TPIR. IYKYK

If you are a child of the 80s, maybe you can relate:  every time I stayed home from school, no matter what I had or how unwell I felt, there was always one bright spot during the day.  If memory serves, that bright spot was at 11 am, eastern time.  As I lay on our brown plaid couch with whatever ailed me, my eyes would light up as my ears heard Johnny Olson (or later, Rod Roddy), say "So-and-so!  Come on down!  You're the next contest on the The Price is Right!', and the familiar tune filled the air. Yep, The Price is Right was one of my absolute favorite shows growing up.  I loved to guess along with the contests -- What does a box of Kraft macaroni and cheese cost in the state of California?  Will the yodeler fall off the edge of the cliff? Will the Plinko disc land in the $10,000 slot?  Will the big wheel land on $1.00 in the first round, or even more exciting, on the bonus round? Will a contestant in contestants' row get to reach into Bob Barker's coveted suit jacket pocket for a $100 bill for guessing the exact price (and not a penny over, of course!)?

My memories of TPIR (as true fans refer to it) span most of my life.  Even as I grew up, I still loved to catch the show whenever possible.  As I married into my husband's family, my father-in-law discovered how much I loved the show.  I used to joke that it was my life's dream to go to a taping of it before Bob Barker retired.  

One day, when my first two children were very small, my father-in-law offered to pay for flights for my husband and me to fly to LA to watch a taping of the show. We happily accepted his generous offer, sent away for tickets, and soon after flew to Los Angeles, leaving our kids with my in-laws -- another part of their kind gift to us. 

The show taping was an all-day affair.  You had to arrive at 5 am and get in line, as there was no guarantee that you would actually get into the taping; they distributed more tickets than were actually seats in the studio.  But my husband and I were there, and if memory serves, we were third or fourth in line.  After much debate and consultation with friends at home, my husband was wearing his clerical collar.  Everyone had come to the consensus that that might get him chosen to be a contestant.  (It did not.).  We stood in the dark with 300 of our new best friends, and hours upon and hours later in the late afternoon, we finally taped the show.  It was such a surreal experience, being on the set of a show I had watched virtually my whole life.  Seeing Bob Barker so near and watching all of the games happen in front of me was an experience I will never forget.  And even though we never got called up, we were visible several times during the show, since we were seated directly behind contestants' row.  It was such fun to watch back months later when it aired.

The other day I was putting something away in my husband's dresser and found this shirt.  I had no memory of him having it and asked him about it later.  He reminded me that we had bought it for his dad as a memento of the trip he had sent us on.  My father-in-law, slow to purge things, had kept it since 2002, and when he passed away, my husband kept it too.  

So now, as I look back on my silly "life's dream", it's pleasantly intermingled with memories of my dear father-in-law, who so lovingly sent us to California to see Bob and his renowned show.

Then and Now

Last week, a series of texts between my nursing-student college sophomore about his clinicals that day:

Son:  Clinicals were fine, starting to learn how to do an NG tube

Mom:  Oh wow!  That sure brings back memories!  I can also do an NG tube.  Or at least I used to be able to!

Son:  Well, you can't put one in a person, you can just do upkeep on one and do feedings, right?

Mom: No, Dad and I inserted one for you multiple times!

Son:  Ohhhh ok.

        That's fire!

        We are only learning how to do one through the nasal cavity right now.

Mom: long-ish explanation filled with memories, summed up like this:  Yes, we inserted one for you lots of times for the first two months you were home from the NICU.

Son:  That's kinda crazy. 

        I did not know that.

        Thanks, Mom and Dad.

        Ya'll goated fr

Then dear old mom proceeded to share lots more memories with my son about those days and months.  Over 20 years ago, it all seems like a bit of a blur and definitely surreal now.  I recall being at Riley and the NICU nurses telling us our baby might be discharged still on oxygen, apnea monitor, and with an NG tube.  And I recall immediately thinking, "Ohhhhh no thanks!! We'll just stay here until he doesn't need any of those things, thankyouverymuch!"  But, as time passed, the reality became clear that after seven weeks in the NICU, our little guy was ready to come home, still needing all three of those things I had politely declined several weeks earlier.  And miraculously, we discovered we could do hard and scary things, especially when it came to taking care of our child. 

So fast forward almost 21 years later, and our son, the little fragile baby who needed an NG tube, is now learning how to insert them on patients.  It feels like a bit of a full-circle moment to me. Nurses always played a huge part in our son's hospital stays, and he can call to mind many specific nurses who were "goated" as he would say.  During our text exchange last week, we were remembering one of them, and my final text to him about it all was this:

Mom:  Someday Isaac gonna be the goat to his patients. ❤

The Week in Pictures

Tell me you're a PreK teacher without telling me. . .This was my project last night after work.  Glue dots on flashcards for a tactile, sensory experience as my kiddos learn their letters and sounds.  Looking forward to introducing them to our literacy activities.  I gotta say it was strangely satisfying to trace each one! 

 

One of my best Christmas gifts!  A list of three of my faves for sure, although the glass of wine is in a tight race with a coke zero, but what rhymes with that?  

Ah, a Christmas Dukers.  Over break he was so good, even traveling with us to see our extended family and behaving so well.  I thought he was finally turning into a good boy!  But now that life's back to normal, he's been a little naughty again.  Sigh. I do think overall he's turning a corner. . .someday he'll get there!

I got this sweatshirt after Christmas and I love it! Ever since our trip to Ireland, I just love the sheepies and all the connections to Jesus, so when I saw this, it made me so happy.  Can't wait to wear it! 

The Best Christmas Ever

A few days before Christmas, we were at a party with a small group of friends.  Our hostess, ever full of cheer and hospitality, handed each of the 8 guests a little Christmas tag with an adjective on the back.  We were each to share a Christmas memory in line with our word.  My original word was awkward, but I swapped with my husband for "best Christmas" and tossed around several memories while I waited for my turn to share - childhood wonder and excitement, watching my children's eyes wide with Christmas joy. . .but ultimately decided on a very recent memory instead.

My best Christmas memory, I shared, started the Christmas before.  A few years ago, our December preparations were like any other year - I was excited for the Advent season, for all the kids to be home, and for the joy we have of worshiping together, giving gifts to each other, laughing together, and just being together.  But on that Christmas Eve morning, while I was at the grocery store, one of my kids texted me and told me he had a fever.  Within a few hours, that fever was confirmed covid, and everything seemed to crumble after that.  No worshiping together that night.  No family picture at the altar.  No Christmas morning at the tree (that child Facetimed us to open presents from his room).  No traveling to extended family until a couple weeks later.  And a day or two after Christmas, one of my other kids headed out of town on a pre-planned trip.  And my heart was sad.  I vividly recall taking walks every morning, tears in my eyes, but praying as I walked, thanking God for all the good in my life.  My kids were alive.  They were in my house at Christmas, even though we weren't really "together"... my prayer went on, as I tried to reframe my focus and be grateful for what God had given me, instead of focusing on all I felt I had lost and missed out on.  

As I told my story, my friends wondered "This is your best Christmas memory?!?".  "I'm getting there", I explained.  That Christmas ushered in a rough year.  Starting on Christmas Eve morning, the hits kept coming.  It was a year of loss in so many categories.  A year of hardship and heartache on so very many fronts.  And as the next Christmas loomed, I longed for the new year; a new start, to turn a new page, and put this challenging year behind us.

And that next December, I remember trying to have no expectations, no dreams of a "perfect" Christmas.  My prayer seemed simpler for this year, as I tried to keep my heart focused on the true meaning of Christmas - not my family being together, as I am so apt to idolize, but truly immersing myself in the miracle that is Christ's birth.  

And as I explained to my friends, that next Christmas was the best in my memory because it was exactly like the all others before it (excluding the year before).  Nothing spectacular happened, but instead, it was a quiet (as quiet as our family ever is, which is practically never), normal, beautiful, and joyous Christmas.  Everyone was home, no one was sick, we saw our extended family, we worshiped together, we laughed together, we were together. But in stark comparison to all the heartache from the entire year before, it was beautiful because it was normal.  And that year I appreciated it in a way that I never had before.  I was always aware of God's many blessings to me, but I think I did take some things for granted and I learned to give thanks more fully that year for all I had.  

So my best Christmas was not flashy or thrilling.  My best Christmas was quiet and humble.  But full of love and grace.  And I was so grateful for it. 

The Lord Is My Shepherd

The Scene:  Jesus time in my PreK classroom

The characters:  My 4/5-year-old students and me

The sitch: Me, introducing the story of young David as a shepherd and basically loving every minute of it and finding this to be one of my absolute favorite bible stories to teach

Sigh. You might know, dear reader, that I can get teary and emotional and overwhelmed with joy and beauty.  This is indeed what happened on Monday morning.  Typically in PreK we only teach the story of David and Goliath, but this year we also decided to teach David, The Singing Shepherd.  And it was so meaningful to me (and hopefully to my dear little ones!), that I shall henceforth teach it every year.

If you read my summer vacation blogpost here, you might remember that while on the trip of a lifetime to Ireland, I became interested obsessed with sheep.  Watching the sheep listen to their shepherd's voice, aided by the most amazing sheepdogs, was literally one of the best parts of the trip for me.  We saw sheep everywhere on the trip, and one day we happened upon a flock being moved from one pasture to the next by their shepherd and sheepdogs.  The shepherd called out, the dogs obeyed, and the sheep followed.  And I cried.  It was so magnificent to me on its own - that God created these animals to be so drawn to, trusting of, and loyal to their master, and that their master would care for them so lovingly, to the point of putting his own body in between his flock and danger. But even more, that God would use the relationship between sheep and their shepherd as an analogy of our relationship with Him.

And so on the drive to school on Monday, my mind was mulling over teaching David as shepherd, and suddenly all the Ireland sheepies were front and center.  By 8:10, when I began teaching Jesus Time, the connections between David and his sheep and humanity and God were zinging through my mind.  I told the students how silly the sheep were (can't tell 4/5 year-olds that sheep are stupid!), and how they rely on the shepherd for literally everything (food, keeping them from falling off a cliff, protecting them from wolves).  The children pretended to be sheep, crawling about and baaing, and I was the shepherd.  I stood quietly while they meandered, and after a few moments, I called the sheep back to me.  The children came back, baaing all the way, and sat expectantly in front of me.  And as I explained that we are like the sheep, sometimes so silly and forgetful and in danger, and that Jesus is the shepherd, protecting us and giving us everything we need, my little ones took it all in.  We need to listen to Jesus, He takes care of us!  He wants only the best for us!  He will literally lay down His life to save us (quick moment at the classroom crucifix).

So as I said, it was basically the best day ever. I could talk about this topic the rest of the year, though I'll move on to our next Bible story next week.  But maybe I'll keep reminding the students to listen to our Good Shepherd - He loves us so much He laid down His very life to save us.  

One of the many sheep items I own.  This picture is now in my classroom, to be used as a frequent reminder of how we rely on Jesus to lead and care for us.

The Week In Pictures

I offer a few visuals from the last week(ish):

This pillow resides on our bed and I look at it every morning and evening and a few times in between.  Sometimes I don't really read it and other times I do, and smile.  But this weekend, I had everyone in my house for a few hours, and afterward, as I moved the pillow, I felt its message deeply.  I know every mother thinks this (and what a beautiful thing that is!), but I am unbelievably thankful that God gave us our kids.  We have grown kids and almost-grown kids and teenagers, and they're all just amazing people.  I love laughing with them (I just told a couple kids tonight that they should live with me forever because I laugh so much when we're together), I love worshiping with them, I love singing with them, and I love doing life with them as they grow up.  They're the best! 

Dukey!  We bought a dog grooming set in an effort to not go broke with groomer bills, and we're slowly getting the hang of it.  Our first effort was. . .interesting, and the kids made a lot of fun of our abilities. But he's a dog and he's goofy and he doesn't care what he looks like.  But I gotta say he's more tolerable when he's cute, so I'm glad we're getting better at it. 

Where the letter sign started -- a beautiful and inspiring quote from Anne. . .

And where it ended -- a modification by a nameless child one night after I had gone to bed.  You'll be glad to know that after I laughed at it for a few days, I returned it to its original sweet state. 

Excuse my ancient ratty pan, but I offer here our family's favorite chocolate chip cookies.  40ish years ago, my mom saw a recipe in the paper for Mrs. Cleaver's chocolate cookies, and they've lived in infamy in our family ever since.  I don't wear heels and a pencil skirt and call out for the Beav while I make them, but I can imagine that I am the consummate housewife that June was.  A girl can dream. 

And this, a fave of mine when fall rolls around.  Even though I apparently am barely a redhead anymore, I still think I am, and the fall colors are my favorite.  I can walk around in an outfit that channels my inner 1970s kitchen, all while coordinating with my hair and the season.  Win!

 

A Family Reunion

Family reunions. 

If you know me at all, you know that I love family reunions. From the small scale of our seven family members coming together for dinner, a holiday, or a vacation, (you can read here how I feel about my circles being stacked up), to get-togethers and vacations with all of the grandparents and aunts and uncles and cousins, to extended family reunions every summer - they are all important to me and a priority.

This weekend, we had a guest preacher, one in a series of guest preachers we have had this year to celebrate our church's 150th anniversary.  Among his thoughts in the sermon, he used the phrase "family reunion" to describe what we experience each Sunday when we come together as the body of Christ. It really resonated with me as I looked at the people around me — the faces of those I have loved for many years, who are truly family.

On this particular Sunday, two days ago, I had the privilege of singing with the choir and being the Cantor. The choir sang a childhood favorite of mine, John Rutter’s For the Beauty of the Earth. And as I sang it, I was overwhelmed. I was moved by the beauty of the piece, melodic and rich in lyrics, and steeped in nostalgia and memories for me. And the words of our guest preacher echoed in my mind — a family reunion. 

Rewind back to circa 1981. A little third-grade version of me, with long dark red hair and a shy grin, joined the Carol Choir at our Lutheran school. The director, Mr. B., was a dear family friend, and I imagine I was excited to be a part of his choir — he was funny; a jokester and quick to laugh, but he was also a loving teacher and an excellent and talented musician and choir director. In two years, I shed the short white robe of the carol choir and donned the long choral robe of the school choir. And dare I say this? Joining the choir impacted my entire life. 

Beginning in fifth grade, our school choir sang challenging and complicated pieces, we went to workshops, and sang for pastor's conventions. We sang with various instruments at worship twice a month, and at concerts and festival services throughout the year. We laughed with our director, but we also learned proper breathing techniques, the difference between head voice and chest voice, and how to sing vowels by watching a rubber band stretch in different directions. In the school choir, we often sang for funerals at our church, offering up our voices with Children of the Heavenly Father, which we kept in our folders for such occasions.  Though we were in middle school, we often sang with the church choir, which I later joined in high school, singing difficult pieces such as the Messiah. Mr. B. often charted our progress as the Christmas concert approached, with detailed graphs on the chalkboard behind the risers.   My time in the choirs at my childhood church spanned about 10 years, and participating in that ministry shaped who I am:  the people I sang alongside, the biblical texts of so many pieces, and overarchingly, ever pointing me to my Savior.

So what does all this waxing nostalgic about choir have to do with family reunions?  Maybe nothing to anyone else, but to me, it all connects.  This past Sunday, as I sang the Rutter piece with all my heart, we sang the phrase "friends on earth, and friends above". I looked out from the choir loft with love at all the faces around me, thinking of them, and all of the faces before with a fierce love. This family reunion — the communion of saints — reaches far beyond my love of earthly family reunions.   As I sang the words so embedded in my heart, as many hymns are, I thanked God for His gift of the Church. From 1981 to present day, and before that and forevermore, God gives us each other - this fellowship of believers, which spans distance and time. 

Each Sunday, as we commune with the body of believers, we get a little taste of what is to come. And one day, we will sing and rejoice in the ultimate family reunion — with our sainted loved ones and all those who knew Christ — as we spend eternity in the presence of our Savior. 

A family reunion indeed.