Tom and I returned late yesterday afternoon from a wonderful week in St. Louis where I attended a day and a half of Executive Committee meetings and he and I both were part of the annual conference for POAMN (Presbyterian Older Adult Ministries Network). It is an organization with which I have been associated for twenty years, both as active member, two separate terms on the nominating committee, three years as secretary and six as president. My term ended this week and my response is bittersweet. It's time for me to concentrate more energy toward at home responsibilities, but I will miss the hands on involvement. POAMN has benefitted and blessed me in so many ways. It taught me older adult ministry; my circle of colleagues in ministry expanded and gave me opportunities to learn from the ministries of others; it gave me a platform to speak for both the gifts and the needs of older adults; and working with people with different theological perspectives who serve the same Lord and love the same older adults was a broadening experience. Some of my closest, dearest friends are those I have met through POAMN. This past week gave me an opportunity to re-connect with some of them--indeed, the highlight of the week!

St. Louis was beautiful, Spring being a little behind ours here. When we left, the dogwood in our front yard was beginning to fade slightly, but the week away saw those remaining blossoms drop and be replaced by a full dress of green. Redbuds were blooming everywhere we looked, both in St. Louis and along I-55. They were particularly pretty interspersed with dogwood in the woods. From the restaurant where we ate dinner one night of the conference we could look down on a park by the river and see them as well. The restaurant was a revolving one atop a downtown hotel and we had a ringside seat for the sunset, traffic on the river, Busch Stadium (the Cardinals were away) and the Arch. I was born and raised by the mighty Mississippi and I never tire of watching it. It is a return to my roots or to use river terminology, my headwaters.

The conference was one of the best we've had. For me, it seemed strange hearing ideas for ministry, knowing that I am no longer in active ministry in the church. The conference theme, "Leaving a Living Legacy," was carried out in the sharing time, keynote addresses, worship and seminars, all of which gave me help for this stage in our lives. What values would I like to leave my children and grandchildren? How do I want to be remembered? How can I take what I learned about dealing with someone with memory loss and help that person leave his life story?
We have lots to think about.

Upon arriving in town we went straight to Tommy's to see the grandchildren and were greeted with hugs, reports of their week and a big smile from Elisa. Today the four oldest have come to play for a while at our house--lots of activity!!! It was good to go, but good to come home.

This next week I have scans, bloodwork and a visit with the doctor. You know the prayer request--no cancer. Everything else is back to normal. Take time tomorrow to worship with others. God will be glorified and you will be blessed.

Blessings,
Pastor Margaret

Something new is wrong with Tom or maybe it's just the same old disease gnawing away at him. The "bad days" seem to come more frequently. The periods of weakness and nervousness visit on a regular basis. He needs more than the occasional help to do "adl's," otherwise known as activities of daily living. I continue to be the one who thinks if you know why a person does or says a particular thing, then you can work with them, help solve the problem. That frame of mind doesn't work with Parkinson's. Parkinson's devastates; it robs a person of functionality, whether it be physical, mental or both. It is difficult for the patient and for their loved ones.

Recently our daughter wrote of the difficulty in talking with her dad on the phone. He doesn't talk on the phone often, but when he does his voice is different; he doesn't sound like the strong person she's always known. She misses his strength; she misses him. Her honesty has made me admit and verbalize the things I miss about Tom. I, too, miss his strength, his control. The steadfastness, loyalty and love that is so much a part of him does not waver in his mind. Only now, he cannot take charge and care for those he loves as he would like to do. He can only think about what he would do if he could. We both know that we have one constant in our lives: the faithfulness of God. I cling to that, but I still cry.

Some of the things we had hoped to do together will never happen: the trip to Scotland, visiting the Bavarian Alps and Munich where he was stationed in the Army, returning to the Colorado Rockies and the Tetons in Wyoming, repeating our float trip on the Middle Fork of the Salmon in Idaho. Instead of planning new trips, we enjoy remembering the places we've been and the experiences we've shared. Instead of packing our bags, we sit back and enjoy the Travel Channel. It's a lot cheaper and takes us places we would not have gone otherwise. We appreciate the wonder of creation around us.

Joy arrives with Elisa at 7:30 a.m. on school days. She comes in with a huge smile and keeps us smiling all day long. I will proclaim loud and long that absolutely no one ever loved or loves their children like I love our two, but I've discovered a difference in caring for them and for a grandchild. When my own children were babies, I had so many responsibilities in addition to caring for them that there didn't seem to ever be enough time to just enjoy them. Enjoying Elisa is a big part of every day she is here. Her parents think we're helping them by keeping her. Don't tell, but her presence in our daily lives gives us renewed purpose. It is she, who helps us. Tom can get up feeling bad, but responds when Elisa smiles and coos at him.

This is not retirement as we had planned. It is not the place we dreamed of spending our sunset years. In so many ways this is better. There is more good than bad. We have time to be still and be thankful, to reflect on the many ways we have been blessed. We have time to be involved in the lives of our grandchildren, both those around the corner and those miles away.

I covet your prayers for patience and discernment.

Blessings,
Pastor Margaret

This is one of those gorgeous Spring Saturdays when the list in my head has far too many things on it! Just looking out the window makes me want to dig in the dirt and plant things. Then I catch sight of sticks and pieces of limbs that fell in the last storm, I notice the nandina still bent over from the snow six weeks ago, I see dead bushes that need to go and my urge to dig subsides a bit. There is so much clean up and soil preparation that needs to be done first. Tommy and Drew came by yesterday to change the light bulbs on the front porch and Tommy asked if I knew I had dead plants on the porch. I admitted that I knew and that they'd been dead since before Christmas. At first I tried to hide the pots behind the columns and then I noticed how symetrical in shape and color they were so I left them, thinking that from the street it really didn't matter they were dead. After all, the ones on a porch across the street are plastic and faded from the sun. Today might be the day to put fresh plants on the porch. I have to start somewhere.

Speaking of Drew--he has a new hard cast. His first choice of color was camouflage, but the clinic didn't have it so he decided on red--bright and autographs easlily. When he showed it to us, he said, "I can run now." At chuch supper on Wednesday night someone's prayer request was that Drew not run and drive his mother crazy. I think Liz has gone to sleep at night saying, "Drew, don't run." He only has one speed! He has demonstrated the strength and protection of the cast by ramming both his opposite fist and his head into it. The cast won. I repeat. "Boys will be boys."

I'm preaching tomorrow and was delighted to discover that one of the lectionary texts is Psalm 23. That meant I could use notes and an outline from an earlier sermon, not because I didn't want to start from scratch, but because it's one of my favorite texts. I hear the voices of two preaching mentors, one saying not to go too often to your file of what you've preached previously and the other saying not to be too eager to preach on the most familiar Scripture passages--Psalm 23 and John 3:16. However, I don't think either of them would be critical of my preaching this text again and again as the occasion presents itself. After all, can we ever know the Shepherd completely? I'm looking forward to another opportunity to share what Psalm 23 continues to teach me about our amazing Lord.

Blessings,
Pastor Margaret

Boys will be boys! I've heard that all my life and hearing it usually brings to mind certain images. I think of boys with baseball gloves and bicycles; of boys stomping through the mud puddles, splashing anyone nearby; of boys teasing little girls up to the point they realize girls aren't so bad after all. No matter what I can imagine, I would never have come up with the event that came about at Tommy's on Friday evening. Drew made up a fun game to play inside with big sister Sarah participating and little Mer watching. He put Jake's skateboard in line first and stacked throw pillows on the other side. The object was to run, jump over the skateboard and land on the pillows. Sarah did it perfectly. Drew didn't know his own speed or jumping ability and he cleared both the skateboard and the pillows, landing with his arm out to break his fall. His arm was described as a "W" by his dad and as a "noodle" by his mom. After several hours at the hospital, he got home with a splint and a prize or two for being a good patient. Later this week he'll have a cast put on it. He's been looking forward to baseball this spring so let's hope his arm heals quickly.

One thing a person knows when he/she puts his/her thoughts in writing is you leave yourself wide open for criticism, disagreements etc. A few posts back I commented on unfriendly actions of people and what I said was completely taken out of context and misunderstood. The result was a scathing, annonymous comment on the post and another from a friend who has recently gone to a new church herself. The first jumped on me with both feet saying that possibly I am the one who needs to extend myself and that it sounded like I was just looking for a reason to go to another church. Obviously, this person doesn't know me or he/she would know I am not a quitter. I was merely making a statement of the way things are everywhere and how we all need to be aware of who and whose we are. Since I am in the church as a regular attender, not a pastor or a minister, my place is a bit different. The second comment was about how extremely welcoming her new place of worship is and particularly I was struck by her saying that she wasn't told where something was, she was taken and shown. I revisit the issue for a couple of reasons. I know from experience that we can form such close ties with people in our circle of friends at the church--or other places--and we are so glad to see them that we unconsciously ignore new people. As a pastor I've been on the listening end when people have shared how hard they have tried to be included and they ended up being hurt. I wish you all could know a wonderful octogenarian couple, Helen and Pat. Sunday after Sunday I watched them go out of their way to talk to any and all newcomers they saw--no matter what their age, how they looked etc. Then, they would come tell me about the newcomers or get someone else to meet them. We need lots of Helens and Pats in the church! Again, I say, "Practice hospitality."

That same night in question the Bible study leader made a statement that continues to give me pause for thought. In his teaching on Mary washing the feet of Jesus with perfume and Judas criticizing her extravagance, he said something like: "Mary was a servant. Judas was interested in serving." What, I wonder, is the difference? To be a servant is to take on a role; it is to be identified with the master. To be a servant is to make a commitment to the master. Anyone can serve. I can serve you food because it's my job; I can help you across the street because I'll get brownie points, but the commitment involved can be slim to none. To be a servant of Christ identifies me with the Master and prompts me to serve Him, not a common cause or ideal. What do you think? Is this nitpicking with words? Maybe so, but if there truly is a difference, I'll be a servant.

Blessings,
Pastor Margaret

The wrens are back. Last week I tried to look inside the house for any signs of life and Tom scolded me. My scent might frighten the birds away for good, so I've tried to be patient and wait for their return. Patience and waiting paid off! Yesterday there was a wren on the porch with a small object in its mouth--don't know whether it was nest material or a bug, but the bird went into the house. There is promise of a new family and when they're all settled it will be fun to introduce the grandchildren to them.

The headline in the local paper this morning proclaimed what we all hoped: "The Drought is Over." At least it's over in West Tennessee. Right after I posted on Sunday I noticed black birds in the back yard, bathing and splashing in rainwater running across the yard and driveway. I had called the day dismal; they didn't act as if they agreed.

One thing on the "to do" list for today is to write a couple of paragraphs for information to be distributed at the annual Presbyterian Older Adult Ministries Network (POAMN) Conference to be held later this month. I've been mulling over what I might say on the theme, Leaving a Living Legacy. Keynote addresses and seminars will have the theme as their focus. What could I possibly add? As usual, the mulling and the writing are of more benefit to me than to those who might read my words. The dictionary I keep by my chair defines "legacy" as "personal property, money etc. bequeathed by a will; or anything received or passed on by an ancestor, predecessor or earlier era." What legacy will we leave? What do we consider valuable? Some things won't be passed on until we have passed. Those are the tangible, material things. The intangible, most valuable things are passed daily, moment by moment. We own things that came from our families, things that have come from genertations before us. They are precious; they are tangible. The most valuable, the most precious legacy passed to us is made up of values, Biblical teachings and insights, memories of those gone before us and the love they shared. That's the legacy I want to leave. As I watch Elisa sleeping in front of me, picture Christopher in his mother's arms and think of the others and what they are doing in school right now, I marvel at the special privilege we have to invest our lives in the lives of others--especially our families and those we hold dear.

Blessings ,
Pastor Margaret

Today is what might be described as a dismal day. It has rained off and on all weekend, mostly at the most inopportune times. The temperature is supposed to reach the upper sixties, but I doubt if does. Tom doesn't feel too perky, the skies look gloomy and we're staying home this afternoon. We'll settle in by the gas logs and watch a little more basketball. I did go teach a Sunday School class this morning, but didn't stay for worship. On the way home I reflected on a brief conversation I had with someone and the weather.

We are such strange people--sometimes fickle, sometimes ungrateful. I am. Across the South we have been experiencing a drought, some areas worse than others. West Tennessee has not suffered as much as the Raleigh or Atlanta areas, but it has been extremely dry here. So dry, in fact, that butterbeans were scarce as hens' teeth at the farmers' market. We have needed rain! We have prayed for rain and now that we are getting it in abundance, we complain. It's as if we are saying: "Lord, please send rain, but send it when it's most convenient for us."

We ask God to show us what He wants us to do, to send us where we are to go. With much conviction, we profess to only want to be obedient to God's call. "Here I am, Lord. Send me." Then God does just that. We are sent, we accept a responsibility and sometimes become discouraged because things are hard or unpleasant. I know. This has been my story more than once. I prayed for direction, telling God that I would be obedient and I was led across the country, away from family, friends, out of my comfort zone. At first, I reminded God how obedient and open I had been to His call and suggested that I might be rewarded by a new call--one that would return us to family, friends and the familiar. When my immaturity and ungratefulness hit me, my prayers changed. The obedience brought more blessings than I could ever count. But, just when I was settled into the call, loving every minute of it and all the people involved, a new call came. It was a call into the unknown--no job, no visible ministry, no regular teaching or preaching, no visiting the sick, no hours of pastoral care. It has taken a while to quit questioning and to completely accept the ministry of "in sickness and in health" and being an up close and personal grandparent. These two experiences have affirmed a few things I've heard from those far wiser and far more experienced than I will ever be. 1) Don't ask God for something if you don't want an answer. 2) Know that the answer may not be what you want to hear. 3) Don't expect that being obedient produces hardships, but be prepared when it does. 4) Remember that God is a gracious God who "goes before you in triumphant procession." 5) Quit complaining to others and let God be in charge of your life and your situation.

When I complain, I'm denying the sovereignty of God in my life and in the world. I am implying that I know best and I know that's not so. My prayer is that God will teach me to replace my complaints with words of thanksgiving and praise.

Blessings,

The whole Easter weekend was wonderful! I hope it was for you as well. Liz and the children came home Thursday night and each child seemed to have grown several inches in the few days they had been gone. Jake had learned a new song on his guitar--not just chords; all of "Joyful, Joyful, We Adore Thee." Sarah was excited to have a friend visiting from Kansas spend the night. Drew had a new guitar that played its own tune. Meredith ran from her room to the den and back again, happy to see her toys--and her daddy. Elisa smiled and we all smiled right back at her. We had stopped just to say hello after going to the Maundy Thursday service. Have I told you how good it is to be so close? Perfection would be being just as close to Marty and her family!

The Maundy Thursday service was simple: Scripture, hymns, choir selections. But it was a service of darkness and as candles were extinguished during the service, the lights in the sanctuary were dimmed until at the end only soft lights reflected on the organ pipes. The cross and the communion table were draped in black and the organ played "Were You There?" I have never particularly cared for that song, but sitting there in the darkness, listening to the plaintive melody, the question was penetrating and deeply personal. Yes, I was there. It is for me He died.

Friday was spent crossing all the "t's" and dotting all the "i's" on our income tax papers. Wouldn't you know there would be one document missing? So, instead of hunting Easter eggs, we've been hunting that all important document. I finally discovered it this morning. Tom has not lost his sense of detail and has spent a great deal of time working on files, putting things in order. He just has trouble remembering where he puts the files. Thankfully, forty plus years of togetherness help us know, at least partially, how the other one thinks.

Saturday was bright and sunny, a perfect day for being outside--except for the surprising cold air that moved in late in the afternoon. It came about the time the children got here on their scooters to play in the yard while their dad cooked pork for Sunday dinner and hamburgers for supper on the grill. (I challenge you to diagram that sentence.) Sunday services were crowded as they usually are on Easter. We ended up sitting in the balcony and even then couldn't fit the whole family on one pew.

As I sat in church I thought of Easters past. I remembered having real bunnies in our baskets when I was a pre-schooler. There were thoughts of brand new white shoes, not broken in, pinching my feet. (Of course, you had to be mindful of the rule: never white before Easter or after Labor Day.) I remembered sunrise services in the cemetary when I was a teenager. I visualized two particular crosses at Fair Oaks: one about a foot tall and made completely of nails on a table in the narthex and the other, the most beautiful I have ever seen. During Lent it stands in the front of the sanctuary, stark, a vivid reminder of its cruel punishment. It's draped on Maundy Thursday, but on Easter Sunday it is alive, covered with magnolia leaves and fresh calla lilies. Not only is it a sight to behold, the symbolism is powerful.

During the sermon I also thought of a minister commenting about the difficulty of preparing a fresh Easter sermon year after year. I wondered if our minister here would make the same comment. As he preached an image of a flower bud came to me. When we first hear the Easter message our minds/hearts are much like a bud, but as we hear the message over and over our minds open, grasp its meaning more and more. It is a message that never grows old and its meaning grows with us as we grow spiritually. The bud in my mind continues to open with understanding and I'm grateful for all of those who have nurtured it with the Easter message year after year. One day it will be fully open when I see the risen Lord face to face.

Mary was at the tomb that first Easter and mourned because she thought the body of Jesus had been stolen. Imagine her surprise when she heard His voice speaking to her! Imagine her saying, "I have seen the Lord!" She could not keep it to herself and she ran to tell others. May we all take a lesson from Mary! Does it make a difference that we have seen Him too? If so, run and tell others.

Blessings,
Pastor Margaret

The silence is deafening in our house. The bouncy seat is still. There are no bottles by the sink. Elisa, her mom and her brothers and sisters are visiting Liz's parents this week and it's too quiet! We have loved having Tommy for supper since they've been gone, but the fun is not complete without the rest of his family. When I asked him earlier in the week when they were coming home, he said, "Not soon enough." My sentiments exactly!

It's Holy Week and we're about to remember the darkest day in the Church and then celebrate the most joyous day--the day of resurrection. I am reminded of Tony Campolo telling of a "preaching competition" he had with a seasoned African American minister. Campolo gave his sermon his all, felt really good about his message and sat down, thinking he had that competition in the bag. Then the other minister stood and preached a five word message: "It's Friday, but Sunday's coming." He began slowly and quietly and over and over he preached those words, getting louder and louder until he finished with all the thunder and emotion he could muster: "IT'S FRIDAY, BUT SUNDAY'S COMING." Therein lies our hope.

It's March Madness--basketball, basketball, basketball. Our Mississippi State Bulldogs have done well this year and are playing Friday night in the NCAA Tournament. You can be sure we'll be watching. We were tuned in last Friday watching them in the SEC Tournament when, at the end of an exciting game and in over time, a tornado hit the side of the arena where they were playing. That's surely a game no State fan will forget. Six SEC teams are in the "Big Dance," as TV folks like to call it so we'll have lots of games to watch. At least two other SEC teams are playing in the NIT so we'll be watching them too. Jackson has hosted the NAIA Women's Basketball Tournament for nineteen years and it, too, is being played this week. Not only is it a boost to the economy, but local folks get involved with hosting and sponsoring visiting teams and take advantage of watching some good basketball at the downtown arena. We're going with a group from our church tomorrow. I wonder if there is such a thing as basketball overload.

We have some new guests--at least I think they are still here. Yesterday at breakfast I was watching our bird friends eating from the containers on our back porch. I noticed a small bird with a twig in its mouth, sitting on the hummingbird feeder looking around. Then it darted into the beautiful, hand painted gourd hanging on the porch for a decoration. It really is a birdhouse, but I bought it because a special lady made it and for its artistic value. The little bird, a wren, was joined by a second wren and I watched them dart in and out with leaves and twigs in their beaks all morning. My initial thought was, "No, not in my birdhouse." My second thought was a question: "Why not my birdhouse?" After all, it is a birdhouse and hanging it suggested to the wrens that they were welcome in it. Why would I say by my action, "Come on in" and then be a bit concerned that they actually did? There's bound to be a sermon illustration in that. I haven't seen the wrens today. I hope they are taking cover from the thunderstorms and not feeling unwelcome.

These things and income tax are on my mind.

Blessings,
Pastor Margaret

Some things never change. Have you noticed? For us earthlings and matters that surround us, that's not always a good thing. For God, it's a good thing. I take great comfort in knowing that none of the attributes, none of the characteristics of God ever change. You might say that because of the unchanging love, mercy, grace, wisdom, compassion and faithfulness of God I CAN change--change my attitudes and behavior; change my priorities and become more the person God created me to be. That's been on my mind a lot in the last several months. As an individual, a child of God, there is always room for change. As a body of believers, the Church (big and little "c"), there is always room for change, no matter what our denomination.

We've been trying to get back to Wednesday night supper and program at the church now that it's getting warmer. We have missed so many worship services and other things that people had begun to notice and wonder if we were all right. It is nice to be missed, but here's the funny thing and I have watched it happen in most churches. People will express "how glad they are to see you," but not really include you. While we were eating Wednesday night I told Tom that I didn't think I'd go to supper any more and he was surprised. I said, "Well, we don't come because of the food; we come for the fellowship and we could visit with one another a lot better sitting at our table, eating our food." Most nights at the church we eat at one of the tables for eight by ourselves--we aren't part of any of the groups at the other tables. I watched that happen to newcomers to the older adult lunch group in the last church where I served and never stopped trying to preach, "practice hospitality." What does unfriendliness, what does being exclusive say about our faith? Is this a place where a need for change is indicated?

During Lent the minister, the parish associate and the educator (our son) have taught a series based on Bible passages we might not ordinarily associate with Lent. Wednesday Tommy taught on the story of the lame man who was brought to Jesus by four friends and Mary washing Jesus's feet with perfume. In the first passage we talked about repentance and relationships and about Mary's unwavering love for Jesus in the second. Some of Tommy's teaching started me to think. If you notice in Mark 2, when the friends lower the man through the roof and Jesus sees them, He says "Your sins are forgiven." That's not really what they expected--they came for healing for their friend. And, it's because of their faith that the sins are forgiven. Usually, when we teach this passage, we point to Jesus's authority and ability to forgive sins because of who He is, but I've been thinking about the faith of the friends and the relationship between them and the lame man. The relationship was such that they shared their faith; they wanted so much for the man to have an encounter with Jesus that they were willing to go to great lengths to make in happen.

Mary, on the other hand, is all about Jesus. He is her focus and she is criticized for the expense to which she went to express her love for Him.

How do these passages and our experience at supper relate to one another? And where does change fit into the picture? I think we start with Mary and her focus. We need to not just say that we love Jesus. We need to live like we do, no matter what the cost. When we focus on Jesus, that attitude which was in Him will change our attitude to be the same as His. Then, we need to care about people. Know that we are the face of the Church. Hospitality is about receiving and caring about others. It's about sharing what we have--the best of what we have. If you come to my house for dinner, I'm going to go out of my way to see that you are comfortable and well fed. Why, then, would I not want to share Jesus, "the best that I have?"

Friends, change needs to take place in all of us and in all of our churches. We need to be like Mary and focus on the Lord of the Church and we need to be like the friends and share Jesus. A change in us can bring about a change in our world.

Thanks for reading and letting me speak my piece. If you care about change and want some practical, prayerful help, read Evelyn Christiansen's, Lord, Change Me. It's a good place to start.

Blessings,
Pastor Margaret

Same song, second verse. This is my second try of the day to publish. The first got lost.

Meet Elisa, the sweet little one we keep on school days. The picture was taken about a month ago and she is smiling at her Paw Paw, something she does quite a lot. She looks much like her dad did at this age--now too, for that matter. In a couple of weeks she'll make her first trip to "the lake" with her other brothers and sisters to see her Mimi and Pop. They will be thrilled with her smiles too!

The weather man finally got it right with the prediction of frozen precipitation. It started snowing here yesterday about 2 p.m. and continued way past dark. It was beautiful coming down, "luminous with the moon shining on it" (Jacob's descriptive words), and beautiful when we awoke. By noon much of the backyard had melted. Leaves on the magnolia in our yard and others on our street made good surfaces for holding the snow; our dogwood looked as if it was blooming early with white tulip shaped blossoms; the nandina outside our back windows are bent double to the ground. Usually, with the slightest breeze their movement causes one of the lights on the corner of the house to come on, but they can't with their tops bowed to the ground. The three oldest grands came down to inspect our snow after they had played some at their house. They had a brief snowball fight, but spent most of their time inside snacking. They said they would be back, but I suspect after their mom gets them inside and dry, their plans will change. Snow is pretty, but it does make a mess and create more laundry.

The snow brings back memories of the first Christmas Tommy and Liz lived here. A few days before Christmas they were greeted with both snow and ice. We flew in from California and were stranded overnight in the Memphis airport. The next morning we rented a car, drove the eighty miles in three hours and literally slid into the driveway. Later that afternoon Tom was playing outside with the children and when Sarah's cardboard box sled got away from her, he went running to her rescue, but fell and cracked ribs on the curb. We spent some time in the ER Christmas Eve night. But, not as long as Linda, Liz's mom, spent there on Christmas day. They had arrived while Tom and I were seeing about him and the next morning we had a good time opening gifts and having a late breakfast. Linda and Frank returned to the hotel to rest a bit before dinner, she fell on the steps, broke her tailbone and off they went to the ER. They were there for hours. Not wanting them to miss dinner, Liz fixed their plates on the Christmas china and delivered it to the hospital. We chuckle a little bit when we talk about that Christmas, but it wasn't fun then.

We went to Corinth yesterday for my monthly visit with the doctor and for a treatment. The church friend who drove us spent most of her working life in Philadelphia and in the DC area so she wasn't threatened in the least by impending bad weather. All around us school districts were either closed or were letting out early. That didn't deter us and we were home before the snow started. The doctor was out with the flu the last time I went so we didn't get the official scan report from February until yesterday. They are improved since ones taken in November, 07, and the CA125 continues to drop--not a perfect report, but not bad. I will have the sixth and final treatment of this series the first Friday in April, wait three weeks to repeat the scans and he will re-evaluate where we are.

I was lying in bed this morning allowing my mind to wander and I realized I had not named this cancer. (I have a quirk about giving things names.) The breast cancer was called "Molly the Mass" and the first bout with ovarian cancer was dubbed "Tillie the Tumor," but these last two occurences are hard to name because there is no mass, nor tumor. I thought about "Ollie" for ovarian, but promptly dismissed that because one of the dearest people I know is called Ollie. Then "Pesky" came to me. I thought: this is like some people I know that corner you when you need to be somewhere or some that annoy you and you try to avoid them. A particular type comes to mind. Maybe you know the type; maybe not. Maybe I should be ashamed and duck my head into my clerical collar, but I don't own one. I have known some people I describe as "space invaders." They stand a little too close when they talk to you, they talk on and on and all the while I'm standing there smiling, nodding, trying to gracefully excuse myself. What a thought! This cancer fits the description. It has invaded my space and I'm doing whatever is medically possible to avoid it. Since it is chronic, it wants to go on and on while all the while I'm still smiling, nodding with hope and praying for a miracle. Though it is "pesky" and that name fits, "space invader" has a better ring to it. From now on this cancer will unaffectionately be known as "Space Invader."

That's it for now. I wanted you to see Elisa, hear of our snow and the doctor's report. I surely do hope the post publishes this time. I'm not sure I can write it a third time. Have a wonderful, blessed weekend. Worship Almighty God wherever you are and you will, most assuredly, be blessed.

Blessings,
Pastor Margaret

Tom had his last speech therapy appointment yesterday and I can honestly say the time has been well spent. Parkinson's can affect one's speech in a couple of obvious ways: diminished volume and slurring of words. Tom thought he was speaking loud enough to be heard and he didn't realize he hurried some words and parts of sentences which caused the slurring. I was struggling at times to hear him and to understand the words I did hear. He interpreted things differently. The problems I identified could and have been helped. He speaks more slowly and clearly, listens to himself and self corrects when he realizes he has been hurrying. Unfortunately, the problem he recognized is just one more Parkinson's problem which has no resolution. The once articulate man who thought well on his feet, the person who was comfortable in front of people, whether it was in a courtroom, a pulpit or a group of friends now hesitates to find the right words. You can see him thinking, trying to remember what he wanted to say and how to say it.

Yesterday the therapist asked Tom to tell him about some of his most interesting trials. I knew before he started what the first one would be. I was right. He told about one of his earliest cases that involved a woman who said she found a fly in her beer can. I enjoyed hearing him tell about it though he didn't tell it with as much detail and fervor as he once did. Ask him what some legal term means or about a specific legal process and he explains either so that most of the time even I can understand. It's ordinary conversation that's the most problematic. How the brain works is such a mystery! How Parkinson's affects different aspects of the brain in different people is a mystery!

Elisa news of the week is she started eating a little cereal yesterday. It wasn't much and she let me know when she'd had enough--just clamped her little lips together and gave me one of those "no more" looks. She's one who understands Tom, her Paw Paw, quite well! Her eyes follow him when he comes into the room, she smiles at the sound of his voice, no matter the volume, and she grins really big when he says in a sing-song voice, "Elisa Leigh, Elisa Leigh, this is Paw Paw talking to you." Aren't children wonderful? They understand love and return it many times over.

Blessings,
Pastor Margaret

Happy Birthday, Aunt May! Today she celebrated her 90th birthday with a family dinner at her daughter's house. At her request, there was no big party or acknowledgement of the day. That's typical of her--keep everything simple and don't make a fuss.

Ninety years--sounds like a lot and it is, but Aunt May is ninety years young, not old. Yes, she has slowed down, has some trouble getting around, doesn't drive at night and doesn't cook much, but her spirit is young and she keeps her mind active and vital with reading, crossword puzzles and more recently with computer solitaire. I have never seen anyone work as hard as she did, keeping house for my uncle and their four children (plus me); working alongside her husband on the farm; working in the church teaching, cleaning, cooking; catering, running a restaurant. When her parents were sick, she helped care for them. When her husband grew old before his time with a debilitating illness, she faithfully and tirelessly cared for him. Times were not always easy, but I never heard her complain, never saw her give into aches and pains. What a lady! Oh, to be like her!!

The four most influential women in my life were my mother, my college piano teacher, my mother-in-law and Aunt May--especially Aunt May. Often we learn best by being in the presence of someone who has a lot to give. When I lived with her I was too young to care about cooking or sewing or keeping house. But when I grew up and began doing those things for my own husband and family I remembered the ways she did things. I remembered her strength coupled with her gentleness, her sensitivity along side her sense of humor. She has shared her wisdom and advice and her love of life--those things never grow old and neither will she!

I missed the celebration, but I thought about her just the same and I heard her laughter.

Happy Birtday Aunt May. You are the greatest!

Blessings,
Pastor Margaret

At exactly 1:11 p.m. on Thursday, February 28, Elisa turned over from her back to her tummy. Once there, she wasn't sure what to do with the arm she was crushing underneath her. We were both watching and cheered as if it were some major accomplishment. It was! She is our granddaughter and we saw it first--just one of those bonuses that comes with being a grandparent!

I don't remember exactly when either of our two children turned over for the first time. I was too busy with life, with taking care of them, trying to run a household and supplement our income by teaching piano. I was too busy to celebrate the important things--or so I thought. Keeping Elisa and talking to Marty about Christopher reminds me of the early months of our children's lives. The memories are both sweet and bittersweet. The love I felt then for our children has grown and grown and grown. But I remember being so busy that I didn't savor every moment with them. With Elisa, it's different. Everything else in our lives takes second place to her. We are present for one another. That's what I hear when I talk to Marty. Everything takes second place to her care of Christopher at this time in his life. She gets it!

Tom and I love being grandparents. It's another of God's gifts to us and we know it. We love our children and the spouses God has given them. They, too, are gifts! We are fortunate, indeed.

Blessings,
Pastor Margaret

No matter their ages, our children are full of surprises! I just happened to pull up my blog spot last night and saw the pictures of Christopher with two of his grandparents and his dad. Imagine my surprise! What Marty didn't tell you is that in the two of Tom and me holding Christopher he is just 12 hours old. We had recently arrived at the hospital after our day and a half trip to Raleigh and were so excited to see and hold him for the first time.

One of Marty's dogs loves to snoop in my stuff and chew what she finds. The first day we were there she discovered the cable that attached from my camera to the computer and chewed it into two or three pieces. Marty and Kevin replaced it with a card reader--far better than the cable that got destroyed. She assures me that I can insert pictures into my e-mails and blogs, but I haven't been brave enough to try yet. I'm glad she intervened so you could see Christopher for yourselves. Stay tuned and maybe I'll learn to post pictures too.

Yesterday I told someone that one of our TV weather forecasters has gotten to be like the little boy who cried "wolf." He has predicted frozen precipitation at least a half dozen times this winter and any comes it's a flake or two. Yesterday, later in the day, his prediction came true. We had a little sleet, followed by pretty snow flurries until about noon today--none of which stuck. There are lots of disappointed children.

Last night Tom and I attended a Parkinson's support group and learned some things about exercise for the PD patient. That part of the program was good. The leader of the group is a woman who drones on and on, apparently thinking she must comment on everything anyone says. She makes the meetings a bit tedious. I sat by a lady in a wheelchair whose speech has been greatly affected by her Parkinson's. When I told her my name, she asked if I was Presbyterian. I wondered if it showed! Then she said that she and her husband belonged to First Presbyterian and I said you must know our son. She did. Being Presbyterian didn't show after all. I had to really concentrate and get up close to her to try to distinguish what she was saying and I couldn't help but think how good it is that Tom is getting help at this stage with his speech. Maybe this will nip his speech problems in the bud. Finally, the lady told me that she and her husband moved here to teach at Union University and that she taught piano there for 25 years. We had something else in common and she seemed glad we had another connection. I will look forward to seeing her again.

Last week ABC News, both in the morning and in the evening, featured a story about a 13 year old autistic girl who has never spoken. Consequently, even her parents had doubts about her mental capacity. One day they discovered that she could communicate using a computer. Until then they had no idea the young girl could even spell. When asked the question, "What advice would you give to those dealing with autism?" She said that she would tell them not to be mad (at actions of an autistic person), but to be understanding. No one doubts her mental capacity anymore. She possesses wisdom beyond her hears.

DON'T BE MAD. BE UNDERSTANDING. Those words are stuck in my mind. They work for more than autism. Probably all carepartners get frustrated and impatient with the various symptoms exhibited by those for whom they care. I do. Frustration and impatience, without understanding, leads quickly to anger. Anger is nonproductive. The words of a young, autistic girl remind me to start every day with a prayer on my lips and in my heart that asks God to prevent my anger and give me understanding instead. It's a more loving way to live.

Blessings,
Pastor Margaret

Hi, Mom!

I'm totally hijacking my mom's blog because we never got around to our lesson in putting pictures on the blog. And who doesn't want to see pictures when there's a new baby around?



















And a more recent one. On his one month birthday this past Saturday, with his daddy:





















Now back to your regular blogging . . .

One should always check one's sources! I tried the link I put in my last post and it took me to the You Tube page, but not to the specific story I suggested. If you are interested, click on the link, type in "union university" in the "search" box and you will find more than one video on the subject. The one I referenced is "Union tribute." It's worth the effort.

Blessings,
Pastor Margaregt

It's been two weeks since the tornadoes came through Jackson and today the Union students returned. Classes begin for them tomorrow. Saturday Tom and I drove into the the part of town that took the brunt of the storm and shook our heads in disbelief. When I saw the remains of the Union campus a chill ran up and down my spine as I wondered how there could have been no deaths in the midst of all that destruction. God's protective hand was certainly present. Liz's mom sent me this link you might be interested in watching: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IiHCrsK8. It tells the story.

I learned Friday of last week that the CA125 that indicates cancer activity has gone down another five points. God's protective hand remains with me as well!

We had a great anniversary! We received cards and calls from friends and family members. It was a holiday for many, including the schools, so we didn't have Elisa for the day. We spent our day running a few errands, having lunch at my favorite Jackson restaurant, Tom had speech therapy and we ate seafood gumbo with Tommy and his family in the evening. We really enjoyed ourselves, but were tired at the end of the day.

Wierd weather patterns continue. The local TV weathermen are frustrating the school children to no end with their predictions of ice and/or snow. Several times this winter they have gotten everyone's hopes up and then nothing of any consequence happens. Once again we have been alerted to ice/snow possibilites beginning tomorrow late and continuing through Friday. Who knows? Thankfully, we don't have to go out for anything.

Tom and I went to church together on Sunday for the first time in weeks. Even the Sundays I've substituted in Sunday School or preached in a neighboring town, he has not felt like going with me. It was good to be in worship and to have two of our grandchildren sitting with us. The lectionary gospel reading in John 3 was the text for the sermon and the approach was one I haven't heard before. The minister spoke of Nicodemus and how much we resemble him. He said and did all the "right" things, but could not understand that it's really about believing. The sermon made me think: is my spiritual life focused on "right" words, "right" traditions, "right" actions? Or is it focused on Jesus, the Son of God and my relationship with him? He did for me what I could never do for myself. He gave his life so that I could also have life. Anything "right" should come from my grateful heart. It's too bad that doing church often gets in the way of being the Church!

Til next time . . .
Blessings,
Pastor Margaret

Today, February 13, begins the anniversaries of an eventful ten or so days in our lives. Many of you know of our "long" engagement that started on the 13th of February and culminated with our wedding on the 18th. If you know our story, fast forward and skip the next few lines or stay with me as I have fun remembering.

Tom came home from an almost three year tour of duty in Munich, Germany on Christmas Eve, 1966. His tour was curtailed and he was on the "fast track" to Vietnam. He was a captain in the Army artillery and he was needed in the war--or so they said. Mom and I didn't think so. We communicated all the time he was in Germany and by the time he came home we had been having an on again, off again courtship for six years. Never, in a million years, did I think I would marry him! Seeing him again after his years away, I knew he was the one God had chosen for me and we began talking about getting married either at the end of his preparation for Vietnam or when he came home from Vietnam. He thought we should wait. He didn't want to marry me one week and leave me the next, but his mother told him, in so many words, that he was crazy. So, on Monday, February 13, he told the superintendent of the school where I was teaching that I would be quitting that week. We went to the courthouse to apply for a marriage license, got a blood test and he put a ring on my finger. Saturday, the 18th, we were married, complete with a dress my mother made that week and we left the church headed for Ft. Sill, Oklahoma. Five months later he was on a plane to Southeast Asia. I'll always be thankful for Mom's insistence that love shouldn't be postponed by a war. Every year this time we reminence about that week, how hectic it was and how much fun it was. Six years later our second child was born on February 24.

Valentine's Day has always taken a back seat to our anniversary and Marty's birthday. They are such big, important days of celebration. They are days that remind us of some of God's greatest gifts to us--our marriage and our children. I remember like it was yesterday, standing in the front of the church, holding Tom's hand and hearing Dr. Sims pronounce us man and wife. Now, here we are forty one years, two children and six grandchildren later still counting our blessings and being astounded that life continues to get better! You should be so blessed!

Today has also been special because it was Elisa's first day back with us since we went to North Carolina to greet Christopher. It's been almost three weeks since we've kept her and we've missed her. She entertained us throughout the day with her smiles and "talking." Tom is smitten with her deep blue eyes and long dark lashes! So am I!

We could not have designed a better life if we had tried. I wouldn't have known where to begin to create the lives of our children and I would know even less about putting together the personalities of our grandchildren. They are all truly God's creations. It is our privilege to know and love them and to pray for them.

We are celebrating God's goodness!

Wednesday of this past week--the day after--dawned sunny and clear, but several degrees cooler. The only debris in our yard was left over from the ice the previous week. But, as daylight dawned more and more damage was visible on the north side of the interstate. We learned that the home of one church member was completely destroyed.

Thursday I drove to Memphis for a Committee on Ministry meeting and about five miles west of town I began encountering clean up crews. Trees were snapped in two or completely uprooted, highway signs were twisted, billboards were down and on the sides of the road and in the median you could see places where eighteen wheelers had overtuned. After three or four more miles trees were upright and things looked normal. I saw no signs of damage in the part of Memphis where we met, but I know there is destruction there compounded by looting.

Yesterday, Friday, we drove to Corinth for my treatment. It was a beautiful day. There were patches of green in the fields and some trees had that pinkish tint that appears right before they bud. The drive took us through another area in West Tennessee where the storms hit. I had heard that a mattress factory had been demolished and knew its exact location because I had thought it strange that there would be such a factory in such a rural area. Well, it's not there anymore. The front of what had been the building is crumpled and the contents are all over the land behind, in the trees, draped over the fences. I have heard that mattresses were found miles away.

Schools in our county, as well as in some others, remain closed until Monday. It has taken some time to get power restored and some faculty and staff have had damage at their homes that needed attention. Students at Union University won't report back until February 18. Authorities are still trying to determine what buildings are usable. They know 80% of the residence halls are gone, so finding a place for students to live is part of the challenge. Hopefully, they will be able to complete the semester.

Being brought face to face with both tornadoes and my cancer in the same week prompted comparisons. I learned early in life the difference in a tornado "watch" and a tornado "warning." A "watch" means that conditions exist for the possibility of a tornado and you should be alert--watching. A "warning" needs to be taken much more seriously. This means a tornado has been sighted and those in the vicinity and/or path should move to a place of safety. A person who has a family history of cancer or who has certain risk factors in themselves (i.e. previous cancers) is under a cancer "watch." A "warning" means cancer has been sighted/detected and a person should do everything possible to be safe. Sometimes in either the case of the tornado or the cancer, you heed all the advice, take all the precautions and you still fall prey. Sometimes the tornado devastates one side of the street and not the other. Some survive cancer; some do not. Because we never know when or where the storms in our lives may occur, we need someone in our lives who is bigger than any storm, someone who brings peace in the midst of the storms and someone who will ultimately deliver. Praise God, He is that One!

Scans on Tuesday showed good improvement over the ones in November and though they are not clear we are encouraged that the treatments are working. Two more treatments will be given in this series, then the doctor evaluates and we go from there. Be assured that we are on "watch," knowing that conditions exist that could cause more problems. And, being "warned" I am heeding all the advice and praying that the treatments send this storm on its way again.

Both the phone and my e-mail have been busy this morning with friends checking on us after last night's devastating storms. I am happy to report that we are fine, with no signs of wind damage, no limbs down and no loss of electrical power. We stayed glued to the TV from about 5:30 to 11:30 p.m. and listened for the tornado sirens which sounded off and on for long periods of time throughout the evening. You cannot live in this part of the country and not have done some advance planning for storms. We always keep bottled water, candles, matches, flashlights (and batteries) handy and we have a designated "safe" spot. As soon as we knew the estimated time the storm would be here, we took our supplies to the spot and got ready for the worst.

Interstate 40 intersects the city from east to west and US 45 and a 45 by-pass intersect it from north to south. We live just south of I-40 and between 45 and the by-pass. Most of the damage, certainly the worst, was north of I-40 and across 45 and the by-pass. Union University where students were trapped in destroyed dorms, some for several hours, is about a mile and a half to two miles from us, north of I-40. Most everything north of I-40 lost power and schools all around the area in West Tennessee are closed as crews assess damage and repair power lines. The amazing thing is that there were only two fatalities in our county. We are thankful to be safe, dry and warm. Tommy's family around the corner from us is safe as well.

Thank you for your prayers and concern. Please continue to pray for those across the South who have sustained damage and lost loved ones.