December 28

What a difference a year makes. Last December 28 Daddy left our house to fly back home. I didn't know it then, but he had visited us for the last time. Though hospitalized until December 22, he had roused his aging body and made the flight to Atlanta. I had picked him up, rented walker in hand, and he had come into our house to grace us with his peaceful presence.
He mainly sat in the recliner, napping when there was a lull in the festivities, but his rheumy eyes twinkled and his smile took part when his two-year-old greatgrandson Tyler held court in the den. Daddy later commented to my brother that one of the delights of Christmas had been Tyler because he was "so engaging."

Today, December 28 a year later, Daddy is gone. Right after he got home last December, he went back to the hospital for 5 weeks. His body began shutting down, and by the first of April I wondered if he'd make his ninetieth birthday May 2. But he rallied once more, and as all the family and many friends gathered on May 1, he laughed and enjoyed the accolades and anecdotes of his long, well-lived tenure on earth.
Just six weeks later, on June 14, Daddy flew home to his eternal home - the place of no sickness, no aging, no leaving, no sorrow. The place where he can fully enjoy the Christ of Christmas.

We missed Daddy this year, but life goes on. We started a new tradition of playing family jeopardy (Who knew David's favorite Christmas present as a child was roller skates?). We watched three-year-old Tyler's delighted expression as he tore open one of Santa's gifts and found inside, yes, roller skates. We laughed when he stared down at the four pads and said, "I didn't know I had so many elbows!" His candidness was totally engaging, and I smiled, remembering Daddy. He would have loved every moment.

Tail Lights and Blue Lights

David and I just experienced a typical Bazemore trip. That is, it was fraught with "Oh, brother" moments. (If you don't know what 'fraught' means or have never heard the word before, then maybe you're not old as dirt like I am.)

Back to the trek fraught with troubles. First of all, let it be said that if David had agreed to take Friday afternoon off so we could fly to Shelley's, then these things wouldn't have happened. That said, please understand that there is no root of bitterness in me about it. After all, if it were not for road trips, I'd have hardly anything to blog about.

So did you notice that I said it was a 'typical' Bazemore trip? Back in the day, we were famous for our mishap-laden family vacations. Like the one when Hillary came down with a 105-degree fever the day we got to Disney World, and then after a trip to the emergency room for a strep test and 24 hours of antibiotics, when she and I could join the family fun once more, it rained every day we were there until the day we were leaving when it was gorgeous weather and our van broke down and we had to spend several hours at a repair shop where they didn't really repair it so we had to stop and add water to the radiator every hour on the way home. Fun times!

Or the trip to Gatlinburg where I made reservations online and the place was a dump so we had to find another place but practically everything was full and it had snowed after we'd had three weeks of 75-degree weather at home so I didn't think about taking coats and we had to go to the outlet mall and buy everyone a coat and the van broke down (again) and David and I had a big fight.

Or the outing to Atlanta when Shelley had strep and we had to push her around in a wheelchair at Six Flags. Or the time Hillary got lost twice at Opryland (when it was an amusement park). Or the year we got to Panama City only to find our hotel had just had all the rooms' carpets cleaned and I was allergic to the smell so David went out to find an antihistamine for me but was rear-ended at a stoplight, causing the van to break down and David to have to go to the emergency room.

You know, after recalling those moments, last weekend doesn't seem so bad. No one got sick or hurt. Nobody got lost. The weather was beautiful, albeit COLD. David and I didn't fight. We don't have a van anymore. Ah, but the car...

We left right after David got off work on Friday evening. Since David was going to fly home early Monday morning, we took two cars as far as the Atlanta airport. He told me to go first and he'd follow. He noticed right away that my right tail light was out but wasn't too worried because the brake light and turn signal were working fine.

Well, no sooner had we crossed the Georgia state line than I saw flashing blue lights move around David and pull in behind me. I knew I wasn't speeding, but my heart picked up its pace anyway.I slowed my car and stopped on the shoulder, then watched in my rearview mirror as the police car came to a stop with David close behind him. I waited while cars flew by and wondered why the police weren't chasing them instead of bothering me. Finally, the officer stepped up to my passenger window. "Ma'am," he said, "Can you tell me who this gentleman is who's following you?" Ha! I felt relief. The police were doing their job, protecting innocent citizens, noticing the smallest of details - like a mysterious man pursuing a lone woman.

"Yes, he's my husband." I chuckled and explained.

"Well, he tells me he noticed your tail light was out. We usually just give warnings for this, but I'll have to see your license and go put the warning into the computer."

So much for chivalry, I thought. There must have been ten cars who had passed me going 85 or 90 since we'd left Opelika 25 miles back, but the police were going after the real menaces like me. Oh well, warning duly recorded, we were soon on our way. Only 7.5 more hours to go!

Traffic through Atlanta was crowded, of course, but moved amazingly quickly for a Bazemore trip. Soon the highway became smooth and dark, and I was lulled into catnaps and finally, sleep. Suddenly, a loud thump-bump-bump and serious jostle awoke me. "What happened?" I blurted, sitting upright.

"We hit a deer. I saw him way up on the right, but then my attention was drawn to the person coming up on our left, and the next thing I knew, we had hit the deer." I was amazed and relieved that the car was still trucking along and our headlights seemed to be working, but there was no more sleeping for me.

About an hour and a half later, at 3 Am Eastern Standard Time, we were almost there. Almost. In fact, we were right behind Shelley and Shawn's townhouse. With go-go-Gadget arms I could have touched their back door. Then the unbelievable happened. Though David had not gone a mile over the speed limit the whole way, we got stopped by the police, again!! My first thought was, "Oh, brother" and my second thought was "They've already got the warning on the computer, so this shouldn't take long." Our goal was in view. Bed and just a few hours sleep were tauntingly close.

"Sir, may I see your license and registration?" the nice officer asked. I searched frantically in the glove compartment while David pulled out his license. As the GPS, phone charger, Zaxby napkins, Wendy's napkins, Chick-Fil-A napkins, proof of insurance papers, etc. started falling into my hands, the policeman continued, "What brings you folks to North Carolina?"

I quit my searching and chimed in, pointing to the townhouse, "We're visiting our grandson for his birthday. They actually live right there."

Though I would have welcomed chit-chat about our wonderful grandson, the officer changed the subject abruptly. "What happened to the front of your car?"

A short conversation about the deer incident ensued, with the policeman checking out the damage to the car and seeming satisfied. "Well," he said, "We were looking for someone with front end damage who fled the scene of an accident, but it looks like you two just had some bad luck. Enjoy your stay in North Carolina!" And so we turned the corner, pulled into the parking spot, went in and went to bed. Oh, and enjoyed our stay in North Carolina - especially me, who got to stay until Wednesday.

Now, there's always a spiritual lesson, and I was pretty sure what the one in this event was, but I didn't like it, so I was hoping another would come to mind. Then, in my quiet time this morning, the same lesson emerged and I felt like God was saying, "Admit it, Joy," or, as I used to say to Hillary when she wanted to argue with me, "Give it up, honey. Just give it up."

So here. I'm giving it. The spiritual lesson:
I want to believe I'm following all the Christian rules and that it's really all those people doing the bad sins that God should stop, question and warn. So what if my tail light isn't working? My brake light and turn signal are working. What's more important than my car's rear lights is that all those people are speeding, for heaven's sakes!
- So what if I was unkind in the way I spoke to that store clerk? At least I didn't yell or talk about her behind her back. And besides, I was right.
- So what if I'm spending tons of money on gifts and the poor don't have enough to eat. It's Christmas. I have to buy gifts for my family, and friends, and coworkers. It's how I show I love them.
- So what if I don't call the people who weren't at Sunday School today. I'll think about calling them. I'll even pray for them.

Hey, God, what about the murderers? the adulterers? the thieves?

Reunion

I recently attended my 40th high school reunion. Now, before you start saying, "Wow, she's old!", let me explain that I'm not that old. I didn't graduate in 1970 - I graduated in 1971. But, I should have graduated in 1972. I was a year ahead in school because we lived overseas when I was a child (that's a whole 'nother story). Anyway, our class held a combined reunion with the class of 1970, and I'd estimate there were 250 people there.

I hate those kind of things, but my life-long friend Joyce, class of '70, suggested we attend together, so I went. Here's the thing. I wasn't in the 'in' group in high school. In fact, I always sort of felt like I was in the 'out' group, if you know what I mean. Once, at the end of the tenth grade, I decided to try to catapult myself into the 'in' group by trying out for cheerleader. I made it through two days of excruciating tryout practices only to end up so sore that I couldn't climb the stairs at school or sit down on the potty without fainting. That very summer my mother beat me at tennis, and when I was upset about it, said, "Oh, don't worry. You're just not coordinated." If I'd only had that bit of blessed information a couple of months earlier, I'd have saved myself the humiliation of cheerleader tryout practices.

But I digress. Since the cheerleading idea bombed, I decided to try out for something a little less strenuous but not quite as 'in'. The Downbeats was a nine-girl a capella group that could just as easily have been called the Singing Geeks. I made it! So during my junior and senior years I enjoyed the musical challenge and 'fifteen minutes of fame' we got from singing at civic clubs and at school and church functions. I gained some valuable musical experience and confidence through being a part of Downbeats, but the close comraderie with the other girls was the real blessing. So when I decided to go to my reunion, I hoped I'd see some of them there.

Nope. I saw some familiar faces and even sneaked peeks at nametags to see if I'd have any 'Aha' moments, but it didn't happen. I ended up talking to five people:
1. David Lingerfelt, class of '70 -brother of Alan, a good guy friend of mine (class of '72). David never knew me in high school and didn't know I'd been friends with Alan. End of conversation.
2. Scott Eden - a supernice guy who sat behind me in senior English and, though he was in the 'in' group, always had a smile for me. BTW, he is just as nice and still as cute as he was in high school.
3. Gail Copeland, class of '72 - Her husband, Jimmy, was in my class. He was busy preparing with one of the bands that played later. Jimmy and Gail were good, close friends from my youth group at church.
4. Harriet Moncure - She tripped over the base of a column I was standing near, and when she caught herself and stood up, she was right in front of my face and blurted, "Joy Crawley!" (my maiden name). If she hadn't tripped, we might not have seen each other. She was not a close friend in high school, but it was still fun to talk to her.
5. Kathy Jordan - Kathy was another person in the 'in' group, but I approached her because we went to church together way back when and because her mother and mine were the best of friends. We had a short talk, mostly about deceased family.

Except for these five life-altering conversations, I tagged along with Joyce and spoke to the people she knew. At least we tried to speak. I don't think I've mentioned that the music was way too loud. The longer the evening went on, the more I wished I was back at the hotel with my sister and brother (The three of us had met in Richmond for a family reunion of sorts). As songs of the sixties and seventies blared in my ears, I longed for the quiet and comfort of sharing real, present-day life with those I love. So at ten-thirty I said my goodbyes to Joyce and her friends and to high school for the last time.

Some days I long for the reunion that will take place when I walk through heaven's gates, and these are the people I want to talk to first:
1. Jesus - a very dear friend. He once laid down His life for me. He knew my name before I was born, my maiden and married names. He pursued my heart and became the lover of my soul when I shyly let Him in at seven years of age. Not only has He been by my side all these years, but He has lived within me to guide, comfort, rebuke and cherish me. He is a very dear friend, and when I reach glory, I want to see Him first. I want to bow at His feet and hug His neck and feel His arms pulling me into the 'in' group.
2. Mama - my earliest friend. I want to tell her that I never appreciated her enough and I'm sorry for that. I also want to tell her how much her devoted life influenced mine. And I want to hug her and laugh with her and tell her about my grandchildren who she never got to meet.
3. Daddy - my other earliest friend. I want to hear his laughter and just sit with him for awhile.
4. Daddy's daddy - He died when my daddy was 11 years old, so I never got to meet him. But I've read things he wrote and things people wrote about him, and I know I'm going to love him.
5. My other grandparents and Aunt Pony and Aunt Tamar (two old-maid great aunts who were like extra grandmothers to me).

Of course, there are others I'm going to want to see and talk to, but these will be first. And I think we'll be able to hear each other because I hear the music there is beautiful.

Fingernails and Forgiveness

When I was a child we lived in Hong Kong. My parents were missionaries, and we were not rich, but compared to the average Chinese family there, we were very wealthy. In that culture, wealthy people had servants, so we had a servant, too. Ah-King was our combination cook, housekeeper and nanny.

Ah-King would let me hang around while she squatted to cut vegetables for dinner, did the wash, or whatever. One day, when she and I were the only ones home, I wandered away from her into my parents' bedroom. Bored and looking for something to pass the time, I drifted into their bathroom and came upon the beautiful sight of my mother's red fingernail polish sitting on the counter. Somehow knowing I shouldn't but not being able to resist, I proceeded to paint my fingernails while unintentionally daubing bright red patches all over my fingertips and parts of the bathroom counter and sink as well.

Just about the minute I put the brush back in the bottle for the last time, Ah-King came looking for me. Hearing her calling my name, I closed the door and locked it quickly, smearing red polish on the doorknob. Seconds later her Chinese-accented voice came through the heavy wooden door, "Miss Joy, you in there?"

I frantically turned the faucet on and began washing my hands. "Yes," I answered, voice quavering. "I'm almost finished. I had to go to the bathroom, and I'm washing my hands." The lie hung heavy in the room, feeling like a weight on my back.

Imagine my little-girl horror when the red stuff wouldn't come off!! I scrubbed and scrubbed to no avail, and my dismay quickly turned to dread.

"Miss Joy, what you doing?" Ah-King persisted. "Open this door."

Realizing I was a cooked goose, I turned the lock and slowly peeked out, clasping my hands behind my back (which, by the way, is a sure indication that a child has something to hide). Ah-King leveled her small frame against the large wooden door and pushed into the bathroom.

"Ah-ee-ya!" she cried. "What you been doing in here?"

"I-I was just trying to ma-make my fin-fingernails pretty," I sobbed and stuttered, "but it wo-won't come off. Not e-even when I wash with so-oap."

When she saw my hands, Ah-King shook her head and scolded, "Miss Joy, you know you not suppose to play with your mother's things." Then she took a long look at my tear-stained face still frozen in a horrified expression and said, "You never do this again?"

I quickly shook my head "No," so Ah-King opened a drawer and took out a plastic bottle and some cotton pads. She deftly began applying the magic liquid in the bottle to the cotton pads and then used the cotton pads on my fingers, the counter, the sink, the cabinet, the floor and the door. Where red had been, normalcy surfaced. I can still remember the disbelief, relief and gratitude I felt.

"Are you going to tell on me?" I asked, bottom lip protruding.

"No, but you be good, you hear?"

Ah-King had been given the authority of a parent that day, but she chose to be a servant to me. She put herself in my place and cleaned me up. How relieved I was. I couldn't get the 'sin' off me, but she knew how to do it and had mercy on me. She took responsibility for the dirty cotton pads in the trash can. She acted as if it never happened. I honestly don't remember much of anything else Ah-King ever did, but I remember her mercy and I remember that I loved her dearly.

"This the pow'r of the cross;
Christ became sin for us.
Took the blame, bore the wrath -
We stand forgiven at the cross." - Getty

Inheritance

"We're spending your inheritance!" Mama exclaimed with a chuckle. My parents were off on their second journey to Hawaii, planning to trace the route they had taken to celebrate their fiftieth anniversary.

"Good - you deserve it; have a blast!" I replied.

Less than two years later, Mama fell on her head, and even though early on she seemed to be getting well, after two months she began having seizures. Over the next five months, she slowly lost her abilities and finally went into a coma-like state and died December 31, 2001. For eight and a half more years we enjoyed Daddy but lost him in June of this year.

Sadly, Mama and Daddy didn't have nearly enough time to spend all of our inheritance. So checks from their different investments are beginning to come in. My husband and I are having to make decisions - what to do with the money, how to invest it, how not to lose it! In today's economy there are no "sure things." Interest rates are dismal, even on long-term investments. The government will insure only so much in bank accounts. Stocks are iffy.
Well, I made a decision that many of you will appreciate. I decided to invest some of that inheritance in our house. The house is forty years old and the last time anything was updated was long before we moved in eighteen years ago. Well, actually, we have replaced the upstairs carpet and the kitchen flooring. And we've also painted a room or two, but the kitchen and bathrooms had that '80's look going. I figure the new stuff will increase the value and sellability of our house, should we decide to put it on the market in the next few years. At any rate, the money won't be wasted because I am going to enjoy the new countertops, appliances and beautiful, up-to-date paint techniques being applied by an expert (not moi). Thank you, Mama and Daddy!

I am grateful that Daddy was a smart investor and my parents were wise spenders. Though they worked as missionaries and church workers all their lives, they lived on a budget and saved enough money to support themselves in their old age. I'm thankful that they had enough to enjoy their golden years, living in a very nice retirement community and taking trips for pleasure. And of course, I would be lying if I said I'm not appreciative for their financial legacy, that leftover money they bequeathed to us kids.

But I'll be eternally indebted to Mama and Daddy for the other legacy they left us. You see, whereas they used discretion when spending money, they completely blew the budget when it came to spending their lives on people. They lived Jesus' words in Matthew 16:24-25: "If anyone would come after me, he must deny himself and take up his cross and follow me. For whoever wants to save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for me will find it." I pray that I will be like that, that my children and friends and even people who don't know me well will be able to say they looked at me and saw Jesus. Thank you, Mama and Daddy, for this inheritance. It is precious. It is eternal. It's why I miss you so much.

"Softens Hands While You Do Dishes"

Remember the old Palmolive dishwashing detergent commercials? Women in beauty salons with their nails dipped in bowls of kelly green Palmolive? The manicurist, Madge, reassuring them, "Relax, it's Palmolive!" (You can see an example on youtube. Just do a search for 70s consumerism - Palmolive.)

Then, about ten years ago, the hot paraffin wax portable spas came along. They advertised that in just one treatment, your hands would be noticeably softer and younger looking. Of course, the model was always closer to twenty years old than forty. Her hands undoubtedly looked pretty fabulous to start with. She had not been asked by her eight-year-old grandson what the red, rough place on the back of her left hand was (eczema) and then been informed that the dark places were liver spots! (You can see an example of the young woman on youtube. Just do a search for Paraffin Wax Spa Hand Treatment at Home. You can see the old woman's liver-spotted hands by coming by my house on any given day.)

Current trends lean towards hand massages with healing oils, pumice stones, intensive care hand lotions, built-in lotion dispensers next to the built-in detergent dispensers next to the latest kitchen faucets, and so on.

Calluses can be a good thing. As in guitar-playing and knee-praying. But no one wants to shake hands with someone whose hands are dry, cracked and rough. No one wants those hands caressing his face. Those hands are disastrous when a woman is trying to put on panty hose.

How do your hands look? Are they dry, callused? Has the wear and tear of life worn and torn them? Is there really no such thing as a dishwashing detergent that softens hands? Do you just not have time to do home hot paraffin wax treatments? Do your pumice stone and intensive healing lotion sit in the drawer unused? Have your loved ones gotten used to the roughness of your hands and you really don't care what strangers think? Well, that's okay. I have to admit that sometimes mine are soft and sometimes they could sand a two by four smooth.

I hate to admit that my heart might be like that, too. Sometimes it is soft towards hurting people, slow people, disrespectul people, boring people. Sometimes it is soft towards God. Sometimes I want to know Him and His plans for my life, no matter what. But at other times, especially those days when I haven't read God's Word or worshiped Him or prayed, my heart feels callused. I care about me. Me and mine only. Oh, how I need Him to smooth away the rough, selfish places in my heart. How about you? Ponder these lyrics by Keith Getty. If you know the tune, sing with me.

Speak, O Lord, as we come to You
To receive the food of Your Holy Word.
Take Your truth, plant it deep in us;
Shape and fashion us in Your likeness,
That the light of Christ might be seen today
In our acts of love and our deeds of faith.
Speak, O Lord, and fulfill in us
All Your purposes for Your glory.

Teach us, Lord, full obedience,
Holy reverence, true humility;
Test our thoughts and our attitudes
In the radiance of Your purity.
Cause our faith to rise; cause our eyes to see
Your majestic love and authority.
Words of pow'r that can never fail -
Let their truth prevail over unbelief.

Speak, O Lord, and renew our minds;
Help us grasp the heights of Your plans for us -
Truths unchanged from the dawn of time
That will echo down through eternity.
And by grace we'll stand on Your promises,
And by faith we'll walk as You walk with us.
Speak, O Lord, till Your church is built
And the earth is filled with Your glory.

Just One Thing

My friend Sherrie is the director of our church's weekday preschool program. We were in Cracker Barrel yesterday when she asked me what I thought she should give the teachers for their Christmas gifts. We looked around a bit, but no inspiration came. After more discussion, however, I had an idea she jumped on. So, after we had eaten lunch, we went to a large store that sells just about everything you can imagine.

As we began looking through all the giftware, I was reminded of a time a few years back when I went to that store looking for teapots. I was the Preschool Minister of our church, and I had decided to have a tea party for young girls and their mothers. I wanted each table to have a different teapot as a centerpiece, so for several months I hunted for teapots. It got to the point where I could walk in a store and see only those small things that had handles sticking out of one side. All the other paraphernalia in the store would fade to the background, and all I had to do was check the item to determine if it was a teapot, pitcher, or mug.

After several more weeks of searching, my mind had learned to notice only those items that had a handle on one side and a spout on the other, thereby eliminating mugs from my view. Then, finally, after a couple more weeks, I could scan the shelves of a store and see only those things with a handle on one side, a spout on the other and a lid on the top. I was looking for and looking at just one thing - teapots! My search became so simple that I began seeing teapots practically everywhere I went, and I had to stop buying!!!

There's such a wonderful spiritual lesson in this, friends. We can get overwhelmed living in this world where we're bombarded with all kinds of "stuff." Finding God's will for our lives should be easier than it is, and I want to challenge you to start today by narrowing your search. Jesus said to Martha of Bethany, "You are worried and upset about many things, but only one thing is needed." That one thing was modeled by Martha's sister, Mary, who sat at the Lord's feet listening to Him.

We need to get to know Jesus by reading the gospels over and over. Then we will learn the shape of Him. Finally, as we walk through this crowded, busy, hurried, sinful world, we will begin to see where He is, what He is doing, how we can join in on what He is about. The world will fade from view, and just the one thing - Jesus - will fill our thoughts and hearts. And that is His will for our lives, His good, pleasing and perfect will (Rom. 12:2b).