A Message for Suzanne

I follow several of my favorite writers on Facebook, and this morning Lysa TerKeurst used the following verse of Scripture in her post:  "A fools lips walk into a fight and his mouth invites a beating."  These words are found in Proverbs 18:6.  Something about them grabbed at my heart, and immediately I knew what it was that had grabbed at me.  God was trying to tell me something that I had ignored and avoided for so many years.  The following will explain, I hope, my need to write out these thoughts.

Suzanne, I don't quite know how to begin other than to say I'm sorry.  Sorry for the times we have hurt each other, but more so for the times that together we have hurt your dad, my husband.  For 30 years now, we have each allowed our pride and stubborness and yes, our words, get in the way of maintaining a peaceful relationship for your relationship with your dad.  Somehow, "we" doesn't always work for you and I, and I'm willing to admit my guilt and my part in that.  But this isn't about the past, it's about moving forward.

******************

In the beginning, when your dad and I married, I spoke to the fact that I wanted us to be friends.  I told you that I couldn't be your mom simply because I wasn't and I shouldn't try to be.  You seemed pleased with that.  And I have kept my promise there.  But one promise I've not kept is one I've made over and over again to God and that is to hold my tongue when the words I emit aren't helpful.  Thus, my letter.

On Father's Day this year, you called your dad.  For months, it had seemed that we had finally reached a point where the three of us could hold a pleasant conversation on the phone.  Living and talking long distance isn't easy, but you need to know that a threesome was what dad always wanted.  But on Father's Day, it all fell apart.  You and I couldn't restrain ourselves to not "get into it" over certain words you had used to describe your dad.  I should have just let it go, but Satan was sitting on my shoulder urging me to defend my husband.  That isn't necessary -- God is always here to make things right -- and I should have just stayed silent.  My words weren't necessary.  I am really sorry that the call ended so abruptly with so many hurt feelings. 

It has bothered me ever since and although it seems we are at an impasse again, I am writing down these words because I have prayed and God has lead me to accept my place in this difficult place.  I very much want you to have time with your dad.  So, I'm willing to allow you and dad to have your phone calls alone, the way they probably should always have been unless you invited me in.  Dad and I have talked about this, and we are in agreement that it should be tried.  I hope you will accept my apology and that you'll be willing to pick up the phone and call dad real soon or email him.  He misses you, and his heart breaks when he doesn't hear from you. 

Most importantly, I have asked God's forgiveness in all this, and I ask for yours too.

Sherrey

******************

I should tell you that Suzanne responds best to emails via Facebook so I've left this message for her there.  My hope isn't that I'll hear from her.  My hope is that she will take up that cell phone and call her dad.  She and I have hurt each other, and most of all my sweet husband, more times than I'd like to count.  I've never reached out like this before.  When I saw Lysa's verse today, I knew what I had to do.  I had been foolish in ignoring God's guidance before but now he had literally called my hand!  I needed to accept responsibility and no longer be a fool in subjecting my husband's heart to hurt by my lips and my words.

 

******************

I'm linking up with Joan over at Grace Cafe today, a part of her Reflections of His Grace blog.  Won't you join me there to read Joan's post for today as well as those of others who have linked up?  You won't be sorry!

 

A SECRET GIFT by Ted Gup (Book Review) (© Ted Gup 2010; The Penguin Press 2010)

Ted Gup is not only the author of A Secret Gift but also the grandson of the main character and a former investigative journalist for The Washington Post and Time magazine.  The story is true and much research went into the Depression era in which the story is set.  We have all read history previously about this disastrous time in our country's life but never from the perspective offered in A Secret Gift.

When Gup's grandfather Sam Stone died, he left behind a suitcase stuffed with letters received from 75 families living in extreme poverty and distress near Christmas 1933.  The letters were in response to an ad placed in the Canton, Ohio newspaper and others in the form of thank you's written back to B. Virdot, an anonymous identity assumed by Stone.  Readers were asked to write letters detailing their hardships and needs.  Stone had made a decision to help his fellow Cantonians during this season of the year which should be joyous but which in all likelihood would be the most difficult ever lived through by these people.

Gup set out to search records in libraries and seeking relatives of these people in hopes of learning more about the family saga referred to in the letter sent to B. Virdot.  Sometimes the greatest need was for food for a family which could consist of a husband, wife, sometimes four or more children, and maybe even grandparents.  Hungry, cold, without shoes, hoping to give a child a surprise at Christmas -- these were the kinds of things they were hoping to use the money to make a difference in their lives. 

What Gup didn't expect to uncover was the complex, mysterious man Sam Stone actually was.  Gup uncovers details about his grandfather that reveal reasons and conditions in Stone's life that have created in him such a strong affinity for helping strangers in need.

Not only does Gup discover and reveal the unique man his grandfather really was, he also pulls back the haze that has covered and separated us for eight decades from the true hardships faced by so many Americans during the Depression.

I thoroughly enjoyed reading Gup's work.  It is a classic family tale of secrets and a review of a decade of American history that touches on the reality of the common man during the Depression.  I found this to be a unique compilation of not only a family history but also the lives and histories of some of B. Virdot's recipients that Christmas in 1933.

*****

This review was not requested by either the author or the publisher.  My random opinions and thoughts regarding books that had an impact on me are set down here simply because I wanted to record my feelings about great reads and share them with you.

Counting One Thousand Gifts with Ann Voskamp - #2

Today is Monday and that means I have the opportunity to share with you God's wondrous grace and what I've added this last week to my list of a thousand gifts He has provided:

120.  Chance encounter with amazing woman of faith named Marilyn.
121.  Bible study with Margie, Julie and Gail.
122.  Quiet time for writing and reflection.
123.  First MOPS meeting of the year and new moms.
124.  Powerful Sunday message from our pastor wife.
125.  Baby Lillian's safe arrival -- happy mom and dad, Wendy and Chad.
126.  Seeing Gail once more before she goes home to Florida.
127.  Goodness of kids helping others, especially their parents.
128.  Patience of my flute instructor, Sarah.

How has God graced your life this week?  Want to share with us?  Come on over to Ann's place, http://www.aholyexperience.com/, and link up to share your thoughts and gifts.  Also, take time to see some of Ann's amazing photography on her post today.  Just click below and you can be there in a flash!

http://www.aholyexperience.com/

See you there!

The Joys of Autumn Mischief

Living in Oregon is much different from my growing up days in Tennessee.  In Tennessee, there were four distinct seasons -- winter, spring, summer, and fall.  Fall being one of my two favorites, or as a lot of people call it, autumn.  One of my favorite memories is the yard cleanup my dad always did in his garden, flower beds, and the front yard.  The front yard was blessed with an enormous, at least to me at age five, sycamore tree.   


In spring, it looked so green and lush, and I loved laying under it looking for bits of sky between its leaves.  It shaded almost the entire front yard making lots of work for dad in keeping the grass growing under it. 

Then came fall and the tree undressed itself right there in front of God and everybody.  Every leaf was shed so that nothing was left of my friend from spring.  It became just a naked, old-looking tree.  There were so many dead leaves fallen to earth that dad raked for days until he had everything in one large pile.  A pile of leaves!  Oh, joy!  I forgot all about spring and the lush leaves I tried sneaking peaks of sunlight through.  I was going to go leaf jumping. 

 

The higher the pile of leaves the better, and the farther away dad was the better too.  Jumping in and messing up his neatly gathered pile wasn't considered good form, but I took my chances anyway.  After all, dad was the easier of my two parents when it came to punishment, so I'd take the chance!

Generally, the punishment was in the form of helping clean up the mess I'd made.  Oh, the joy of the jump made up for the cleanup detail!  The smells, the color, the density of the pile, the anticipation -- it was all part of the excitement of jumping into that first pile of leaves in autumn.  And I could only hope that the other trees in the yard would do their bit toward showing up naked too, and then there would be more piles to run and jump into. 

In Oregon, it often rains too much before all the leaves fall to make much of a leaf harvest into piles for jumping, but I still must say autumn is still my favorite season after almost 30 years in the Pacific Northwest.  Leaves do color, but just not to the intensity of autumn colors in the south, southeast and New England areas.  And the smell of wet leaves is the same in Oregon as in Tennessee, just not as wet! 

Other memories of autumn are special and linger in my ponderings day to day, but not quite like the good old leaf jump!

Journey of a Lifetime - Installment 4

Nelle struggled on through life doing her best at the jobs she could find.  She was a hard worker and through her mother's training, she was a young woman with morals and values.  The family attended church every Sunday and the Bible was a focal point of reading at home.

Unfortunately, nearing 19 years of age, Nelle met a handsome young man named Joseph Whitehead.  At about the same time, her younger sister began dating Joe's brother.  It wasn't long until the two couples married.  And within a year Nelle and Joe had a son, Joseph Eugene Whitehead.  The marriage was not to be long-lived as Joe was an alcoholic and found it entertaining to batter those whom he proclaimed he loved.

The divorce was final in the mid 1930s, during difficult years for the country and the city of Nashville.  Nelle struggled once again to find work.  A variety of jobs came her way.  When the young men began to go away to war, she landed a job with AVCO working as a Rosie the Riveter on airplane parts.  She definitely did her part in the war effort!  However, that job ended when the boys began to come home and needed their jobs back, and once again Nelle found herself raising a young son and without work.

Luckily for me, Nelle found work at Foster & Parks in Nashville working as a devil for the typesetter who would become my father.  A “devil” in the printing industry is someone hired to tear down the type which had been set to print something, and then to melt that metal down so that it could be reused.  When her older brother learned about her new job, he told her to stay away from "that typesetter called Country Adams.  He's nothing but trouble."  Obviously, Nelle didn't pay much attention to her brother’s comments, doing everything Country asked her to do, especially when he told her if she could bring him back a pack of Luckies, he'd take her to the movies.  She did everything she could to secure that date, and came back with the Luckies and a smile on her face.

A promised date took them to the movies and out afterwards for a little clubbing.  Country unfortunately had a bad habit with drink, and he became drunk.  Nelle had strong feelings about alcohol and drunkenness and told him that if he wanted to see her again or have any part in her life, he'd have to clean up his act.  It must have been true love for Country stopped drinking, and they married in 1945.  They agreed not to add to the three children they had between them, but God intervened and I was born in February of 1946.  Nelle’s son, Gene (or Bubba to me), was 14 and quickly became my hero.

Country’s two daughters, Virginia and Elsie, were young women already married when my parents married.  They each had children born not long after my birth.  It wasn’t clear to me why at the time but Virginia and Elsie didn’t visit us much.  As I grew older, it became quite clear that they too had struggles with mama.

Between 1946 and 1954, Nelle suffered through four pregnancies, all of which ended in miscarriages.  The reasons for these losses isn’t known to me, but I do know that she didn’t smile much during this time.  Finally in November 1954 my young brother, Brad, was born.  Brad cried and fussed a lot due to enlarged tonsils and adenoids preventing him from sleeping well.  However, there was nothing to be done at such a young age.  The lack of sleep took its toll on our parents. 

I certainly didn’t like the idea of having a baby brother, and I made my feelings clear by carving with a ballpoint pen in a mahogany nightstand.  My parents were constantly telling me when Brad did fall asleep:  “Now, be quiet. The baby is sleeping.”  I soon began to tire of this repeated instruction, so I chose my words carefully and went about creating my art.  Neatly carved in that nightstand, until this day, are the words “Shhhhhh, baby is sleeping.”

No one seemed to understand the why behind my creation, nor did anyone take the time to ask me to explain.  I felt left out, and at eight years of age the last thing I wanted around was a baby.  Instead, I was punished, which I believe I deserved.  It was after all an effort on my part to get their attention to express my needs, and I chose a very poor medium to deliver my message.

Brad’s arrival seemed to round out the family as my parents wanted it.  Country was so proud exclaiming to all who would listen:  “God has blessed me like he did Abraham with a son in my old age.  He was 53 when Brad was born, and Nelle was 42.  At their ages, a fretful and crying baby was indeed tough for them.  Having an eight-year old carving up the furniture wasn’t helpful, and so they decided that there would be no more additions to the Adams household.

š›

I choose not to address anyone else's relationship with Nelle, or as I'll call her from now on, Mama, as I don't feel it is fair to delve into areas where I can't confirm facts.  What I do know about my life, and what I witnessed in my younger brother's can be confirmed, and I share it willingly because it ties into the end of our journey and brings power and beauty to the finished story.

And thus begins the story of my life with Mama.