Thanksgiving Memories

I was reading through the November issue of In Touch Magazine and came across stories contributed by readers that documented their most memorable Thanksgiving meals.  This kind of reading always resonates with me, and I was inspired to write my own story recounting my most memorable Thanksgiving meal.  It's still very fresh in my mind as it took place only one year ago and is slap-full of sweet memories for me.  In this world of busy-ness and the rush to get ready for Christmas, I hope you'll take the time to slow down and enjoy a memorable meal with those you love this Thanksgiving.  Most importantly, take the time to express your gratefulness to The One From Whom All Blessings Flow.  Happy Thanksgiving! 

Thanksgiving around our home is pretty predictable most years.  My husband and the men of his family celebrate the first day of rabbit season by loading up their rambunctious hound dogs, donning their orange vests, and checking one last time to make sure there’s enough ammunition in their pockets.  They’ll return just in time for turkey, dressing, sweet potatoes (topped with either marshmallows or brown sugar and pecans), and yeast rolls, just to name a few of the delicacies prepared by husband’s Nanny in her small but cozy kitchen.  The family of aunts and uncles and in-laws will take shifts eating so that everyone has their chance at the kitchen table.  Except for Papa.  He prefers to eat out on the little front porch where it’s not quite so crowded.  After stuffing ourselves, we’ll join Papa on the porch and on the steps to sit and watch the grandboys wrestle in the fallen leaves of the Pecan tree right out in the front yard.  At least two of those grandboys belong to my rabbit-hunting husband and me.  I sit and watch them as they play and laugh and roll, and I pray earnestly that they’ll have fond memories of these times.  Eventually, we pack up and head to visit my family eighty miles down the road, and find ourselves stuffed again and slightly more lethargic than the first go-round.  Thanksgiving has always held such fond memories for me throughout all of my growing up years.  Every year I anticipate the food, the fellowship, and the memories that are made.

Last year was just as memorable but not nearly as predictable as the twenty-something Thanksgivings I’d celebrated before that.  I found myself unexpectedly eating my Thanksgiving meal from a styrofoam to-go plate with a set of plastic utensils as I sat up slightly reclined in a hospital bed.  My husband and my Daddy had gone to great lengths to find the meal that sat before me.  They had ventured out in the bright sunshine only to find that every restaurant that would serve anything closely resembling a Thanksgiving feast was closed; even Cracker Barrel.  So back to the hospital it was for one final attempt.  There they found it in the hospital cafeteria.  My to-go plate was stuffed with turkey, dressing, collard greens, and bread.  It was kind of ironic that my husband had joked only a couple of weeks before that this baby boy better stick to his due date of December 5^th, because He surely wasn’t going to miss the opening day of Rabbit Season AND his Nanny’s Thanksgiving meal.  Well, there we were, two weeks earlier than expected, the three of us sharing our Thanksgiving meal together while the newest of us, only hours old, slept peacefully in the bassinet next to my bed.   It was one of the most precious and special Thanksgivings in my history.  Though my husband missed what would have been his last rabbit hunt with his Papa (who would pass away this past summer), we were all content.  God had blessed us mightily from his abundance with a new life, dear family, and the promise of His goodness.  

But that wasn’t all.  There was an added dimension of awe to this day.  Almost exactly a year prior to our third baby boy’s Birthday, on what was Thanksgiving Day 2011, my beloved Mama had gone home to be with Jesus.  She’d fought a twenty-year battle with cancer that was an inspiration to so many, including me, her only daughter.  It honestly came as no surprise to me that God would call her home early on the morning of what was her favorite holiday. And in my heart, it was really no surprise that He would send new life to our family in the early morning hours of the next year’s Thanksgiving.    It was a story I had to share with any doctor, nurse, or visitor who would come to welcome our new addition there in our cozy hospital room.  It was a story of redemption! You see, He’s just that good and, thankfully, He’s pleasantly surprising in His timing of all things.

Be Angry...

...But sin not.  That's what the Bible says right there in the fourth chapter and 26th verse of Ephesians.  If you keep reading you'll learn that anger gives a foothold to the devil.  And then, a little further down, around verse 29, you'll learn that you shouldn't use foul or abusive language.  Instead, that same verse reminds you to let every word you say be an encouragement to those who hear them.

Let me look back over the past 30 minutes since I've returned home with the boys from a few hours out at the park and running errands.  I pretty much bombed verse 26.  The devil had a good hold of me when I hollered at Baylor, so there went verse 27. And from the look on Baylor's face he wasn't very encouraged by the words he heard from me loudly and clearly (that means I ruined it with verse 29 as well).

So here I sit trying to process it all and get my blood pressure back down to a normal level.  Didn't I just have this discussion with Baylor earlier this week after a few minor mishaps of losing his temper and lashing out?  I very clearly remember telling him that God gave us the feeling of anger.  It's okay to be angry. BUT it's how we react when we're angry that really shows how much we rely on God to work in our lives.  Apparently I wasn't relying on God during my tirade (over a flooded bathroom counter top and sopping wet floor).  I think instead I gave the devil that foothold that was mentioned earlier.

Why am I taking the time to write about this (especially when I haven't posted since Mother's Day)?  Because in addition to showing me how to handle anger in His way, God has also recently shown me the importance of being an authentic Christian.  So many times, people get this crazy idea that Christians never mess up, that they live out their day-to-day walk spotlessly.  Is it because that's what we want people to believe and that's the side we try to show most often?  Let me tell ya, it just ain't so.  If I sat down and wrote every time that I sinned in anger or practiced anything less than self-control with my precious boys, I'd have several volumes of writings.  My heart is broken over the way I reacted to Baylor.  And if it broke mine, I know it broke my Creator's heart, too.  So, I do what I've done so many times before; I seek His forgiveness (and Baylor's, too).  And He gracefully gives it to me time and time again. I also seek His strength the next time that one of these episodes presents itself... and I know that one will come along.  Until then, if you've ever had the strange thought that I'm somehow an always perfect, always smiling, always encouraging mother, well, let's talk.  I promise I'll be real.

Mother's Day FAQ

On Mother's Day 2008, I was about 25 pounds heavier than normal, having a tough time sleeping through the night, and anticipating the birth of our firstborn, Baylor Martin.  He came just over a month later. Those blue eyes still get me every time.  Mother's Day 2010 found me a little more tired, a lot more swollen, and four months away from delivering our second son, Joseph Cain. With a combination of more blue eyes and wild blond curls, he's got me right where he wants me.  Here it is, Mother's Day 2012, and I'm starting to notice a pattern.  Thankfully, the 25 pounds hasn't hit me yet, the fatigue is slowly fading, and I'm a half a year away from delivering Baby Number Three. 

It's kinda strange. For some reason, I was a little nervous about announcing our third child to family and friends.  As Brantley will tell you, I sometimes worry a little too much about what other people think.  So, my anxious thoughts went a little something like this: Will they think we are crazy for surpassing the average number of children per American household, three is just a little more than 2.5?!  I bet they will think we've really lost it considering we already fill up our humble abode pretty well with only two children... and an abundance of toys. Will they picture us years down the road as cranky, wrinkly, and worn out parents?  Immediately, the Holy Spirit laid this verse on my heart: "Behold, children are a heritage from the Lord, the fruit of the womb is a reward.  Like arrows in the hand of a warrior, so are the children of one's youth.  Happy is the man who has his quiver full of them..." (Psalm 127:3).  I decided to adopt that Psalm throughout this pregnancy when I start to feel a little overwhelmed.  Instead of being anxious, I should celebrate.  God is creating new life, a life which already has a future and a hope in Him.  That is a reason to jump for joy this Mother's Day!

In honor of my third reason to celebrate on Mother's Day, thought I'd share with you some of the most common Frequently Asked Questions we are receiving this third time around. 

#1 -- Do you plan to follow in the footsteps of the Duggar Family? (Asked with a little sarcasm as if "we don't know what causes it.")

Jim Bob and Michelle Duggar have 19 children.  We have two with a third one on the way.  There's a pretty big difference there if you do the math.  If God chooses 19 children for us, I pray that He'll throw in another bathroom sink along the way.  Nineteen kids and one little sink might send me over the edge!

#2 -- Oh, I bet you're wishing for that little girl this time around, aren't you?!

Seriously, the thought of another son is awfully comfortable for several reasons.  And, now, the thought of a daughter makes me excited.  It hasn't always been this way, though. Oh, they 're cute for the first decade or so.  No offense to the little girls of the world (I was one myself), but having been exposed to many preteen girls during the few years I spent teaching in a public classroom, thoughts of raising a young lady between the ages of, say, 10 and 16 scares me.  Some have a tendency to be dramatic, high maintenance, and kind of strange.  (Again, I experienced these ages myself.) Plus, I only know how to put hair up in a ponytail.  If I paint my fingernails, it's not even a color.  I use clear.  I have to be in a mood to shop, and that mood only comes around about every Leap Year.   Something changed though when Mama died.  My thoughts towards a daughter became a little more relaxed and forgiving.  For the first 18 years of my life, I had a Mama who did anything she could to influence me in a positive way to help me see the future and hope of my life.  For the next ten years, she wasn't physically able to do for me, but her influence was still there and very strong.  So, yeah, maybe part of me is wishing for that little girl to share life with and to experience that special mother-daughter relationship I yearn for so strongly some days.  Boy or girl, I still have the awesome responsibility to influence this child for Jesus Christ.

#3 -- How have you been feeling?

As long as I don't smell a hotdog, I'm fine.  And, as long as I'm able to work in a short nap (two hours is ideal) most days, I'm feeling good.  And, as long as I don't see an elderly man eating his meal alone at Wendy's or hear a country music song about summers spent in a peach stand or with grandpa, then I'm sailing through time around!  Despite the nausea, fatigue, and hormone overload, I'm just grateful for the blessing to experience pregnancy for a third time.   I pray daily for continued good health, a strong baby, and a good epidural when December rolls around.

All of that simply to honor a special day and the special women (who were once preteen girls) who make this world go 'round.  God gave me a wonderful Mama who I'll always admire.  He's given me a Mema, aunts, teachers, and other people's mamas to help out when my Mama just couldn't quite do all she wanted to do.  And I admire them for those sacrifices.  Despite the hardships that sometimes accompany motherhood, I wouldn't trade it even on the hard days.  And, who knows Mother's Day 2014 may hold! 

This Christmas

One month ago, it was Thursday, November 24, 2011.  It was Thanksgiving Day.  It was the morning that I woke up at 4:00 AM to make sure Daddy was awake to give Mama her next dose of Morphine.  It was the morning I met Daddy at the door to their bedroom with his hands held up in surrender saying, "She's gone."  It was the morning that my life changed when Mama died.

Thankfully, it didn't take any of us by surprise.  For the past week, the family had been at her side doing our best to fulfill her final wishes (with the exceptional help of her caregivers and the Hospice team).  Actually, I think that's what we'd been doing for the past 20 years that Mama had been living with brain cancer.  We wanted to make sure she was comfortable.  We wanted to spend time with her.  We wanted to spend time with each other and enjoy all of the memories God had allowed her to share with us.  Whether it was the past 20 years or that last week of her life, she was worth every minute of it; even down to that last early-morning alarm on Thanksgiving morning.

Here I am, one month later. I woke up around 3:30 this morning, and it didn't hit me until closer to 4:00 that one month had already rushed by.  The emotions I feel right now are the same emotions I've felt since 4:00 AM on Thanksgiving.  A friend of mine left these words on my Facebook page the day that Mama died, and it describes the emotions very well:

"Sad and glad... crying and laughing... remembering and rejoicing... hard to explain unless the Lord has you in His hands." 

As sad as it makes me to miss having my Mama here with me, I'm glad that she's not here in her earthly body anymore.  As much as crying is a part of the grief process, laughing is, too, and I know that's what Mama would want us to do more of.  And, as much as I love memories, I rejoice at every one of them that Mama left for me and our family.  They are such treasures.  I don't know how someone who doesn't have a relationship with Jesus Christ could make it through the loss of a loved one.

So, as I face the day ahead with such a mixture of emotions, I remember that today is Christmas Eve.  It's a day filled with much anticipation for us who are Christ Followers.  It's another day that God uses to remind me of His mercies, His grace, His hope, and His love as we celebrate CHRISTmas.  It's a day that makes losing my Mama much more bearable because of those gifts from a Father who loves us so much that He gave His only Son.  Merry Christmas... Now, go hug your Mama!

Another Christmas Memory with my Mama, Lolly (just in case you couldn't decipher the puff-paint letters on her shirt!)
Christmas 2010

Is This What I Signed Up For???

Have I ever mentioned that I once had this twisted idea that stay-at-home-moms did nothing all day except shop, drink coffee, watch TV, get their nails done, decorate their homes, and put their children down for naps every so often?  Well, shame on me!  It's been just over a year since I embarked on this journey of full-time motherness, and what a ride it's been.  In fact, there are those days when I feel the urge to ask, "Is THIS what I signed up for??"

Thankfully, today has been one of those days.  Within a span of twenty minutes (if even that long), Cain had chugged some of and spilled most of Baylor's cup of apple juice on the kitchen floor.  That's the floor that was just steam mopped last night.  (I KNEW I should've enjoyed the cleanness of it just a little longer last night!)  Baylor, the one who's potty-trained, managed to peepee all over the bathroom floor and then track it all over the living room floor on his little wet feet. (It took two towels to soak it up despite his claim that he'd already cleaned it up for me.  At least he tried!)  In an effort to breathe and regain control, I sent Baylor outside to play at the picnic table so I could keep an eye on him while I started supper.  He perched himself on the picnic table forlornly looking out across the pasture... and picking his nose.  I couldn't help but laugh inside... What a sight!    Of course, then, the phone rings.  Actually, at times like this, the ringing telephone sounds more like sirens going off; about 50 of 'em!  Thankfully, it was my dad, and, boy, was I glad to hear his voice!  He asked me the loaded question, "How are you and the boys?"  Poor thing.  He had no idea what he was asking.   He was 80 miles away and didn't know that at that very moment, my lonely, booger-picking, three-year-old was dumping an entire bag of bird seed onto the ground.  My reply?  "Daddy, do you really want to know?!"

After explaining the past twenty minutes of our already interesting day, he understood what I meant when I said that it's a good thing I don't rely on any type of drug to help relieve stress.  Otherwise, he would've been talking to a smoking drunk, and you know that wouldn't go over to well for a Southern Baptist!  The more details I shared, the more we laughed.  Before hanging up, I let him know that God had used him at that very moment through a telephone call to lighten the mood... and save Brantley from the wrath that awaited him upon his arrival home from work.

That's why I say, "Thankfully, today has been one of those days."  If it weren't for days like this, I wouldn't realize all of the ways in which God blesses me day-in and day-out.  Yes, this IS what I signed up for when Brantley and I petitioned God for children.  He answered our prayers then and continues to do so now.  So, if you don't mind, I'm going to go turn on some "Praise Baby" and enjoy a little quiet before the next twenty minutes gets revved up!

 

This Time Last Year... Continued

... During our time in Lexington with the family during that weekend, it wasn't uncommon for most people to comment on the state of my condition.  Apparently, I had that "look" to most people, and they were afraid that I would go into labor at any minute.  I remember as all of the aunts, uncles, cousins, and Mema were getting situated to receive friends and family at the funeral home that Saturday evening, Kyle insisted that he couldn't stand in line next to me.  Why?  He didn't want his shoes getting wet if my water broke!  I guess neither of us realized how real of a possibility that was during the weekend.  Why, going by my due date of September 29th, I had at least 11 more days to go...  Or so we thought!

On the way back home to Calhoun Falls from Papa's funeral that Sunday night (around 9:00'ish), Brantley made a joke as we passed the road that leads to Self Regional Medical Center in Greenwood.  It went a little something like this: "You better holler if you want to stop now, because I'm not coming back this way until your ultrasound appointment tomorrow afternoon."  Good one, Brantley!!  Much to his surprise (okay, mine, too), we were on our way back to Self within the next five to six hours ready to bring Baby #2 into this great big world.

I'll try to spare the details, but there was no doubt that it was showtime when I woke up at 2 AM the next morning (Monday).  I had the strangest little sensation when I rolled over in bed.  Within seconds, that little sensation was followed by water.  Lots of water.  I gently woke up Brantley and told him the news.  This time, I figured it was best to skip the shampoo, shave, and hair dryer.  I'd only been asleep for about four hours, so the usual bed head look hadn't quite settled in yet. (Thank goodness.  I wanted to look good for my second delivery!)  By 2:30, Baylor was whisked away across the cow pasture to the grandparents and the little Chevy Equinox was doing close to 70 with the hazard lights blinking all the way to Greenwood!

I think being a woman is a privilege, especially because we have the opportunity to experience giving birth to a child.  That is one of my most favorite things EVER.  During my four hours of delivery and taking it all in, we were all so excited to finally find out; boy or girl??  My main L&D nurse kept referring to the baby as "it."  Not long into the process, she asked if we'd picked out a name because she thought "it" sounded so bad.  We informed her that Baylor had been calling the baby "Jesus" for several weeks.  As it got down to the last few minutes of pushing and the excitement of the baby's arrival, the nurse shouts, "Jesus is coming!"  Right on, sister... I'm all about evangelizing and reaching a lost world!!

At 6:37 that very morning, Dr. Beudrot delivered an 8 lb. 1 oz. baby boy with a head of strawberry blond hair.  We decided to name him Joseph Cain.  (To those of you wondering.  Yes, we realize that Cain was the world's first murderer.  It was just a name we both liked, and believe me, those names weren't easy to come by this time around.  We are doing everything within our power to teach our Cain that slaying his brother over crops and sheep isn't in his best interest.)  God had given us another handsome and healthy baby boy to add to the family!

With all of the emotions of that weekend last year, God held true to his promises.  He always has and always does keep his promises, but this was an instance of life season's that I will never forget.  The old testament book of Ecclesiastes has a beautiful poem which even non-Christians probably know (just listen to the Forrest Gump soundtrack); "For everything there is a season, a time for every purpose under heaven.  A time to be born and a time to die."  During the short season of mourning Papa's death, God redeemed the heartache and tears of sorrows with wonder and tears of joy as he brought forth new life.  Sometimes the seasons change slowly, and the winters of our lives seem to stretch on and on.  But there's the hope of knowing that spring isn't far away.  God rocked my world and took me from winter to spring in four days.  Seeing God's hand throughout each season of my life; that's one of the reasons I love to reminisce.

This Time Last Year

I love to reminisce.  In fact, Brantley brought it to my attention that my family will sit around the table for hours after we've finished a meal retelling old stories and reliving old memories.  We've always done that, even with our extended families, and I wouldn't trade those times for anything.  Kyle and I are even guilty of calling each other up out of the blue because a random memory came to mind.  It's fun to see what details we both remember... or don't remember!   It's the same when I get together with friends, especially ones I haven't seen in a while.  It seems like all of my comments start out, "Do you remember that time when...?" 

Let me go ahead and apologize, because this time last year was a time in my life that I hope to never forget.  God orchestrated several seasons of my life all within four days.  On Thursday, September 16, 2010, Brantley made a surprise visit to my classroom shortly after school was dismissed for the day.  I was in my usual mode of preparing for the next day focused on getting everything in order when he just happened to drop in.  Within five minutes of his arrival, he let me know that my Papa had died around 11:00 that morning.  I remember the shock of hearing that news; news I'd dreaded hearing for years.  Of course, death is a part of life,and I knew the news would come some day, but all I could do was cry.  In that classroom with just Brantley and me, it truly felt like time stood still.  I didn't envy Brantley and his responsibility at that moment, but he was so respectful and gentle in the way that he told me.  He just held on to me as I took it all in.

You see, Martin Ernest Meetze, my Papa, was a man like no other.  Like everyone, he had his faults, but he was a major influence in my life in so many ways.  That entire weekend was spent with the Meetze family reliving our favorite memories of Papa... 

...Even though I was probably around seven years old at the time, I can still see him so clearly standing inside the doorway of his and Mema's house, looking so nervous, as he told me he'd run over my pink and purple bicycle (the one with the pom-poms).  It was my fault for leaving the bike in the middle of the driveway, but I think he was more upset than I was.  Whatever he was doing and wherever he was going were put to the side.  He took me out to his welding shop, and it wasn't long before the broken pink pedal was replaced with a white one.  For years, I rode my mismatched bike with pride! 

... I vividly remember snow days as a child mainly because Papa was usually outside waiting on Kyle and me so we could play.  He'd have his sled in tow and away we'd go.  It seemed like hours would go by while he pushed us down hills on that sled or took us for walks through the woods.  There's even a picture at Mema and Papa's of one of those very days.  He even talked Mema into getting on the sled with him one time.  Away they went, sledding down the hill towards the creek with Mema squealing the whole way down!

... Thank goodness for Papa's natural mechanical ability.  He was a welder who could fix and build anything... and everybody around knew it!  He was responsible for making many of my science projects look so good (and he even helped stage the pictures to make it look like I was the one hard at work).  He was responsible for teaching me how to strike my first arc and weld a decent weld.  And no matter how much work he had to do, he never seemed to mind if we just hung around the shop keeping him company.

... When I got to college, he was still there.  His love for the outdoors and watching things grow is what led me to pursue my love of agriculture.  During my early years at Clemson, I had the chance to appear in a television segment on At Home, Southern Style, a show produced on campus.  I needed leaf samples of common SC trees to use on the segment.  It was Papa who took me out that Sunday afternoon, just me and him, searching for and identifying specimens.

.... And a couple of times, it was just me and Papa sitting together in the deerstand.  He didn't have much to say, but that was fine with me.  I just liked being in his presence no matter how old I was.

... On my wedding day, I had the privilege of walking down the aisle arm-in-arm with my daddy and Papa.  He even danced with me at the reception, although I think it was completely out of character for him.

... Baylor's middle name is Martin.  I'd say that made Papa kinda proud because very seldom did he ever refer to him simply as "Baylor."  It was always "Baylor Martin."  He loved Baylor, and Baylor loved him.  There aren't many days that go by that Baylor doesn't mention or ask about Papa in some way.  They made quite a pair!

Brantley, Baylor, and I visited with Papa one last time just less than a week before he died.  I am forever grateful that God encouraged us to make that visit.  We had no idea that it would be our last, but it was time well spent.

That Thursday last year was just the beginning.  Over the next few days, we visited with family and friends as they shared their sympathies, and we celebrated Papa's life at Shiloh.  Little did we know what blessing God had in store for all of us who were missing our Papa something terrible...