On a typical Sunday morning, after worship and the sermon, the people of our wee congregation tend to do their thing and, you know, congregate.  Unlike days of old where you attended Sunday morning, Sunday evening, Wednesday evening, and—on good weeks—revival meeting Thursday, Friday and Saturday evenings … we have but one day a week to see one another and catch up.  It takes time, don’t you know.

But not yesterday.  Yesterday was an exodus like none other.  After all, we had to make it downstairs for Hannah and Sasha’s Super Sale, where, as Hannah so aptly put it, “People [were] going crazy!”

Could you blame us?  There was handmade jewelry, flower magnets, notecards—there was a raffle—there were chocolate chip cookies and pies.  Oh, the pies!  You know that wedding banquet of which the Bible speaks? That pie is bound to be on the menu.  Pretty sure.

It was a grand time—and all because one Little Miss got together with another Little Miss, and decided they wanted to raise money for those in need.  If it weren’t for them, us adults would have done as we do each week.  We would have chatted a bit—then promptly took our quarters and dollar bills home.  After all, what good could chump change do?

I dare say, we’ll never find out if we don’t have the faith of a child.

You see, sometimes the smallest shoes make the biggest prints … sometimes breaking bread comes in the form of chatter over a slice of chocolate cream pie … sometimes all we have to give is a pittance and sometimes that’s more than enough.

So here’s one, from me to you …

Thanks for stopping by, jotting notes, and otherwise being fabulous–you guys are simply the best!  

For once, I’m looking forward to the Monday after the weekend.  It is, after all, Valentine’s Day! 

Some of you probably  just gagged a bit right there.  I know.  But it cannot be helped.  I love Valentine’s Day.  For one thing, I will run full throttle toward anything worthy of celebration–and chocolate and loved ones are at the top of the list {not necessarily in that order, naturally}. 

So my weekend wish for you, dear friends, is simple–may your heart be full, your days joyful; and wherever you go, whatever you do, may you know just how much you’re loved …

I received my work of art last week; it sits in a place of honor above my desk.  Now, should I ever wonder what love looks like, I have only to look up…

{LOVE, by Micah Brueggemann}

My cousin Jen married her High School sweetheart last Saturday. It was a lovely wedding, filled with white twinkling lights, tulle, and red rose petals. Her sister sang, her father performed the ceremony and almost – just almost – made it through without choking up. His baby girl was getting married.

The evening was a blur of hugs and camera flashes. True to form on my father’s side, family members surrounded us one minute, the next, they were gone – a fine example of exit en masse. Then there were two, said my mom.   

With that, the only thing left to do was head for the dessert table. On the way we greeted my great uncle. He looked at us, blinked, and said, Oh, I didn’t recognize you. You see, the last time he saw my mom at a wedding he chortled and said, We’re all getting older aren’t we… Therefore, this opening line was my cue to exit. Without so much as a ‘how are things’ I turned on the balls of my feet and walked away, quickly, before he had time to utter, We’re all getting fatter aren’t we …

Of course, by the time we made it to the food, three grapes and an apple wedge were all that remained for the chocolate fountain; but there, at the end of the table, were three cupcakes waiting just for us. Mmmm… cupcakes …

My favorite part of the evening, however, was the Father/daughter dance. I have a soft spot for father/daughter dances; there’s nothing quite so precious as a girl dancing with the first man she ever loved. But this one was special. You see, a great deal of the people present were at one time or another Assemblies of God – that may be Holy Roller to you. Dancing, in the Assemblies of God, is wrong … so very, very wrong. If you want to take the fast track to hell, drink wine – add dancing to the mix and you might as well grow red horns right then and there because it will happen. Oh yes, my friends, dancing is just that bad.

Yet they danced all the same. First the bride and her dad; then slowly, father-and-daughter by father-and-daughter, others joined in. They were young and old, practiced and not-so-much. Some didn’t build up the nerve until the very end, but they did it. They may have bumbled about, not having a clue what they were doing, but their daughters didn’t care.

As I sat there watching them dance I knew if Jesus had been sitting there, in person, He would be smiling too. His first miracle, after all, was turning water into wine at a wedding. Some try to explain that away as well – he wasn’t yet matured, wine was the only safe beverage to drink. But I think it was something more. I think He knew the key – holiness is available for the taking in good times and  in bad, in religious acts and everyday. Yes, we most often see it in prayer and fasting, in worship and outreach. But if we pay attention, we’re just as likely to catch a glimpse of holiness on a dance floor, filled with the purest of love, and the sweetest of laughter.

Some of you may be wondering what, exactly, I’ve been smoking with a title like this, but let me explain: Joanna Goddard got married.  And, seeing how she’s on her honeymoon, guest bloggers are posting “Our Secrets to a Happy Marriage” on her blog – A Cup of Jo .  Some are funny, some sweet, others offer practical pieces of advice – and I love it to bits.  So if you’re married – or even looking to give it a try someday – take a peek. 

And I would love to hear your secrets to a happy marriage as well …

I dreamt about my grampa last night.  I guess it only fitting, being memorial day weekend and all.

My grandpa died in 1992; I still miss him.

He was the type of person who would go back and tell the chef he loved the meal–just to let him know.

He was big on family. More often than not you could find him behind a camera or camcorder, making memories; we were always in front, shooing him way.

He made his own wine; some of which was really, really bad. He’d just shrug and laugh and try again the next year.

He was a complete and total nut–much to the exasperation of my grandmother. We still relive some of his better schticks; they still make us laugh.

He was a gentleman. He did not believe in crossing lines, taking over, or pretending to know it all. I still remember him sitting me down–not long before he died–and telling me, for my sake, to forgive my father. He went on to say he believed I would, in my own time. He didn’t scold, or talk down.

He loved adventure. I love the black and white photo of a young man, in leather chaps, standing next to his prized Indian. Of course, he seemed just as happy driving a boat of a Buick cross country to visit family.

He was a hard worker. While many of us would rejoice in any reason to get out of work, he continued even when cancer had taken over. He worked until he simply could not work any longer.

When he died, his hospice nurse asked to sing at his funeral. She sang–a little shrill and a little off-key–”The Wind Beneath my Wings.” The funeral home was beyond capacity. Grown men, dressed in military finery, stood in back, wiping away tears. The man who usually played taps at the graveside had to bow out; he wouldn’t be able to get through it, he said. Not for Vern.

Anyone who knew my grandpa could understand. None of us quite wanted to admit lights out for a man such as he.

He touched lives wherever he went–with concern in those baby blues, with that ornery smile, with a quiet dignity.

Often times I think it highly unfair he was taken so soon. He never got to know the spouses of his grandkids; he never got to know his great-grands–including the one who is his splitting image or the one named in his honor. Nor will they get to know him.

I guess it’s up to those of us who did know him, to be a mirror.

Maybe that’s what memorial day is all about.  Thinking of all those who have come into our lives and left a footprint that will never fade. We know the traits that have touched our own lives. What better memorial than turning around and passing them on …

Photo ops.  If there’s one thing a member of our family learns at a young age, it’s how to get accustomed to any number of cameras in your face at any given time.  Flashes going off every which way is just par for the course.  The Paparazzi’s got nothin’ on us.  Action shots, portraits, nut-ball poses, we’ve got ‘em all.  Sometimes that’s all we’ve got.  So, what’d you do over the weekend?  We partook in miscellaneous photo ops – and you?  The upside: We can revisit our family … we can relive the laughter … anytime we wish.  It’s enough to make the momentary blindness worth it. 

Sweet lovin’s.  My cousin’s little girl is one and a half.  And cuter than ever.  Seriously.  She’s so cute you can’t even stand it.  She’s also a little lady on the go.  Still, she managed to take time out of her busy roadmap-to-discovery to give me some sweet lovin’s.  When she walked up to me and held out her hands to be picked up; and then, once up, put her head on my chest, I melted.  Just like butta.  Suddenly I understood how parents might be tempted to spoil their children absolutely rotten.  Because if she could talk in complete sentences – and happened to ask for a car at that precise moment – I would have said, “here, take mine.”   Pretty sure. 

Heart of thankfulness.  You know, life has a funny way of not-at-all turning out as you had planned.  Yet is still manages to shine.  Much like the song suggests, God likes to bless the broken road.   As I sat there yesterday morning, looking at the faces before me, I realized how each mother at that table has had her share of sorrow and disappointment.  But they’ve kept going; they’ve also kept each other.  And I realized my heart was full to overflowing with thankfulness.  I was thankful to have a mom – and be surrounded by moms – who were stronger than they’ll ever realize.  They taught me that it’s okay to cry – as long as the tears turn to laughter evetually.  They taught me how to create and cherish memories.  They taught me that they’ve got my back – and that I need to carry on the tradition.  They taught me that yes, life may not be perfect – but it can be beautiful all the same.

So to both families, our deepest congratulations.  To Mel and her family – thanks for showing us what the greatest of love looks like …