No Place Like Home for the Holidays

I've decided to take a quick break from my "Grocery Stories" for today. It's just a quick detour, I just can't help but share. Those of you who know me may already know this story, but I cannot help thinking back on it at this time of year.
First off, let me say that my mother absolutely loved Christmas! She loved God, so loving the season of Christmas was a natural outflowing of her relationship with God. From the time I was a little kid I can remember going off to school in the morning and coming home in the afternoon to our house transformed into a wonderland of tinsel and decorations. Mom did it up right. From the decorations, to the food everything was wonderful! She made it meaningful, beautiful and memorable for our family.
Fast forward from 1970 something to 1999. It was just a couple of weeks before Christmas. My husband Leo had just completed several rounds of chemotherapy for non-Hodgkin's lymphoma. We were celebrating that the treatment was complete! A friend of ours had taken him to Buffalo for his appointment that day. I was at home getting the kids ready to go to their school Christmas program. I had just finished helping Annie put on her special Christmas dress, when the phone rang. Answering it, I found my mother on the other end of the line. She had called to tell me that she was going in for surgery, that she may have breast cancer. Suddenly the previous celebration was forgotten. My mother did have breast cancer and over the following nine months received treatment for the cancer. In August of 2000 my mom was pronounced cancer free. To celebrate my father and mother booked a trip to Ireland, with my aunt and uncle. Mom and Dad loved Ireland. At the end of September they flew off to celebrate my Mom's good health. A few days later my cousin called to tell me that Mom and Dad came home early from their trip. Mom wasn't feeling well. My husband and I immediately left for Mom and Dad's house in Cincinnati. Arriving we found my Mom looking very tired and sick. She was having a difficult time breathing. The next morning I went with her to the doctors office. X-rays, scans and blood work were ordered. The cancer had come back. It was everywhere. Her options were to treat and maybe get six more months of life, or not to treat and have six weeks. Mom chose not to treat. We went home, and made arrangements for hospice. Leo went home and I stayed with the kids to take care of my mom in her last days.
One afternoon I was sitting in the chair next to my mother's bed holding her hand as she slept. I couldn't keep the tears from pouring down my face. How I was going to miss her. Mom woke up and saw me crying. She reached up and wiped a tear from my cheek and I remember ever so clearly what she said to me.
"Don't cry Meggie. I get to be home for the holidays with Mom and Dad, and Mimi (her sister)."
The memories of Christmas came flooding back, how Mom did everything up right. I remember, particularly well how the radio was always on in the background piping in the sounds of the season. Whenever the song "There's No Place Like Home for the Holidays"  by Perry Como would come on, my mom would tell us about Grandma, her mom. It was her favorite song. Grandma had died when I was just a little girl. I had very few memories of her, but my Mom kept her alive and real to us through her memories. Every time that song came on the radio we would turn it up and sing along. It made my Mom so happy to hear that song.
Over the next few days Mom drifted in and out of consciousness. It was the middle of the night very close to the end. The house was still and quiet. Mom hadn't said a word all day. Everyone had turned in for the night sometime earlier. I kept my vigil in the chair next to Mom's bed holding her hand. As I sat in the chair memories of my Mom and the wonderful life she gave me, my brothers, and my dad floated through my mind. I thought of Christmas and how different it was going to be that year without her. Then I remembered what she said. "I get to be home for the holidays."
In the quite of the night I began to sing "There's No Place Like Home for the Holidays". The tears were streaming down my cheeks. I didn't know if Mom could hear me, but I somehow wanted her to know I was happy that she was in fact going to be home for the holidays, celebrating her Savior with her Mom, Dad and sister. As I sang the song, I received the surprise of my life. My Mom, though seemingly almost passed from this world to the next began to sing quietly with me. I couldn't believe it! We got to sing it together...one more time. Mom passed quietly the next night.
This morning as I was getting ready for the day, "There's No Place Like Home for the Holidays" came on the radio, which is always on piping in the sounds of the season, just like when I was a little girl. As I stood in front of the mirror doing my hair. Alex came in and said, "There's Grandma's favorite song." I had to smile. You see, Alex never got to know my mother. She passed before he was born, but he knows all about her, right down to her favorite song. She is alive and well in all of our memories. I know God blessed me with that very special moment so many years ago when I got to sing her favorite song with her..... just one more time.
Annie once asked me if Christmas without my Mom makes me sad. My response, "No Annie. My Mom got to go home for the holidays and I wouldn't wish her anywhere else. She's celebrating with the REASON for the season."



Parenting in the Aisles

Today's grocery story actually took place at Wal Mart. It was back before it was a Super Wal Mart. One chilly November afternoon my daughter and I picked my sons Mark and Ryan up from school. Annie was probably about two, Mark was eight or nine years old. Ryan was six. I seem to remember Ryan's age well. You will understand in a moment. We were shopping in the girls department for a gift for a little girl we knew. Ryan was 'driving' the cart that day. Annie was perched happily in the front seat, playing with a small toy. Mark was just being Mark, climbing in and out of the middle of the racks of clothing. I stepped away from the cart to look at a Christmas dress that I was contemplating purchasing. Ryan and Annie were on the other side of the rack, Ryan, bored, leaning on the handle, Annie still playing contentedly with the little doll she had. Now this is where the fun begins. In all my life I have never called any of my children and had them immediately comply with my wishes. They most always comply, but generally not in an immediate fashion. I called to Ryan and told him to drive Annie over to me. I am not sure if it was due to Ryan's state of "boredness", or the fact that he just felt like being super obedient that day, but the following seconds are forever seared into my brain. Ryan immediately took the cart in hand and proceeded to whip it around the rack. As he made the turn the cart leaned on two wheels and then subsequently tipped over. In the space of a few seconds the cart was overturned, Annie was buried in a pile of items screaming her head off. Ryan immediately burst into tears.  Mark emerges from within a cloths rack and makes a bee line to the accident scene. His concern for his sister spewing from him in a very loud voice. "Ryan! Look what you did! You could of killed Annie!" (I think boys between the ages of 8-11 have no volume control. I have 5 sons. They have all proven this theory over and over again.) The lady behind the nearby jewelry counter leaps the counter and comes running to the scene. Here I stood in the middle of a pile of merchandise with three screaming children and one freaking out Wal Mart employee. It was one of those moments you want to cherish forever.......not really. After assuring the employee that everyone was fine and righting the cart. I took my three upset children and raced for the nearby shoe aisles. It was the only thing I could think of that might muffle the tears and upset of my children. Once in the shoe aisles I held Annie on my lap, reassured Ryan that there was no permanent damage done to his sister, and reminded Mark that it was my job to handle discipline, not his.
I am absolutely sure God was with me that day. First in the fact that neither Annie or Ryan got hurt when the cart overturned and second in that I somehow kept my cool in the midst of total chaos. The kids and I spent several minutes in between the rows of shoes, composing ourselves before returning to shopping. It was just before I walked out of the shoe department that I realized great compassion for my mother in law. You see, my husband Leo, did the same thing to his little brother Robert when he was a little kid. It must run in the family. I couldn't help but laugh.

It's about fifteen years later now and it is one of the funniest stories that we still reminisce about every year around this time. I'm even smiling as I type this. It truly is funny. God may have spared my children great injury that day, but we were also gifted with a memory that will make us laugh for years to come!
Be encouraged as you go out into the world with your children. We all have our moments. Our kids just help make more of them.
God's Peace to you....in aisles!

The Audacity to Argue with God!

Byrn Dairy returnable glass milk bottles.

Once again it is time for another Grocery Story. Today, I was thinking about another quick trip made to our local grocery store. It was a Sunday morning, approximately ten years ago. I had gone to church for worship team practice. Shortly after practice our youth pastor's wife came up to me asking if I could run to the store for her. She was in need of something for the youth class. I grabbed my keys and headed toward the car. It was only ten minutes before the service was to start. I needed to get back quickly. I made the short four block drive to the store, parked the car, and headed across the parking lot. Making my way to the store I discovered my choice of footwear that day was not wise. I picked out some really cute laced-up heeled boots. I love the way they looked with my outfit that day. I loved how tall they made me feel. However, I didn't like how they made my feet hurt. Walking toward the store, I glanced around the parking lot. Perhaps, to get my mind off the blisters forming on my toes. Looking to my right I saw a man with crutches parked in the handicapped parking spaces. He was reaching into the trunk of his car to retrieve four, returnable glass milk bottles. I remember wondering to myself how he was going to carry those milk bottles into the store with crutches. They aren't very light. That was going to be a job. It was then that God spoke up. It was clear in my mind. "Megan, you need to help him with those bottles." (Why He even had to speak to my heart is beyond me. I should have known what to do the minute I looked at the man.) Now mind you, I was a woman on a mission that day. Church was starting in approximately seven minutes. I needed to get what I was sent for and get back. So my inward response to God was. "I don't have time." Taking a few more steps, again the message was clear. "Megan, you need to help him with those bottles." Apparently, I was struggling with my desire to be my own god that day and I remember thinking to God, "I don't have time for this. My feet hurt and if I help him I am going to have to walk all the way back there. I need to get back they are expecting me. Church is going to start soon."  (Can you believe me? I was telling God being at church was more important than being the church!) Continuing to walk toward the store I felt the weight of God on my shoulders and His presence all around me. "Megan, you will help him with those bottles." It was not a request that time. It was a command. Frustrated, I relented and turned around, my feet hurting inside my really cute, not so practical boots. However, I wasn't frustrated with my boots or with God for sending me back there. I was frustrated with me. Who am I to question God? What was I thinking?, Nothing going on in my life is more important than the will of God! I made my way back to the man. He was still struggling with the crutches and the heavy glass milk bottles. I walked up to him and asked him he would like me to carry the milk bottles into the store for him.  I remember his response vividly, "Oh, you don't have to do that." I remember my vehement response vividly. "Oh, yes I do. Please allow me."
Taking the bottles from him, I made my way back toward the store. The bottles were as heavy as I remembered. The plastic handles were biting into my hands. I thought to myself. How would he have ever managed to get these into the store on crutches? Shame filled me. I was willing to, disobey God's directive and let this man suffer because I was on a mission. Really? Isn't my whole life a mission for God? In the space of those few moments I was broken and humbled.
Once in the store, I left the milk bottles at the service counter for return. I told the woman at the desk that the man would be by to collect his deposit, and went about my errand...... suddenly, not in as much of a hurry. As I came back around the first aisle, heading for the check out, I saw the man at the service counter. What I heard him say made me feel so small. He told the woman at the counter "Some beautiful angel brought these in for me. God bless her."
Wow, I didn't deserve that blessing that day. I wanted to cry. If only he had heard the argument I was having with God on the inside, he might rethink his blessing.
I paid for my items and made my way back to the car. My feet completely forgotten, my reason to hurry no longer important.
The lessons I learned that day changed my life. I learned that I was not submitting to God in the way He wanted me to. I seriously needed to work on that. I was reminded that everything we do is part of God's mission, whether it is running to the store on a quick errand or stopping in the middle of that errand to help one of God's own. God wanted me to lose the fight and do His will. God won as He always should. From that day on submitting to God took on a whole new light.
So, what is the point in all of this?
Today as you go about your day keep in mind, your mission is not what you have on your "to do list" or in your mind, but what God puts in your life. His "to do list" is so much more important than yours. Don't look at the interruptions in your life as something negative. Look at them as opportunities to be God's missionary. When these things happen to you, keep in mind that He picked you for those moments. Consider it an honor, not a burden, to be called to do His will.

 “Teacher, which is the most important commandment in the law of Moses?”

 Jesus replied, “‘You must love the Lord your God with all your heart, all your soul, and all your mind. This is the first and greatest commandment.  A second is equally important: ‘Love your neighbor as yourself. The entire law and all the demands of the prophets are based on these two commandments.”

Left Overs at the Grocery Store Door

I was making another quick trip to the grocery store today, to pick up some bread and milk. It was just starting to get dark out and I saw a woman standing at the garbage can just outside the entrance door. It looked like she was looking at papers or something from what I could make out, in the diminishing light. However, when I got closer what I saw broke my heart.  I realize that we live in an area of great poverty and that alone is sad, but this took things to new level of low. When I got closer to the garbage can I realized the woman was picking through the cigarette butts in the ashtray on top of the receptacle. Now, I am not completely naïve to think that people don't do this. Generally speaking, I don't run into them while they are doing this. I am not sure if I kept my face neutral when I saw her. I hope I did. She suddenly glanced up at me as I got closer, realizing she was not alone. She looked embarrassed and said "Hello." to me. I said "Hello" to her.  In her hand were used cigarette butts of various sizes. She quickly stuffed them into her worn out winter coat pocket. I went the rest of the way into the store and grabbed a cart. I turned to glance back and she was back at the ashtray again. As I was walking through the produce section I saw her come into the store. I could see her better in the light. Her blond hair was limp and stuck to her head. Her coat and pants had seen much better days. I watched as she made her way to the deli and placed an order for a sandwich. Up until that moment I was wondering if I should buy her some food, but obviously she had money of some sort since she was able to place an order for food. Perhaps she only had public assistance. That would be my guess since she was foraging through the ashtray. How I wished I could have helped her, but I really didn't know how. She didn't need food. She wanted cigarettes. Who knows maybe the ashtray finds weren't even for her. But....my heart was sad. What she really needs is Jesus. A chance meeting at the grocery store doesn't make that happen. Should I have bought her some cigarettes and invited her to church? I don't know. I have been over and over it in my head. So I prayed. In all actuality that is the absolute best thing I can do for her. God was looking down on her tonight. He knew she was digging in the ashtray. He was not surprised like me. She is His child. He must be hurting for her so much more than me.
Tonight when I spend my time in prayer with God, she will be there in the midst of them.

If you make a quick trip to the store tonight, keep your heart and  your eyes open. There may be someone God wants you to pray for today.

  Pray continually.  1 Thessalonians 5:17