Firm Foundations

I've mentioned before that my daddy was a builder. He built houses his whole adult life. He was what I would call a master. He was a perfectionist when it came to something he was going to sell to someone else, I always thought it was kind of funny that he never got around to finishing the inside of our bathroom closet. You know how the old saying goes, "the cobblers children have no shoes". He was just too busy or maybe he just left that one element incomplete for some reason I never heard. I saw many of the houses he built because he would build a house a year at Lake Martin on the weekends then sell it once it was finished. He usually had a buyer before it was done but he would make sure we finished out the summer swimming and skiing and riding in the boat. I wish I'd paid more attention to his skill and knowledge when it came to building. Since I was a girl he never thought to pass along the tools of the trade.
One thing I did learn about the building world from my dad was the importance of a good foundation. I watched him many times dig the footing for these homes with a pick ax and a shovel. He would lay out this elaborate string system with two-by-fours at the corners. Then he would start digging. He never needed to go to a gym, he built massive arms doing this kind of work. It seemed like such hard work just to cover it all up with concrete and then wood. I asked him why he did all that and he told me that a house is only as good as it's foundation. His favorite was the "slab". That's when you poured a concrete sub-floor and built right on top of it. His second choice was a crawl space but he only did that if the lot was impossible to get flat. I remember going with him to look at property for possible house sights. If the land was hilly he often kept on going but if it had at least the potential to be flat he walked it off. He would measure the property with is steps a yard at a time. I was usually waiting in the boat or the truck doing what little girls do, day dreaming, playing with dolls, or picking weeds on the edge of the potential house spot, sometimes if it wasn't too thick with briers he'd let me follow along after him. I couldn't rattle on like I was prone to do though because he was measuring, counting steps. He could imagine a house on a lake front lot like it was already there...I have to think I got some of my imagination from him.
When the lot was purchased he'd start his work, clearing, burning then digging. It would take him a while to get all the digging done but he did it all by himself. He'd lay the brick help the men from the concrete company smooth out the slab and he'd really be off and running. It was amazing to me to watch the progress. He'd usually take about a year to complete his projects but that was working only on the weekends. It bothered me that he never went to church, but I'd hear him whistling hymms from time to time and he loved Hank Williams song "I Saw the Light", he'd sing that one out loud. I felt like his work was a kind of praise to God. He would not have fit in at any of the churches I knew of anyway.
I remember the one time he attended our church. It was a Sunday night and my beloved was getting ordained to preach. Daddy actually came and sat right up front with the family. I waited for the roof to fall but it didn't. He wasn't a church goer that but that was between him and the Lord. He built a firm foundation into my life by being committed to something he loved, his work and his family. Although it was sometimes a point of contention between he and my mom it was something he had to do. He drew his identity from it. He never made the living he deserved, he usually sold the houses far under market value but he put me through college without a single student loan, made sure my mama drove a decent car, had a nice home and plenty of anything we needed. There aren't many men like him left, now dads are more involved in sports and other activities their children are interested in...I'm glad about that for the most part. Dads need to be there for their kids, and kids certainly need fathers in today's world even more than when I was a young. Work is a means to an end...at least in my case it was a good example for life. Do something you love, do it well and start with a good foundation.

A Heroes Welcome

I have a cousin who served in Vietnam. He was nineteen when he first went, just a little older than my boys are now. I cannot imagine the nightmare he experience while he was there. I've heard so many horror stories, the heat,the incredibly dark nights, the mosquitoes, the shear terror of it all. I was all of fourteen when the war ended so I didn't really think too much about it back then, they said it was the first war we could watch on the nightly news but after a while I think we all just got used to it and didn't pay attention quite as much. This was the way it was, we had service men and women in probably the scariest place in the world but it just didn't seem real from our recliners and couches. All I knew was I had a cousin over there and I hoped he'd come back walking not in a pine box . All the soldiers wanted to get back too and dreamed of their families and friends at home. While they were doing this a movement was going on that shocked many when they did get their discharges or furlows. There were people, Americans, who threw stuff at them, spit on them and called them all sorts of horrible names. My cousin experienced this himself. It was not bad enough for a bunch of boys right out of high school to be shipped around the world to endure all sorts of things they would never be able to get out of their heads...they had to come home to a group of people who were loud if not large in number who despised them. What a pity. I wish I had been a little older, understood a little better, had planned a party when my cousin came home. I'm sure there was some sort of quiet celebration with the family, I think I remember going to my aunt's house to see him but I'm sure it was not what he deserved.
Well, better late than never I guess. Another cousin, our hero's sister, called me yesterday with a plan. We are going to throw him a party to celebrate the forty years he's been out of the military. He is somewhere around sixty I think but he has cancer. We don't know how much longer he's going to be with us so we thought a party to celebrate his life would be better than us all grieving his death. This way he gets to enjoy being talked about. He is a hero . He earned the Bronze Star twice and some other medals or honors that I've heard he told the army to put where there is never sunshine. After the way they brought them home in the cloak of secrecy to avoid the radicals who would treat them badly it's a wonder any Vietnam vets have a positive view. I've heard many are homeless, many have severe emotional problems, some have given up on life itself. But some, like my cousin have walked on, they have raised children and enjoyed grandchildren, they have kept their faith and opened up to family or friends about what happened to them while they were in the closest thing to Hell most of them have ever dreamed of.
On the Sunday before Labor Day we will come together as a family with pies, cakes, fried chicken and potato salad to let our hero from the war know we won't forget his service to our country and to us. I'll apologize that my regards are so late.

Dogs of Peace

I've been waking up at 3am the last few mornings. Usually what I do when I can't get back to sleep is pray. I've been really trying to not talk so much but listen to God instead...He obviously has more important things to say to me than I do him. This morning was particularly interesting...I'll try my best to explain what I think he was getting at...somewhere in my praying I slipped into a dream, I think.

Sheep. I have always loved sheep. I have not been around many and I've been told that they tend to smell bad and are not very smart. Well, the same can be said about teenage boys and I usually have a yard or house full of them and love them too. I was once at the home of a friend who told me his mother was cooking lamb chops for dinner...being a huge Sherry Lewis fan, I was having no part in that. (To those of you who are too young to know who she is google her, she had a little friend named "Lamb Chop") I told him I had to leave. I know the people of the Bible ate sheep as well as used their wool for clothing and skin softener, the latter two don't bother me but killing them just makes me a little queezy not to mention very sad. Anyway, I had sheep in my dream but they weren't the main event...no, another animal was the champion of this dream. We had a shepherd, I am certain, now that I think of it he was Jesus, makes sense, he is the good shepherd. But, he had helpers. They were beautiful border collies who weaved in and out of the herd moving them around with great precision. The shepherd walked behind and the dogs did the work....I believe this dream was God's voice to my ears.
I have some very good friends who are those "Dogs or Peace". They are the ones I call on to ask for prayer, usually it's a request for someone they may not even know but they go to work for me. They work together and don't even know it. I have had some very specific requests lately and I see God moving in big ways and directing my sheep herding friends to go left or right, to visit someone who's about to go over a steep embankment, to stop and be still or to be bold and tell the truth in love. It's a beautiful picture of what the kingdom of God really is all about. It's not a church with a tall steeple, or beautiful architecture or the people who go to these establishments to "see and be seen". It's about the sheep....those of us who are smelly and not too smart. It's about all of us who are searchers, dreamers, failures and successes. The shepherd loves us all and the "Dogs of Peace" help guide us home.

This is a song that came to mind when I woke up after the dream.I wish I could have found it to download, it's a rock song but beautifully done by a group of studio musicians who call themselves "Dogs or Peace". The album is called Speak, if you can find it in the back of some record bin or on the net get it. The words of this song are simple but...hey, so are sheep.

Out on the mountain
The Shepherd is watching
Those running from all reason
We can help them see Him

We can do our part
To change the hearts
Of everyone who's
Out there running
Storms are coming
Out there on your own
You call the Spirit
Angels hear it
The dogs of peace will guide you home

We're merely servants
Bowed before the Master
Humbled that He'd choose us
We're amazed that He could use us

To do our part
In changing hearts
Of everyone who's
Out there running
Storms are coming
Out there on your own
You call the Spirit
Angels hear it
The dogs of peace will guide you home

We can do our parts
In changing hearts
Of everyone who's
Out there running
On your own
You call the Spirit
Angels hear it
The dogs of peace will guide you home

To Billy, Teresa, Kelly, LeAnn, Les, Michael, Melda, CarolAnn, and all I have missed...thank you. Keep up the good herding.

Lissy and the Crane

This morning on the way to school, as we were leaving our driveway we saw that the crane that loves to sit on the bank of the pond was caught in a fishing line. The line was left there this summer by someone fishing. I hadn't really paid much attention to it but when I saw the crane I thought maybe someone should have gotten it out of the tree...that someone probably was me but I don't have tons of time to think about the pond or things hanging over it. Anyway, the poor bird was caught at near the tip of one wing, the line had obviously wrapped around it and tightened so he couldn't pull it loose. I felt so sorry for him but Lissy was beside her self. She kept asking me what I was going to do for "Bob", that's what I started calling him because he is a Crane and the only famous crane I could remember was an actor named Bob. Lissy kept saying "poor little guy, we have to help him". It was so cute to see her concern! She even suggested that we call somebody! I didn't know anyone to call at 7:30am to rescue a giant prehistoric looking bird! We got back from taking the older girls to school and he was still standing there waving his wing at us...Lissy wailed, "Mama, we have to help the little guy" again. I called our neighbor Trip who seems to be something of a nature lover himself...I know for a fact he threatened to call the proper authorities to some mean boys in the neighborhood for trying to shoot our owls, why would anyone want to shoot an owl? Okay, sorry, need to focus....he said he would come out and see what he could do...then from the front porch Lissy "directed" Trip...she told him to "get something at yours house and cut Bob's wing loose", and she asked "are you gonna hep him Mssr Trip?" "He is stuck in the fish line, poor lil guy" I was trying to get myself together so I could be out the door for an appointment in just a few minutes so I was listening.I seriously doubt he could hear her but she directed just the same. She cheered when Trip cut him loose. She yelled "Mom, Mssr Trip got him! He got him!" She was so appreciative and excited. I think she really felt empathy for the bird, this is a sweet and wonderful emotion for a four year old. I am so thankful for her kind spirit.

After thought....Matthan felt terrible that he couldn't help Bob before school but he was running late as is his habit. He said he really felt bad when he saw a baby crane there with Bob, perhaps we should change "his" name to Babette.

To Whom It May Concern:

I have been witnessing something for several months. It began as a natural affection for the tiniest human I'd ever seen, much less held in my hands.I am a foster mother, consequently many of my closest friends are foster mothers too. My good friend Kelly brought home a little precious angel...he had been born many weeks early and needed constant vigilant care. Kelly was God's choice for this child because, as with most foster children the biological mother was not able for whatever reason to handle the responsibilities of a high demand, special needs child. I had talked to Kelly many times at length about what it meant to foster and how she and her family was up to the challenge of taking in children and letting them go when the time was right. This little boy is now 20 months old. The physical therapists and doctors said he wouldn't do near what he's doing now. Kelly's family has challenged him at every stage, made him reach farther and work harder to get him to the place he is today. Last night I witnessed him with the family and extended family at a local restaurant, he was walking all over the place! We are all his cheerleaders. At one point he saw me looking at him and he waved his little hand at me. I waved back and blew him a kiss, he put his hand to his mouth to return the gesture. I wanted to cry.
Kelly has said so many times that she wouldn't let her heart be set on adopting this sweet baby because of some factors none of us have any control over. He is a black child and Kelly's family is white...there is no color separation in this little boy's mind, he has decided in his young life to call Kelly "Mama", she didn't teach him to do this, she tried to get him to call her "Nanny Kelly", he heard her biological children calling her "Mama" so there was no stopping this. Children need to call somebody "Mama" I just believe that is born into them....this boy loves Kelly because all his life she has been his mama. Kelly's family has no problem with him being of another race. They have friends from different ethnic groups and backgrounds, they love him because he is the person he is not because of or in spite of his ethnicity, but there are problems with this in the eyes of some. Another reason Kelly has not wanted to get her heart set on adopting this child is there is a "resource" available who is a family connection. I have no reason to think these people are bad or have any wrong motives for wanting custody of this child but they have not been there all his life. He is still very young, but he is very attached to his present family and attachment continues to be the prevailing factor in foster children's learning problems, emotional instability, poor social interaction and many other issues that effect children in the system. I have experienced this first hand! I have done extensive research and I believe if a child can be placed early in his life in a positive environment where he is stable and LOVED he can thrive in spite of his beginning. This child is a perfect case study for my theory.
He really shouldn't have made it....but he did.
He shouldn't have made the progress he has with Cerebral Palsy.....but he has.
He shouldn't be walking yet.........but he can.
He shouldn't be talking yet........but he does.
Where would this child be without a family who has in spite of themselves fallen deeply in love with him?
Where will he go from here?
My suggestion has been all along, some form of co-parenting. If parental rights are terminated for his biological mother, let Kelly's family keep him. Let the family resource be just that, a resource that has some input in his life and plays a part in his upbringing. Every child benefits from more adults and extended family loving him. It is just not morally right to strip him from the only home he's known. We have all seen the heartbreaking scenes on the news of caseworkers tearing a toddler out of another families arms while the child has a total breakdown. Why would anyone want to do that? It is a terribly selfish act on the part of the adults.
Bottom line, I saw this little boy in the middle of his "real" family last night...Kelly's immediate family and those of us who would also grieve the loss if he had to be removed from their home. I know he will suffer a tremendous, possibly irreversible setback if he is not adopted by my sweet selfless friend.
We hear "best interest of the child" all the time....adoption by present foster family IS best interest for this child.

What is Family?

Cub Scouts

When I was little Mama signed me up for Girl Scout, Brownies really . There was a little building in the very middle of the village where we met. I was allowed to walk to the meetings with two older girls, Ellen and Kate. The girls in my grade who walked were Betty, Steffie and me. I remember thinking it was so grown up to walk past the bus and right off the school grounds without even telling a teacher. Most of the kids thought nothing of it but it was new to me and I loved it. Of course Ellen and Kate were totally bored with the rest of us and walked a few feet ahead at all times. They were only escorting us out of some kind of Girl Scout duty, like there was a badge they could earn for babysitting. Their mamas were the scout leaders. They were very nice to us but I didn’t enjoy girl scouts as much as I had Cub Scouts. Our neighbor Mrs Conway was a den mother. They lived across the street and on Tuesday afternoons car loads of boys converged on her carport. She always had the meetings out there…winter , spring, summer, fall…I figured she didn’t want those smelly boys in her house, I didn’t blame her a bit. If I had been in her place I would have made the boys who LIVED there sleep outside, they were the smelliest of all. Mrs. Conway always looked pretty and wore pearls like June Cleaver. I didn’t care for her older boy at all. He tried to kill me once, and if my cousin James, who was bigger and meaner hadn’t stepped in he might have finished the job, he pulled a pocket knife and told me if I squealed on him for saying a real nasty cuss word and using the word Bible in the same sentence he would cut my sissy tongue clean outta my head. He had embarrassed me in front of a bunch of people once too and I had no mind to forgive him for either offense. I just stayed out of his way. But, cub scouts looked like so much fun. They did the best crafts in the whole world. Mrs. Conway would see me hiding in the camellia bush watching from my yard. She would hold up the crafts for me to see, if I seemed interested she would invite me over after. The best one was the seed rooster. It was a piece of plywood with the outline of a rooster drawn on it. She had a bunch of little Dixie cups with seeds in them for me to glue on the board to make the rooster. There were beans and corn like I helped my daddy plant in the spring and there were other seeds I had never seen before. Daddy could identify all of them but I just thought they were really pretty and worked beautifully for a rooster’s tail especially when they were varnished to a golden shine. The crafts were the only part of Cub Scouts they let me participate in, that was fine with me. Mrs. Conway always saved the stuff so when the cloud of smelly boys cleared I could do the craft too….only she let me in her dining room to do it.