. In some ways, the daughter has become the teacher...smile.

Thoughts:
True joy comes when we can live in a state of contentment no matter the situation.

I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry whether living in plenty or in want. Philippians 4:12b

COURAGE

There is a local pastor who has begun a tradition amongst the members of his congregation for the New Year. He challenges them to pray for the Lord to reveal a word in which they can interpret the coming year. The word each individual receives becomes a "looking glass" so to speak. It has been interesting to hear of other persons words, and how those words help guide them throughout their year. Several of my friends have mentioned their words to me this past week. One, who I bumped into at the store relayed to me that her word was "obedience." Another close friend shared several days ago that her word was "trust."

I prayed several days seeking the word God had for me this year. It came to me yesterday while I was driving. My word is, "courage." Courage means: mental or moral strength to venture, persevere, and withstand danger, fear, or difficulty. I'll admit that after I read the definition, I wanted to trade my word in for a new one. I am not sure why this is my word, but I am claiming it. After reading the definition, I wonder, will I be venturing out into something as yet unknown to me? Will I have to persevere through an unpleasant situation/relationship? Will dangers, fears or difficulties arise? How will the word "courage" play out in my life this year? I shall wait and see.

A Walk in the Rain

Today I had the privilege of walking home from work in the rain. It isn't that big of a feat, since it is only several miles away. A friend of mine was aghast that I would walk home in the rain with an umbrella in high heels. Although, I hadn't planned on walking home today, it ended up being a serendipity for my soul. When I commenced the walk, I chose to do it with a good spirit. I thought of how many of my ancestors walked for miles. My great, grandfather was known to walk miles upon miles around town. He had a walking stick, and would suck on his butter rum LifeSavers, and pray until he arrived at his destination. My one great, great grandmother would walk eight miles to town and back five days a week to be a scrub woman. Her husband died early leaving her with many mouths to feed. She shouldered her responsibility, and walked to town on the railroad tracks everyday to feed her family.

I have been trying to discipline myself to walk more. Taking a class on prayer this semester has enriched my walking. I have taken up listening to Rachmaninoff's Vespers while walking the dog in the evening since taking this class. I have used this music to help focus my thoughts and mind on prayer while walking. I have also tried some other methods taught in class. One method was repeating a Holy sentence, such as a scripture verse, or something along those lines. Richard Foster calls these "breath prayers." My breath prayer for several weeks now has been..."The Perfect Love of God, for me, around me, in me and through me." It has helped me to meditate on God's Perfect Love. I want to KNOW it. I want to experience it. I want to share it. I think these practices have helped me grow on my journey.

So today, walking in the rain was not a hardship. It was soothing and peaceful in some way. It was an opportunity to experience the depth of God's Love in greater ways.

Somebody's Got to be First

Well, tomorrow our new boss comes to the office for the first time. I have only met him one time and it was when the board was interviewing him. I was a party of four who were introduced to him. It really wasn't enough time to gain much understanding about the character or disposition of the man.

Our floor has pretty much been running itself for well over a year now. There are only women left on it and we all go about our business and do what we know to do. There hasn't been any dysfunction during this time. In fact we all kind of felt like we needed to be self-motivated. We realized progress depended on us and there was a type of empowering that came to us all. The proverbial buck stopped with us so the realization of that type responsibility seemed to pull the best out in all. We all bonded together to make the heavy workload happen. And it did happen.

Now a new element will be introduced into the mix. For one, it will be someone who has a title that overshadows us all...Vice President. For another, it will be a man. We haven't had any testosterone on our floor in over a year, so that alone will take some getting used to. I really can't say that I know this man to judge him for good or ill. That will take some time. One thing I have learned as I have gotten older, is that I reserve the right to make a judgment over a period of time. Time is the real test of true character and trustworthiness. So we shall see.

What I do know is that somehow I drew the short straw. I am the first in the line up to get one on one time with the new boss. Tomorrow at 9:00am, I get to spend an hour with him. Being first is a bit unnerving. I like being at least second, if not third or fourth. The reason is that I value the impressions others have gotten from their meetings. I can take several people's impressions, and distill certain common themes that come up from other opinions. For some reason, knowing a little bit of something about an unknown is better than knowing nothing at all. So tomorrow I get to be the one that the others will come to to ask, "so what was he like?" Or something along those lines.

I asked what the agenda was, but didn't get much direction. So I get to go in "cold turkey." I know I can often come off confident and secure. As ashamed as I am to admit it, this meeting has a way of making me feel like a child on the first day of school. All the unknowns looming large. Questions are surfacing in my mind like, "What will I wear? What are the topics he might talk about? How should I answer? Is there anything I need to bring up? Is my desk clean enough? Should I get a cup of coffee and relax? Should I wait until the hour is up to get my coffee?" There are several for starters.

Being "first on the block" stirs up these emotions in many of us. I guess the consolation is, my turn will be over and I will be able to breath the rest of the day. All the others will just have to wade through the anxiety until their turn is up. I guess that is the one positive I can come up with in all of this. So somebody's got to be first. I guess that's me this time.

Weighing Hell

OK, so anyone who is reading my blog would know that I am going through my very own personal "dark night of the soul." We all do that. EVERYONE has their down times. I make no apologies. I only admit it. Own it. And will try to blog through it.

So what is your hell? Today, this day, what is your own personal hell? We can break our personal hell up into categories. How much hell is your family? How much personal hell is your job? How much is of your personal hell is your health? How much is your financial situation? How much of your personal hell is "other?" Come on....be brave enough to label it.

In some ways it was good for me to figure out percentages tonight. You know 20% family, 30% job, 10% health, 15% financial, 25% other. You know, it fluctuates from day to day and week to week. The percentages could be different tomorrow morning.

Now, what to do with the analysis? Having a deeper look can be good, if you can figure out what to do with the results. How do we handle our own personal hell? Now, I have to spend some time pondering that!