Memorial Day Morning at Maple Hill

Maple Hill saw lots of activity this past week. Sprucing up. Decorating.

The cemetery is awash in flags. The American Legion places them on the graves of veterans every year.

There's been activity there since early this morning, too. Entry flags hung and raised to half staff. Preparations for memorial service.

I took a slow drive through.

My husband and I especially honor his uncles today whose flags fly here.

Uncle Bob Ladd (Lt Col) served with the Air Force in World War II and Korea as a bombardier/navigator. He also served in Vietnam and the Pentagon.

Uncle Kenneth King served as a pharmacist's mate aboard a Navy battleship in World War II. Because "loose lips sink ships," he wrote that his ship had "as many guns as the Shumaker's have kids." That meant a dozen.

Great Uncle Irvin Greenawalt served in the Army in World War I. He was killed in France.

Our local American Legion Post 42 (Greenawalt-Flaherty) carries his name along with that of of Francis C. Flaherty, recipient of the Medal of Honor. He served aboard the USS Oklahoma at Pearl Harbor and died while helping crewmates escape.

Thank you to those who served and sacrificed the ultimate!

Amazing Grace by LeAnn Rimes



"Greater love has no one than this, that he lay down his life for his friends." John 15:13 (NIV)

Copyright © 2010 by Sandra Heska King

Do You Know Where You're Going?

 
My husband's car broke. The driveshaft. On his 1997 Saturn. The one with 368,000 miles.

He loves his cars. I remember when he had to finally let go of his Colt. Just pitiful. I swear I saw tears.

Tin cans.

Anyway, he got the car fixed. Which meant a rental car for a few days. And yesterday I had to drive him up to the airport to turn it back in and then over to pick up his mistress.

I hate highway construction. I hate the barrels and the barriers. I hate trying to figure out where I'm supposed to be. I hate that everyone else seems to know, and they ignore the 60-MPH  but 45-MPH-when-workers-are-present signs. Construction ahead. Slow down. They just fly past me. Weave in. Weave out.

Anyway, I don't know what possessed me to ask. I think because I seldom have a passenger but Gracee who just turns up the music and enjoys the ride or amuses herself with her Nintendo or pen and paper.

My kids always complain about my driving. But they're kids. I guess I was thinking about them and their complaining.

But before I knew it, the fighting words fell out of my mouth.

"Does my driving make you nervous?"

Silence. Weighing words.

"Well, a little," he finally said.

I gripped the wheel tighter. Clamped my teeth. Tight. Tongue safely dammed behind them.

He continued.

"You did get a little close to that truck back there, and you nearly crossed the center line. AND you say you know where you're going, but you don't really."

I screamed, "What are you talking about Mr. DK55 on the open highway? YOU who likes to scare someone who pulls out in front of you so you don't brake until the last minute. YOU who loves the sound of your horn. YOU who when you drive in Detroit traffic turn into one of THEM. YOU wonder why I always have my nose in a book even in the car? YOU who leaves dust in your wake as you hit country chatterbumps at 55 leaving me with aching teeth and a bruised tailbone? I make YOU nervous?"

Yup. That's what I screamed.

In my head.

But since I have a gentle and quiet spirit, I simple nodded and said, "Hmm. Well, I get nervous riding with you sometimes, too."

And I could use a GPS. Even right here in our little town. I admit it. I've never had a great sense of direction, and Dennis loves to tell the story of when we were riding "around the square" on horseback (a much softer ride over chatterbumps), and how we turned right, then right, then right, and then I tried to go left.

I mean, who pays that much attention when you're settled in the saddle, buried in thought, playing with a mane, brushing away flies, patting a warm neck, and taking in the scenery.

Just enjoying the ride.

Sigh.

I might have said a few other things. In a gentle and quiet way, of course. But I got to thinking.

This drive through life can be tough. A battle sometimes. And there are rules and signs.

Dodge the barriers. Roll with the bumps. Don't ride too close to someone else. Stay in the narrow lane. Don't cross the center line. Keep your eyes on the road. Construction ahead. Slow down.

But enjoy the ride.

And always know where you're going.

Do you have any highway horror stories? 

What traffic sign best typifies your life right now? 

Do you know where you're going?

 
"Don't look for shortcuts to God. The market is flooded with surefire, easygoing formulas for a successful life that can be practiced in your spare time. Don't fall for that stuff, even though crowds of people do. The way to life--to God!--is vigorous and requires total attention." Matthew 7:13-14 (Message)

Copyright © 2010 by Sandra Heska King

A Buddy Makes All the Difference

"Real care means the willingness to help each other in making our brokenness into the gateway of joy." ~ Henri Nouwen

My friend, Duane, broke his finger playing softball. Or maybe he just sprained it.

Reminded me of the time I broke my own finger. Falling UP stairs. Because I'm graceful like that. An accident waiting to happen.

Anyway, Duane's sporting a splint and finding it a bit painful to type, and I have ten working fingers. For now at least. So I'm giving him a break and sharing my story over on his blog today.

Come on along. See you there. Bring chocolate. Duane~Scott.


Copyright © 2010 by Sandra Heska King

I'm Ready--Are You?

Baby's Breath

It could happen any moment.

I'm ready.

Camera/new camera card/fresh batteries.

Check.

Book to read/Bible/notebook to write in/pen and pencil.

Check.

Makeup/hairbrush/contact lens solution and case/glasses.

Check.

Sweater and a pair of warm socks.

Check.

Full tank of gas/cash and change in wallet/gum.

Check.

All packed and in car. Yes, some things I need to retrieve from the car and return.

Fresh clothes at the ready.

White board/fresh markers.

Check.

Coloring books/word search book/fresh crayons.

Check.

Nintendo DS/charger.

Check.

Blanket/books.

Check.

"Cute" clothes.

Check.

Packed and in car.

Grandma's and Gracee's bags.

Taking a lesson from the fig tree.

And now we wait.

For a little sister. For a new grandgirl.

It could happen any moment.

I'm ready.

"No one knows about that day or hour, not even the angels in heaven, nor the Son, but only the Father." Matthew 24:36 NIV

"So you also must be ready, because the Son of Man will come at an hour when you do not expect Him." Matthew 24:44 NIV

Are you ready?

Have I forgotten anything?

Copyright © 2010 by Sandra Heska King

Who But God?

My ladies Bible study gave me this hydrangea today.

My first one.

I'm stunned by the richness of the velvety blue blooms and the deep green of the leaves.

Who but God could create such beauty? 

This stuff doesn't happen by accident.

Of course, I had to connect with Mr. Google this afternoon to learn how to care for it. I discovered that I have to feed it aluminum. Too little aluminum in the soil means pink blooms.

Amazing!

Did you know that in the 19th century aluminum was more costly than gold? Did you know that aluminum is the most abundant metal (third most abundant element) in the earth's crust, but that it's so reactive it's hardly ever found in its pure state?

(There's spiritual significance there, but I'm sidetracked from my flowers.)

I also learned there are lots of ways to manipulate colors to pink and blue and purple and mixtures by doing things like adding lime or rusty nails, but that you can't change the color of white hydrangeas, though God sometimes adds pink and red to the blooms as they move toward the green of an aging flower. 

Fascinating!

Anyway, after class I went to a local farmer's market (Horrock's for you Michigan people) and picked up this hardy "Knock Out" rose to plant in memory of Rose Dog.

I also just wanted to pick up a few herbs, but I was overcome by the scents and colors.

Everywhere I looked.

Reds and purples and whites and pinks and blues and yellows and oranges and greens of every shade and mixtures of all!

Who but God?

I filled my basket with Mexican evening primrose, flax, beard tongue, petunias, geraniums, salvia, marigolds, portulaca, ageratum, vinca, parsley, chives, basil, chervil, and tomatoes to add to the blooming astilbe and bachelor's buttons and lilies of the valley and yet-to-bloom day lilies and black-eyed susans and daisies and hosta.

And a box of zinnia seeds.

And I came home to the heavy sweet scent of the first peony blooms.

And this summer--provided I remember to water everything--I'll drink in the colors and the fragrances and watch butterflies and hummingbirds and behold God.

Because who but God could create such beauty?

"Attention, all!  See the marvels of God! 

He plants flowers and trees all over the earth, 

Bans war from pole to pole

breaks all the weapons across His knee.

Step out of the traffic! Take a long,

loving look at me, your High God,

above politics, above everything."

Psalm 46:8-10 (Message)

Where do you see the marvels of God?
Can you slow down--step out of the traffic?

Can you look at Him longer than and above anything else?

Copyright © 2010 by Sandra Heska King

Let It Be

 Maple Hill Cemetery - 05/16/2010

I've been captured by Pete Wilson's new book, Plan B. So much so that I based my teaching on it the last three weeks.

Have you read it? If not, you should. I wrote a review of it on my other blog here.

Life goes awry. Dreams shatter. People fail us. Expectations go unmet. Someone dies.

Sometimes stuff happens because of our own bad choices. Sometimes because others made bad choices. Sometimes a combination of both. And sometimes--just because.

And all we can control then is our response.

We can run.

Away from God. Into sleep or food or busyness or television or overeating or some kind of addiction. Or into the arms of the wrong people.

Or toward God. Fling ourselves straight into His arms.

We can grab the reins.

Try to take control. Make a plan. Manipulate. Try harder. Help God out.

Or we can give up control. Sit in His lap.

And wait.

Yes, wait. And rest. And trust His timing.

We can ride it out.

Hang on tight to the "stuff." Stuff it. Wallow in disappointment. Let bitterness take root and give birth to depression and anger.

Or we can let it go. Confess our failure. Accept the consequences. Forgive. Others. Ourselves. Surrender to God's plan.

We can let it be.

Like Mary. "Let it be done to me according to what you have said." (Luke 1:38 - Amplified)

Not my will but Yours.

Not my plan or my dream or my expectations.

Because everything that comes to us is either by God's hand or is filtered through His fingers. To conform us. To change us into His image.

And when life seems out of control, it really isn't. But God IS. In all. Over all.

Pete says, "When life doesn't turn out the way you thought it was going to turn out, you may think you're losing control. But the truth is, you never had control in the first place." 

He says, "The greatest of all illusions is the illusion of control."

God takes all of our failures, all of our twisted and broken plans and dreams, and weaves them into His beautiful and perfect plan.

I played the Beatles' song, "Let It Be" for my class yesterday. I didn't realize that Paul McCartney wrote that song during a stressful time in his own life. Based on a dream he had that his mother visited him and told him that everything was going to be okay--to "let it be." You see, his mother's name was Mary. She apparently was a nurse, a midwife, and she died suddenly from breast cancer when Paul was only 14.

A Plan B.

He sang the song at his wife Linda's funeral. And again at a 911 benefit. He was in a plane on the runway at JFK that day and watched the towers burn and crumble.

There's hope in the darkness. Hope in the brokenness. Hope when everything in life goes up in flames or comes crashing down.

God's in control.

Let it be.

Are you living a broken dream today? 

How do you respond when things don't go your way?

"I waited patiently for the Lord; he turned to me and heard my cry . . ." Psalm 40

Copyright © 2010 by Sandra Heska King

When Do You Say Good-bye?

With Mona, our first lab, it was pretty much a no-brainer. She had  hip dysplasia and was in obvious pain.

  
Elsie. Just. Died.

She was a great dog. After she quit digging under the fence. She treed a woodchuck once. And caught a pheasant in the backyard. She loved water.

She survived parvovirus, a whole pound of raw bacon, and Abby's chocolate birthday cake. Though we found sprinkles in the yard for weeks.

And one day I found her in a puddle of piddle. Congestive heart failure. She pulled through that, too.

But died at the vet's while we were on a cruise. She was ten.

Rose was a wild thing when we brought her home. Three years old. Product of a broken marriage and returned to the breeder. She needed us.

She's always been a sickly dog, though. Skin allergies mostly. Icky ears. Perpetual scratching. Expensive foods. Frequent treatments. All kinds of medicines. And then pancreatitis, probably steroid induced.

But she recovered from that.

She hates water. And in the last few years had to lie down during short walks. So we don't walk her any more.

She'll be eleven in October.

She limps. A lot.

She scratches. A lot.

She whines. A lot.

She yelps. Sometimes.

She pants. Sometimes.

She seems restless. Sometimes.

She goes off her food. Sometimes.

And she seems fine enough. Once in a while.

She sleeps a lot.

She seems happiest when she's asleep.

How does one know--really know--when it's time to say goodbye? When it's more about love and relief of suffering than your inconvenience?

Messy carpets. Hair all over. The expense.

I wish I was Dr. Doolittle.

We've talked about it. Dennis called the vet for advice yesterday. He was in surgery, but hubby talked to one of the gals in the office who made an appointment for Saturday. For euthanasia.

But we're having second thoughts.

I prayed about it last night. Asked for some kind of sign.

She didn't get up to go out as early as usual this morning. She hasn't eaten all day. She's been vomiting all day.

Coincidence?

Making this kind of decision is for the dogs.

Have you ever had to do it?

"One reason a dog is such a lovable creature is his tail wags instead of his tongue." ~Unknown

Copyright © 2010 by Sandra Heska King