Margaret McSweeney's Blog, page 61

Strength of 1

Step-moms are supposed to be wicked, but Carol wasn’t. I can’t remember her without a smile or without a kind word. When she and my dad, Ron, got married, I was already grown and out of the house, but Carol would call and invite me to visit. She let me know how my father was doing. She helped me understand him in ways I never had. She took the time to learn about him, his family, and his time serving in Vietnam. “I read a book about children of alcoholics. It describes your dad to a ‘t.’ Then there was Vietnam,” I remember her saying.

When Ron married Carol, she had already faced two bouts of breast cancer. About seven years into their marriage, the cancer reemerged. After years of fighting, Carol lost her life . . . but the cancer didn’t win. Carol believed in God. She was a craft person, and the last thing she worked on was a cross stitch of Jesus’ face. She started the cross stitch with his eyes, and even though they were made of fabric and thread, they held an unexplainable depth.

My dad was there when Carol died. The cross stitch was, too. During her last conscious moments, she pointed to Jesus face and then smiled and pointed to the space beside her bed. I believe she was telling my dad that Jesus was right there. The truth is, Jesus is always right there . . . death simply gave her a chance to see Him.

October is National Breast Cancer Awareness month. Two important women in my life have battled breast cancer: my step-mom and my friend Margaret McSweeney. Because of this, I’m participating in the Strength of 1 campaign. Freschetta pizza is hoping to make a difference in the lives of the victims and survivors of breast cancer by encouraging those with breast-cancer stories to share them during their Strength of 1 campaign. The winning stories will receive cash donations to the cause affiliated with the stories.

Now through October 12, you can enter your story on the Strength of 1 app on Facebook, or visit Freschetta’s Facebook page. I’d love to see as many of you participate and support those who are battling breast cancer.

The Abundance of Friendship

When my daughters were in middle school, their main goal was to be popular. They wanted as many “friends” as they could get. Every outfit, hairdo and other accessory was geared toward garnering attention. They weren’t the only ones with this agenda. Many other middle school girls and boys were after the same thing. Having an abundance of friends was the goal. As a mom, I wasn’t so sure that should be their focus.

Both my girls were pretty good at collecting friends. While I was happy to see them easily socializing at a time when kids can be cruel and isolating, I was also concerned. I wondered if they were being wise about the people they were hanging around. How were they going to dig deep and get to know these other pre-teens and teens?

Being the nosey, I mean, concerned mom that I am, I asked them. “Do you get to know all these kids? For you to say they’re your friends, you have to establish a real relationship with them. Friendships take time, commitment and loyalty just to name a few things. Do you have that with each of these people you tell me about every day?” First, they looked at me like I had four heads. Then they said, “Mom, that’s old fashioned. We just want a lot of people to know us and like us. We want to be popular.”

I sighed and then decided that my goal was to pray that before they began high school they’d learn to focus on the abundance of friendship instead of the abundance of friends. I wanted them to learn three important things.

• The number of friends is not nearly as important as the quality of friends.

• Abundance doesn’t always revolve around a number

• Popular doesn’t always equal happiness or joy. And joy is something God wants us to have in abundance.

Middle school was a major struggle. With my two girls being just a grade apart, I was often assaulted with the same problems over and over. Most had some connection to that desire to be popular. It was hard to keep praying and not see the fruit yet. But in my abundance of time on my knees a seed was planted. Then in high school, it bloomed. I’ll never forget the day my oldest came to me and said “I’m cleaning house. I don’t need or want all those people around. I just need my real friends.” With my younger one it took a different form. God just started removing from her, one way or another, those who weren’t true friends to her. You see she had held onto that “abundance” theory much longer than her sister had. But as God did His work, she saw what I hoped she would see.

They seem happier now that they’re not chasing having a certain number of hangers on. I’m glad they see the value in quality over quality. There’s plenty to be thankful for with the people who’ve truly invested in their lives and vice versa. And to me, that’s really what abundance is all about in relationships.

Don’t Run Ahead

Copyright (c) 123RF Stock Photos

I had to get out. I intended to leave that frustrating, stressful job and nothing was going to stop me. When I got the call for a job interview, I thought things were going according to plans. I arrived at the interview early, dressed to impress. After meeting with the director, I met with the man who’d be my direct manager. This was where the interview took a wrong turn. Not only was I not on same street anymore, I wasn’t even sure I was in the same zip code.

Right in the middle of the interview, I sensed it was not the job for me. I had an overwhelming urge to get up and walk out. However, despite that internal voice yelling “Run, Mari, run!”, I sat there and completed the interview. I went home dejected, not expecting or even wanting a call. Guess what? I got one anyway. I accepted the position, knowing in my heart that it might be a bad decision. I was determined to get out so I completely ignored all the warning signs God was giving me. I was just too impatient.

Six months later, I was back at my old job. Yes ma’am, that same one I had been dying to leave. Everyone welcomed me back, but had the same questions for me. Why had I left and then come back so soon? What was so bad just six months ago that was suddenly improved now? I couldn’t answer them because I was still trying to figure out the answers myself.

A Second Chance

Fast Forward to 2009. I was again in a job that had run its course. It was time to move on. How was this time going to be different than the last time when I jumped out of the frying pan into an out of control fire? I knew from analyzing what I did wrong before that I had to put God first in my decision. What did that look like?

It involved a lot of patience. That’s not something I do well. I struggle with waiting and being patient. This was not the time for excuses so I pulled up my big girls pants and began, with prayer. That was one key component I left out the first time around. My constant prayer this time was for God to close and padlock any doors He didn’t intend for me to walk through. Three years later my ears are still ringing from the sound combo, SLAM! CLINK!

Action Steps

I think Psalm 37:7 gives three great action steps for waiting patiently for God. It says “Rest in the Lord, and wait patiently for Him; Do not fret because of him who prospers in his way…” (NKJV).

1. Rest in the Lord – This means to be at peace, knowing that God has already laid the groundwork for His plans for our lives.

2. Wait patiently for God – Don’t run ahead of God. I ran a bulldozer over God’s plans because, to me, He wasn’t moving fast enough. What I should have done was wait and trust that He knew what He was doing, much better than I did.

3. Do not worry – God’s in control. We don’t need to waste energy worrying. It’s not going to advance God’s plans but it might advance a few gray hairs for us. We must simply be patient, wait and trust.

By patiently waiting for God to unfurl his plans and not trying to force my plans into action, I was able to leave that job in 2010 for what I still consider a dream position. After waiting a full year for God to “show up”, a co-worker recommended me for a job with my current company. He later told me that it wasn’t a good fit for him. Even though he’d only worked with me a short time, he just knew somehow I was the right person for that job. I knew without a doubt that God had orchestrated this turn in events.

I’m not sure I’d have this position if I had forged ahead and not been patient. I have that painful six month stint to prove how off track I can get when I don’t wait on God. So, if you’re tempted to run ahead of God, remember the three steps. Rest. Wait. Don’t worry.

A Girl Named “Moon”

It has been a struggle to find time lately. Time to do the business of each day is scarce, never mind time to process it. And yet I’ve longed to write, longed for the space to get away and get it out, creatively speaking. That’s what always happens, though, when I’m in the middle of some sort of energy-intensive endeavor. In this case, the endeavor is that of acting as a solo librarian and being responsible for teaching seven different grade levels. It’s a privilege to be entrusted with such a role, but it’s a weighty one, that brings with it plenty of pressure.

And today, I am tired. One full week of school feels like it has been a month already. But more than tiredness, I feel anxious about the lack of in-between time. I fear that all the busy moments of each day will be lost to me because I have not been able to somehow document them.

Each time a conversation strikes me, and I have to run on to the next thing, I worry: is this moment going to lose its meaning because I have not had the time to write it down?

And each time I see a thing of beauty, I worry: will I forget this loveliness because I did not manage to take a photo while the moment was with me?

But the conversation ends. The moment passes. And I am still rushing on to the next task, still being struck by interactions and by beauties.

So now, at the end of a school day, as I ready for the evening activities, I wonder . . .

Could it be that there is a time and a place for activity that does not allow for a moment to process? Is there grace for periods in which you just have to keep moving on to the next thing?

Could it be that my job in this time is to let go of the desire to step back and reflect, and instead just keep living those moments? Could it be that the moments will be meaningful even if I do lose track of them? Even if I do forget them?

Each time lately that I have had an “agenda” for reflection, life just seems to interfere.

I thought, perhaps, that I would take a creative campus photo in between my last class and the faculty meeting. But instead, a birthday party needed photography, and a little boy needed to hand me a piece of super-sized, toppling birthday cake.

And I thought, perhaps, that in between carline duty and my high school aid student, I would write down a few of the day’s moments. But instead, my students from last year, in their P.E. class, requested that I join their jump-rope team . . . how could I not?

We found out this week that all of us on staff were invited to the wedding of a cousin of one of the student families here. It is not the sort of event I particularly enjoy. For one, I like to go to bed at a decent hour, especially on a school night before a high-profile Open House day. Secondly, I do not particularly like fancy festivities. Especially one in which I am going to be a foreign spectacle, expected to sit demurely where I am placed and watch [no joining in allowed J] the traditional rituals and dances. But I felt it was important to accept the invitation. And the people that I work with, live with, and love, would be there. So I shut down my computer for the evening, left my camera in its case, and joined the party. It was long; it was, well, interesting; and it was worth it.

One of the things on my to-do list today was photographing all the students who I did not get a headshot of last year. As I leaned in to one new student to try to understand what she was telling me her name was, I noticed how lovely her huge brown eyes were. She looked at me shyly and said the name again. “Spoojmi,” I asked? What an unusual sounding name, I thought. Then I learned the meaning of her name, and smiled at the thought of it. The little girl’s name means “Moon.”

As we came back to our house, around midnight, from the wedding, one of my housemates stopped with an exclamation of “Oh!”

What is it?

“Look at the moon!” she explained.

The three of us stood for a moment, gazing at the hazy cloud-covered full moon, with its eerie loveliness. Then we headed to our bedrooms, made our preparations for the next day of activities, and we slept soundly, if shortly, all under the same bright moon.

Is It Dangerous to Pray for More Patience?

If you have been around Christians for very long you may have heard the joke, “don’t pray for patience because then God will give you an opportunity to be patient in.” Raising three teenage boys and working every day in a people based environment I often prayed for strength to get through the day.

Why strength?

• I am a mother of three boys.

• I work in human resources.

• I am married to a man who loves sports and coaches during his spare time.

Calgon® take me away!

But is strength really what I should be praying for? Patience is defined as having endurance, constancy, steadfastness, perseverance and being slow to anger. As Christians we must learn to deal patiently with difficult people. It takes a supernatural strength to respond to difficult situations with grace and mercy.

Noah must have been the most persevering person around to have survived living in the Ark with smelly animals for 150 days (Genesis 8:3). Job’s entire world collapsed. He lost his family, belongings and health. Yet through it all he remained steadfast, “Though He slay me, yet will I trust Him.” (Job 13:15) Abram remained consistent in following God, believing God’s promise that he would have descendants as numerous as the stars, despite not having a child of his own. Mary, Jesus’ Mother, had endurance while trying to find a place to give birth.

And Jesus died a slow, painful death for us. And now He is patiently waiting for each one of us to turn our hearts towards Him.

“Better to be patient, than powerful; better to have self-control than to conquer a city.” Proverbs 16:32 NIV

I desire the perseverance of Noah, the steadfastness of Job, the constancy of Abraham, and the endurance of Mary. I know as I tackle the daily ringing phones with impatient people on the other end and teenagers who like to test their limits, it is only through Jesus’ strength through me that I can live out a life of patience.

I think the joke is wrong, having patience helps you put up with things, bears the burden of troubles, and does not get irritated at the small stuff when things don’t go as planned.

I think this week I will begin to pray more for patience and less for strength, because after all “better to be patient, than powerful.”

The Most Expensive Cookie I Ever Ate

Now that I’m an older woman, I think often of my dear mother during her late years and the thoughtful home-made gifts she shared with our family. One in particular tickles my tastebuds––her butter horn cookies. Mmm! I remember how we could polish off a plate of these melt-in-your-mouth treats in minutes. One day when it was my turn to provide dessert for a group of friends, I decided to make Eva’s Butter Horns.

I looked in the pantry and fridge for the ingredients and realized I didn’t have any of them on hand. So I drove to the store and purchased flour, butter, cane sugar, powdered sugar, chopped nuts, eggs and salt. Then I remembered I didn’t have a rolling pin, so I picked up that too. Total bill: $40.21. Add to that $1634.03––the purchase price for my new built-in oven––and I could see this was going to be one expensive batch of cookies. To be exact, each cookie—48 in all––cost $34.88.

But the worst was yet to come. As I tried to roll out the flour mass (make that mess), the dough stuck to the rolling pin for dear life. Impatience got the best of me! I added a bit of flour to the board and to the dough, but no luck. I heaved a sigh and started over. Then it dawned on me that it makes sense to flour the rolling pin before rolling out the dough. That helped a bit, but the result was anything but the perfect circle my mother used to make.

It’s pretty hard to make butter horns (visualize miniature crescent rolls) unless the circle of dough is very thin and very round. After much frustration, I managed to make three-dozen cookies that only vaguely resembled the perfect ones Mom created.

However, the guests didn’t know the difference. Every cookie vanished from the plate within ten minutes of my arrival. I was lucky to eat just one, but I was determined to get my $34.88 share.

Recipe for Eva’s Butter Horns

Dough:

1 cup butter (softened)

2 cups flour (white or wheat)

1 egg yolk, slightly beaten

3/4 cup light sour cream

Filling:

3/4 cup sugar

1 teaspoon cinnamon

3/4 cup of finely chopped nuts (walnuts or pecans)

Directions

Cut butter into flour. Combine egg yolk and sour cream. Blend with flour mixture. Form into ball and cover with waxed paper. Chill in refrigerator overnight or for several hours before baking.

Divide dough into three parts. Roll each part into a circle about 12″ in diameter. Cut each circle into 16 wedges with knife or pizza cutter.

Prepare the filling. Combine sugar, nuts, and cinnamon. Sprinkle mixture over the dough. Roll each wedge, starting with the wide end, shaping into crescents.

Bake on ungreased cookie sheet until light brown at 375 degrees for about 20 minutes. Remove from cookie sheet to cool. Dust with powdered sugar.

Share and enjoy!

What to Do When I Just Want to Eat the Marshmallow

What does “waiting” mean to you? When you hear that word, do you think of endless lectures from your parents, Christmas morning, or arbitrary speed limits posted in a school zone?

Waiting means something different to each and every one of us. Whether we’re waiting for a boy to notice us or for the alarm that wakes us, the tick-tock of the clock serves one very important purpose: It reminds us that we are not in control.

Have you ever prayed a prayer to God and felt like he just ignored you? The clock’s seconds, minutes, hours, days, weeks, and months ticked by, and that’s literally all you heard–the empty sound of a silent God? It’s frustrating to find yourself in a hurry to hear God’s voice only to discover that by your calculations, he’s painfully late.

Reading Lamentations tonight, I came across this verse: He has blocked my way with a high stone wall; he has made my road crooked. (3:9)

If I had stopped there, I might have been tempted to say, “Yeah, you tell ‘em, Jeremiah! Blame it on the big guy! I feel your pain.” But luckily, I didn’t. Lamentations 3:21-26 affirms, Yet I still dare to hope when I remember this: The faithful love of the Lord never ends! His mercies never cease. Great is his faithfulness; his mercies begin afresh each morning. I say to myself, “The Lord is my inheritance; therefore, I will hope in him!” The Lord is good to those who depend on him, to those who search for him. So it is good to wait quietly for salvation from the Lord.

Waiting is hard, to be sure. When I read through these verses, though, I gain a new perspective on why we wait. Waiting definitely produces perseverance and character and hope and all those other wonderful qualities that I read about in the New Testament, but beyond that, my trust in God is strengthened. I like to see progress. I like change that can be measured. When I have an idea, I want to see immediate results. I have a hard time being patient with what God is doing in me. And unfortunately, he has a whole lot of work to do!

That last verse reminds me that the Lord is good to those who search for him. Searching can be frustrating. Searching takes time. Searching requires a map.

In the early 1970s, a famous professor from Stanford University conducted an experiment with four year- old children to test their ability to delay gratification. Each child was given a marshmallow; then the professor left the room and told the child not to eat the marshmallow. If she could wait until the professor returned, then the child could have two marshmallows. You can imagine a little four-year old sitting at the table staring at that lonely little marshmallow. How tempting to eat it! How sugary and delicious it looked! If she ate the marshmallow before the professor returned, then she would not get more marshmallows.

And so it is as we wait on God. He’s our professor. We can eat the marshmallow now. It’s tempting. After all, how do we know that we can trust him to do what he says and bring two marshmallows when he returns? That’s why we wait. We wait and we see. God shows up and we take note. We wait and we remember.

Remember the times when God showed up!

All that waiting is time spent building a track record of events that fill the gaps between the tick and the tock, between the “Will he?” and “Why isn’t he?” questions that dominate our prayer life.

Like a little child, God sometimes has to say to me: My thoughts are nothing like your thoughts….And my ways are far beyond anything you could imagine. (Isaiah 55:8). Those words are hard to swallow. They’re the equivalent of my mom chiding, “Because I said so, that’s why!” But I take comfort in knowing that By his mighty power at work within us, he is able to accomplish infinitely more than we would ever dare to ask or hope (Ephesians 3:20).

Yes, sometimes it seems like God places a stone wall on a crooked path. But I’m thankful for a God who knows better than I do what’s best for me. He can see over the wall and around the bends in the path. I can trust him because he has shown himself to me in times past.

Waiting is never easy, but when I think about what I can accomplish on my own, and what God can accomplish through me, I’m willing to wait.

Two marshmallows are always better than one.

Patience and Perspective

“Love is patient” 1 Corinthians 13:4a

Spills…how many spills happen in one day with four little kids? Too many to count. It used to drive me crazy until I came up with a line, “It’s okay, everybody spills. I’ll help you clean it up.” Sometimes I said it more for me than the “spiller”.

One morning while rushing to get the two older kids off to school, my youngest decided to take matters into her own hands and get herself some breakfast. While I was combing hair, checking backpacks, letting the dogs out; she got on a chair, opened the pantry and reached for the Life cereal box. She firmly gripped the box and climbed down. It would have been a successful mission if the box hadn’t been upside down. The contents of the almost full box covered the kitchen floor.

Have you noticed, spills never happen at convenient times?

I felt exasperated. My two older kids needed to get on the bus, the third child needed a little help in the bathroom, and now I had spillage to deal with. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and said my line.

“That’s okay. Everybody spills. I’ll help you clean it up.”

The mess wasn’t going to go anywhere. It could wait for wiping a bottom and walking kids to the bus stop. After we waved my daughter and son off to school, the two littlest and I made our way back home. The squares of Life were still there. All over the kitchen.

I grabbed a broom and the camera. Now this memory is a precious one. No need to cry over spilled….anything!

What little annoyances are hard for you? How have you altered your perspective in order to gain patience?

To Whom He Belongs

The big yellow school busses are rolling past my house, mapping out routes and training new bus drivers. As they rumble past, I flash back to my eldest son getting on the bus for the first time as a five-year-old. He was so excited for his first day of kindergarten. I was excited too, but also sad. Our days together were cut in half. But it was good. He made new friends and grew in independence. It was really my first step in letting go.

Now he’s a senior. He is excited this year too, with high expectations for himself and an optimistic view of his future. How his world will change in the next twelve months! I find myself sitting back, watching him navigate life. He is independent, able to make his own decisions. I need to let go, to spend more time watching rather than doing…to savor this year.

As I sat writing last night, he poked his head into my office to say good night. “If you’re almost done, I’d like to pray with you.”

Our nightly prayers have become a conclusion to the day I do not like to miss. Even though my boys are teenagers, closing their day in prayer with my husband or me is important to them. I can’t say I didn’t feel a tug at my heart when I thought of the following fall when my son will be away at school. I’m not so naïve that I don’t realize his life will change. He’ll make choices I may not agree with and participate in activities I may not approve of, but he will never be alone. I’ve made it a point to remind my children when they leave the house, “Remember your name and to Whom you belong.” Now I need to remind myself. My son belongs to the Most High, the One who loves him even more than I do, the One who laid his very life down for him.

As I sat on the edge of my son’s bed, listening to his prayers, my heart was content. God has called my son to be his own. My prayer is that he will always listen for the Still Quiet Voice of the Holy Spirit to guide him and remind him to Whom he belongs.

“Never will I leave you; never will I forsake you.” Hebrews 13:5b

Mauve Is Not My Color

I was exasperated. I had looked at dozens of department stores for mauve towels to replace my old ratty set that I simply couldn’t stand another minute. Nada. Nothing.

Why in the world haven’t I updated my bathroom in two decades? Well, change is a slow process in Debbieworld and the master bath is last on the list. After all, who sees it but Spouse and me? Since the family room is the designated reno-room of choice this year, our bathroom wallpaper with its outdated mauve pattern will have to hang on one more year.

I didn’t want to spend a lot of money on luxurious, cushy towels since they were only going to be short-term, so I set out to find an inexpensive mauve set that was one step above burlap. But I couldn’t find any at all, horse feedbag quality notwithstanding. Apparently mauve is out this year (and evidently it’s been out a l-o-n-g time).

There was only one home furnishings chain store that I hadn’t tried, so with fingers crossed, I entered the enormous towel department.

No mauve. Utter disappointment.

But then a store clerk whooshed by. By whooshed, I mean he obviously wasn’t on the lookout for customers needing help. He was on a mission of some sort with a clipboard in his hands and look of serious consternation on his face. I wondered if he needed some Ex-lax ®.

“Excuse me,” I threw at him like a cowpoke lassoing a stampeding bull. “Could you please tell me if you have any mauve towels?”

He stopped cold. “Mauve?” His tone implied I should be horsewhipped. “I seriously doubt it.”

“I really need mauve. No other color will work in my bathroom. Are you sure there aren’t any in a back room somewhere?”

He stared at me like I had just belched out loud. Then his eyebrows shot up. “You know, but I think we actually do have some in the economy section.”

I followed him to an impossible-to-find shelf at back of the department where a stack of mauve towels was obscured by more popular colors. I thanked him and, delighted, turned back to my terrific find. Having learned long ago to carefully inspect merchandise before purchasing it, I took the crisply folded top towel off the pile and shook it open with a whap. There were several picks in the terrycloth – unsightly threads pulled loose and left hanging. So I refolded it, setting it aside in a “reject pile,” and reached for another.

After only two of the first four towels passed my inspection, I became aware of my salesman buddy loitering behind me, watching closely with that forgot-my-prune-juice-this-morning look plastered on his face. As I shook out towel #5, he closed in for the kill.

“What exactly are you doing?”

“Oh, hi.” I tried to keep my tone friendly, although his was anything but. “Just checking the towels for picks. I’m trying to find four that don’t have any.”

“Picks?” Any trace of previous faux politeness was replaced by blatant impatience. “Whatever do you mean by ‘picks’?”

“You know, flaws … imperfections… picks. Like these right here.” I held out the towel, assuming he would want to remove damaged merchandise from the floor.

He scowled as he snatched the towel from my hands and whipped a ruler out of his back pocket. “If there are any flaws, it’s because people keep unfolding them and then cramming them back on the shelves.” He proceeded to drop to his knees, spread the towel on the tile floor, and fold it into a precise square, measuring each fold with his ruler. He then stood and laid the towel neatly back on the shelf for the next unsuspecting customer.

Too stunned to respond to his thinly veiled insult, I stood mutely staring as he began meticulously measuring and refolding the other rejected towel. I felt my face flame. Clutching the two good towels, I fled. It crossed my mind, as I fumbled through checkout, to report the incident to the store manager, but honestly, I simply couldn’t. I just wanted to leave.

As I cranked my car, still shaking with embarrassment and indignation, the radio filled the air with David Crowder’s voice singing, “Hap-pi-ness, that’s grace! Enough for us and the whole human race.”

My defensiveness melted. Okay, Lord. You got me. Just what I needed to hear. I laughed out loud at the timely reminder that happiness is a choice. We can choose to extend to other people the same grace and patience Papa God extends toward us when we’re imperfect, or we can stay irritated and unhappy.

I think I’ll choose happiness. And any color besides mauve.