It's here--Christmas

We've already had two of our three family Christmas events. On Sunday we celebrated at Aunt Polly's with the Humphrey families. We have much to be thankful for. Cody, who spent six months in Afghanistan, is home along with his wife, Ashley. They drove in from San Diego Saturday, so we celebrated together Sunday. I've known for weeks that he came home unharmed, but I really like to see for myself that he is ok. I'm so hoping that he remains stateside in 2011. Kirby and Beth brought down pizza from a place in Piedmont, and we had too much food once again.
Sunday evening we traveled to Wellston to celebrate with Phyllis's family. I love seeing all of her grandkids opening the gifts that Papa Fred bought. We play Dirty Santa each year, and it's now possible to include all of the kids in the game. They are so very funny. There's not a mean bone in any of the young kids, so they don't "get" the Dirty Santa object. They just trade around until everyone gets something they wanted. It's always during the Dirty Santa that Phyllis's presence is missed the most. She was always the rulemaker each year, and we all just followed her rules. Ironically, Sunday was the anniversary of her death. We didn't mention that, but it was "the elephant in the room." I have to remind myself that she is in heaven and not missing us which is one of the greatest mysteries of eternity. We miss her so much. How could she not miss us?
Of course, Jason's presence was a huge void at both houses. Seeing Carson, Kirby, and Cody around the table with no Jason is painful. Then thinking how close Marty, Monty, and Jason were when they were growing up and seeing their families so grown up makes me miss Jason all the more. He was always a part of that Christmas and loved teasing those kids. Janna and Jason were so close as kids, but as adults they seemed to bond even more.
I guess we're all determined to celebrate the holidays despite the losses we've suffered.
I keep thinking of all the families in Tecumseh who are struggling through their first Christmas after the death of a husband, wife, child, grandchild, brother, sister, friend. We've had too much loss this year.
To the Fowlers, Tiffins, Cokers, Belvins, Vickerys, Bowlins, Trousdales, Wardens, I know that this year is unbearable. Our first Christmas without Jason was the most difficult of my life, and I've had difficult Christmases. I couldn't take a picture, I couldn't bake his favorites, I couldn't shop, I couldn't decorate. Fortunately, I'm surrounded by a support group of friends and family, so I made it through. Every family that I mentioned is strong and united. They will survive this Christmas together.
I am praying for all of these families, especially the ones who are grieving the loss of a child. We will never be the same, we will never celebrate a Christmas without a bittersweet memory of our missing children, but each year will be less painful than the one before.

Finally, What a Relief! What a Blessing!

Today our church called a new pastor, ending weeks of searching for the right man for the job. I am such an impatient person that this once again has been difficult for me. I like order, structure, and consistency in church. I want to know when I go who will be speaking, and the last several months have been week after week of surprises. Some of those surprises have blessed my heart, so I really shouldn't be complaining; I'm not sure I am complaining; I'm just very glad that the search is over, and we have a new man in the pulpit.
He comes from a church three times larger than ours, so I'm sure he has already encountered all the personality traits, quirks, and oddities that a congregation can hold; therefore, I don't think I have any advice for him. We're a dysfunctional, functional family made up of flawed, perfect people. Does that make sense?
I'll just say that what I love about Harrah Church is the heart it has always had for the lost. Harrah Church in the few years I've been there has been a church to win unchurched people for Jesus and then to mentor those people along in the faith. Are we always successful? No, some of the people we have won to the Lord no longer attend Harrah or any other church, but many of them are actively serving God in positions that a few years ago they would have never thought possible.
What does it look like when you reach the unchurched? The unspoken "rules" are completely foreign to these people. They don't dress "churchy"; they don't always speak "churchy"; their testimonies are real, sometimes heartbreaking, but always inspiring; they love Jesus, and they want all of their friends and family to love Jesus too.
When my kids have attended church with me there, the boys were bothered by the hats worn in the building. You see, Jason and Carson knew the "rules" of church--they would never enter a church building with a cap or hat on. It was funny that I was the one to have to explain to them that God was looking at the heart of these men, not the top of their heads. Rules like that can be barriers to the very people we are working to reach. You would have thought that the older generation would have had to be taught tolerance, not the other way around.
I'm looking forward to years of working alongside Kevin Daniels and his family.

Trash talking

I have an aversion to trash talking. Why? I'm not a trash talker, so I don't want people to talk trash to me. I think I'm going to create a line of tshirts and hats that say. I'm a __________(you can put any team name in here)fan-with a big ghostbusters sign over a trashcan. I think I might be able to sell them to many, many people. I can't be the only person who feels this way. If you see the people around you at a ballgame wearing that shirt, you know that they will be nice to you, they will cheer for their own team, they might yell at a referee, but they will not be unsportsmanlike to the opponents.
It probably comes from eighteen years of being a cheerleading sponsor/coach. I wouldn't let my cheerleaders do those UGLY cheers; you know the ones that put down the opponents. I guess that way of thinking permeated my brain.
One of the reasons I hate it so is that it brings out the very worst in people (me). People that I love and agree with on almost every other important issue in life can make an ugly comment about a team I like, and all of the sudden, my mind is working hard to come up with a comeback. I can tell you that my comebacks are usually pretty good, but no one will ever know that because I keep them to myself.
Now, if you buy one of my shirts and I hear that you are talking trash, your shirt will be revoked without a refund.

Let's try something new; what a concept.

Recently, there have been multiple occasions where Christians have gathered to protest another person's or group's freedom. There was a Satanic group that had some kind of meeting in OKC, and some believers went to protest. An atheist group has put up some billboards promoting athiesm, and believers were outraged. Many, not all, Christians have shown their ugly side over the mosque being built in NYC. This is still America, isn't it?
My proposal is based on I Peter 2:11-23; the heading in my Bible says
Living Godly Lives in a Pagan Society
11 Dear friends, I urge you, as foreigners and exiles, to abstain from sinful desires, which wage war against your soul. 12 Live such good lives among the pagans that, though they accuse you of doing wrong, they may see your good deeds and glorify God on the day he visits us.
13 Submit yourselves for the Lord’s sake to every human authority: whether to the emperor, as the supreme authority, 14 or to governors, who are sent by him to punish those who do wrong and to commend those who do right. 15 For it is God’s will that by doing good you should silence the ignorant talk of foolish people. 16 Live as free people, but do not use your freedom as a cover-up for evil; live as God’s slaves. 17 Show proper respect to everyone, love the family of believers, fear God, honor the emperor.

18 Slaves, (Debbie's note: employees) in reverent fear of God submit yourselves to your masters (bosses), not only to those who are good and considerate, but also to those who are harsh. 19 For it is commendable if someone bears up under the pain of unjust suffering because they are conscious of God. 20 But how is it to your credit if you receive a beating for doing wrong and endure it? But if you suffer for doing good and you endure it, this is commendable before God. 21 To this you were called, because Christ suffered for you, leaving you an example, that you should follow in his steps.

22 “He committed no sin,
and no deceit was found in his mouth.”[a]

23 When they hurled their insults at him, he did not retaliate; when he suffered, he made no threats. Instead, he entrusted himself to him who judges justly.

Some people will see this as letting the pagans take over. If you believe what the Bible teaches, this world already belongs to the pagans. I certainly believe we must keep ourselves blameless, but lately I don't think some Christians are very good ambassadors for Christ. I don't think this means we should just ignore everything that is going on around us, but I do think we need to stage a respectful event that brings glory to God if we want to challenge another's rights.
Let's give this a try. Don't just wear the t-shirt or the bracelet. Really ask yourself, "What would Jesus do?" When you encounter someone who insults you because of your faith, be as Christlike as is humanly possible so that they can find no fault in your example. I've known some Christians who can do this; I'm sorry to say, I haven't always represented Christ in the best way.
Hey, I'm now fifty-six years old. I've learned a lot in all those years, so I'll make every effort for the rest of my life to think before I argue, think before I spout off, think before I comment. Man, that's a lot of thinking.

Time

Today I am fifty-six years old. How in the world did that happen? I don't feel as old as I used to think a fifty-six year old person would feel. I've always been of the "you're as old as you feel" train of thought. I'm planning to feel young for the rest of my life. I really inherited that mindset. My mom was young at heart, so I'm going to follow her example. She was always the kind of person that everyone wanted to be around. Most of the people I work with are younger than I am; some are young enough to be my children, but we have so much fun together. They're all a bunch of dorks sometimes, but they certainly keep me laughing. Today I received a birthday card from my planning period buddies Jennifer Cox. and Jennifer McKnight. Jennifer C. wrote a very nice, heartfelt message in the card. Sweet right? Then Jennifer M. wrote the exact same message right below it. Anything for a laugh, I think tomorrow, I will act like my feelings are hurt because Jennifer M. made fun of my birthday message. I won't do that because I learned a few years ago that I shouldn't be a part of practical jokes. We thought we would pull a good one on McKnight by telling her that we had to come back to school the day after Memorial Day because they had made a mistake in the calendar. We had to lie to Cox too because she can't lie to save her soul. The problem was that Cox canceled a very important day with her daughter because she thought she had to go to school. Mr. Blue was NOT happy with us. We all pretty much decided that we needed to ease off the pranks.
As always, I'm thinking of Jason today. I miss getting that phone call. Right after his death, his friend Jake gave me the book 90 minutes in heaven. Occasionally, I re-read the chapters that describe heaven. I know time will mean nothing in heaven, but I was thinking this week that if it did, the people up there probably feel sorry for he ones who had the longest life here on earth.
We tell everyone happy birthday to celebrate their living one more year on earth. We really should be offering our sympathy. The luckiest ones are the ones who live here for a brief time and a longer time in heaven.
We're not going to care about this when we get there, but I can imagine the conversation.

Heaven's Greeter: Hi, welcome to heaven.
Newbee: Wow, this place is awesome.
Greeter: Tell me about yourself.
Newbee: Well, I was a wife, mother, grandmother, great-grandmother. I had a very long long.
Greeter: Oh, bless your heart; I'm so sorry. Don't worry, honey, everything's going to be all right now. All your troubles are over.

Peer Pressure

We constantly tell kids not to give in to peer pressure, but guess what? I cave in to peer pressure every week at least once. I don't have a problem with caving on the things we warn kids about. I don't drink, not because I think it is a sin. I just don't drink. I don't smoke because I spent the first 18 years of my life breathing in second hand smoke and going to school every day smelling like an ashtray because my dad smoked. When I finally starting breathing fresh air, I became determined to continue to take care of my lungs. I won't follow someone into breaking the law or doing something immoral. My problem is one of attitude.
We discussed this in my Sunday School class this morning and then the preacher mentioned the same thing in the sermon. I think God is trying to tell me something.
I am very easily swayed when I'm around someone with a negative attitude. I can be in a decent mood when someone I'm around starts talking about how horrible our society is, how much worse kids today are, how much things have changed in a very short time, how teachers are in a no win situation today....and I will join right in. Pretty soon, I'm hating my job, regretting my choice of careers, dreading entering the classroom.
I can go visit someone and be in a perfectly good mood, and then the conversation turns to someone who has done something to make me mad. Usually this person has not hurt me but someone I love. I will join right in to the conversation until, by the time I leave, I'm angry all over again. I'm a fool.
I can get on Facebook and be looking for the funny posts that I love so much concerning life and living. Suddenly, someone posts some statistic or fact that is negative, someone else posts some anti-(fill in the blank) tirade, some political misinformation, whatever, and I am either joining in or arguing in my head with them. I have learned not to type my arguments in. Facebook is supposed to be fun; if it isn't, I'm getting off.
I'm going to make myself a list of Commandments.
I shall not surround yourself with negative people.
I shall not sit at a lunch table with people who want to talk about anything serious.
I shall not enter into an argument on Facebook.
I shall not allow another person to determine my attitude or remind me of the things that I need to forget.
I shall remember that I am a child of God, saved by grace, on my way to heaven.
I shall remember that I have been blessed beyond measure with healthy, happy children. Although we lost Jason from this earthly life, my future with him is secure.
I shall remember that I will spend eternity with the Savior that I worship and the family that I love.
I shall remember that Attitude is the Mind's paintbrush, it can color any situation.
(I didn't write that one myself. It's on a poster that has been in my classroom for several years.) I choose to paint my mind with pretty, positive colors. I'm not going to allow anyone to put those dark, dreary colors into my mind.
Good Lord, I'm almost fifty-six years old. When will I get this stuff right? How many times do I post something like this and wonder why it has taken me so long to realize this? I pride myself in being a life-long learner, but I wish I hadn't taken so long to learn, and relearn, so many life lessons.

What a treat.

I go to church each week in anticipation. We are in between pastors right now, so we don't always know who will be speaking. This morning I was pleasantly surprised by a blast from the not so distant past. Kenny Myers who was my pastor at Tecumseh was our guest speaker. I've missed his sermons so much. He is funny and wise (should I add "beyond his years"), but what rings true from him in every sermon I have heard him preach is that he has a heart for Jesus. He knows what is important, and he stays with that message. Following Jesus is all that matters.
Today he used the example of the disciples who had been following John the Baptist but immediately left John and began following Jesus when they met Him. He asked us who we were following. In the two years since Jason's death, I have read everything I can find from the Christian perspective about grief. I have attended Bible Studies and searched for answers. I have read blogs, facebook entries, magazine articles, and all tell me the same thing. Time is the great healer; however, I really wanted more than that. I want a step-by-step procedure to survive this trial. Guess what? It doesn't exist. This is what is important. Jesus, the incarnate God, came to earth, lived, preached, died, and rose again so that I could survive this unimaginable loss. Jason believed that; therefore, he Lives in heaven. I believe that; therefore, I will someday join him in heaven. I want to live my life so that anyone who doesn't believe that will see a difference in me and how I handle this life and will want to know about the God I serve.
Will I ever get beyond my grief on this earth, probably not. Jason was my child, my baby, my little boy, my kid, my son. His death left a huge gap in my family, but there is no gap in my heart because I still love him the same today as I did the day he was born. For me he still exists. I've read the books, I listened to the songs, I've talked to others who have traveled this road, and all tell me to keep my eyes on what's important.
Today's message reinforced all that I have learned in the past two years. Thank you, God, for sending your man to preach a message just for me. I know there were hundreds of people in the service, but the message was mine.

Hair Bigotry

Psalm 71:18
Even when I am old and gray,
do not forsake me, O God,
till I declare your power to the next generation
your might to all who are to come

Gray hair--does it trigger respect? honor? humor? What do I think when I see someone with gray hair? Sometimes I think, do I look that old? Sometimes I think, I hope I look that good. I jokingly told my students today that gray hair is a symbol of wisdom and respect, but is it really? I let my hair go gray because I wasn't fooling anyone. I colored my hair for several years, but because I am blessed or cursed with healthy hair that grows fast, a color would only look good for about two weeks. Then my gray roots would show, and everyone knew the "truth."
My sister Phyllis was very ill at that time that I decided to quit coloring, and I was very stressed because the reality was hitting me that she wasn't going to get better. When you combine the genetic fact that my mom went gray early to the stress of watching my sister die a slow, agonizing death, my hair just kept getting grayer and grayer. I finally just gave up.
What is different about the way people treat me? Well, a couple of years ago, our Language Arts department attended a computer workshop, and the instructor stood behind me because she thought I needed constant help. In truth I wasn't the one that needed the extra help. It was my first experience with prejudice. It made me laugh at the time, but truthfully, it also made me mad.
One place I've really noticed that I'm treated differently is on the ski slopes. People gingerly ski past me; I guess they don't want to knock me down because I might break a hip.
I can remember my mom complaining that men could go gray and look distinguished, but when women let their hair go gray, they just look old. Does it bother me to look old? I guess not. If it did, I would color my hair.
Let's go back to the scripture at the top. God doesn't care what color my hair is. He will not forsake me, He will not assume that because I am gray that I am not as "sharp" as I used to be. He still expects me to declare His power to the next generation.
My mom was one of the most "young at heart" people I've ever known. I hope one of the many things I learned from her is to maintain the mindset that I have something to offer. God's message is timeless; I can't go wrong.

Music

At Jason's funeral the minister told us to find comfort in music. I try to do that--I try to listen to "positive, encouraging" music of all genres. I don't have to just listen to Christian music to get positive messages, so I listen to all kinds of music. My ipod is very eclectic--blues, jazz, country, rock, folk, Christian. I don't like rap or heavy metal, so I leave that to others.
I have been amazed at the number of times in the last two years that I have found comfort in the music at church, on the radio, on a cd, on my ipod. Today one of the songs we sang at church was new to me. Get this, the refrain said, "The love of God is stronger than the power of death."
I need to talk to the people who choose the selections at our church and let them know that I appreciate that they listen to the Holy Spirit when selecting music. So many times in the last two years, they have chosen a song that has ministered to my broken heart. Thank you, thank you, thank you.
I'm determined to make my life worthwhile. I'm tempted to hole up and pout, but I refuse to do that. I will make whatever time I have left on this earth good. I want to honor Jason that way. I think sometimes I have to do all the good he didn't get to do.
This week marks the two year anniversary of his death. My mind has been going wild with memories of the last time I saw him, the last time I talked to him, the moment I was told that he was dead, the days between his death and his funeral, his funeral. The days, weeks, month following his death. I'm going to be honest. God did something in my heart at first. In the early days after Jason's death, I really couldn't feel anything. The pain would have been so great that my heart might have stopped except that God protected me. By the time the first two weeks had passed, my heart caught up with my mind; I still have moments when I just can't believe that he is gone.

Dreaded weekend

I've made it pretty well through September. I've had my moments, but for the most part, this month has been just like all other months. Some days are harder than others.
Football season makes me sad. There's so much to remember about Jason and Cowboy football. He loved his Cowboys. If he wasn't able to attend the game, he would call or text to keep up with the score. I was so accustomed to having to watch or listen with my phone in hand that it seems strange to just watch.
I've been kind of busy the last two days. I had Friday off just as I did two years ago, but I wasn't as productive yesterday as I was that year. I scrubbed the porch and front of the house that year and worked in my flower beds. I kept thinking that I would do that yesterday, but I just didn't have it in me.
I had to go to a funeral yesterday afternoon. My childhood friend Marla buried her dad, so my mind has been wandering back to the past. Then Tony and I ate at Boomerang last night. He loves to go there on Friday nights because they have fried catfish. I think he would go every Friday if I didn't put my foot down and refuse. Nothing against Boomerang, it's just that he doesn't need that much fried food.
He went out to Bruce's after dinner, and I went to the school to catch up on some work. I can get so much done when I am down there alone. I'm way too social to get much work done on parent/teacher conference nights. I love the people I work with, but our time together is limited to a few minutes before school and thirty minutes at lunch. We had a ball Thursday night when all the parents were gone, and we were left in the lounge to finish out the night.
It's kind of a joke that we go into our rooms and spend all our time with students that we don't really see one another from Aug. to Christmas, but our faculty is so different from most school staffs. We've truly been through so much together that we have bonds that transcend friendship and go straight to family.
Births, deaths, illnesses, accidents, graduations, kids moving out, kids moving back home, all of life's drama has been shared with these people. I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that many of them are praying for me this weekend and will continue next week.
Today has been just what Saturday always is for us. We went to Hardesty's, Firelake, home. I went to Shawnee and ran a couple of errands, came home, cleaned house, did laundry, reviewed Sunday School lesson, now I'm listening to Cowboy football. It's a blowout,so I think I'll turn it off and watch a movie. I've got papers to grade that I should do tonight because Carson is coming home tomorrow to spend the day with us. I know I won't get anything done until tomorrow night, so I'll just get it done tonight so that I will be able to enjoy my day with the kids.

Grace

My Sunday school class has been studying Peter. I think there is a reason that they chose to study him. It may have been to teach me. He is a character that I can all relate to. He stuck his foot in his mouth just like I do. He was impetuous, impulsive, (notice that both of those words start with imp). He was the one who denied Christ. He actually said the words, "I don't know him." We talked in class about how we deny Christ today. I've never been in a situation where my life was in danger, so I can't say what I would do if I were threatened. I hope I would remain faithful, but I have denied Christ by my actions. I've let people look at me in my silly seasons and think, isn't she supposed to be a Christian. That's denying Christ. I think one important thing for us to think about is what we do after we have done something that denies Christ. Many of us have gone into hiding or avoided ministry because we don't feel like we should represent Him. Someone else who has been wiser has to do that job.
After the resurrection Peter preached the sermon recorded in Acts that ended with 3000 people becoming believers. What if Peter had gone in hiding after he heard that rooster? What if he had done the "human" thing and felt unworthy to witness? What would have happened to the cause if he had kept quiet on the day of Pentecost? I've also had to rethink my feelings about "fallen" people being in the ministry. If God wants someone to continue to preach, who am I to say they aren't fit? I wonder how old I will be when I get this all figured out?

September

This week will bring with it the first of September. Last year September kicked my butt. As soon as I started seeing that month, I began to relive the previous year. Up to the 20th, I kept thinking--this time last year, Jason was still here. Did I talk to him one year ago today? What was he doing? Then from the 20th on---my thoughts went through reliving the days following his death. I am determined to meet September head on this year. I planted mums today. As soon as the pansies and cabbages are out in the stores, I will plant them. I will watch and enjoy OSU, Miami Dolphins, and THS football. I will remember Jason, but this year, I'm determined to remember the good. I have some projects to do that will occupy my time and bless the people who loved him. I refuse to let a month that always was a pleasant month for me become a month of constant pain.
September was usually a month of misery for Jason. His fall allergies were pretty rough. Claritin, Allegra, Zyrtec, nose spray..He tried it all. That's one consolation I have. There's no need for that stuff in heaven.
That's really the only way I can survive. He still exists. He is whole, healthy,
perfect. Even those precious scars that so identified him here are gone. I know that my friends and family are praying for us this month and every month. I also know that God is answering those prayers. The most unimaginable pain is survivable. I really didn't think it was. I really thought that losing a child would destroy me, but Jason is in my future. I don't know how many Septembers I have before I see him, but I refuse to let the month knock me flat ever again.
I am a child of God with a future in heaven. The days of my life here on this earth are nothing compared to the time I have in eternity. I will forever focus on that.

Nice to meet you, I'm your great great great grandfather.

I've been thinking about heaven a lot lately. I've been to so many funerals and visited with so many grieving parents and grandparents in the last few months that I guess it's no wonder. Something has come to my attention recently, and it's so obvious that I feel like saying, duh, but I love my new train of thought.
I always think of Jason in heaven with my parents, Tony's dad, my sisters, and some of the other relatives that Jason knew here on this earth. What has come to my attention recently is that Jason is in heaven with ancestors that he nor I ever met.
I come from a long line of Christian people. I wonder how many generations back his new acquaintances go. Has he found the source of his passions? Has he met a great great grandfather that he has so much in common with that they hang out all the time?
Jason loved music, loved to sing, loved to listen to music. Has he found a person in our ancestry that shares that love. Do they sing together? What perfect harmony is he listening to?
Does he know these people immediately, or does each generation have to introduce him to the one they knew until they go all the way back to ....(I don't know who).
My cousins have searched the Rider family all the way back to England, but they go back farther than that. I wonder if I had a relative that was one of the early Christians. Maybe I have a blood connection to one of the early believers. Maybe the Apostle Paul preached in a city that my ancestor lived in, and that ancestor shared his faith, lived his faith so that his children and children's children were also believers.
I think I'll start praying for my descendants. To think that I will be able to meet my great great grandchildren someday when I never knew them while I was living...that's pretty cool. I hope that they will be able to trace their lineage back to my life. Luckily, it won't stop there because I stand on the shoulders of previous generations of Christ followers.
I get antsy with this life. I would love to have grandchildren when the time is right, but I'm already 55, so I doubt that I live to see great grandchildren, but who cares, I'll spend eternity with them, and I won't be aged and infirm. I'll be able to match them step for step.

I'm so tired of going to funerals.

It is becoming embarrassing. What in the world are we doing in Tecumseh, Oklahoma that is causing all this suffering? How can we stop it? I went to ANOTHER funeral of a 22 year old this morning. I'm seeing the same kids and parents over and over again in the worst of circumstances.
Today's service was for Garrett Bowlan, a classmate of Carson's from both South Rock Creek, THS, and OSU. Another auto accident took the life of one of our beloved kids. Garrett was senior class president of the Class of 2006. He was a story-teller, fisherman, hunter, photographer, artist, musician, and all around great kid. I know, he was 22, so he wasn't a kid now, but in my eyes, he's still Garrett the kid with the great big smile.
As far as funerals go, this was a good one. Garrett was a "Christian and proud of it." His mother read a book report that Garrett wrote that pretty much summed up his life. Wow, he never wrote anything that profound in my class. I guess he grew up from the time he was a junior until he was a college sophomore.
The thing that really got me today was seeing the faces of the SRC parents. It was only a few years ago that we all sat together at little league baseball games and cheered as our kids played. It was only a few years ago that we sat at the SRC Christmas programs or Community Club meetings. There was a common look in all our eyes. Shock, fear, disbelief-how could these kids be leaving us so soon? Why? How can we be assured that it won't happen again?
Because of the recent barage of funerals, Garrett had made his wishes known. He wanted a casual celebration of his life, so that's what he got. People were wearing orange that have never worn orange in their lives. I took pictures. Several people spoke and told funny stories-a vital part of a funeral to me. It didn't use to be, but now it is. I'm so glad we had my nephew Marty speak at Jason's service. He told story after story of Jason's childhood and had the entire crowd wiping tears of laughter. That's so appropriate for people like Jason and Garrett who loved to laugh and to make people laugh.
I'm ready for some happy occasions. I'm challenging all the students who have been so saddened and affected by the recent deaths of their friends and classmates to invite their former teachers when they are having events to celebrate. We want to be a part of your weddings, Christenings, graduation parties, whatever. We'll bring presents; we'll help clean-up; we'll do anything to see all of you in happy moments.
Live it up, Garrett Bowlan. I can only imagine.

I'm gonna miss that smile

When Wayman Tisdale died of cancer last year, Toby Keith immediately wrote a song; he called it "Wayman's Song" but it became Jason's song to me the very first time I heard.
I’m gonna miss that smile
I’m gonna miss you my friend
Even though it hurts the way it ended up
I’d do it all again
So play it sweet in heaven
’Cause that’s right where you wanna be
I’m not crying because I feel so sorry for you
I’m crying for me.
That was one of the songs played at Brittany's funeral today, and it made me realize that of all the things I miss most about Jason, his smile is foremost. I love looking at his pictures and seeing a real smile, not a smile for the camera, but a smile that came from pure joy of living.
The pictures of Brittany were the same. The things they all had in common was a beautiful smile that told us that she loved life and loved the people she was with when the picture was taken.
I'm very sentimental today; it's Allison's 30th birthday, and she isn't here to celebrate, but I'm overjoyed because she has a new job that is a wonderful opportunity for her. She'll be home next week for a week, so we'll celebrate big time when she gets home.
Going to another young person's funeral has emotionally worn me out, but I'm later going to a birthday party for Bruce and Brian's 60th birthday. This is a huge event for us because it's the first of our friends to turn 60. How did it happen so soon? Just a fews days ago we were talking about turning 40.
We've been knocked around considerably in the past 20 years, but I'm so thankful for the friendship that we will celebrate today. Bruce's wife has been my very best friend since before I started to school. That's a long friendship.
While we are at the party, we will see friends that we haven't seen since Jason's death. That's always difficult for me, so if you read this between the hours of 3 and 8 today, say a prayer of strength for me. I'm kind of weepy today, and I don't want to put a damper on the afternoon.

Rant--Facebook etiquette.

I just went to visit Brittany Coker’s family. Brittany was killed in a car accident last night, and her death was posted on facebook before her family was notified. OK, people, you don’t have to be the first to post something as soon as you hear it. Please think before you post.
After I talked to her mother, I realized that I knew of Brittany’s death before her own mother was notified. This shouldn’t happen.
When my son Jason was killed, he was in Nebraska, and the accident occurred at 11:30 p. m. We were notified in person by two deputy sheriffs at 3:00. Brittany’s grandparents were notified of her death by a relative who saw it on facebook. This shouldn’t happen.
Brittany’s mother was told of her daughter’s death over the telephone. This shouldn’t happen.
I don’t know any other way to get to the facebook crowd than to post on facebook, so I’m asking you to copy and paste this to your wall so that it will get to as many people as possible.

Debbie Humphrey

Ch-Ch-Ch-Changes

Changes--that seems to be the pattern life is in for me, my family, and my friends right now. This summer I have had to accept some changes that I'm not ready to accept, and I've rejoiced in some of the changes that I have hoped and prayed for that are finally coming to pass.
At school--Toni, one of my closest friends, resigned to take a job with the American Cancer Society. I know, it's noble work, but I really enjoyed being in the THS foxhole with her. The last few years our entire faculty has changed. Retirement, leave of absence, relocation, and death has taken several of my dear friends that I worked with for many years. Facebook has allowed many of us to stay in touch, so it's not so tough as it could be, but I miss them. I dearly love the people who have been hired to take their places though. I guess there's a lesson there for all of us.
At church--our pastor resigned last week. I'm not going to say it was a complete shock because I've suspected it was coming for a few weeks, but I'm very sad. I'm sad because he is an excellent preacher, and I enjoy excellent sermons. I'm always sad when we have to go through the process of finding a new pastor. It's a trying time for any church. I have every confidence that the men who are on the search committee will be wise in choosing the man God has in mind for us, but I'm impatient; I hate the unknown. The church has only had three pastors in its history, and all have stayed for several years, so I'm sure the right man will be in the pulpit soon.
At home--this is the answer to prayer. Allison is moving back home for a while because she has taken a job with ATT. She will be working in Seminole at the ATT store. If anyone reading this is ready for and upgrade, wait a month so that she can sell you a phone. She is in St. Louis right now for training. I can't tell you how happy I am for her. The added bonus is that I get to keep her dog Lady while she's gone. She may be the sweetest dog in the history of all dogs.
I'm taking a Beth Moore Bible study this summer called Believing God. That's what I'm doing right now. I'm believing God that all the changes in my life are for good. Some are easy for me to see the good, but others not so much. I'm believing God.

Another 4th with some empty places

Yesterday we celebrated Fourth of July the way we always do, family, feast, fireworks, but we had some empty places this year that made the day bittersweet. Of course, any time the family is together, I miss Jason, but yesterday I couldn't help missing Cody and Ashley too. Cody is serving in Afghanistan right now, and his wife Ashley is living in San Diego. I hope they both had a good day.
We used to have a picnic down at the ponds every year, but many years ago the venue changed to the house. It was at my in-laws until we moved here, but for the past twenty years, it has been at our house. The crowd has changed, and since we no longer have a pool, the activity has changed too.
Aunt Polly, Gigi, and Granny and Poppy come to visit and have lunch. The kids still have a few fireworks, but that has changed too. Now Carson and Kirby try to figure out how they can make louder, bigger explosions by taping or binding things together while Kirby's wife Beth and Allison watch. I had to think of Cody yesterday. He was the real king of blowing things up; ironic since he is now a part of Navy EODs. His job is to find enemy weapons and blow the up. I pray for his safety and am so anxious to see him home. I wondered about Ashley yesterday; Cindy said she was going to be with friends, so that's good.
Jason wasn't ever allowed to have fireworks. My dad and Tony's dad would give him money not to buy fireworks. When Cody came along, he had to have fireworks, so Jason used to be amazed by watching Carson, Cody and Kirby blowing stuff up. He joined in as an adult, but I wonder if he thought we had lost our minds.
I wasn't expecting any yesterday, but Carson stopped at a fireworks stand and brought some stuff to play with yesterday. I didn't hear it, but he said that Gigi told him it was time to GROWUP! She yelled at him probably for the first time in his life.
Yesterday was a good day--it was a rare cool day in July in Oklahoma. A storm came in about 6:00 and poured another couple of inches of rain on us. At least we didn't have to worry about grass fires this year as we usually do.
I cooked fried chicken tenders and baked hot rolls which also made me think of Cody. When he was just a little guy, he could eat his weight in chicken tenders and hot rolls. I wish there was a way to get some to him.
Maybe when he gets home, we will have mock holidays to celebrate with him and Ashley. We could do Easter ham, Mother's Day burgers, Independence Day chicken. As difficult as it is to get us all together now, we may have to do this all in one day.

Answered Prayer

I think God reads my blog. I posted about how loud the music was at my church, and for the last two weeks, it hasn't been so loud. I learned today that they had an expert come in and balance the sound. Let me just say I appreciate it so much.
Today's sermon challenged me so much. The question was Have you Lost Jesus? In family, in career, or in church. The possibility of maintaining a personal relationship takes an intentional effort.
The preacher mentioned the idea that group dating may be wise for teenagers, but to establish a one-on-one relationship, the couple has to spend time one-on-one. He said that many times we try to group date God. I have been guilty of that. This summer I'm taking the Beth Moore Bible study which requires about five 45 minute sessions each week and two hours on Tuesday with the other ladies in the group. I'm learning so much about myself and God in those private sessions. I'm so jealous of young people who have already figured this out at an early age. Throughout my life I have had periods of private study and periods when I depended on teachers and preachers way too much.

Father's Day

Today is Father's Day. We have had a very lazy day because the kids are not here; we are meeting Tuesday night to celebrate. Carson has a test tomorrow, so he has to study. Allison is in Stillwater taking care of some business up there. Tony is so patient. He doesn't care at all. I am much more selfish. If I don't see them on Mother's Day, my feelings are hurt. I try to be understanding, but deep-down inside, I'm hurt. It must be great to be a guy. I gave him some golfballs (his favorite gift) and a card. He cooked porkchops and rice for lunch. He's watched golf, and I've watched movies all afternoon. We are pretty boring.
This week I have a very busy schedule. I'm going to the clear sight center tomorrow to see if I'm a candidate for lasix. I'm pretty sure I'm not, but I'm going to see. My friend Cindy and I are meeting for lunch and a movie after my appointment. Tuesday is my Beth Moore Bible Study and our Father's Day night out. Thursday, I'm going with a great group of co-workers and former co-workers to the OKC Museum to see the Sketch to Screen exhibit. We'll get to see authentic costumes that were used in movies from silent films to today. We're having lunch at the museum cafe and attending the exhibit with a docent to guide us through. AND we get to ride the trolley. I love my friends.
I've thought of my dad and Tony's dad all day. They were great guys, so different from one another, but they had one thing in common. They both made me think that they believed my kids to be the greatest kids in the world. I'm sure they made our siblings feel the very same.
Daddy always bragged on my kids because they weren't "smart aleck." I thought that was so funny because I couldn't really think of any of his grandkids that I would have thought had smart mouths. A little part of me is missing them today, but I'm so glad they weren't here to experience Jason's death. It would have bee too much for their sweet hearts.

Another lesson

I learned something about myself yesterday. Recently I've been thinking that I needed to start going to early church service. Lately the music in the big service has gotten a little annoying to me. It's too loud, so I started thinking that instead of complaining (like an old lady) I would go to the mellower, acoustic service at 9:00. That service is usually an older crowd, but not everyone is older than I am. Many people just like to go early so that they have more time on Sunday after church to relax and enjoy the day.
Since I was going to a concert last night and wanted to leave fairly early, I went to early church yesterday. Ok, I'm not quite ready for that yet. The music was beautiful, but I really need to worship with a large crowd. I've done my share of being in a small congregation; the reason I drive 23 miles to church is because I enjoy worshipping with 400+.
When I first got into the service yesterday, there might have been thirty people in there. By the time it was over, maybe forty more had come in. The problem was that everyone was scattered out, so I couldn't hear anyone singing. I like to have people around me singing; I don't like to watch the musicians and singers on stage like they are performing. They are leading worship, not performing.
So...what to do?
I'm going back to the second service next week, but I'm taking earplugs. I may buy one of those packages that have several pairs and pass them out to the people around me. Recently I have been concerned about the babies I see in the service. Just because it is Christian music, it doesn't mean that noise level is not dangerous to our hearing.
It's not just the volume; as much as I love the new music, I occasionally like to hear a hymn. I didn't know this until I went to Sharon Warden's funeral and the pianist played a medley of hymns. I sang along in my head with every one. I'm thinking that young Christians in our church won't have those words in their arsenal. The words of those old hymns are embedded in my mind. I can pull up the truths of the songs in the hymnal to my mind anytime I need to.
"He Keeps me Singing" "He Set me Free" "I Shall not be Moved" "When we all get to Heaven" "This World is not my Home" "It Won't Be Very Long" "O How I Love Jesus"
Now, believe me, I love the new praise and worship music. I have CD's with songs that I have added to all of the old songs in my mind, but sometimes I just miss the old stuff.
I really just want the music to be music that leads people to Jesus. Whatever it takes to reach people for Christ is what we need to play. I'm already saved and on my way to heaven; if it takes putting the hymnals away to reach the lost, I'm all for it. I am going to try to preserve my hearing. I have enough hearing loss from my misspent youth; I don't need to do more damage at church.

Hebrews 11:6

Without faith it is impossible to please God, because anyone who comes to Him must believe that He exists and that He rewards those who earnestly seek Him. Hebrews 11:6

I'm attending a Beth Moore study called Believing God this summer. This is the memory verse that I am supposed to memorize this week. I used to be able to memorize scripture; what happened? Every night before I go to bed, I think, ok, I've got it. Then I wake up in the morning, and it's gone. I wish I had been more diligent to memorize scripture when I was young because I still know the verses I memorized when I was a kid. I know that because all the verses I know are in the poetry of the King James Bible.
I've been studying this week about Believing God for your promised land. I guess I'm stupid because I always think of the promised land for Christians as heaven, but this week's lesson teaches that we should be living in our own promised land here on earth. I don't live there. I don't act like a person who lives in the promised land.
I worry. I fret. I stress. I wake up in the middle of the night and stay awake for hours. That's not promised land living. I'm really hoping that nine weeks of study will get me out of the place I've been in and shove me right into the promised land in my mind.
Back to my memory verse, I do have faith in God, I want to please Him, but I'm having trouble with the last part. Some of the people I know who earnestly seek Him haven't been rewarded the way I thought they should have been rewarded. Beth Moore says we will address my doubts in week three. I'm thinking I should read ahead.
I'm giving the ACT tomorrow, so I'll have four hours to read and study. Is it cheating to read ahead in a Bible study? I don't think so. Especially since my memory is so poor, I will probably forget what I read tomorrow by the time week three gets here.

Now for the big one--Jason Craig Humphrey

Jason was our firstborn and the light our lives. He was the first grandchild for Tony's parents and the fifth for my mom and dad. My parents were not the kind to make subsequent grandchildren less important. Every single one was special.
Jason was a very happy baby. I can still hear his giggle when he was just a baby. I could look in his baby book to get exact times and dates for all important events in his early childhood, but I'm not quite tough enough for that.
He was the perfect baby for two young parents because he was never sick; he was easy to take care; he was very content. I think he was about eight months old when he had his first visit to the dr. for anything other than a well-baby check.
As a child Jason was accident prone, and he had the scars to prove it. About the time he started to school, he figured out that he couldn't run harum scarum though life, and his injuries lessened. I'm pretty sure he would have been diagnosed with ADD if I had ever had him tested, but he soon mellowed out.
He was blessed with teachers who always thought he was great; he wasn't the best student in the class, but he was well-behaved, courteous, and cooperative.
It was always a joke with his elementary teachers that he would volunteer me to make cookies for every special day.
He loved horses. From very early in his life, it was obvious to us that he was going to be much more interested in horses than he was in sports. He wanted to spend as much time as possible with his granddad and was blessed with a man who made it possible for him to spend part of every summer with him.
We moved to Tecumseh between 8th and 9th grade, and he immediately fit in well with a great group of kids.
His highschool years were dedicated to horse shows, pig shows, basketball, and ag activities.
When it came time for college, he tried Northern for a semester but soon transfered to Connor's. The first phone call I got from him after a week at Connor's, he said, "Mom, this place is awesome; everyone here is just like me." I wasn't sure that was such a great thing, but he did well there. He participated on the livestock judging team and traveled all over with them.
His years at OSU were equally special. He worked for Marilyn Franz and trained horses while going to school.
We thought everything was going just as it should when he and Candy married. I had absolutely no doubt in their relationship. I never knew what happened, but the marriage ended after about three years.
After that time he drifted a little. He lived in Stillwater, El Reno, Minco, Drumright, back to Stillwater and then he came home for about eight months. That eight months were some of the most special times in our lives. He attended church with me almost every week. That means so much to me today.
I didn't know why, but I was honored that he wanted to spend time with us and knew that he was welcome.
After he moved to Nebraska, our relationship changed to a phone relationship. He called me the morning of his death, and we had a nice visit. It wasn't long enough from today's viewpoint.
I will miss him for the rest of my days.

Linda

My oldest sister Linda was one of a kind. She had a pretty rough life, some of it her fault, some not. She was a very young widow and single mother before she was twenty years old, but she finally got things together and made a life for herself and her kids. She also worked at Tinker when her kids were growing up. That meant she left the house early and was away from home about eleven hours a day.
She loved her family; she was generous to a fault. My dad used to say Linda would give away her last dime. Her life was full of struggles: financial, health, personal, but one thing was certain, she belonged to the Lord.
When she was in the hospital before she died, I spent more time with her than I had in years. We had many conversations about the regrets that she lived with. I kept reminding her that they were covered in the blood, but she would bring them up again.
Of all of my family members who are now in heaven, I'm most assured that Linda is living it up. Here on earth she had lost her eyesight, was bound in a wheelchair because of crippling arthritis, lived with constant pain. Now I envision her walking upright and seeing God's creation with perfect vision and completely pain free.
Linda loved to cook; that's the thing I miss most. I could call her and ask for a recipe or how to cook something, and she was ready with the instructions. She loved having her grandchildren around. When Crystal, Erica, and Allison were little, they loved going to Nan's to spend the day with her. They made crafts and cooked; she made their days special.
I still have Christmas ornaments that she made. They always make me smile because usually there was something not quite right about them. Linda couldn't see to make them perfect. One of them has a deer glued into a large acorn. The deer is backward. When I'm putting the ornaments on the tree, I get to laugh every year about how tickled we all got about that. We called her Linda Magoo.

My Daddy

Some men were meant to be called father, some dad, some pops, but daddy is the only name that really fit my dad. He later became Pa to the grand kids, and that fit, but we called him daddy.
He was tough, he worked hard, he loved his family, he did what was right, he was generous, he was kind, he loved our momma, he loved the Lord in a childlike faith.
I didn't always appreciate him when I was a kid. He was grouchy and a stick-in-the-mud. He always said he would rather eat a bologna sandwich at home than to go out to dinner, but he went when mom insisted. When we went to the Grand Canyon, he said, "Well, it looks just like it does on tv." That made me crazy. I have never understood that way of thinking. If there's an option for me to see a ballgame live or on tv, I'll take the live experience every time. I'd rather go to a concert than to watch a performance on television, but not my dad. He loved his television and was very content just watching the world through that little box. This served him well in his later years because he never got bored.
I'm always shocked at the number of times I refer to the things I learned from my dad. He taught by example, and I never even realized I was paying attention.
He loved to garden and expected us to love his produce. If he called to tell us that corn was ready, he meant that he expected you to come and get your share immediately. That never really went over very well, but we pretty much did what he asked all our lives.
He was a master craftsman. He could take a piece of wood and make a beautiful piece of furniture our of it. My prized possessions are the five-piece panel doors in my kitchen that Daddy made by hand.
-Daddy used to do work for many families in Shawnee that caused him to develop a relationship with all the family. Their kids all loved him. One story that reveals the thoughtfulness and kindness of my father was when one of the little boys who was missing a hand because of a lawnmower accident was trying to play cards with his friends. Daddy saw what trouble he was having, so he went home that night and made card stands for all of the kids so that the little boy wouldn't feel singled out.
Acts like that endeared him to the families he worked for.
-When I was a kid, we had a cocker spaniel named Curly. Curly was fat like cockers sometimes get, so when we went to the cellar, Curly couldn't breath in the enclosed space. Daddy would put Curly up on the top shelf of the canned vegetables and hold him up there so that he could put his head out the vent and breathe.
-Daddy had to be the "head-of-household" for my sisters for many years while they were single parents. He never complained about having to fix the things that fell apart in both of their houses.
-Daddy served in WWII in the Army. He never really talked about the war much except to say that the reason he took a shower and shaved every night before going to bed was because when he was in the Philippines, they didn't have good water to drink much less bathe. He considered it a privilege to go to bed clean every night. He also said he did it for mom because he worked hard all day, and she shouldn't have to sleep next to a sweaty old man.
-Daddy made stilts for all the kids in our neighborhood one summer. That was the funniest sight. Kids of all ages walking around on stilts up and down the street. I'll bet visitors thought they had stumbled onto a strange place on East Washington in Tecumseh.
-Daddy was a good neighbor. He may not have had much in common with the people who lived around him, but they would all say that Nate was a good neighbor. He was not nosey, he was willing to help if needed, he kept his place up. Probably the only thing he could be criticized for in the neighborhood was his old rusted pickup. For Daddy a pickup was a tool to be used for work. His never got pampered; he seldom had a new one; his was always very utilitarian, no fancy gadgets. It probably didn't do much for the look of the neighborhood.
-He hated being home alone. When we were kids, if Daddy couldn't work because of bad weather, we always knew he would come and get us at school. That was awesome. It didn't happen very often, so those days were really special. He always said he couldn't rest with a cellar in the backyard when we were in that big old school.
-He loved his grand kids. He was proud of his family. He was a good son to his parents. He was a good brother to his siblings. He was a wonderful uncle to both his and mom's side of the family.
-He was a talker. I get my garrulousness from him. OK, that may not have been such a great legacy.
-A story that tells volumes about what it was like to be his daughter took place when I was in high school. I went to play practice which was over at 10:00. I went to the Ruby Dee (local drive-in) and started hanging out with some kids that were there. I was sitting in the back seat of a friend's car when he looked in his rearview mirror and said, "Debbie, is that your dad?"
Daddy tapped on the window and said, "Sis, it's time to come home." No drama, no scene. None was necessary, but I assure you I always went straight home after that.
He was solid. I always felt safe when Dad was in the house.

Remembering Phyllis

My sister Phyllis was the best person I've ever known. She was eight when I was born and took her spot as the baby of the family. I don't think she was too thrilled about that, but as the years passed, we became very close. She married young, had Janna a few years later, divorced a couple of years after that, and then she moved back home with Janna when I was about sixteen. I remember thinking she was the best mom I had ever witnessed. Her every move kept Janna in mind. I remember my parents having to tell her that she needed to go out and have a social life. She went to work at Tinker and made a good living for herself and Janna. Later she bought a home in Tecumseh and settled in to thinking that she would always be a single mom.
Boy did things change. After we moved to Wellston, we met Fred Coulson, the industrial arts teacher. Fred was also divorced and a single dad. We introduced them and then let them handle the rest. It took a couple of years, but soon they married, Phyllis and Janna moved to Wellston, and Marty and Monty moved in with their dad. All of the sudden Phyllis had three kids. They lived in a tiny two bedroom trailer while Fred and Tony built their house. I tried to cook a meal at my house and take it to their house every evening so that Tony and Fred could work. That was a long, drawn-out process, but they survived. They came in and stayed with us for a couple of weeks. I can't remember today why, but I remember all of us trying to get ready for school with one bathroom. That was quite an experience.
Later, we stayed with them while our water was off when our kitchen was being remodeled. Believe me our kids were much happier about these sleepovers than any of us, but we made it.
After the house was built, life settled in to 4-H, Ag, basketball, FHA, softball...do you see the trend? All of their life was wrapped around their kids. There were some really rocky times, but they came out on the other side a family of great love and faith.
When Carson was born, Phyllis fell immediately in love. She adored Jason and Allison, but for some reason (maybe it was her age) she couldn't get enough of Carson. She visited after work every chance she got and would just sit and rock him, spoil him, and love him.
It was only two years later that Evan was born. It all became clear; she was practicing being a Granny on Carson. By the time Evan was here, she was a pro at spoiling a kid. She continued in that capacity through Chelsea, Cortney, McKinley, Halle, Savana, Maddox, and if she had lived, McCoy. I still get angry when I think of her life being cut short by pulmonary fibrosis, a lung disease caused by exposure to chemicals at Tinker Field. Her grandkids were all so young and should have had many, many years of being loved by their granny.
During her extended illness, she suffered so much but kept her sense-of-humor and faith. She became so strong in the Lord and many times would comfort us because she knew how much emotional pain her illness caused us.
When I think of her sense-of-humor, I remember her getting tickled. She would get so tickled that she couldn't talk at all. The funny thing is that she and I could get tickled together just remembering one of those times. Once we were driving down the road, and I looked at her and realized that one of her lenses was out of her sunglasses. She was completely oblivious to the fact, so I got tickled, then she got tickled. We could never tell that story to anyone without losing full control. I guess you had to be there.
During her illness Phyllis repeated the verse "I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me." I never see that verse without thinking of her valiant battle for life.
A couple of years before her death, Fred took her to Graceland. Now I had been a couple of times and was glad to go, but to Phyllis Graceland was very special. She was an Elvis fan to the core. She stumbled and fell and hurt her arm before she got to go in, but like the trooper she was, she went in anyway. All of her pictures show her holding her arm and smiling. Later that night she went to the ER and found out that her arm was broken. Prednisone had weakened her bones and made her vulnerable to breaks.
There's so much more I could say about her, but I'd have to write a book to pay the kind of tribute to her that I feel is appropriate.
If my mom is the voice in my head, Phyllis is the amen to that voice. She left a void in so many lives when she died.
I was with her when Dr. Huff told her that she wasn't going to leave the hospital. She was so courageous; I asked her if she was scared. She shook her head. No she wasn't scared, she was going to get to see Mom.
I've never know anyone who hung on to life so hard; most people would have been bitter and angry, but she wasn't. She could do all things through Christ who strengthened her.

Remembering Mom

I have made it very certain to anyone that knows me that I owe more than even I know to my mom's influence. Mom was older than most of my friend's moms. She was thirty-three when I was born, so she had already had so much parenting experience by the time I was around that our relationship was effortless.
I was such a brat. Mom went to work at Montgomery Ward's when I was in the fourth grade. I was worried because Mom was our Campfire Leader. Guess what, we had Campfire at our house on her day off, every Monday afternoon. I don't think I had any idea what exactly that meant until I became a mom and thought about giving up part of my only day off each week for a bunch of silly girls. That didn't last long because mom became the head cashier very quickly and then had Saturday's off. She had a perfect job in a retail chain. She worked eight to five, no weekends, no holidays, but she had so much responsibility. After she retired, used to tell me that if she ever applied for another job, she wanted one with no responsibility. She was probably what is called today a Human Resources person. She took care of payroll (cash envelopes every Wednesday) and daily deposits. She took care of insurance and personnel. Even though she was not in management, many of the employees considered her their boss. Not bad for someone who only finished tenth grade. She was very smart. After she retired, she worked seasonally for H&R Block, she took care of my grandparents and had Grandpa move in with them after Grandma died, she kept Carson and Evan, and then she went to work at the daycare at church. She was still working there until she got so sick she was walking down the hall and holding on to the wall. She said it kept her mind off of herself.
When I think about her life, I always feel that she never got to just enjoy being free. She always had someone to take care of, but that was her gift.
She was a great mom, but she was a terrific Granny. Her grandchildren were her focus in a very healthy way. She wasn't the type to feel the need to stick her nose in to their business, but because of who she was and how she interracted with them, they included her in their lives.
I used to think that it wasn't a good thing for grandparents to keep their grandkids while their parents worked. That was until Mom started keeping Carson for me. I can't tell you how wonderful it was to drop him off where I knew he would be adored by both Mom and Dad all day. Then there was the added perk of Mom cooking stew or chili or beans or an apple pie and saying, "Why don't you take some of this home with you, your dad and I can't eat all of this." That was AWESOME.
I've tried to be like Mom but will never feel that I am a tenth of the person she was. I was a different kind of mom, but if I ever get to be a grandparent, I intend to be just like her.
One really neat memory was the Christmas that she and Dad bought Atari systems for all the families. My sister-in-law and I left the day after Christmas to go shopping and left Toby, Jason, Brandy, and Allison with Granny. When we got home, the living room was a wreck, toys were everywhere, and Mom was sitting in the floor playing Pacman with the kids. That's exactly the kind of Granny I want to be.
She is the voice in my head, in a very good way.

Memorial Weekend

This weekend is Memorial Weekend which for most people means the first lake trip or (around here) Alumni weekend. I went to the cemetery this morning to put new flowers out at Mom and Dad's and Jason's graves. Those trips always put me in a strange mood. I'm not especially saddened by the cemetery like I thought I would be; it is clear to me that the place should be honored because of the stones there that honor the dead, but that's all it is. I don't talk to the headstones or think about the remains of my family. The important part of Mom, Daddy, and Jason are not there, so I don't dwell on the physical. What happens is that I think of them and the impact they had on my life. Therefore, I'm going to spend the weekend writing my thoughts about the important people in my life who have already passed.
My first experience with death was when my father-in-law, Fred Humphrey, passed away in 1988. He was such a great man. I always liked him, but I began loving him when Jason was born. He was the best grandad ever. He and Jason had a bond that I'm certain lives on in eternity. He passed on his love and respect for horses that served Jason well throughout his life. Allison was born on his birthday, and that gave them a wonderful connection. Carson was only five months old when he died, so he has no real memories of Grandad. I hope we have told Carson enough that he knows what kind of influence Grandad was on all of us.
I still remember his laugh; it was so infectious. He was a cowboy to the bone and love being around others who loved horses. He was a daily coffee shop visitor and had every waitress in town anxious to take care of him because he knew how to schmooze, a skill he taught Jason.
I loved the way he took care of his mother. She thought he hung the moon and looked forward to his daily visits. He and his sister, Aunt Polly, had an enviable closeness. I always said that I would be pleased if my children were as close in their adult lives and the two of them.
His death changed our family. It makes me very sad that his influence ended too soon. Fifty-eight years is just not enough time on this earth. He would have so loved watching all the grandkids in their high school years. He would have been so proud of Jason and Kirby following in his footsteps into the horse training business.
One thing that is certain though. When a person dies young, he is saved from some of the heartache that we have all had to face. I know that losing Jason would have been too much for him. I guess since God knows that big picture, I have to rely on Him to know what's best.

New music

I bought a cd last week that has become my new favorite. The singer/songwriter is JJ Heller. On itunes she's listed as folk, but her lyrics are Christian. One line that stands out to me is in the last song. "Hope keeps me holding on to You; Grace means You're holding me too." Isn't that a comforting thought? No matter what we face, we can hold tight to the creator of the universe, and He holds us too.
It seems to me that lately so many of us are having to face such hardships. Daily someone tells me of someone that needs our prayers, and the requests are not for minor issues. Sickness....tornado...oil spill...war...joblessness..the list goes on. All I can recommend is to hold on to Hope. Some situations seem bleak, hopeless, unconquerable, but people of faith remain hopeful. That's what we do.

Year 20 at THS

Friday I received my twenty year pin from Tecumseh Public Schools. I'm feeling rather weird about the stage of life I'm in. When you grow up the baby of the family and marry someone even a little older than you are, you think you will always be the "youngun." Not true. There's only about three people at school who are older than I am right now. Many of the people I work with are the age of my children, so I have a motherly influence in their lives. It happened so fast; I went from being in the middle of my career to nearing the end. I would like to teach full-time for two more years until my National Board Certification expires, and then I really want to retire from full-time but continue to teach half days. That sounds like a great plan, but if life has taught me anything, it is this. I can make all the plans I want to, but things will happen the way they are meant to happen.
I hear parents today say the same thing I said when my kids were growing up. When they entered school, I couldn't believe that time had gone by so fast. When they graduated, I couldn't believe that time had gone by so fast. Now that they are adults, I'm saying that time is going by too fast.
Who savors every moment? According to Thornton Wilder in Our Town, the saints and poets maybe. I want to live like a saint or poet. I want to make the most of my life, every minute, every hour, every day. I don't want to waste the time God has given me.

Lessons from a Tornado

All my life I've heard the Indian Legend that Tecumseh would never be hit by a tornado because it sits between two rivers. Well, last night that legend was proven false. My town was hit and hit hard. We went to the cellar for the first time since we've lived back here. On several occasions we have gathered in our living room with Randy and Cindy and our family and waited out a storm. We always have been able to avoid going to the cellar, but last night we went. Almost immediately after it went over the house, everything cleared up. We headed to town to see if Gigi and Aunt Polly were ok. Aunt Polly's house had considerable damage, so we went to work getting a tarp on the house and getting her out to Randy and Cindy's. Gigi went to the shelter in the Housing Authority neighborhood. She was fine. The tornado hit Little Axe, Pink, skipped us, hit a couple of places between here and town, and then it took out a great portion of the south side of Tecumseh. It hit Barnard school and damaged three classrooms. It hit the board of education office and bus barn and completely wiped out a couple of neighborhoods.
We did what we could last night and then began work early this morning. We would be working hard and then look up and see people helping that we haven't seen in quite a while. One lady stopped and said she was headed to the grocery store and asked if we needed anything. All morning long we worked and worked and worked. It didn't take long until we were seeing a light at the end of today's tunnel.
When we finished at Aunt Polly's, we helped her nieces and nephews on the O'Neal side clean up their mom's house. Their mom passed away around Easter, so they are having to clean up her house much sooner than they thought. Her house had so much more damage than Aunt Polly's, but when dozens of hands are working, progress is quick.
Now, this is what I learned from this tornado.
1. Cold water is my friend. I went to the grocery store and bought two cases this morning. Nothing is as refreshing as really cold water when you are hot and tired, and the humidity is 90%.
2. People are weird. I was absolutely amazed at the sight-seers. Never in my wildest dreams would I drive to another city that has been hit by a tornado and drive around take pictures.
3. People are wonderful. I was also amazed at the kindness of so many people. Many of them worked at her house until they saw that we had things under control. Then they went on to help someone else. The Pentecostal Church of God set us a kitchen to feed those who needed a meal. The story is that they plan to feed 750 for breakfast in the morning. Harrah Church where I attend also has been set up as a shelter and are providing food, clothing, and a cool cup of water to those in need.
4. Nature is in control. We can use precautions, we can plan, and we can plot, and we can think that we have things in our control, but days like yesterday remind me that we are not in control. There was nothing we could have done yesterday to protect the property that was damaged.
5. Most Oklahomans are smart and respect the weather. We have the very best weather service in the nation. The National Weather Service in Norman will give us a time-table that tells the exact minute that the tornado will hit our town. We know how to protect our lives in the face of a tornado. There were some fatalities, but compared to the numbers in other states, our fatality rate is very low.
6. God is good. I didn't really learn this today, but it is a truth that needs repeating.

Thank you Beth Moore

I'm almost finished with Beth Moore's So Long, Insecurity. I arrived home from the funeral today and decided to rest and read for a few minutes. This is the passage that I started with:

God has promised that His grace will be given according to our need and that not only will we survive by the skin of our teeth, if we trust Him and hang on to Him for dear life--grieving, yes, but as those who have hope--we will also thrive again. We can give ourselves to something greater than painlessness. We can give ourselves to purpose. If we cooperate, good will indeed come to us and others around us, and glory will most assuredly come to God. Otherwise, He would have forbidden the tragedy. Those of us who are in Christ will also spend eternity with the loved ones who have shared our faith, and this life will seem like a vapor in comparison.

That, along with the loving service today, was just what I needed.

I Feel line Emmeline Grangerford

If you aren't familiar with The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, my allusion will mean nothing to you. Emmeline Grangerford is a character in the novel. Huck meets the feuding Grangerford family and becomes acquainted with the "tributes" Emmeline wrote about people who had passed.
I don't know how I got the job of writing "tributes" for so many people, but I have to sit still long enough tonight to write another one. My former boss, James Blue, left this life Wednesday morning at 10:40. He fought harder to stay alive than anyone I know, but cancer won the war.
The memories of Mr. Blue have been rushing through my mind for the past three days.
I first talked to him on the phone when Jason was a freshman. We had received a grade card or progress report that had Jason missing several classes. Of course, Jason told me it was a computer error, and I wanted to believe him, but I just had to make that call. Poor Mr. Blue. I was accustomed to a small school where I knew every teacher that my kids had and always knew exactly what days my kids were absent. He so tried to reassure me that Jason was indeed going to class. I remember my interview with him and Charlie Shields back in the summer of 1990. I wanted to get a job closer to home, but I'm wondering if he recommended me for the job so that he wouldn't have to endure any more calls from me. If I was in the building, I would know where Jason was and wouldn't expect him to keep me posted.
I'm just going to list some important facts about James Blue that made him special.
-He love to laugh (at himself). He and Roy Capps would head out to a football or basketball game and get lost. Now assuredly no one would have had to know, but they would tell it. I sponsored cheerleaders and would be at an away game, and here would saunter in Mr. Blue and Mr. Capps. They had been 30 miles out of the way and roaming around trying to find the field or the gym. They must have left home early I guess because they made it by gametime. They needed a Garmin.
-His door was always open. I used to go in early in the morning and visit with him sometimes. I think back to that now and think that he may have come in early to get work done, but there was a steady stream of teachers coming in to visit. Our visits were usually about our kids. He listened to me tell about Carson's games, and later I listened to him tell about his grandson's games.
-His teachers' meetings were hilarious. One of the things I used to like to do is watch the faces of new teachers at the first meeting of the year. We all loved the man, but he was no public speaker. He would ramble through the meeting and tell stories and try to tell jokes, and we would get so tickled. I so wish we had videotaped one; you just had to witness it to understand.
-He loved practical joke--as long as it didn't go too far. He participated in one we all tried to pull on Jennifer McKnight. The problem was it backfired and Jennifer Cox ended up leaving in tears. Let's just say we didn't do that again.
He wasn't very happy with us.
-He was a good sport. If you ever went to graduation at Tecumseh, you witnessed that. The custom has been for the graduates to hand Mr. Blue something as they shook hands with him. He would keep a box on the floor right by him to put the items in. My favorite years were the ones when they discreetly handed him something. Jason's class handed him Payday candy bars because they had seen him eat a Payday for lunch for four years. Carson's class handed him Walmart gift cards. All of them were empty except one. One had $50.00 on it. Someone told me that he gave that one as a door prize the next year when we went back to school. I didn't win, so I didn't remember. Even the years when the gift wasn't discreet, he was a good sport. One year the students put stickers all over his suit jacket; Allison's class gave him Mardi Gras beads, and he would just grin and take it. I know he hated it, but he just stood there.
-His expectations were high. To visit with him and hear his self-deprecating humor, you would never believe how particular he was. On the day before a North Central visit, our committee was sitting around a table in the conference room looking over the book that would be given to the visiting committee the next day. Gail Sams, the journalist, looked up and said, "How do you spell excellence?" We had put a footer on every page of the book that said "Excellence in Education." The only problem was that on about 15 pages, excellence was spelled excellance. We finally figured out that it was only on the pages that had color charts. When you looked at the page on the computer screen, the footer was so small that you couldn't read the error. Some people would have let it go, but not Mr. Blue. We stayed for several hours and disassembled and reassembled those books. Cindy Hale was on her way out for an anniversary dinner, and we called her to come and help us. Mr. Blue didn't ask us to stay, but we knew that if we didn't, he would have stayed by himself.
-His mind was incredible when it came to scheduling. It makes me think of the computer programmer who knows math so well that he can do in his head what he tells the computer to do. I guess he had built the master schedule on the big board so many times that he could see problems that the rest of us didn't see. He knew the ramifications of changing a planning period or scheduling an honors class a particular hour. He accomodated the kids not the teachers, which is the way it should be.
-He was respected-by teachers, by students, and by parents. You may not have liked his all of his decisions, but you knew he made them fairly and consistently. His leadership for 24 years put us in a position to continue and improve THS in his absence.
Tomorrow his funeral will be held at Raley Chapel at OBU. There is no more fitting place for this service. For almost twenty years, Mr. Blue stood on the stage and called out the names of graduates; he shook their hands and smiled at them as they crossed the stage. Their success was his success.

Know Greater Love

I don't know why I felt led to share this today, but the idea won't leave me, so there must be someone out there in cyberspace who needs to read it. It is my testimony for a book that my church publishes every year or so with members' stories of redemption and healing.

When I was asked to write an entry for Know Greater Love, I knew I had a testimony, but I didn’t know how I could make it valuable for others. I have known many tragedies and maintained my faith, but I’m still in the grieving process. My oldest son Jason was killed in a tragic one-vehicle accident on Sept. 20, 2008. His death was the fifth death in my immediate family in thirteen years, so I know how to grieve; the question is do I know how to stop grieving?
I finally decided to make this a tribute to my mother, Mabel Rider, the person who died thirteen years before Jason’s death. I attribute my spiritual strength and survival directly to her example. Did I ever see my mother lose a child? No. I did see her lose a seven-year-old niece to leukemia and two sisters, and I witnessed her rejoicing that their troubles and illnesses were over and that they were in heaven. How did she equip me for my grief-filled life? She lived a Christ-centered life and displayed a faith that was inspirational to me. She set a standard of faith that has allowed me to experience the unthinkable and maintain a love for God. She accepted life’s challenges with grace and faith and made sure that I knew that this life is a dress rehearsal for eternity. This was her legacy to me.
Her compassion was an example to me and my family throughout her life. One memory that stands out vividly for me is from when my seventy-year-old mother and I went to the Free Will Baptist National Convention many years ago. The night of the missionary service, which is usually the largest of the convention’s services, the venue next to us was having a Guns and Roses concert. The variety of people walking to the convention was a sight to behold. There were men and women in suits and dresses walking along side young people in black with pierced faces, tattoos, etc. You get the picture. As we were driving to the parking garage, we saw a young woman who appeared intoxicated, wearing an outfit that was quite risqué. I was so proud that my ten-year-old daughter and her friends heard my mother say, “Bless her Heart” instead of “Well, I never.” She remains the voice in my head. As our sermon series on the family taught us, it is never too late to be an example to your children.
I was born the fourth child in my family; my siblings were twelve, ten, and eight years old, so you can imagine how rotten I was. If you had watched the dynamic in my family from a distance, you probably would not have liked me very much. I was spoiled and the center of attention. I didn’t have to cook because my older sisters could do that, so my job was to set the table and clear the table. During Saturday cleaning, my jobs were to dust the furniture and clean the mirrors. It was my sisters who cleaned the kitchen and bathrooms and who did the laundry. I even remember sitting in the kitchen talking to my sister Phyllis while she was cooking dinner, but I never offered to help. She admitted when we were adults that she couldn’t stand me until Jason was born. She loved him so much that she was willing to put up with me. She was my idol, but I was so self-centered that I couldn’t understand at all why she would get so angry and frustrated with me.
I went to church with my mother for as long as I can remember. My dad wasn’t a Christian, but he was a very good man. Honest and dependable, he was the kind of man who is most difficult to reach because he lived a decent life, much more decent than some of the men in our church. I rejoice in the fact that Daddy was saved and baptized (by Brother Delbert) at age seventy.
I was saved when I was eight and continued to attend church throughout my years living at home. I was a smart teenager because I knew that as long as I would go to church on Sunday morning, Sunday night, and Wednesday night, I was pretty much allowed all the freedom that was customary in the early seventies. I pushed the limits of that freedom during my teenage years, and as I had been warned many times, “I found myself in places I didn’t want to be, with people I didn’t want to be with, doing things I didn’t want to do.” My mother continued to pray for me and love me unconditionally even when I wasn’t very lovable.
It was during those years of rebellion that I made major decisions of my life. I married my husband Tony who had been my early high school sweetheart. We reconnected when I began college. After we married, he finished college while I worked, and then he supported me until I received my degree. Our oldest child Jason was born in 1975, and Allison was born in 1980.
I continued to go my own way until I was twenty-seven. At that time Tony and I had both taught for several years. He was not interested in attending church with us, but I knew in my heart that my children needed to be in church. I don’t think there was a single event that made me realize that the kids and I needed to be in church. I took them to VBS one summer and saw how much they both liked it. It brought to mind my childhood experiences of church camp, VBS, Sunday School, and the Holy Spirit reminded me of the responsibility I had to continue my mother’s legacy to them. Jason was already seven, and Allison was almost three, and the only time we went to church up to that point was when we were visiting my parents. Later we had another son, Carson, who attended church from the first week of his birth. I was involved in all church activities, sang in the choir, taught Sunday School, taught and directed VBS, went on church trips, camp, etc. I think watching my mother do all these things made me realize that it was ok for a woman who attended church without her husband to be involved. I always watched carefully for warning signs of resentment from Tony so that he wouldn’t be angry that we were so involved. I really think he liked that his children were involved in church; he knew from teaching school that church attendance made a difference in his students’ behavior. All three of our children were saved and baptized when they were young.
I’ve said all this to get to the point of my testimony. My mother died July 10, 1996. At that time both of my sisters were in very compromised health, and my brother lived hours away. Guess what? That spoiled little brat who never had to do the hard jobs suddenly became the caregiver for her father. I didn’t have time to grieve Mom’s death because Daddy had a stroke two weeks after she died, and he lost the use of his right hand. Fortunately, his overall health was good, but he needed daily help. For seven years I went to see Daddy every day all the while teaching full-time, and supporting Allison and Carson in their activities.
At the time of my mother’s death, my sister Phyllis had just been diagnosed with pulmonary fibrosis. Her health deteriorated over the next few years, and my grief at watching her suffer and die was the worst thing I had ever experienced. She had been exposed to a chemical in her job at Tinker Field that caused her illness. Even though the government paid worker’s compensation to her, no amount of money could give her the good health that had been taken away. After years of suffering, Phyllis died on Dec. 19, 2002 at age 55. I have never been so angry in my life. I was mad at God, the federal government, Phyllis’s ex-husband (for causing her to have to go to work in the shops at Tinker many years earlier) her doctors, the pharmaceutical industry, anyone who had a part in her illness and death. I think my anger distorted my grief during that time. I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that my sister was in heaven, but I wanted her here with her family. She left her husband, children, very young grandchildren along with my dad who only lived ten months after her death. Daddy died after having a massive stroke on Sept. 30, 2003. Phyllis’s early death was too much for his eighty-three-year-old heart, and his grief at losing a child was just too much to bear. The one thing I could rejoice in was that Mom wasn’t here to suffer the loss of her child or husband.
My oldest sister Linda had been in poor health for many years. She was overweight, legally blind, and suffered from crippling arthritis. I really never expected her to reach old age. She died in August of 2005 after an extended illness. By this time Carson and I were attending Harrah Church.
The year after Carson graduated from high school, Jason returned to the nest for several months. He had gotten a divorce a few years earlier and had been drifting a little, so we were glad to have him home. He stayed from February through November of 2007, months that I consider to be the greatest gift God has ever given me. During those months Jason also attended Harrah Church with me. He loved the music, the preaching, and our small group, Total Body. Remember the Easter Sunday that Jimmy preached about baggage? I watched as my son wrote something down and took it to the front and placed it in the trunk that Jimmy burned that very day. Some kind of baggage that he had been carrying around was gone. During the months he lived with us, Jason and I spent time together, exercising, cooking, going to movies; he helped us with Relay for Life of Tecumseh. Tony, Jason, and I watched OSU basketball, and went out to dinner every Friday. We got to know Jason, the 32-year-old man. The last time he had spent any time at all at home was when he was 21, the summer between Connor’s and OSU.
Jason was a “sure nuff” cowboy. Tony’s dad was a professional cutting horse trainer and taught Jason as soon as he could sit a saddle. Jason spent his childhood competing in cutting horse competitions. During high school he was Oklahoma’s state champion cutter two years and competed in the National High School Finals Rodeo in Shawnee. Cutting is a cow-calf event. The horse and rider “cuts” a calf out of a herd and then the horse goes to work to keep the calf from returning to the herd. Jason was a natural at training because he respected the animals he worked with and had learned from his granddad how to train the horses. He worked and lived during college on a ranch near Stillwater where he continued to learn the craft. He spent most of his adult life training cutting horses. He completed his degree from OSU in Animal Science, but he was really only content when he was training horses. One of the things I learned after his death is that he had trained a American Quarter Horse Association World champion while he worked in Stillwater. A man who owned the horse wrote me a letter to describe his experience of competing on the horse that Jason trained as a two-year- old. I will always wonder why he didn’t share that with us.
A couple whom he attended college with were living on her father’s ranch in Nebraska. They had begged Jason to come up there and train for them. The ranch is a large cattle operation, but they had always dabbled in horses a little. They had an indoor heated practice arena and the means to buy good horses. He really didn’t want to go so far away from home, but it was an offer he couldn’t refuse. In November of 2007, he moved into the ranch house in Nebraska.
He lived and worked on the ranch until his death in Sept. of 2008. Up until that time, I had only thought I had experienced grief. When we received the “knock” at 3:00 in the morning on Sept. 21, and learned that Jason had not survived a roll-over accident, I hit the floor. My legs would not hold me up. At that very moment, my cousin Becky who lives in Tulsa, woke up feeling the need to pray. She didn’t know who for, but God did, so she prayed, and I stood up.
I’m still standing; over a year has gone by, and I miss him just as much today as I did during the first few weeks, but I am able to talk about him and remember the great kid he was and the great man he became. The out-pouring of love and support from the people of Harrah Church, Tecumseh, Stillwater, and Gordon, Nebraska spoke volumes to me. My son was dearly loved by many. After his funeral, Tony’s comment of “I am at peace” reflected the sentiments of us all. As a family we are determined to honor Jason’s life by remaining strong and united. My children miss their brother; Tony and I miss our son, but we will not let our loss define us. I feel a great responsibility to pass on the legacy that my mother began. The strength of enduring faith is all that has sustained me. My family is watching me, not just my husband and children, but my brother and all of my nieces and nephews. They must see Jesus in me. They must see me living a life that is confident that Jason will be a part of my eternity.
During this past year I have recalled multiple conversations I had with Mom in the last year of her life. She had to go to a doctor in OKC every Wednesday for the last months of her life, and I had the privilege of taking her. She shared her faith with me, and surprisingly, she also told me of her doubts. Her honesty was so refreshing to me because I have always been too logical for my own good. My logical nature sometimes caused me to doubt my religious teachings, but I never dreamed that my mother also had those doubts.
Because of the events of the past year, my doubts have lessened. I have witnessed God’s working in many ways to remind me that this life is temporary and that I will spend eternity with Mom, Dad, Phyllis, Linda, and Jason. We’re on a break right now, and while I’m down here with the struggles and joys of this life, they are in heaven with only joy.
What does my story teach the readers? My mother could not have guessed how much I would need to rely on God during my lifetime. The important thing is that she equipped me to survive whatever came my way by providing a spiritual legacy for me to draw from. None of us know what our children will face in their lifetimes. We all owe them a spiritual backbone so that they will stand throughout life’s hardships.

April 19, 1995

Today is the 15th anniversary of the Oklahoma City Bombing. Just as with all other huge events that we all remember where we were, I was in school.
I was in 3rd grade when Kennedy was assassinated.
I was teaching when the Challenger blew up.
I was teaching when my friend Patty was killed in the Edmond Post Office massacre.
I was teaching when the Murrah Building was bombed.
I was teaching on 9/11.
I'm telling you there is no worse place to be when a tragedy happens. Teenagers are highly emotional or unemotional. Some are overly sensitive and take on the tragedy as though they were victims themselves, or they act like jerks because they don't know what to do with their emotions.
Teachers cry. We try not to; we try to keep it together, but we can't. Watching footage of a building that has been blown up and not knowing how something like this could happen in America brings tears that can't be held back.
I remember so well getting a call from Teresa who told me that Anna Marie's sister, Jamie, worked in the Federal Credit Union and had not been heard from. I had already thought of Jamie because I knew that she worked in a credit union, but I never dreamed she worked in that one. Her body was recovered 21 days later--an eternity to the family.
Today I thought of her kids. Kyle was an 8th grader; Krista, a fifth grader. They were robbed that day of a young beautiful mom who loved them to distraction.
I thought of Anna Marie. She has children that never got to meet Aunt Jamie, how sad. I thought of Jamie's parents and her other siblings. I know that pain. I can't really imagine that 15 years is going to change the grief much. I know the family has had good times since Jamie's death, but I also know that every big event has a pall over it. Proms, graduations, weddings, births, among others have all happened without her. Because Allison was the same age as Kyle, I always thought of him when we were having our milestone events.
I watched a news report tonight about Timothy McVeigh, the OKC bomber. He showed absolutely no remorse all the way to his death. From all accounts he was a fairly normal child, claimed he was bullied by jocks in high school, went to the military and became a monster.
I think it was Tom Brokaw that said of the bomber. The worst thing that could happen to him is to develop a conscience; I don't think it ever happened.