My First Thanksgiving

I'm forty-five years old and I just cooked my first turkey. It's about time, don't you think? This was a special thanksgiving for me. It was the first time we celebrated in our home and the grandparents came to us. Planning the details of the meal and getting the house ready added extra excitement to the holiday. I wasn't stressed about making the food. The grandmas were bringing pies, salad and rolls. Besides, my years of cooking mass quantities for football players made this event seem less daunting.

The only thing I wasn't sure about was the turkey. Since I had never cooked one before, it felt like a mysterious challenge to me. Maybe it was the literal size of the task. More likely, being up close and personal with a animal carcass was the reason I had avoided it over the years.

I did my homework and spent some time researching the easiest way to cook a turkey. I didn't really comprehend the benefits of soaking the bird in brine, and the the health related cautions about cooking the stuff inside the bird scared me off. I decided to keep things as simple as possible and use our electric roaster.

As I wrestled the bird into the sink, I questioned Perry's decision to buy a 21 pounder. I grabbed the sprayer, considered that cold, pimply-looking carcass, and wondered where to begin. The dogs sat at my feet, probably feeling relieved that someone else was getting a bath for a change. I washed it off, careful to lift its little wings and apologetically rinsed under the little armpits.

The cavity search just about did me in. I groped inside and shuddered as my hands closed around it's slimy neck. I chucked in the garbage in disgust, reconsidering my childhood thoughts of going vegetarian. I knew there was a little baggie of other unwanted "parts" but no matter how many times I plunged my hand back in there, my fingers couldn't locate it.

Finally, I gave up and hoisted the turkey into the roaster. I grabbed Perry's jar of "Butt Rub", a seasoning Perry uses when he smokes pork loin, and grimaced as I gave the bird one last massage. Just as I was closing the lid on the roaster, I spotted the corner of a little bag peeking out of the other end of the bird. Two openings to search...Who knew?

Shortly after that, it started to smell like Thanksgiving in our kitchen. Perry was especially concerned about how we'd know when the turkey was cooked. A couple hours later, we lifted the lid and saw that the bird was no longer intact. It had apparently fallen apart while it cooked. Perry pulled the drumstick which came off in his hand. As we lifted the turkey out of the roaster, it essentially carved itself. The red pop-up button thingy was floating in the juices at the bottom of the pan. I took that as a sure sign that the bird was done.

So, I survived my first attempt at turkey making. It didn't resemble anything from a Martha Stewart magazine cover, but it sure tasted good. It wasn't pretty, but we must have done something right.

Breaking Ground

I have never been so glad to see heavy machinery and mounds of dirt in my whole life! Our church has finally broken ground and after many years, we will have an actually church building.

We started attending Grace about seven years ago. It was a little nondenominational start-up church that didn't have a building but it had everything else we needed in a church. We've grown together and become a real church family but the years have not been easy.

We meet in our high school every Sunday morning and hold worship service in the auditorium. All the supplies are hauled in a trailer and people have to set up everything...from the speakers and sound system to the toys for the nursery. Most of the materials are packed and repacked in huge plastic totes each week. The children meet for Sunday school at tables in the school commons. Not an ideal environment for the kids or the poor teachers. Our adult Sunday school classes meet in the science classrooms. It's kind of funny to look around at beakers, bunsen burners and biology displays while we are having discussions about the bible. Our worship services get pretty colorful when there is a school play coming up. The pastor and worship band stand in front of the set's backdrop and maneuver around the cardboard walls of scenery to conduct the service. A morning after a high school dance is always an adventure. Streamers and other decorations litter the commons as we enter the building for church. The regular attenders have learned to look past the fact that we're in a school. We just focus on each other. But I always wonder what visitors think on mornings like that.

Even though we haven't had ideal conditions, our church has thrived and grown. We have a huge youth program, lots of bible studies, and many from Grace are active in mission activities in Latvia.

Now that we've broken ground and the construction has begun, I can't wait to have a building to hold all the "stuff" of our church. I'm so happy that the volunteers that unload the trailer and repack it every week will have extra hours in their week for other things. The Sunday school teachers and nursery workers will actually have walls around them to contain the noise and activities. We will no longer be Rubbermaid-toting-vagabonds, but our church will have a home.

There's an old song running through my head as I begin to type this: The church is not a building, the church is not a steeple, the church is not a resting place, the church is a people...

I don't particularly like the song. It's tune isn't all that catchy. But it sticks in my head because I think the words are so true. I hope and pray that with the construction and building activity, I will not lose focus on what has really made us "a church" all this time.

People are Funny

Now that my drive to school takes 6 minutes instead of two, I feel like a commuter. (I know all my friends in the city are rolling their eyes and shaking their heads at my ignorance.) No, it isn't the length of time that I drive; it's the people along my route that I can set my watch by, the predictable (and quirky) behaviors I see that give me a smile as I head to school in the morning.

As I drive along one of the main streets of town, there is a crossing guard at her post, waiting for youngsters to arrive on their way to school. She doesn't sit in her car like most crossing guards I see. This woman takes pride in her work and brings a broom with her. Most mornings I see her sweeping the edge of the street, clearing leaves and construction dirt away from the area. I want to nominate this lady for citizen of the year. Seeing her gives me hope for the day and and an optimistic feeling about people.

My school is near a nursing home, and drive along the narrow street that borders the home. Rain or shine, warm or cold, there is always a group of "health care professionals" from the nursing home outside having a smoke break. They stare vacantly as I roll past, apparently waiting for the nicotine to kick in so they can return to their duties inside. Several times a week, I see my favorite employee. She brings a lawn chair outside for her smoke break, and sets it up in the street! Chatting with her friends and inhaling deeply, she casually ignores the cars that have to maneuver around her just to drive down the road.

As I park my car at the school, I glance across the street at one of the school's "neighbors". It makes me giggle to see the sawhorse with the PRIVATE PROPERTY sign stationed at the end of his driveway. Apparently, this individual is so bothered by cars that may use his driveway to turn around in before parking, it became necessary to craft this blockade. I imagine this man carrying the sawhorse out to his driveway twice each day to protect his property from invaders.

I don't know any of these people personally, yet they are part of my morning "commute", and I'd wonder about them if their routines varied. These folks show me a glimpse of the good and the not-so-good in this world... an interesting way to start the work day.

Unexpected Visitor

Most churches welcome visitors with open arms, but we had an unwelcome one last Sunday morning. Our pastor had just started his sermon when I heard rounds of laughter erupting at a little mouse who had scampered onto the stage. It was boldly stealing the show while Pastor Tim considered whether to exterminate him with his shoe or try to continue. He went on with his sermon, but all eyes followed the little critter as it explored around the worship band's instruments and equipment. As a teacher, I sympathized with how frustrating it is to talk to a group when they are more interested in the distraction than the lesson.

I struggled to concentrate on the sermon about the fish and the loaves while Perry visually tracked the little critter. "It just went over the edge of the stage" he updated. I assumed it went underneath the stage to hide like a sensible mouse should, and I refocused my attention to the sermon notes. Seconds later, it was apparent that our little friend was meandering among the congregation. It was easy to spot its location by the swivel of the heads of the people in front of me.

When I noticed the people in the rows ahead doing something that looked like the wave, I knew it wasn't in enthusiastic response to the Holy Spirit. The mouse was heading toward the back of the auditorium and someone muttered, "It's coming this way." I looked down, but saw nothing but my purse and book bag on the floor near my feet.

A friend of ours had seized a paper cup and was silently walking up the aisle, stalking the little rodent. I moved the edge of my book bag and peered down hesitantly only to see a little pair of beady eyes peering back at me. That mouse apparently thought hiding behind my bags would provide just the safe haven he needed. "He's right here", I called to Mick, and he leaned down to flick the mouse into the cup. Instead the critter flipped into my purse!

Perry, Mick and I made a quick exit with my bags in tow. When I reached the grass outside, I flung my purse on the ground, then shook it until my little friend evacuated himself. Meanwhile, Perry dug through my book bag suspiciously, as if the mouse had suddenly multiplied himself like the fish and the loaves.

We returned to the auditorium, laughing about the adventure yet sheepish about the way we added to the disruption of the church service. I set down my purse (on my lap this time) and remembered my rationale when I purchased it a few weeks ago. I remembered thinking that bag would be handy to have and would hold all sorts of things... How right I was.

The Husband The Wife and The Wardrobe

My parents are doing some major sorting at their house and getting rid of extra furniture they don't use anymore. They had a wardrobe in their basement, and mom thought I might want it. She knows my excitement about any storage related item... so I immediately said yes! It could go in my work room and hold craft supplies or teaching materials. I might use it in the basement for out of season clothing. Joe or Ben might need it for apartment life at college someday. Over Labor Day weekend, I got busy clearing a space for the cabinet so Perry and I could go get it.

My helpful husband went to the car dealership where he works to borrow a small pickup. When we got to my parents' house, we realized that moving that huge wardrobe up the stairs would be no small job. More cumbersome than heavy, we somehow heaved it up one step at a time and carried it to the pickup. I was sweaty and covered in dirt, but feeling very smug to see that large cabinet filling the back end of the truck and knowing I'd had the muscle to manage my end. I collapsed into my seat, Perry carefully shifted gears, and we slowly rolled homeward.

Stopping at a busy intersection in town, Perry chatted on his cell phone while I considered the storage possibilities for this handy piece of furniture. We were barely across the street when we heard a sickening crash. Looking behind us, we saw the cabinet laying in pieces after being launched out of the back of the truck.

I didn't know whether to laugh or cry as we did a u-turn to pick up the pieces and toss them back in the truck. Passing motorists maneuvered carefully around our vehicle and the pile of wardrobe rubble, probably laughing hysterically and thanking their lucky stars they weren't in our shoes.

We returned home, chucked the pieces of splintered wood at the curb, and I called my parents to explain what had happened. Thankfully, they had a sense of humor about the whole ordeal. It might be awhile before they offer us anything else of value from their house though.

A Different Dream for My Child

What I would have given for a book like this nearly 13 years ago, when I was sitting in the NICU with a sick baby.

My heart was nearly paralyzed with fear for so many things. I was afraid that Sam might not live, I was afraid that he was suffering and I couldn't do anything to make it better, I was afraid of the endless number of needle sticks and invasive tests his tiny body was forced to endure. I was afraid of what was yet to come, but I didn't know how to process these fears and worries. I wanted to hand them over to God and trust Him with my baby's fragile condition but I didn't quite know how.

What I needed at that time was an experienced friend to come alongside me and gently offer to share her story with me. It would have been so helpful to hear about someone else's journey with a child who had a serious medical condition. I craved practical advice from someone who had been where I was and lived to tell about it. Praying for me and praying with me when I couldn't find the words, this friend could share insights from the bible in language I could understand. She could explain how God could help me find the strength to survive my baby's health crisis and be the parent I wanted to be. I also needed encouragement and advice on the minor logistical challenges I faced while caring for my child.

That support I wished for is now available in the form of an amazing little book of meditations called A Different Dream for My Child. You can preview the book here. Jolene Philo shares her own story as well as the stories of many other parents who have faced the scary reality of a seriously ill child. The medical situations are all so different, and yet the emotions each family faced were universal and startlingly similar to mine. It was so heartwarming to read these meditations and feel encouraged and supported.

In this book, my friend Jolene offers heartwarming encouragement on the major issues parents may face, but she also offers helpful advice on the little logistics many parents must deal with during a child's extended illness. Like all good friends do, she offers bits of well-timed humor from her own situation in order for us to see glimmers of hope in ours.

If you know someone who is going through a health crisis and wish there was something you could do to help or support the family, start by getting this book into their hands. For anyone who is drowning in the emotional challenges of parenting a child with a chronic illness, this book will feel like a lifeline.

Looking on the Bright Side

The day was going smoothly, so I should have guessed something like this would happen. I was only home from school for a few minutes when it was time to pick Sam up from football practice and hurry him to piano lessons. The dogs looked at me with pleading eyes, begging me not to put them back in their cages, so I let them ride along.

While driving to piano lessons, Pearl stood in my lap, and I realized with horror that she had a huge, shiny, purple lump on her rear end. Being a dog without much hair and no tail, it was alarming looking and unmistakable that something was horribly wrong. Some sort of infection had obviously taken over her backside and somehow I had neglected to notice. Thoughts ping-ponged around in my brain....how long had THAT been there?...looks awfully painful, poor dog... I must be a bad pet owner to have a pet suffering from a hideous growth like that and not even realize it....it's 5:30, and the vet clinic is surely closed....what am I gonna do if that thing BLOWS??

With shaking hands, I dialed the clinic's number and nearly cried with relief when they answered. They were open late tonight (proof to any non-believer that there is a God) and I could come right over.

By the grimaces on the office staff's face, I knew it was a bad abscess. The doctor got her haz-mat suit and several gauze pads for the "procedure". Yes, it involved pain and blood, but Pearl was a good little patient. I was brave too and didn't keel over, I'm proud to report.

$83.00 later, I left the vet's office with antibiotics, prednisone, and a towel wrapped around Pearl's still-oozing backside. Somehow I made it back to pick up Sam from piano lessons before he even had a chance to know anything had happened.

Tonight I am counting my blessings. Thankful the vet was open and available to help us, thankful that awful thing didn't rupture in my bed while she was sleeping with me, and thankful for feminine products that double as emergency doggie-diapers. No matter what kind of day a person has had...no matter how bad a person's life gets, one can look on the bright side if they don't have a ruptured abscess on their rear-end.