Happy Mother's Day

Brett & Relyn

I think this picture of my brother and me is a perfect Mother's Day picture.  It shows exactly how my mom has always made us feel.  Look at those happy, smiling, laughing faces.  Notice the book. Pay attention to the stylish home: the cool phone, the plants, the stylin', comfy sofa.  See the joy?

Motherhood in one simple snapshot.  At least, my own mother's version of it.  The ingredients she mixed are simple enough to write about.  But, they are not so easy to live out.  It takes courage, passion, compassion, intelligence, dedication, energy, prayer, faith, and so much love to be a mother like mine is.  But, oh, when you have a mother like mine...  life is nothing short of magic.

My Mom's Motherhood Recipe went something like this:

Laugh:  Give your children a happy childhood.  Laugh with them.  Play with them.  Listen to them.  Don't argue.  Teach your family that home is a place for friendship and joy.
Books:  Fill your children's lives with books and stories.  Read to them at night. Talk about what you are reading.  Listen to them read aloud.  Take them to the library once a week to stock up.  Buy them books as often as you can.  Have a personal library in each child's bedroom.
Home:  Make it beautiful and comfortable.  Work to keep it clean and tidy.  Life just works better without the clutter and mess.  Be organized.  Keep life in the house; nurture plants and pets alongside the children and marriage.  Take care of the things you are blessed enough to own and make your environment as beautiful as you know how.  Invite people over and treat them like they are special. Serve them nice food at a beautiful table and listen to their stories.  Be a good hostess. Above all, make home a safe place to return to after walking in this weary world.  Make home a haven and a refuge; the one place you can always find absolute love and acceptance.
Listen:  Keep the phone handy.  Let your child know that no matter where they are, what they are doing, or what kind of life they choose, you are - at most - only a phone call away.  Listen.  Talk.  Share.  Nobody cares about your life like your mother does.
Love: There are too many words for this one.  My heart is too full to tell you how my mother loved us; loves us still. Maybe this will give you a glimpse.  When I lived at home, my mom woke me up every morning with a song and a smile.  Every morning.  Now, we talk on the phone nearly every day.  And no one, not one single person know about the details of my life, my friends, my triumphs and frustrations like my mother does.

There just aren't enough words to speak the fullness of my heart.  I love you, Mom.  Happy Mother's Day.

Happy birthday, my love

 

As a tween and teenager I was the very romantic, dreamy sort.  I read love stories and daydreamed about a knight in shining armor.  I planned my wedding in great detail and practiced kissing on the back of my hand.  As a teenager, I wrote the most embarrassing, sappy love poetry which hasn't seen the light of day in decades, by the way.  I daydreamed romantic moments that were a mix of the First Love from Silhouette love stories and my own imagination.  Full disclosure: I still have about 25 of my favorite paperbacks from those early teen days though I haven't read them in years.  See?  Romantic, dreamy...

In college I told my mom that I had no intention of getting married until I found a man who would treat me at least as wonderfully as my Daddy treated her.  I went on to list all the other things I wanted in a husband.  My mom is always gentle and full of love, and she is a truth teller.  So?  What do say to your daughter in that moment?  After a quiet minute, my mom looked in my eyes and said, "I'll pray for you to find him.  Because, I'll tell you, there just aren't many men like your Daddy."

Fast forward about four years to our wedding rehearsal dinner.  I would give anything to have recorded the toasts that night, especially my Mom's.  She told that little story, though her version was longer and funnier.  She told a little of my hopes and dreams and a bit about her dreams for her daughter and my marriage.  Then, she said something like this, "You know, I worried for Relyn.  I knew in my heart that a miracle was the only way she would ever find a man who would make all of her dreams come true."  She turned to my sweet Jeffrey and said, "Jeffrey, I know you are the man God has for my daughter.  You've not only made all Relyn's dreams come true, you've made all our dreams for her come true as well.  Welcome to the family."

In that single moment, my mother, who always knows the right thing to say, summed it all up.  It's been nearly 25 years since then and Jeffrey still makes all my dreams come true.  Jeffrey makes me laugh.  He holds my hand and kisses me at home and in public.  He is never has anything bad to say about anyone.  He's a snazzy dresser.  He's kind.  He's a good father.  I could go on and on.  Instead, I'll just say this:  Happy birthday, Jeffrey, my love.  Thank you for making all my dreams come true.

Touch

Answering Susannah's invitation to "Pause, look around you and 

shoot what you see.  Live inside each moment.  Pay attention to what's there.  Look for the love."

Today's photo prompt was touch.  These are my parents.  Whether their hands are holding mine, caressing my child, or still clasped together after nearly 50 years, they offer pure love in their touch.

August Break 13

Sloane and Tink

Today's prompt: memory

The idea behind today's prompt was to photograph something that brings back memories.  Because I went to work just after church today and only just got home, (it's 10:10)I didn't take any pictures.  But, I loved the prompt and thought I would share this one.  It's one of my favorite pictures ever.  

We took a family trip to Disney the Christmas after Sloane turned 6.  We had a marvelous time every single day and truly made memories to last a life time.  Disney has photographers stationed at all the most picturesque spots and they will gladly take your picture for you.  The photographer asked if they could take a picture of just Sloane.  It wasn't until we got the disc home from our trip that I saw this little piece of Disney magic.  

It still makes me smile.  And remember. 

August Break 12

Treasures and Tallulah

Today's prompt: treasures

Susannah's prompt today was interesting and thought-provoking.  She said, "Today's prompt is relatively simple and definitely illuminating: what inanimate objects do you treasure? Think about the items that mean the most to you. The objects that hold significance. "  I learned so much about myself from participating today.  

For one thing, I am not very sentimental or attached to things.  Yes, I love my books and have a TON of them.  I also have a thing for paper and have amassed a small art collection.  No, I'm not a minimalist.  I have more sets of dishes than I am willing to admit to. It's just that I have things for the purpose of using and enjoying them.  I choose them for their beauty and functionality.  I have very few things simply because someone I love owned or gave them. 

I knew this to be true.  At least until I went to my jewelry box to get my Dad's signet ring to photograph.  I hereby admit it.  I am sentimental.  I do keep and cherish things because someone I love owned or gave it to me.  And, nearly every bit of it lives in my jewelry box.  

My jewelry treasures are chronologically numbered. Number one is the oldest.

Treasures

1. My mom has the most wonderful charm bracelet that she began as a teenager.  By the time I was ten, playing with hers just wasn't enough.  I had to collect charms and create one, too.  I love it.  It's the story of my life, and I can wear it on my wrist.  Sloane has quite a few charms on hers already.  But you knew that, didn't you? 
2. I used every bit of my spending money to purchase this Egyptian cartouche when I was in Cairo at 19.  It's solid gold, handmade, and is my phonetic name in hieroglyphics.  I spent the next week and a half and the plane ride home nearly penniless, but it was worth every cent.
3. I have worn this ring nearly every day since I purchased it my sophomore year in college.  The seven interlocking rings was pretty expensive.  Seventy five dollars back in 1989.  I ate a lot of mac 'n cheese to pay for it, and it still took three months on lay-a-way.  I'm glad that I did every time I wear at it. 
4. My second year of teaching I had a student whose mom made beautiful jewelry.  She told her son how much I liked a similar necklace when I saw it at her jewelry show.  Ryan told her he wanted to give it to me for my birthday the next week.  Only, not the one she made.  He wanted to make one for me with his own hands.  It's the only jewelry he ever made, and it's still one of my  favorite gifts.  Ever.
5. When my Papaw lost his beloved wife, he gave me her string of pearls.  I had it strung into a triple strand bracelet.  I've always loved it, but kind of wished I hadn't restrung it.  I wanted a pearl necklace, but knew I would never spend the money on a quality one.  Still, I adore this bracelet. 
6. I never told him, but my Dad knew how much I loved my bracelet.  I never told him I wanted a necklace either, but one Christmas my Dad surprised me with this perfect strand.  He choose them from me himself when he was in Japan.  
7. My Mom and Dad brought this bangle back for me from one of their trips to Africa.  The black you see is actually giraffe hair.  My favorite souvenir?  Jewelry, especially silver bangle bracelets.  My favorite color?  Black.  My favorite animal?  Giraffe.  
8. This fabulous ring is amber.  My Mom brought it back from Russia for me.  Oh, she really knows me. 
9. This jade bracelet traveled in my Dad's briefcase all the way from China.  My mom and sister-in-law each have one, too.
10. This signet ring and one unphotographed bracelet are two of my most treasured possessions.  Those are my Dad's initials.  He wore this ring every day of my childhood and young adult life.  He purchased it on a trip that he and mom took before I was born.  I asked Dad if I could have the ring and his sermon Bible some day.  I received them both as Christmas gifts a few years ago.  
11. When I sold my first photograph, I wanted to use the money to buy something lasting.  If you look closely you'll see that my silver bangle is inscribed euchristeo and the dangles say give thanks.  Those words are a steady reminder to live out my beliefs and be grateful.

What about you?  What objects are your treasures? 

a tale of recklessness

A while back I read a story on my friend's blog that prompted a reckless story of my own.  Here's the story I told Amy Jo.

I was nineteen when I went on a mission trip to Egypt for 16 days.  I wasn't nervous like most of my peers since I had lived overseas a lot in my early years.  I wonder if maybe I should have been a little more timid?  If I had been, I sure wouldn't have had as much fun.  I rode a felucca down the Nile with new Egyptian friends.  I rode a train from Port Said to Cairo with a few friends and no "real" adults.  And, riding a camel in Egypt at the Giza pyramids was great.

So where's the reckless part?  Well, it was on the camel ride.  I was young - about 19.  My camel herder/ guide guy led the camel a long way from the crowd.  I could see the crowds of people waiting for camel rides, but they were only tiny dots in the distance.  We were pretty alone out there in the desert. Once we were alone, he began to bully me about giving him a tip.  We had been told by our Egyptian hosts that we were already paying a lot to ride, and if we wanted to tip, it shouldn't be more than one American dollar.  It may have been pretty reckless to refuse the guide, but I did.  I don't repond well to being bullied.  Never have.  After a lot of badgering and verbal bullying, he told me to get off the camel.  He said he was going to leave me alone in the desert.  I told him, "That's fine.  I can walk back.  And when I get there, I'll be sure to tell your boss what you did."

He took me back - on the camel.  Without a tip.  And, I talked to his boss anyway.  I think he got fired.  Poor schmuck.  He tried to bully the wrong tourist.




What about you?  How have you been reckless?

My Mom

Some of you know that my Mom has a tumor on her abdomen.  

Her surgery is scheduled for 9:00 on Thursday in St. Louis, which is four hours away.

  

Our family is going up a day early and visiting the Arch.  

It's one of those things we've said we should do, but haven't. 

So, tomorrow's the day.  

We figured it would be better to spend the day having fun together 

rather waiting and worrying.  

If you think of it, please be praying for my Mom and for her doctors.  

Especially at 9:00 Thursday morning.  Thanks, friends. 

I've always been a talker...

This old photo just cracks me up.  That's a 7 or 8 year old me on the left and my 4 or 5 year old brother on the right.  Our cousin, Darren, is in the middle.  I don't remember why our mouths were taped shut.  I think we must have been arguing with each other and just wouldn't stop.  So, our Moms taped our mouths closed.

Look at Darren.  See how he's so mad?  He's just miserable and his punishment is a real punishment.  He's choosing to pout instead of laugh.  If you notice, Brett and I aren't upset at all.  Look at me - I'm happy because I think I've pulled something over on Mom.  I had figured out that you could talk around the tape.  During our whole punishment, I talked any time Mom or Aunt Rita weren't looking.  But Brett?  Brett just thinks it's funny - look at the twinkle in his eyes.  Notice the toys in his hands.  He never needed to talk to have fun.

I sit here and grin at this 30-something year old picture, and I think there might just be a life lesson in it.  We all face trials and difficulties.  And, we all have a choice in how we respond to them.  We can get mad and pout and generally not have any fun at all.  We can try to solve the problem and enjoy figuring it all out.  Or, best of all, we can be like my brother.  We can laugh, smile, and know that our time of trials will pass soon enough.  We can remember that 15 minutes will be up before too long and Mom will let us take off the tape.  In the mean time, why not laugh a little and enjoy a Little Golden Book?

This is so beautiful

Today is my Dad's birthday.  

He turned 75. 

A few months ago, he returned from a trip to China and Japan where he was teaching masters level classes to Bible school students from all over Asia.  

Next year he's likely returning to Turkey and definitely going to Egypt to do the same thing. 

He does all of this at his own expense because he believes that 

equipping God's people to spread His Word is the best way to spend a life.  

My Dad has lived 3 quarters of a century.  He's old in anybody's book.  

He's retired from the Army after more than 20 years service.  

He retired from the full time pastoral ministry after nearly 30 years.   

He is currently the Dean of Graduate Studies at Global University 

and has recently headed up the new doctoral program.  

Instead of resting, retiring, he's on his third career.

He believes that you are never too old to serve.

He believes that God uses the willing.  And, he's willing. 

It's like he wrote in his Bible.  See it?  

Look up at the top right corner.  See?  

Right there above Luke chapter 2.

This is so beautiful.

It is, Daddy.  It is.  

And so is your life. 

I love you.  

I am proud to be your daughter.

Happy birthday. 

of plums and delight

My dear friend, Gigi, was hosting a giveaway for this gorgeous painting by Elizabeth Floyd.

I really wanted to win because I have a funny affinity for plums.  Years ago when I was in Egypt.  We were at a dinner and this very kind Egyptian gentleman was slicing up these delicious fruits for me.  They were SO GOOD!  I asked him what they were called and he said peaches.  Please don't think I'm a total ding dong when I tell you that I spent years looking all over America for purple peaches.  (Can you tell my family wasn't big on fresh fruit?)  Then one day, Jeffrey, my love, brought me a fresh plum and sliced it up.  Eureka!  My purple peaches had been plums all along.

And, guess what?  I won!  Now, every time I look at my beautiful new painting, I'll think of my wonderful adventures in Egypt and of the kindness of strangers.  Happy Thanksgiving, friends!

biscuits and memories

Just thinking of my Grandpa Chrisner makes me smile.  He died when I was 18 years old, and after 23 years I can still see the sparkle in his eyes when he's about to pull one over on you.  I can still hear his raspy voice and the way he would quietly smack his lips two times before he commenced to tellin' a story.  I can still see his grin when his family would tease him about his infatuation with Dolly Parton. I remember the utter freedom I always felt exploring his overgrown backyard with my Texas cousins. I remember the awe I felt at Grandpa's generosity when he would insist my Dad take the fifty to go down and buy 5 hamburgers, knowing he'd refuse the change.

Every morning Grandpa would make biscuits to go with breakfast.  He'd always be sure to make too many so there would be lots left over.  Then, all day long we'd come in from playing in the hot Texas sun and eat a cold biscuit with the peanut butter and syrup he'd mixed up just for us.  There's no better way to eat a biscuit.

The older I get, the more my Dad reminds me of Grandpa.    He has the same crazy, fly-away eyebrows his father did.  And, just like his Dad, he loves to fill your belly or stock your fridge.  He listens to and enjoys Sloane in the same way his father listened to all of us.  Like my grandpa, he gets a lot of pleasure in watching his family having fun.

Last Saturday morning when I woke up, Jeffrey told me he had breakfast ready for me.

It was cold biscuits with peanut butter and syrup. 

My husband never met my Grandpa, but but he knows my Dad and he knows the stories.  And he loves me the same way: with a mixture of care-taking and doting and sit-back-and-watch-her-go pride.  I am a woman surrounded past and present by wonderful men.  I've been so blessed.

Grandpa and Grandma Chrisner in the early 1930s.

thoughts on my birthday...

The way my family loves me has always made me feel 

in my secret heart 

that I am somehow extraordinary.  

As a child, 

I knew I must be remarkable because my parents were so amazing 

and they thought I was fantastic.  How could they be wrong?  

In my twenties, 

I came to see that we all contain bits of the extraordinary, 

but that most of us settle into mediocrity far too easily.

In my thirties, 

my focus became raising my own daughter in a way 

that would make her feel extraordinary.  

In my forties, 

(Now that I am 42, I am comfortable with being "in my forties.")

I know that most of us live ordinary lives. 

But that makes those lives no less extraordinary. 

In my forties, 

I know that lavish loving is what makes us,

and those we love, extraordinary.  

In my forties, 

I am committed to finding beauty everywhere.  

I am committed to living fully and to laughing every single day.

In my forties, 

I am committed to doing each task that comes my way with 

energy, gratitude, and as much grace as I can muster.

Because, here's what I've learned:

There is magic in the simple pleasure of an ordinary life.

There is grace in forgiveness and compassion.

There is transformation in gratitude.

There is joy in simple pleasures.

I am certain

there is nothing better than a life spent on lavish, generous, serving love.  

Bimbo

Our family was living in Indonesia when I knocked out my brother's front tooth.

I was five and Brett was two, and it really was an accident. We were playing on the sofa and Brett was bending over to get a ball. His behind was stuck up in the air. It was as though there was a target just on his backside. I just gave him a little nudge on the rump and he went flying. Right into the edge of the coffee table. I guess I'm lucky that all he lost was a front tooth.

Being Indonesia in 1976, there were no surgical dentists in the country. Mom, Brett, and I had to travel to the Philippines to get my brother taken care of. I took my favorite stuffed animal with me. Bimbo was a monkey doll (pictured above) and my treasure. As we were leaving the plane Brett asked to hold my stuffie. I wouldn't let him so his requests turned into a whine. Pretty soon Mom made me let him hold Bimbo. I specifically remember telling her that "Brett is a baby and too young to keep up with Bimbo. He's sure to loose it." Mom made me let him anyway - no doubt to stop the whining and because I was the one who got us in the pickle in the first place. We had our first cab ride with Brett gloating over Bimbo the whole way. When we arrived at the hotel and the cab was long gone, I looked around for my monkey friend. Bimbo was nowhere to be found.


Brett had left him in the taxi. WAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!

My poor mother. Can you imagine being alone in a strange country with a two year old son who needed medical care and a five year old crying daughter who just wanted her monkey back? Mom tried to console me that some poor child who didn't have a lot of other stuffed animals back at home was sure to discover Bimbo and treasure him and love him and give him a good home. I wasn't having any of it. I wanted my Bimbo back and I wanted him NOW!

I didn't get him back. Of course.

What I did do was hold that over my brother's head off and on for years. When we got into bickering matches, and I couldn't find anything else to say, I could always end it with, "And anyway - you lost my Bimbo." Conveniently forgetting that he had only been two.

Fast forward to the Christmas I was 15. My brother was now 12 and a notorious tightwad. He always had plenty of money because he never spent it. Gifts from Brett were really from Mom with his name signed on them. Until that year.

It was Christmas morning and Brett was wiggling with excitement. It wasn't about his own presents, either. It was for me to open my gift from him. As I started to open it, my Mom told me that Brett had spent his own money to buy this for me.

Bimbo!

Mom had spotted it at a church yard sale. Brett had insisted on spending his own money to buy it for me. Even though Mom was happy to pay for it, he wanted this one to be 100% from him.

My best surprise ever. My best Christmas present. My best brother.

Merry Christmas, Brett.

The Junior Mint Christmas

As adults, we all know that there is so much more to Christmas than just receiving presents. We know that the time we spend together and the love those presents represent are far more important. But, we also have to admit that the gifts are really, really great. To celebrate the spirit of love-filled giving, I thought I would spend this week before Christmas sharing stories of Christmas presents. I hope you'll join me each day to celebrate this season of gifts. I hope you'll share stories of your own in the comments. Merry Christmas, friends.


One of my favorite Christmas gifts of all time wasn't even a gift for me. It was a gift for my Mom, given over thirty years ago. To this day, whenever anyone in our family mentions The Junior Mint Christmas, we all smile. Let me tell you about it.

It was 1979 and we were living in the Azores, Portugal. My Dad was in the Army and we found ourselves in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean on Terceira Island. This was long before the days of email, cable, and cell phones. There was one television station and that signed off the air each night with the national anthem. If you wanted something, you bought what was readily available at the base commissary or PX. There was no internet, no catalogs but Montgomery Ward, and no affordable international shipping. In short, no shopping. In spite of the difficulties, my Dad always managed to do something amazing for my Mom for Christmas.

It was a few weeks before Christmas when a big box appeared under the tree. It was about half the size of today's copy paper boxes and it was labeled to Jackie, love Carl. My Dad told her to feel free to shake, she'd never guess what was inside. She shook it. And, don't you know, that thing rattled. A lot. Like a box of broken china. Dad said, "No. Nothing is broken. It's supposed to sound that way." All Christmas long we took turns shaking and guessing while Dad grinned and his eyes twinkled. I'll never forget Mom's puzzlement, her guesses, her laughter. Or Dad's delight as the guesses got odder and odder as time went on.

Christmas morning came and we all listened with our breath held as Mom gave the box one last shake. I can still see the smile on her face when she finally peeked inside. You would have thought it was a box full of diamonds. Inside was a gross, yes, 12 dozen, boxes of Junior Mints. Dad had talked the commissary officer into ordering Mom's favorite candy for Christmas. Candy she hadn't tasted in years - her perfect Christmas present.

I'm not sure, but I think Mom might have eaten the last Junior Mint the day we left the Azores for good. And, my best gift that Christmas? A lesson in loving, a lesson in creativity and thoughtfulness, and the confidence that comes from knowing your parents are truly in love.

Merry Christmas, Mom and Dad.

The picture above is of Split Rock just off Terceira Island.

I remember...

What is it about summer time that makes me remember so much?

I remember that when we would visit Mamaw and Aunt Rita we would always go shopping. Mamaw could always be counted on to say, "Ya'll ready for a Coke? Come on. Let's set down and rest our feet a minute." I loved that about her. We would sit and sip cold Cokes and rest a little. And laugh. And tell stories. And jokes. And laugh. And just be happy to be together.

I remember the particular smell of a Texas-hot car; the creak of metal as the door was opened and the way that the heat would roll out in shimmering waves. I'd always look for a genie as if that hot car were the bottle in which he was imprisoned.

I remember sticking to the car seats and the squelchy, horribly wonderful sound your bare legs would make as you pulled them up.

I remember hours and hours with nothing but the hum of a ceiling fan, the turn of a page, and the cold sweetness of an orange Popsicle. Days spent sleuthing with Trixie, Honey, and the Bobwhite gang.

I remember choosing the grape Popsicle even though I loved orange best because I was going outside where Kenny was playing baseball. I remember thinking he might notice me since the grape-y stain on my lips would surely make me prettier.

I remember the smell of coconuts and chlorine and all the pretty older girls in their bikinis. I remember thinking that they sure would have a lot more fun if they'd actually get in the pool. What could be better than a tea party at the pool bottom? Except maybe a jump from the high dive.

I remember dragging my cousins' trampoline under their tree house and jumping off. I swear we bounced higher than the house roof. While we jumped, the boys played some version of war. I never told them I was pretending to be the cheerleader at the top of the standing pyramid.

I remember...

I remember...

age makes no difference at all...

Can't you just see them whispering secrets?
Can't you hear their giggles?
I love that their friendship is already evident.

My brother came for a visit over the 4th.
We finally got to meet his daughter, Persephone.
How did our family go so long without such a little bundle of delight?

To say that Aunt Relyn cried all the way home
when Baby P left would not be an exaggeration.
To say that she owns our hearts already would be just about right.

Sloane, 9 1/2 years
Persephone, 5 months
Friends, forever

Sunday Morning Poetry

When I was a child I looked so much like my Dad. It drove me crazy when people would comment on it. What little girl wants to look like a big, strong, handsome man? I didn't get it then that they weren't saying I looked boyish. Truthfully, I acted like him, too. I shared a lot of his qualities, quirks, and traits. I wanted to be like my Mom - tiny, perfect, and beautiful. Instead, I was like my Dad - a passionate leader who tended toward impatience, and not tiny at all. And now? I'm still not tiny and I'll never be as beautiful as my Mom. But, each day, I hope I can be a little bit more like my Dad. He's kind, compassionate, considerate. He's competent, smart, and wildly productive. He's just the kind of man I love and admire. He's just the kind of person I'm proud to be like. I hope I will grow more and more like him as I get older and wiser. I pray that others will see my father in me. Because my Daddy? Well, his heart looks just like our Fathers'. I love you, Daddy. Happy Father's Day.

I'm Seein' My Father In Me

Last night we brought the children by to visit their grandpa
And it's plain to see they're truly part of him
While we were there their grandma took out some old photographs
Man he sure looked a lot like me back then.

And today I took my wife for a walk down that old dirt road
And now looking back I can recall the times we disagreed
When I could not take gold of his old fashioned ways
And the more I tried to prove him wrong the more I proved him right
Now I know why he still stood by me when I went through that stage.

I'm seein' my father in me, I guess that's how it's meant to be
And I find I'm more and more like him each day
I notice I walk the way he walks I notice I talk the way he talks
I'm startin' to see my father in me.

And I'm happy to see my father in me...

~ Paul Overstreet

Nineteen is a marvelous number...

Exactly nineteen years ago today I was giddy, eager, ecstatic...
I was ready to marry the love of my life.

We were about to begin this magic journey together.
We were so young. So tender and sweet. So absolutely sure.

We were right.

We've multiplied every joy and divided every sorrow.
I go to bed each night thinking, "I couldn't love him more."

I wake up each morning, and thank God.
Because I do. Every day. I do.

I love him more.

Jeffrey, my love, you own my heart.
I love you with my soul, with every part of me.

If I could go back nineteen years, I'd do it all again.
And I wouldn't change a thing.

I love you.

That's not our official engagement photo, but it was taken about the same time. My ring was off being sized. I'll have to scan my wedding photos and give you a peek. Maybe next year, for our 20th.

a love letter

The Freewrite Friday prompt for this week was to write a love letter to someone. The twist was, it had to be someone who would never see it. This is mine.

Dear Joe,

I never told you, but I think you are the first boy who ever loved me. What I find so remarkable about it is that you loved me the way a man loves a woman. Not like a boy at all. You weren't selfish with your love. You weren't eager to show me off or brand me with a ring, a jacket, a kiss. You just loved me. You just wanted to spend time with me. You smiled every time you saw me. Every single time. You grinned when I laughed and it was a grin I never saw you give at any other time.

I just wanted to thank you for that.

Well, for that and for so many other things. For the way you patiently taught me to hit a baseball - and not like a girl. (You know, my stance is still terrific.) For teaching me all the things a country boy knows that this city girl didn't. To love hiking, to drive fast and crazy on big curves, to appreciate big old American cars, to climb haylofts and old silos just because they're there, to climb up on roofs and watch the stars come out on a summer night, to keep playing ball even after the sun had set because there's just nothing like a game among friends. Did you know you gave me so much? I bet you did. And I never thanked you. But I do now. Thank you, Joe. Thank you.

I cringe a little when I think back to the girl I was and how oblivious I was. You told me only once that you loved me and you did it in a poem you gave me one of the last times I ever saw you. A poem I still have, by the way. A poem I still treasure. I was silly then. And young. A girl where you were already a man; at least in matters of the heart. I wonder what I would have done if you had ever told me with words? You see, I thought then that love declared itself with pretty words and passionate glances across the room. I didn't know that real love is about giving. And sharing. About unselfishness. And laughing. And being good, good friends.

You were all those things to me. And I want to say thank you.

Because even though I didn't know it at the time. Even though I doubt you knew it either, you were teaching me about love. About what I should look for in a man. And, Joe, I found it. I did. Jeffrey is all that and so much more. He is my match in every way. He is my heart, my life, my center. He is all I ever wanted. And, in part, I owe that to you.

If you could read this, I know you would be happy. You would grin to know that Jeffrey is a country boy, too. And that he smiles every time he sees me. You would be happy that I am so well loved. Happy that I have learned to love unselfishly. Happy that I am so very blessed. If you could read this, I would want you to know that I love you, too. Thank you, my good friend. Thank you.

Happy Valentine's Day.
I pray you are loved as you deserve to be. Today and every day.

Love,
Relyn

The picture doesn't really match the post, but it sure matches the day. Happy Valentine's Day, my friend.

Hide 'n watch!

Week 32 of the Wednesday lists.
My Mamaw had a funny saying for almost any occasion. When her mother died, my Mom started writing a list of all her sayings. I find myself quoting them from time to time and remembering my Mamaw and getting tickled. I thought you might get a kick out of them, too.

Things My Mamaw Used To Say

Hide 'n watch!
I cain't live on the edge.
Don't wish your life away!
It grew legs and walked off.
Well, fall and see who cares.
It'll all come out in the wash.
It's as wrinkled as a cat's guts.
I'm gonna pinch your head off!
If it've been a snake, it've bit ya.
He's as dependable as a rubber crutch.
Some do it legal, some do it with a gun.
Hold on a minute, it'll come back to me.
I'm not old. I've just been here a long time.
You don't have to tell everything you know.
You'll never know it a hundred years from now.
I could stretch a mile if I didn't have to walk back.
What's that got to do with the price of tea in China?
You can just get glad in the same shoes you got mad in.
That girl would complain if she was hung with a new rope!
Momma said there would be days like this. She just didn't say there would be so many of them.

The image above is my favorite one of Mamaw. Isn't she beautiful?