A few years ago my husband came to a realization that it was time for a change. Three of our four kids had graduated high school and it was no longer necessary for me to drive a mini van. It was time for us to get something a little more “sporty”. After test driving a Dodge Challenger with a Hemi (probably not a good idea for my lead foot), we settled on a more conventional Dodge Charger with four doors and a V6. Fun to drive, but not overly tempting for my race car driving dreams.
We took our little beauty home and quickly realized that a couple of miles on gravel to get to our house would not leave it beautiful for long. That’s when I broke down and signed up for the local car wash club. $25 for unlimited car washes in a month sounded like a no brainer. Once again my car would sparkle.
Admittedly my first trip to the car wash was a learning experience. It’s one of these automatic deals. Pull the car up on the Wheel tracks, put it in neutral, foot off brake, take your hands off the steering wheel. The machine does the rest. My mistake… not following three of the four instructions. This resulted in frantic waving of hands and pointing to the flashing sign by the employees. I quickly fixed my mistake, and emerged with a shiny car. Win Win…
Today was a day for clearing my mind with a little garden therapy. Pulling weeds, thinking about life, and praying. The scenario of my first trip to the Automatic Car Wash came to my mind and the phrase, “Take your hands off the wheel” kept echoing in my thoughts. It occurred to me, “There are somethings in life I need to just take my hands off of, relax, and let God work it out.” The more I try to hold onto the steering wheel and control them, the more harm it does. In the few seconds I was figuring out my error at the car wash that fateful day, the rollers that typically push a car through were pushing against my wheels with the engine in gear. It was not in neutral. It shook the whole car and made a really bad noise. My holding on to control of certain situations can produce the same effect mentally and spiritually. Best advice for now… “Take your hands off the wheel!!” My trying to analyze, fix, and control will only make matters worse. There are some things that will just have to play out, and I will just have to watch the outcome. Anticipating that on the grand scale of things that outcome will be ok eventually, no matter how bad it appears to be becoming right now. Ultimately God will get me through to the other side, and I will come out shining in the end.
After a couple of years of membership at the car wash, I don’t have the issue I had the very first time I went. When I approach, I keep in mind what I need to do. Nothing gets shook up, no shouting directions at me is needed.
I am hopeful that after 49 years I will finally get the lesson of trusting God with my life down to a fine art. When I approach a difficult situation or circumstance, I will keep in mind what I need to do. “Take my hands off the wheel.” and let Him be God. No shouting or waving arms at me necessary to get me to do what I need to do.
This Mother’s Day will be my 25th as an official Mother. It’s kind of hard to believe for me. Being a Mom was something I always wanted to be, but it was also the scariest of propositions for me. From the day I found out I was pregnant with my first to today I’ve always had this awareness of what I lacked for being the Mom I should be. I’m sure if I was able to take a poll of all the moms out there that is what they would tell you too. It kind of comes with the territory. There’s always someone more creative, with a cleaner house, more respectful kids, healthier meals, happier husband, taking all the “me time” they need, and so on- kind of mom. For some reason “comparison” is the favorite game of moms all around. At least it was my game of choice for most of my childrearing years, and on occasion still is…
Covid 19 has put a major damper on my expressions of hospitality. It’s a bummer. Usually this time of year marks the beginning of bar b ques, friends hanging out, fires in our fire pit, music on the patio or front deck. I think that last year around this time we had a huge fish fry. Not so much this year, with the gatherings of 10 or less order. It’s a weird switch. I’ll be the first to admit that the one with the greatest gift of hospitality between my husband and me would be him. He’s a party all the time kind of guy. Before quarantine hit, and some other life changes that we went through last year (God moving us to a different church, and us stepping down from leading a Bible Study/ accountability group we had been doing weekly for 4 years), our weeks were spent trying to figure out what would be the menu for the next cook out and how many people can we invite. If I would put the brakes on, for any particular reason, he would want to know what was wrong with me. The weekends were meant for family and friends. Anything less was inconceivable in his mind.
My Grandpa was born in 1914. He died a few years ago just a few days shy of his 101st Birthday. When he was 4 years old the world was in the midst of another infamous pandemic, The Spanish Flu. I never heard him talk about it, so he may have been young enough to not remember it much, but I do remember hearing stories about his life during The Great Depression. How as a boy he hunted and fished, not for pleasure, but to help feed his siblings and himself, so much so that he wasn’t much a fan of either when he got older. He just went to the pond and watched us fish. He witnessed World War I and II, the Korean War, and Vietnam War, the war his oldest son fought in and was faced with uncertainty of how that would end up for him, he came home. He had loved ones born and loved ones die, among which were infant grandbabies. He lost a great grandson, my nephew in the Gulf of Aden- lost at sea while serving with the United States Navy. He saw marriages in the family, he saw divorces. He stood at the side of the casket of his only lifelong love of 60 plus years gazing at her and commenting on how young she looked, like the days before they had moved from Kansas decades before. He outlived all his siblings, 7 of them, and most of his friends. In fact towards the end, that fact kind of hit him- “I’m the last one left.”
From the time my girls were little bitty they were aspiring ballerinas. The love for the dance came with a gift of two tutus that a friend had found. Their Grandma took them and spruced them up. The girls, ages 3 and 5, fell in love with them the moment they put them on. Days and days, hours and hours of twirling and prancing around the house in what was just a hand me down. To them it was the ultimate princess outfit. As they grew the Barbie Movies- “The Nutcracker”, “Swan Lake”, etc. reinforced the desire to dance. As they grew, I finally got them set up with dance lessons with a friend. They were thrilled. I sat on the side lines as they learned the basic moves of ballet. Most of the time quietly whispering to the mom next to me as we visited and waited.
Every once in awhile I would hear the instructor give the girls a little tip on how to do one of the harder moves more effectively. In one of the dances they were learning, they were supposed to twirl from one corner of the rectangular dance floor to the other. A move that I am certain, if I attempted it, I would land flat on my back from the dizziness. Their instructor told them that the best way to make it from point A to point B while twirling across the floor was to have a focal point picked out on the wall that they were going to. She said to start by twirling slowly and to watch for the point with each turn as they moved towards it. Sure enough the more they practiced it, the more straight their path from point A to point B became and the less dizzy they felt.
(WARNING…Big word usage for End Times theories ahead. Stick with me there is a point in it.)
Your Love 