boomer!

dear janette and sonja,

i never enjoyed football until i had honest to goodness
texan friends.  so here is my challenge to you:

if texas gets closer than this:

OU 37
TEXAS 21

i will send you each some oatmeal chocolate chip cookies.

if texas wins (which ain't gonna' happen,)
i will post a picture of myself wearing a
longhorn t shirt and some chaps.  i may
even get on a horse or something.

Now, what are you ladies willing to do when OU wins?

love,
lea

"seek the Lord and his strength;
seek his presence continually."
1 chronicles 16:11

that's a lie!

as i was sitting beside my father in law's hospital bed, i found a
copy of the "new yorker" magazine.  before i ever read those, i
thumb through to see the hilarious cartoons.  the first one i saw
depicted a "blog pie chart."

google image

i was a little downcast, because i knew just what third i fit in.  i
don't sell anything, and even though i love the movie, conspiracy 
theory, i'm not into writing about them.  my stories clearly fall into
the first group . . . boring, boring, boring.

so i decided to shut down the old blog, but then i read a couple of
the blogs i love.   each one shared an inspiring story that burrowed
into my heart.

why in the world did i let the new yorker influence me in even the
smallest way?  i only read it once every ten years or so.   and why
do i still, at 53, care what other people say?  when am i going to
grow up?  who cares if i'm boring?

boring is the new black.

love,
lea

"we do not dare to classify or compare ourselves with some who
commend themselves.  when they measure themselves by them-
selves and compare themselves with themselves, they are not
wise."  2 corinthians 10:12

broken windows

dear emily,

my father in law has a gorgeous bathroom/dressing room.  his
walls are decorated with gigantic photos of my mother in law
from her movie star days and floor to ceiling mirrors.  no one,
especially grandchildren have been allowed to step onto the
thick, black carpet or into the shrine unless escorted by their
grandfather.

the top of his lovely teak dressing table is graced by favorite
memorabilia like dozens of tiny screwdrivers and caterpillar
tractors.  i used to sneak peaks at the incredible order and beauty
of this special place until a few days ago when one of the giant
mirrors fell from the wall and crashed upon everything.

it reminded me of the 'broken windows' theory coined by james
q.wilson and george kelling.  they believe that crime is attracted
by disorder.  if a neighborhood tolerates panhandling, graffiti,
or broken windows, then worse behavior follows.  one broken
window calls out to another.  on the other hand, if a neighbor-
hood vigilantly watches over its borders and keeps things orderly,
crime goes elsewhere.   (the tipping point, malcom gladwell)

can you believe the broken mirror occurred three weeks after he
broke his hip?  he has been fighting for his health for six weeks
now, but the hip is mending nicely.  we don't want his other limbs
getting any 'broken window' ideas!

love,
lea

ps.  my friend sandra from thistle cove farms, recently reminded
me of a beloved verse:  "see, I have engraved you on the palms
of my hands; your walls are ever before me."  isaiah 49:16

first baby

dear emily,

when our first baby boy was born, my mom gave me some oscar
de la renta lotion.  i remember thinking, "now he will know i'm
his mommy, because i will always smell like this."  i wasn't
allowed to nurse him or hold him.

the NICU nurse told us we must not even touch him, as it could
agitate him and deflate his lungs again.   my heart broke as i stood
beside his pathetic little body, arms and legs splayed out, purple
chest sinking to the mattress, tubes connected in too many places.

i couldn't imagine that his tiny hand holding my baby finger might
upset him; so i disobeyed.   all day long, every day for 12 days, i
stood with my back to the nurses and my finger in his hand.  my
whole life was in that precious hand.

by the 12th day his lungs had strengthened, and  a nurse informed
us that they had been slowly reducing his sedative.  she could tell
he was more alert,  because he grasped her finger for the first
time.  :)

"now faith is being sure of what we hope for and certain of what
we do not see."  hebrews 11:1

that baby boy is the big guy on the right!

love,
lea

dear emily,

i used to think the best preparation to being a good mother was
a math/science degree or even an elementary education one.  a
nursing degree would have helped tremendously, too!

google image

but now, after watching the mom scene from 'ocean's twelve', i've
changed my mind.

imagine if before having those little urchins, you had been a CIA
agent or a county sheriff?  before asking, "who took a bite out of
your dad's birthday cake?", you would already know the culprit!
you could read all their 'tells' and know how to call the bluffs.

say one of the rugrats decides he doesn't want to pick up his toys
or go to bed, you could say in your robert deniro voice,  "how
would you like me to haul your skinny little self down to the
county jail?"

think how easy it would be to get their finger prints?  they are all
over the place.

love,
lea

ps.  "evil men do not understand justice; but those who seek the
Lord understand it fully."  proverbs 28:5

a firm foundation

dear emily,

when i was a little girl my grandmother wore something called a
foundation.  this undergarment made all her dresses smooth and
her figure lovely, but her breathing was labored.   my mother's
generation wore girdles, a hideous name but a vast improvement
on the foundation.  she could take deeper breaths.

google image

now the post virginia slims' generation wears spanx.  i can only
hope that a man named them.  any woman to think of such a
demeaning name should be spanked.   there are dozens of more
suitable ones:  slink, slimmer, shape, even the tried and true girdle
is more dignifying.  

when i was in high school, i wore a 'refining' undergarment,
because i was petrified of jiggling.  how much jiggle could a 110
pound girl generate?  now when i accidentally catch a glimpse
of myself walking by a horror movie mirror, i can see my back
side wobble the opposite direction.

i should not be allowed to sing a favorite old hymn, "how firm a
foundation."

love,
lea

tell me a story

dear emily,

there are few things i love more than a good story.  don't give me
a bunch of dates and battles to memorize; tell me the story of a
great battle, and i will remember every detail.  please don't beat
me over the head with a lesson about repentance from the
pulpit; give me a story about it from someone's life, and i will
be moved to repentance myself.

Jesus was the greatest storyteller of all.  He could have spent
all His time preaching and healing, but He seemed to love to
tell His story.  who could forget the one about the sower and the
seed or the unmerciful servant?  He reels us in about a poor
woman who loses her coin and then we understand how the
kingdom of heaven rejoices over a lost soul who is found.

the easiest way to reach the heart of a child is to tell him a story.
they can't resist a good one, and then their transparent, open
hearts soak in the goodness of the best ones. "the land of a rich
man brought forth plentifully; and he thought to himself, 'what
shall i do, for i have nowhere to store my crops . . ."(luke 12:17)

you can read the rest of the story.

love,
lea