How to get rid of a man.

This is advise I learned from my Grandmother. I'm going to miss grandma but she was ready to go. She was mad that no one had come to pick her up. She'd say, "Why aren't they here yet?" I should have been gone years ago." She was a funny lady. She had been carrying on about it for awhile. She said my dad had come to get her, and her first husband had come to get her, but she was waiting for her last husband and dang it, she wasn't going til he showed up. Then she would talk about how he was always letting her down. He was never there to pick her up when he was supposed to. She would tell the story about when she met him. She went to a party with a friend and met him there and then she could never get rid of him. She'd wake up in the morning and he'd be sitting on her front porch and invite himself in for coffee. She'd come home from work and he'd be sitting on her front porch waiting for dinner. She said, "I couldn't get rid of him." Then in a stroke of brilliance she realized if she married him, he'd never be where he was supposed to be and "Voila! Now you know, according to my grandmother, how to get rid of a man.

How to get rid of a man.

church

Last week in chruch we talked about Ruth. Your land will be my land, your people my people and your God my God. The girls and I had discussions about them looking for our own Boaz. Our pastor is so wonderful. He pointed out to the men in the congregation that before he talked to the girl, HE HAD A JOB! Then he mentioned before he talked to her he protected her. He admired her from afar but guarded his heart. My girls went home sure they want a Boaz not some joker that doesn’t have their best interest at heart.
Wow, I love the way God puts his will in our life. We think we’re in charge and doing what we want to do and all of the sudden he speaks to us.
This week, we talked about David. A poor shepherd that even his own family didn’t believe in. David marched to the beat of a different drummer. Literally. I imagine if he lived today he would be a very skinny, scrawny long haired, poorly tattooed kid with ear phones listing to an ipod and dancing the most ridiculous dance, singing out loud, out of tune and enjoying every minute of it.
My kids were so inspired they came home and opened their bibles to the psalms. Wow, how does a pastor do that? Say things to them that make them excited to go home and read the psalms? I’m amazed. I’m in love with God for putting these people in my life to help me bring the important things to the attention of my children.
I truly am blessed!

life

Life really is short isn't it? Even if you live to be 90 years old like my grandmother do you ever accomplish what you want to accomplish? It was amazing to really experience the difference between my dad’s funeral, my grandmother’s funeral and the last funeral I cooked for, my Great Aunt Betty. Wow. I’m amazed. My dad’s funeral wasn’t a somber experience. It was sad, but don’t confuse our mourning with grief for the deceased. My dad lived. I don’t know a better way to say that. His life was something you could stand in front of a group of people that loved him and talk for half an hour and just tell his stories. People laughed. He was fun, he was kind and he was loving. He was everything you’d ever want in a dad.
Does that mean my grandmother was less? No, but she was different. My grandmother lived her entire life serving others. She wasn’t funny. She didn’t paint for sale on the school house. She didn’t put a cow in the gym. She didn’t talk her way out of traffic tickets. She didn’t borrow $10 to go to the liquor store. Instead she stood in the background making boiled raisin cake, baked beans and sloppy Joes. She canned her own chili sauce and beets. She could mash potatoes at 80 years old with strength I didn’t have at 30. No one had anything funny to say at her funeral. All they talked about was her service.
So was my Great Aunt Betty’s funeral based on service or based on fun? No, hers was based on love. She was the kindest most loving person I’ve ever known. She was a fierce mama bear and her cubs, not just her son, but anyone she loved, knew there wasn’t anything she wouldn’t do for them. At the same time she was more delicate then my grandmother. Her voice was softer and her words always kind.
So when you ask yourself why I’m such a smart alec, you can know it’s in my genes. When you ask why would you ever volunteer to do the things you do, you can know it’s in my genes. When you ask how could you love so fiercely or care for so many? It’s in my genes. How lucky am I?