A love story

I want to tell you a love story.  Most would think I am about to tell you about when I became a grandma for the very first time, or even how my husband and I met, but that story isn't for today.

Instead, I just read my friend, Dusty Takle's, blog "A Cloak of Love" and in it, she talked about the "protects" portion of 1 Corinthians 13. And the wheels started turning.

My parents met back in the '60s.  Back when life was a bit wild and precarious.  Dad was tired of all the running around that his friends wanted to do; it was never his lifestyle.  Probably because of how he was raised - work hard and fly right. Mom? She had been working since she was a young teen - to put food on the table, help clothe herself and her younger brother, pay the rent.  She was quietly responsible.  They met through that wonderful thing called friends.  Because she wasn't flashy like he was used to, he dismissed her at first.  But then he found out she liked some of the same things.  So he asked her out.  To the drag races on a Sunday.  When she told him she had to work, he dismissed it and didn't give it another thought, figuring there would be another time.  What he DIDN'T know was that she traded shifts with another coworker so she COULD go.  But back then, cell phones weren't even in existence.  So she waited all day and he didn't show.

But she gave him another shot.  He asked her to a show - back then it was pretty much a drive-in mecca and off they went.  Only he had been working a lot.  So about 20 minutes into the first movie, he dozed off.  No worries, right?  He woke back up and there was the movie and he thought he had only slept for  a few minutes. Until he looked around and realized that his car was the ONLY one in the parking lot. You guessed it.  He slept through the first AND second movie!

Now, admit it.  By now you would have given up on this guy.  I probably would have!  But if she had, then I wouldn't be here. So you know she gave him another chance.  And he showed up an hour late. Yes. One hour.  The car he was driving had starter issues so he had to use an incline to jump it off.

And that rolls me back to 1 Corinthians 13:4-8:  4 Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud.  5 It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs.  6 Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth.  7 It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.  8 Love never fails.  


Mom was patient in their courting days. And as a child and adult, I witnessed the patience they both exhibited toward each other. I never recall my folks being envious of what someone else had.  My dad's philosophy has always been to work hard to achieve what you want. But make sure the needs are taken care of first.  Neither were my parents prideful.  They did take pride in doing things well, but it wasn't shouted from the mountaintops.  


Dishonor?  I remember a conversation with my mom.  It was when she was working in the liner shop for the family-owned business (my aunt and uncle) and all the other women were tearing their spouses apart verbally.  "He doesn't do this or that".  Finally, one of them said to my mom "what about Don? We never hear you tearing him down".  And her response, which still rings deeply inside today, was that she married him and it was her responsibility to build him up, not tear him down and she believed she was a good judge of character. If she was tearing him down, what did that say about her ability?  She said that several came up to her afterward and thanked her for basically "setting them straight".  It wasn't that there weren't problems or issues, but rather than air them for everyone to hear, they did the responsible, adult thing.  They worked them out.  Honorably.


My dad wasn't easily angered.  Still isn't to this day.  But there are things that anger him and I think as  we pick up on that kind of thing because this bothers me, as well as my siblings  - injustice towards others is one that comes immediately to mind.  Mom?  Well, she got exasperated more than angry. Because of how she grew up, she took a lot of things far more seriously than perhaps my dad did.  I can remember many times his chuckle as she would say "Don!" in just that voice.  Sweet memory.


7 It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.  8 Love never fails.  Dad used to tell mom "stick with me kid and I'll give you the world!".  Well, maybe not the whole world, but he was letting her know he would always take care of her to the very best of his ability.  One of the sweetest memories I have is from 2007 when dad had unexpected open heart surgery.  He slept for almost 8 days afterward, refusing to wake up.  I am confident that God, knowing how impatient my dad is and how much he detests hospitals, kept him snoozing until he was on the road to healing. After they finally got him awake and extubated, with no glasses and of course, sounding like a bullfrog and with a roomful of medical personnel, when asked who that lady was at the end of the bed, he clearly said "my wife".  He knew.  Even after all the medicines and surgery.  And his first concern?  Getting back on his feet and getting back to work. 


They were married for 47 years and 28 days before mom was called Home.  Even in the last hours of her life when no one knew what was happening, least of all the doctors, he held on to hope.  He loved her. And she loved him.  He "walked her Home" one last time, surrounded by his daughters and son and sons-in-law.   And their example resounds in my heart whenever I hear or read the love chapter.  

The first edition

For quite some time, I've wanted to write a blog.  Not because I think anyone is waiting anxiously to see what I have to say.  No, not at all.  Rather, I have always loved to write.  As a child.  As a teen.  As a young (and maybe now not-so young) adult.

But still I waited.  I joked over the years about how writing resumes and cover letters was how my desire to write was being fulfilled.  But was it?  Psalm 37:3-5 tells me very clearly to take delight in the Lord and He will give me the desires of my heart. So while I love writing what I call the 8x11 business cards for folks and thrill when they get the interview or the job, my desire has been to write children's books. Not long, fat, huge books that are hard for little hands to hold.  No. I want to take all the silly little stories in my heart and use them for easy-peasy books so that little ones learn how to read and start hiding His word in their hearts.

That's my not-so-secret secret.

My other?  I've been oh-so blessed to be able to work with kids since returning to Him in 1999.  I count only a few things as gifts.  All of my children.  And there are six when I add my daughter-in-love and heart daughter, two amazing women who have blessed me with five grandchildren.  My husband. My mom, who would be tickled pink if she were still here to see that I am finally, after some subtle (hah!) nudging from Dusty and Debbie, writing my heart. My dad, who against all odds, has taken a licking and is still ticking, finally in Jesus' name.  A sister and brother who are tops in my books. Some phenom friends.  An awesome church family. My beautiful grandchildren. My pets.  

But one gift I cherish above all? I love working with kids.  Absolutely love it.  Do I get exasperated at times? Yes, I'm human.  But they never know it.  Their little hearts are so open and ready for another person outside of their blood relative to care about them and their stuff.  Even the drama. The group of kids I'm blessed to be teaching now? God has clearly spoken and let me know that He wants me to take them "all the way through".  To what I have no idea.  Middle school? High school? College?  No matter.  Whatever He wants from me, I'll do it.  To the very best of my ability.

So with thanks to God who has birthed this desire in my heart, and to friends who lovingly pushed, prodded and possibly nagged....blogging has begun.