A Mom's Perspective

Closure

2011-02-21T15:44:00.000-08:00

Closure

I've always heard that word,

I thought I knew what it meant...the end of a matter.

Something we long for,

the promise that there will be an end to the nightmare......

Today I am numb.. We got the verdict and the jury recommended the death sentence.

What should I feel? Relief? I do feel like justice was served but closure no.

I feel sick inside that there should ever be this trial, I feel sick for my beautiful friend.

She should not have suffered so, she should be here living, loving, serving.

I'm so sorry, so sad and so angry at the injustice of it all.

Cheryl, I never knew I would be able to google your name and see your picture everywhere.

Everyone is talking about you, and I'm left empty.

It's been three years now of all these emotions,

Fear, hope, the desperation of searching for you? Praying and walking through fields and woods calling your name.

holding poor buddy, he bit me he was so scared :(

Hugging Jake and making sure he ate something and seeing the tears in his eyes so much like yours.

Trying to hold the girls together and answer the questions of why? I still don't understand.

I wonder what you would say. You always had an answer for everything.

You have left your mark on us all. Your legacy lives on I see it everyday in my girls, in so many.

Today I remember you, strong, loving, tenacious, pure, holy and determined, so black and white and fun and funny

And helpful.

So who do I call now when the girls have a fever or need stitches :) or prayer and counsel? They always listened to you.
You were always there for us all, how many ice baths did you give Hannah? you held her hand through stitches because I couldn't stomach it.. I remember you taking my blood sugar every day for a month and monitoring what I ate. I was a terrible patient but you we were a saint.

You once jumped into a pool fully clothed after Ashton and you walked Amber through a medical nightmare.
You were the one who led Hannah to Jesus and you prayed, taught, loved and laughed with them all. They still adore you. They can't eat cookie dough without remembering you now. We loved you , we shared our life with you and now we are not sure how to deal with losing you.

I will never forget the weekend that changed our lives forever and bonded us together. Three girls on a road trip to Pensacola in the old white Sopchoppy First Baptist Van. Hoping that the stories we had heard were true and God was moving in a real revival. We were so hungry but a bit skepical. Standing in line all day, sharing our life stories and praying. Fighting for a seat, we ended up in the balcony and as soon as the first note was hit on the keyboard we were crying and holding each other’s hands so tightly. Hanging on to every word we ran to the alter and ended up on the floor all night. We were never the same again. I have no idea how many trips we shared. The next weekend we took Jake and the girls. You fought your way to the front and made sure each of them received prayer. Our lives changed forever.

I'll never forget our praise parties, poppyseed chicken dinners and sleepovers, long talks, bible studies and all night prayer meetings. Every time we all got together, we'd find you in the girls bedroom getting a makeover or laughing and playing with them. No one has ever impacted them or valued them more than you did. You gave your weekends to slumber parties and your Wednesday nights to teaching them and you were there always there to pray or counsel them or just celebrate life with them.

We miss you; our hearts are broken in losing you!

Your memorial was beautiful and your legacy was loudly proclaimed...
We had a huge dinner to celebrate you and yes there was poppyseed chicken!
After it was over Tanya, Cindy W. and I walked down to your resting place and had our last girls night out.. We laughed, we cried, we grieved and remembered and we said goodbye but not forever.

See you soon friend.

The Body of Christ

2010-09-29T04:37:00.001-07:00

The Body of Christ

Today....something unusual happened in our community.

I wish I had the words to describe it....

A precious young man shared his struggle,

He was transparent about his sin. Bravely and courageously he barred his heart and asked for help. I was humbled by his simple confession and his hope in Christ.

The student body gathered around him and loved, supported and prayed for him.

It didn't end there several other students also stood and shared, confessed and openly repented, it was beautiful yet I am still so dissatisfied, a grief has consumed me yet I could not put my finger on it until tonight.

My heart was broken, grieved and I felt there was something undone. It wasn't our reaction to him or the others, a very real work was being done in their hearts but it caused me to examine myself and our body.

What sins would bible students confess to? Cheating on a test, staying out past curfew, listening to secular music, and coarse joking. breaking this rule and that rule.

We listened, we forgave but still I'm afraid.

I'm afraid some of us thought “Thank God I don't cheat or break the rules.”

Did we feel a little smug in our seats? Did we feel a wee bit of spiritual pride?

Did this represent what our puritan forefathers felt when they held trials for those who did not conform to their standards, was there a hint of piety ?

It is considered righteous and acceptable to confess such sins. Even heavy sins such as pornography and adultery are more openly confessed now.

But what about our "Christian Bubble sins" the word speaks over and over about sins of the tongue about gossip and biting and devouring one another. How many times do we gossip but it's sandwiched in with "we should pray for this person" or I'm concerned"

Jesus warned against seeking out the best seats at the table, seeking power and popularity. Popularity in the church? Is there such a thing? Look around you. We are admonished to seek out the least of these and do good to them. Do we do this? Really do we? I believe more people are hurt in our churches and communities by these sins than any other.

I've heard it said that the Church is the hope of the world. Are we? When the world comes in as an overweight, unstylish single mother is there a place for her? When a socially awkward teenage boy comes to our youth group, who reaches out to him? When a prodigal young lady returns and shares her deepest, darkest fears and failings, who believes in her again? who refuses to label her? Or are the rumors now justified because who knows what she did while in sin and it's fair game for discussion now?

How many broken, hurting people walk into our churches and leave more wounded than they came? When did being relevant, talented, artsy and cool become our code? What about those who are none of these things? Where do they fit in? When did we start caring so much about dropping names and being in the cool church clique? Are these our Idols now?

We cry for the lost to come but how will they fit into our little "churchy" social classes? Or have they already come and become a project for us so we look spiritual? Or did we miss them altogether because their clothes, size or look was all wrong?

My heart, my prayer is for real repentance. Let us to examine our hearts and our motives. What are we doing here? What are we building? Bring us to a place of true Christian brotherhood. Let us love the way Christ loves, whom he loves (“all men”) Let us feel what his heart feels for his church. When will we confess these sins? Let us truly become the Body of Christ. Think about that… the “Church” is called the Body of Christ! Are we?

Welcome

2010-08-17T19:47:00.000-07:00

Tonight I baked you muffins,
and as I baked, I prayed.
Tomorrow I will meet you.
Until now you've been names and pictures in a folder.
With titles like applied, perspective and then accepted.

We are so humbled that we will get to play some small part in the calling on your beautiful lives, I will pray with you and for you.
I wonder what this trimester holds for us all.
I wonder what gifts and and personalities we will discover.

We will travel together and we'll be so happy to see you each take that first step,
To minister, worship, pray and weep for the lost.
You'll go through hard times and be homesick, We'll be here to listen.
You'll be overwelmed at times but we'll pray with you.
And then there will be those beautiful times that you will shine.
When you will find that place of belonging, when you grasp the reason God has sent you our way. So welcome.....Welcome Home!

I called her Mom

2010-04-09T18:00:00.000-07:00

I called her Mom….
She was Sister Murrell to everyone else.
She was strong, yet gentle and loving.
Authoritive but still understanding.
She was a leader with a purpose.
She was tenacious and uncompromising.
Many revered her, a few feared her.
I cuddled with her and held tight to her hands.

Her hands were so smooth, so cool and gentle.
They instantly brought peace to my little soul.
They were always busy, doing the Lords work, Cooking, writing, drawing,
Healing, touching everyone who entered her life.
They made me paper dolls and handkerchief girls during long church services.

She always had a hanky in her purse or hands.
Beautifully embroidered and smelling sweetly of her perfume.
She would wipe her brow as she proclaimed his word,
Boldly and energetically as she stood behind the pulpit
or walked among her congregation. I've seen those hands heal, caress and feed the hungry, sooth a fevered brow and bring deliverance and always submit obediently to her God. Sometimes those hands would stop in motion and a certain stillness would come over her, Then she would point, and the lost would come home and the demons would scream and flee.She was as bold as a lion and walked in total authority no weakness, no fear only Faith. The hairs would rise on the back of my neck and I feared her God.

Her voice was strong, and sure no hesitation, She would sing, preach, pray and prophesy.yet she would still sing me lullabies and read me stories and recite beautiful little poems for me. She would scold me or praise me and that voice would always teach me, always reason with me and always be in my heart and head. I would hear that familiar voice praying, weeping and groaning for me.
Up into my teen years that voice would correct and reveal the secrets of my heart and lay bare my rebellion and that precious voice would lead me to repentance and lead me in the way everlasting. After I was grown and married that voice was still there speaking wisdom, warning and bringing me life.
She would bless, teach and love her grandchildren with the same beautiful songs, poems and stories she had taught me. The law of wisdom was on her tongue and life sprung forth from her speech.

Her feet were steady and steadfast.
Beautiful were they as they proclaimed the gospel. They never wavered to the left or to the right they stayed on the straight and narrow path. They followed her Lord unwaveringly from The ghetto neighborhoods of Akron Ohio, to the hills of Kentucky and the mountains of West Virginia. They danced unashamed before him and strode purposely into his will.
They would grow old and weary and were lost to her in the end but though she may have lost their physical use she would continue to lead others into the paths of righteousness.

She had the heart of a lion, Fierce, loving protective and brave,
She was a loving shepherd to her sheep but would fight the enemy with an unflinching fierceness and pursue with abandon any lost sheep that wondered away, yet her tender heart was broken in humility to her God.

Her mind was quick, sharp and deep, her intellect amazing those much better educated than herself.She had an unexpected whit and sometimes a corny humor. She would pen hundreds of songs, hymns, poems and sermons. Her memory was amazing to me for she had memorized most of them and It seemed to me she knew the whole Bible by heart, there was always a verse on her tongue for any occasion. She would publish a little known paper called the “Way of Holiness Messenger.” It would touch hundreds and cross continents carrying her simple message of holiness and prayer.

Her will was unbreakable and unbending bordering on stubborn.
There was no dream she felt that was unattainable and no challenge she would not meet head on.She was intimidating, yet surprisingly approachable.
This mother of mine was a warrior and yet I never saw fear on her face. She was always waiting, listening and recognizing his voice. She was never confused or confounded.But still she was a lady, Manners were of the utmost importance and she was marked by modesty and holiness.

She lived a life that I have never seen matched.She prayed but not like most.
It was her lifestyle, in a prayer room in her home.
She talked to God and would spend hours listening and then for days furiously writing then teaching and preaching. I look back and that is what marks my memories most prayer, Tearful, broken and heartfelt prayer. She lived in another realm that I could not easily enter so I would wait sometimes for hours, it seemed to me.
She lived wholly for eternity, this world it's wealth, wisdom and entertainment ignored by her.

She suffered, she was disappointed, she was reviled, maligned, misunderstood and she was mistreated but she never blamed her God.She faced the death of her young child from a vicious disease yet she praised her God,She faced sickness, betrayal and loss but still she stood strong.

All this but the most amazing thing of all to me was her submission, to her God, to her husband and to her call. AS powerful of a life she lived, she remained humble, open and loving. She would spend her last days still reaching for the lost, still teaching from her chair, still writing,although her eyes had grown dim then on her death bed as many, many sons and daughters crowded in close she was still touching
with those smooth ageless hands still holding us together, wiping away our tears and soothing our broken hearts.The voice, weak but still clear, prophesying, blessing us and singing and worshiping.A light in her Eyes and excitement in her voice I knew she longed to leave here,she never was of this earth, she had Tapped into eternity long ago and it was only now that she would truly be at home for this world was not her home,She only passed this way....

Everything I ever needed to know about God...I learned from Daddy

2010-02-05T18:02:00.000-08:00

Daddy was my hero, he was strong, sensitive and sweet!
When I was a little girl, I thought he was biggest, strongest and smartest person on the planet.
He would throw me up in the air so high I felt like I might stop breathing but I was never afraid that he wouldn't catch me. I trusted him...completely, that he would always be there to pick me up after school, come running when I called him, love me no matter how difficult I became and banish bugs and monsters from my world.

He was always the first one up every morning. sitting at the kitchen table reading the big brown, worn and marked up bible with his cup of coffee. He would let me sit in his lap and read with him and even sip his coffee. He talked about God as if he was a friend. He would often get big tears in his eyes and he'd push his glasses back and just murmur, Jesus, Jesus, Jesus. Like a prayer but so personal and intimate it was like hearing love, feeling love. I later would come to understand and compare him to the disciple John who would lay his head on the breast of Jesus...He too was John, John the beloved, Beloved of God and everyone who knew him.

Saturday mornings he would take me to my music lessons, beaming in pride even though I never mastered my instrument. Then to Duncan Doughnuts for chocolate covered donuts and my own coffee with as many sugars as I liked. He listened while I chattered on and on and I was a chatterbox. He asked questions and really listened and cared about my trivial little world and my immature feelings. I never felt judged or that he didn't understand. Daddy cared, he cared about everything small or great. He worried about my teeth and my shoes fitting right, when it rained he made me wear the dreaded bright, yellow galoshes and raincoat. he loved my messy drawings and was interested in my toys and friends.

He taught me, not so much by telling but by showing.........
After our early coffee date we would go on the rounds.
Visiting the needy and single Moms in our community. (Not that we were any richer.)
They would always serve him coffee and me milk (it was our little secret that I drank coffee, it just wasn't appropriate for such a little girl) then he would either drive them and their children or get their list for their weekly groceries. We spent so many Saturday mornings grocery shopping, carrying big, brown paper sacks into so many different homes. I thought all Daddies must shop for other families too. He always smiled and said he was glad to do it. He was always patient no matter how the children whined or screamed in the supermarket. The cashiers always knew his name and would often hug him and sometimes tell me what a lucky little girl I was, having a saint for a father. I didn't know what a saint was he was just daddy to me.

I really don't remember him ever raising his voice to me. He would just say my name a couple of times and I would feel so sorrowful for disappointing him. His greatest sorrow would be when My brother, sister and I would have some disagreement. He would hang his head and sigh, " I just want my children to get along."and that was the great prayer of his life for us to love one another in unity, nothing pained him more than bickering. I was the baby of the family and knew I was the center of his universe. Mom would say "Your the apple of his eye." I was secure, I was safe, I was loved.

We grew closer as I grew a little older. I watched him retire early so he could spend more time serving our little community. He was a man of a few words but people listened when he spoke. He loved so.... always loving, always serving and always praying. Mom may have been more vocal and seemed stronger but he held us all together and made us strong by supporting us, protecting us, believing in all of us and loving us unconditionally. He wasn't afraid of feelings and tears. Many times he shed tears with me as he sympathized with some real or imagined injustice. Everything I took to him he fixed...whether it be a broken toy of or a shattered heart he knew the words and prayers to right a wrong.

How he loved my Mama, Theirs was a true romance. He thought her to be the loveliest creature on earth. He protected her, provided and supported her, spoiled her and valued her. His only flaw was this one... he was jealous for her, believing her to be so beautiful even in her 60's and 70's that he thought everyone else desired her. He never saw the wrinkles or the gray hair or extra weight, when he looked at her he still saw the young, vivacious beauty that had stolen his heart. He would love her passionately to the end. Her hand in his, her name still on his lips.

Daddy had a big eagle tattooed on his forearm and I used to trace the numbers on it as I sat in his lap. I asked him where he got it, he'd tell me that it was his number from the war. That first he belonged to God then to us and then to Uncle Sam....He said I was too little to understand but to always love freedom and know that freedom was not free. I didn't understand then.
Years later I would sit in awe and listen to him tell of his experiences in Normandy of D Day and Post War Poland I would cry as his eyes would fill with tears as he would tell me of the Jewish refugees from the concentration camps that he and his fellow soldiers drove in big green army trucks to freedom. He never forgot their faces, their stories and their suffering. He didn't like to talk about it but when we pressed him he would talk for hours his face sad and his eyes far away. when I would say he was a hero he would be offended because, "it was his duty nothing more," he would say.

Years later I would sit vigil at his death bed as more people than I could count would come and say goodbye, all of them with stories of how this gentle, loving man had changed their lives.
Check out clerks, pastors, construction workers, mechanics and neighbors and teen age boys, single moms and tough big men would cry at his bedside. nurse and doctors would stop and ask who this special man was and they too were amazed when he would love them and thank them for caring for him, never complaining. We took him home one last time and spent a few beautiful, memorable weeks singing, praying and visiting, He blessed us all. Literally like an old patriarch from the Old Testament he held us to his heart and blessed us. It was the holiest thing I've ever experienced.

Daddy was more than a father he was my friend, my refuge, my world when I was small....
He showed me God's nature NOW when I hear God called father I understand and I relate because like the Man who followed him here on earth, My Father, My God is strong and powerful,. gentle and kind He is my refuge and my counselor, caring oh so much about my every day struggles and concerns, He is ever loving me and oh so merciful and just like my Mama said "I'm the apple of his eye," and he too is Jealous for me.

Deep Roots

2010-01-28T11:26:00.000-08:00

Have you ever heard of the saying "Give them roots and wings?" I was blessed to be given both. Today I'm going back to my roots! I have learned when life is hard and dry and I'm thirsty I need only to tap into the deep bedrock and flowing underground river of life, It refreshes me, grounds me and puts my life in perspective.

The name of Jesus, It's more than just a name to me. It's the sweetest most powerful word I've ever learned. I can't remember the first time ever I heard it. I'm sure it was whispered over my crib and sang to me in lullabies. I'd heard of his kindness and love and how he called the little children to him so I loved him, completely and innocently. I didn't ever even think to doubt him, he was as real to me as my own parents. At Every meal we bowed our heads and thanked him, we started every morning with prayers to him and asked him to watch over us before we slept at night. When I was sick or fevered my mothers cool hands touched my forehead and she'd breathe his name over me. What was to doubt? We were never hungry, We were happy, healthy and loved and I was more than secure in the fact that he loved me. Our lives were spent in happy service to him.

Sunday, Wednesday and Friday were church days, And Fridays were extra special because that's the night that after service "The Prayer Band" (Mom and Dad's closest friends and prayer warriors) spent the entire night, until daylight praying in the church. So myself and my little group of church friends would bring our sleeping bags and place them carefully behind the alter and be very quite. We would hear the sweet hymns being sung and heartfelt prayers prayed from broken hearts and cries to God for souls and revival in our city.

As a very little girl I experienced the supernatural presence of God. I remember hearing someone weep he's here and the hairs would stand up on the back of my neck as I would burrow under the covers in a kind of holy awe. I remember hot tears coursing down my cheek as they would sing the beautiful hymns of the church and I would fall asleep in bliss only to awaken to my fathers strong arms carrying me back across the street to the smell of hot coffee, biscuits gravy and bacon. Everyone would be talking about how God had moved in the all night prayer meeting and would be so excited for Sunday.

Sunday mornings I would awaken to the beautiful stirring sounds of lovely old spirituals coming from the black choir of the little church behind our house. I remember my soul being lifted and to this day I still know most of those historic old songs by heart. I was raised in a multicultural church in the mid 60's in Akron Ohio. We were located in an all black area and were right smack in the middle of those historic racial riots. Our church was somehow protected through it all because my parents were known to be called Mom and Dad by most of the neighborhood. I believe we were a thing of confusion for many in the community. Looking back now I realize it was such a mission field. Although to us it was just life. While all of America was up in arms regarding school segregation and the busing experiment was taking place in the country, my brave parents enrolled my brother and I in Robinson P.S. The worst school district in the city. I was the only little blue eyed white girl I saw and was either celebrated or hated. I grew up with absolutely no prejudice I was in all-actually the minority but my young heart was broken when I saw the hatred in the streets. It wasn't like that in my little church world where my best friends and teachers were of color. My favorite people other than my parents were a beautiful black couple Brother and Sister Richmond. He was tall and strong with a beautiful booming voice. she was so beautiful, gentle and kind and wore beautiful clothes and they would sing my favorite song "There will be peace in the valley for me" Tears would fill his eyes as he would talk about his love for his Lord and his wife, He curiously called her his companion which I thought gave her such importance. I hoped one day a great man might call me companion.

Sundays were beautiful and I can still see the sunshine streaming in the windows and smell the musty sweet smell of the little churches, basement Sunday school rooms where I would happily learn songs and stories from my artistic, funny and character of a teacher Clevie, not Miss Clevie and as far as I knew she had no last name just Clevie but she was fun and dramatic and stories came alive in her class.

After church We would get to either have Moms amazing meals or Dad and I would go and get huge buckets of Churches fried chicken. I really believed that it was called Churches because we got it on Sundays between services. Our big green house next to the church was a flurry of activity and filled to the rafters with people and music, my brother on the piano and his friends with guitars and everyone crowding around singing. I wanted to sit on Bro Richmond's lap he was funny, lovable and always had candy in his suit pockets. Some afternoons we all went downstairs to our basement. There right next to the washer, dryer and freezer my parents had built a baptismal tank! Now it sounds unusual but I thought it was quite normal. People would wade into the water to songs like "I'm going down to the River, my Lord" My parents would then pray and say according to your declaration of faith, I baptise you in the name of Jesus Christ for remission of your sins. They would then exit the baptistery to the clapping, shouting and rejoicing of the crowd. It was quite exciting everyone laughing and hugging and crying. I loved Sundays!

Then back across the street to the little church where there would be singing and listening to testimonies. Mom would usually preach from her big Bible at the large wooden pulpit with the big, black words printed on it"GOD IS LOVE" and service would end with people praying "through" at the old wooden alter. After church everyone came back to our house where Mom would make huge pans of steaming biscuits and gravy for all. I would usually fall asleep to the soft clinking of dishes and the muffled laughter of Mom and Dad cleaning the kitchen together. All was safe and perfect in my world and I hated to see the weekends go. Little did my childish mind know that a storm was brewing that would threaten everything and shatter my innocence.

The Tapestry

2010-01-24T21:50:00.000-08:00

On my daughters bed is an old family heirloom, a handmade, patchwork quilt.
It is faded from use and tattered and torn.
I remember it being on my parents bed almost as far back as I can remember.
The other day I noticed that there were patches that had almost disintegrated.
They were threadbare and showing through was the old batting.
I looked closer in concern and could see that other patches were as strong as ever.
Their stitches still tight and secure. I noticed the patches which were worn down,
were made of a thinner, lighter, summer fabric.
The heavier stronger fabric. had stayed strong and resilient.
Now I wonder why my wise, usually practical Mother did not foresee this end,
to her precious quilt.
I mentioned to my daughter that we should try and replace those patches.
She looked at me in horror and reminded me that this was part of it charm.
It's vintage she exclaimed that's why I love it.

Well I took a lesson from the old quilt,
It has covered our family in sickness and in health.
It was made with wise, loving and artistic hands.
I wonder now, As my mother choose the little fabric squares,
Why she threw caution to the wind and used such a poor choice.
It must have been the lively colors or patterns that tickled her fancy.
I guess I must admit it was a mistake on her part, BUT
It's still here 40 some years later still covering her granddaughter at night.

I wonder how many prayers were whispered at the bedside of the old quilt?
How many tears were shed and how many dreams were dreamed under it's cocoon?
I know of the many hours I spent under it's cozy warmth listening to stories.
Hearing lullabyes, Tales of honor and courage, read from the big gold book
Of Bible Stories for Children and my favorite Uncle Arthurs Bedtime Stories.
It's where I first heard of Aslan the great Lion of C.S. Lewis's Imagination.
There I met The Little Women and learned about the Five Little Peppers and How They Grew.
I'd listen to my Mother recite poetry and sing me such sweet, sad, ballads,
That tears would run down my face. It is a special, special quilt yet it is so very flawed.

It reminds me of my life, she made the quilt and as wonderful as she was, she made some mistakes, by using poor materials part of the quilt has not stood the test of time.
My Story is like a tapestry, there are parts of it which are strong and resilient and still brilliant.
I can still see the beauty and be proud of the beautiful fabric of my life. There are also places in the tapestry I am ashamed of and I wish were not so disappointing and threadbare. They are so open exposed and broken that I fear it's value has been diminished. I am painfully aware that those areas will not and have not stood the test of time. I am also sad to say I am to blame for building those parts of my life on a flighty fancy of a passing, pleasing color or whimsy. Poor, careless choices that can never be mended. The love of this world and it's flash and instant gratification, Then There are portions I did not choose to weave into my life but they were cruelly handed to me by the enemy and I was powerless to stop the stitching. Yet it is all these parts that make up the whole and make me who I am. Gods word tells me "I am fearfully and wonderfully made", so I must take him at his word and trust that I am still a work in progress and the tapestry is still being constructed and
One day I'll see what he made of me...........

My story

2010-01-23T13:33:00.000-08:00

I have been thinking about new years resolutions and goals today and I'm going to attempt something I've planned to do all my life. I'm going to write my story! It's intimidating and a little scary because I'm going to start at the beginning and tell it all, the good and happy parts and the sad and troubling parts. The things I'm proud of and the things I wish were not a part of my history. I've been told by so many people, "You should write a book." Well I'm not really that accomplished and trust me I know I'm not very important but for some unknown reason I've seen and experienced enough for more than one lifetime. I can write a blog for myself and possibly my three beautiful daughters who strive to understand their heritage, so here goes.........Oh and by the way don't feel you have to read it, It's my story and like me it will certainly be imperfect and flawed.

My Life, My Journey.

My story starts one bright autumn morning in the city of Akron Ohio.
Born September 20, 1967. I was a welcome addition born late in life to two of the most humble, holy and giving human beings on the planet, I was the fourth child born to J.B. and Arlis Mae Murrell. She was 40 and he was 53, brought into a busy, happy family with an older sister Sherry Lee Murrell 16 and a big brother Jerry Jay Murrell 8, and an older sister Darlene Murrell in heaven who would have been 19 had she not died 7 years earlier on October 26,1960. I was given a form of her name Darla Mae Murrell and I was joyously welcomed as a child of restoration they hoped would complete their family and dull the pain of the loss they had suffered seven years earlier. Their oldest daughter, Darlene had died of a obscure and litttle known disease called Scleroderma. It had been an earth shattering and dark time for my parents who were at the time followers and lovers of Jesus. My parents had come to know the lord in the healing movements and tent meetings of the 1940's, they had then forsaken everything to follow blindly without reservation their Savior, healer and lover. Soon after her death they accepted the call to plant and pastor a small interracial store front church in the worst neighborhood of the city of Akron during the racial unrest of the 1960's.

So I was lovingly brought home to a little inner city church, a small community outreach. they actually lived in a little store front church in Akron, 641 South Arlington Street. It was more than a church it was a mission and they gave their every waking moment to it. So it was there my life began it was humble and holy. Days started with prayer and God's word and the hungry were fed at our very table, the sick were prayed for, Demons were cast out and lives were restored. Unwanted youth and lost children were welcomed in and became family. It was a hospital for the hurting, a lighthouse for the searching and a home for the homeless.

Meanwhile I learned to talk, Jesus one of my first words. My baby lips learned prayer as quickly as speaking and hymns became my first songs. I really did take my first steps in church and cut my teeth on the old wooden pews. Everyday ended on our knees as a family listening to God's word and my parents crying out to God for souls.

I am amazed at their tenacity, faith and strength even now. I have heard the stories of their fight for my sisters life. Of fasting and all night prayer meetings, taking her to the great healing revivals. Then their ability to let go that night she told them she had seen Jesus and he was coming to take her home. She went home to be with Jesus that next morning. They were so amazingly pure that they never questioned or blamed God but were somehow so eternally minded they could accept it as a blessing. Their theology is clear in my Mother's writings at the time. I am in awe as I remember their suffering and see their hope in eternity, It was more than theology, they had more than an experience they walked with God! They knew him and he knew them!

One treasure I have been left with besides a Godly, living heritage, is the written words of my dear mother. She was a writer like no other and everything in our life was chronicled and preserved so I leave you now with her words. Notice the phrase "infinite mercy" She uses the word MERCY to describe her loss.I'm afraid had it been me in that situation I would have most likely questioned God and I'm afraid I would have angrily blamed him for taking my child. Not my Mother, somehow she saw this traumatic event as his mercy and blessing and whats more she could be thankful to him for holding her sweet baby safely in his arms.

Safe in the Arms of Jesus

Several years ago, With heads bowed low,
On a hill side so grassy and green,
We laid her to rest where none could molest
Our jewel, Our Precious Darlene.

Safe in the arms of Jesus,
Cradled in Gods great love,
She'll sleep through the long night of darkness,
Till twilight breaks through from above.

And when deaths dark night has ended,
When Jesus returns in all power,
Darlene shall arise and awaken,
transformed as a beautiful flower.

She's at peace now with Him

Her frail little body lies cold in the grave,
But that's just the house where she lived.
Her soul was washed white! Praise the Lord she was saved!
Her spirit returned unto him!

Her soul was too pure and too precious,
To dwell in this temple of clay.
So God in his Infinite mercy,
So graciously called her away.

Away from disease and suffering,
Away from this world of sin.
Her heartaches and sorrows are over,
For she is at peace now with him.

Some beautiful glorious morning,
When Jesus appears in the skies,
The trumpet shall sound without warning,
And those who are sleeping shall rise.

All glory in heaven shall open,
And time on this earth shall cease,
Darlene shall awaken that morning,
when kissed by the great king of peace.

Asleep in the Arms Of Jesus
Just beyond this veil of sorrow,
Is a beautiful priceless pearl.
Asleep in the arms of Jesus
Is a dear little precious girl.

This year.......

2010-01-23T13:14:00.000-08:00

I believe this year is open....
Open to adventure, joy, hope or pain and heartache.
Unplanned, no great or wonderful expectations.
I have no idea how it will turn out....

It could be a year of healing, restoration and understanding.
Or one of more brokenness, loneliness and disappointment...
Either way I am on the path of life.
And I know he knows the way......

I will follow my guide,
I will hold his hand through beautiful valleys, and struggle to climb high mountains
I will stroll by the water with him and drink from the fountains.
I will also walk silently through darkness and rough terrain.
I will be frightened and sometimes I may not hear his voice or feel his touch.
Yet I will follow him, my eternal love, because I know no other way.......

Amber Denae - So She's all grown up now......

2010-01-16T08:28:00.000-08:00

She can't remember that first day I met her...
but I will never forget.
When I heard her little voice, I cried.
All the months of dreaming, planning and wondering,
And here she was, tiny, perfect, naked and loud.
Angrily protesting her birth and curiously alert.

Screaming for all she was worth,
then they placed her in my arms and she looked at me
then settled down and sighed a tiny perfect sigh.
She was perfect, beautiful and so alive!
We counted her toes and fingers, marveled at her beauty.
And I fell hopelessly in love and was forever changed.

No one had prepared me for the torrent of emotions
fierce, protective, overwhelming love for this tiny demanding little creature.
who cared only for her own needs of comfort and hunger.
She captured me so completely with one sigh,
I knew I would move heaven and earth for her happiness.
I would give up sleep and life as I had known it.
Her wish was my command and her every move and sound was celebrated.

I was so proud, as if I had created a masterpiece.
I dressed her like a princess and beamed when anyone stopped to look at her.
I spent hours watching her sleep, and lived for holding her.
When she first smiled at me I melted, I hung onto her every coo and interaction.

And she grew, into an independent and brilliant toddler,
inquisitive and imaginative, full of joy and wonder....
We were amazed at her vocabulary and ability to communicate with anyone.
she was precocious and lovable, our home was filled with love and laughter.

Then when I thought I could never love another soul with such passion....
Along came her little sister,
So tiny, perfection in 5 pounds, sweet and silent, so beautiful and lovable.
And my heart was captured once again.
and then we watched her become the perfect big sister.
watching over, loving and playing with the new baby.
Four years later came sister number three and we all were stretched beyond belief
as we fought and prayed for our little angels life, she was born too soon and was so fragile and sickly, it was weeks before we could even hold her, One of our happiest moments was the day we brought her home and only then did we know we were complete with our three beautiful treasures.

That's when she started becoming so independent, "I can do it myself became her battle cry."
She didn't need me as much and sometimes that hurt.....
Soon she was reading on her own and making her own bed without my assistance.
She was so excited to start school, so small but so brave and excited,
and so in love with school supplies. She didn't even cry that first day,
She had been so excited she had barely slept the night before.
When we left the school she didn't cry like the other children.
She wanted us to leave so she could get on with it, learning and reading and making new friends.

She loved school and she thrived and grew, smarter and more confident.
And I suspected she loved having this world that was hers alone without my assistance.
wisdom and intelligence beyond her years always marked her,
This often led to frustrations and power struggles.
She was strong and stubborn and sometimes unmanageable.
But always a joy and a marvel as I wondered what she was becoming.

Then the tumultuous teen years, headstrong, questioning everything
yet in a crazy unexplainable way so obedient and pure in her questioning.
So committed to excellence and perfection it scared me. So responsible, so young.
And sadly so hard on herself with standards so high no one could reach.
Yet she tried and was so disappointed when there was any failure.
I realized then that I could love her perfectly but would never attain her standard.
That was my most painful realization that I had failed this prodigy child, I could not catch up with her she had outgrown me......

The day she turned 15 she already had made her own appointment, determined to drive.
determined to be independent, to grow, soar and leave the nest.
She had a job from the day she was old enough to and resented us trying to help her.
She insisted on paying her own cell phone bill and buying her own gas. Some parents said we were lucky but I felt a little cheated, I wanted to be needed, to keep taking care of my baby.

Collage and internships and now a real career,
Today she's looking for her first place alone, she's determined to grow up completely
and I'm proud, I really am but I feel sad, lonely and so empty,
I go into her empty room and look at all the pictures of her with her friends, I hold her pillow and I cry.......I don't know how to let go of my precious baby girl yet I know it's not my decision it's hers and I remember the day this relationship started and she started warning me then,
not to hold on so tightly.....................

Silver Bells, Vanilla Fudge and Sugar Cookies....

2009-12-16T22:26:00.000-08:00

It's that WONDERFUL time of year again. Warmth, tradition, memories and Family. Everything looks beautiful and smells wonderful and life is lived to a soundtrack of merry melodies. Today I found myself alone in the kichen,happily humming silver bells, lost in a haze of sugar, butter and vanilla, around me some of my dearest treasures, old handwritten recipes on yellowed paper. Singing Mama's favorite tune and trying to recreate her masterpiece, old fashioned Vanilla Fudge.

The recipe is just a list of measurements no instructions. Just ingredients. I consider trying to attempt the fudge alone,But remember it's a two person job. I can almost hear Mom saying," you have to beat it until it's glossy."How long? I'd ask...You'll just know she'd say.I loved my Mom's kitchen, Warm cozy and a flurry of activity.She cooked without thinking or measuring a pich of this and a dash of that. Always perfect!But baking was science, (cooking was Art) I looked at my windowsill... there lined up for inspiration, 4 old strawberry measuring cups,vintage, cracked and unable to function except to inspire me.

I admit it I love Christmas and I love baking and candy making.I love it when I'm in the kitchen with her old recipes and ancient mixing bowls faded from use.I love that I still use the old red rolling pin I learned to roll pie crust for tiny pies as a little girl.I remember to use only the old green bowl with little dutch girls for cookies.And bread can only rise in the big brown bowl with wheat painted on it. I enjoy using the old tin cookie cutters when cutting out the best sugar cookies ever. I still make the icing from scratch and tint it all the different colors.I have baked these cookies all my life, in all the stages of my life every year. With my Mom, Dad, my brother and sister, with friends...and one year Mom, my boyfriend (Keith) and I, spent hours decorating them into little works of art.I couldn't wait to make them in my own home one day.But that first year away from home I cried missing her artistic touch.But then the mailman left a box of the perfectly decorated cookies.packed so carefully not one was broken, addressed in that dear familiar handwriting.inclosed were all my favorite ornaments. We hung then tenderly on the tree. And started our own little family celebrations and traditions.

My cookies are never as perfect as hers but taste the same. My girls have been making the cookies from babyhood. at that stage mostly eating the dough and icing. chubby little fingers trying to free the shapes from the cutters in vain. cookies globbed with icing that only a mother could see the beauty in.As they grew the so did their skills until now their's surpass my ability.Tiny reindeers, trees, silver bells, snowmen and stars. twinkling sugared snowflakes and impeccably dressed gingerbresd men.They understand this most important tradition of spending hours bent over the kitchen table,painstakingley creating tiny treasures. Talking, singing and laughing and remembering Christmases past.It keeps us connected to our history and the security that no matter how things change, the cookies and traditions remain the same, we are family and our traditions keep us connected and make us strong.So this morning I waited until Ashton and Hannah sleepily enter the kitchen coaxed by the smells of chocolate fudge cooking on the stove. Then it's the flurry of activity.As Bing Crosby senerades us with silver bells, we reach for the ancient lovingly worn bowls, wooden spoons and old recipe cards and we laugh and share and talk. Hannah starts meticulously dipping pretzels in chocolate and Ashton carefully measures all the ingredients for the famous vanilla fudge, adjusting the heat like a pro and dropping littl bits of the bubbling liquid into ice water to check the consistancy. Then she askes "Mom, how long do I beat it? I reply you'll just know.....

The fudge was perfect and the day was beautiful, BUT....This year I understand the pain my Sweet Mama must have felt my first Christmas away from home.Because Amber is not here to share this sacred ritual, my heart is heavy but I know what I'll do I'll pack them up perfectly, not letting one break and I'll take them to her for Christmas. And I know As long as I live I'll never stop learning new lessons from Mom's kitchen of life.

Legacy

2009-09-28T09:18:00.000-07:00

When Death comes,
Death does not care....

What you wore,
Who you knew,
How much money you have acquired

He cares not where you lived and what you owned
Or what your Worth....
All your material possessions are worthless to you now.....

It only matters....
How you lived
How you loved and what you gave.....
That's your True Worth...

It's the only inheritance that matters.
It's the only Legacy that Lasts...
What Legacy are you leaving?

If you want a beautiful death,
If you want to leave a legacy?
Live a beautiful life!

Live for others not for yourself....
Live with no regrets.
Love with all your heart
Keep bitterness far from you.

Live with an eternal perspective....
All you can take with when you leave this earth is love and loved ones.
Living souls are all that matter.

All you really leave your loved ones are Memories...
What memories are you making?
What memories are you leaving?

A wise man once said...
"Life is just a dressing room for Eternity."

A Life Well Lived

2009-09-26T14:32:00.000-07:00

I have spent the last few hours at the death bed of a saint.
There is most likley no place so holy or so precious.
There between this reality and the breath of heaven.
Is a peace so precious and strong.

I have witnessed a death surely approaching.
But a life so well lived that there are no regrets.
No words unspoken, No deeds undone.
No pangs of remorse, No qualms of conscience.

There is a light and sparke in her eyes.
A strength and urgency her grip.
She is so desperately still holding on.
Ignoring her pain. Making sure each loved one is at ease with her passing.

A mother and a Matriarch to the very end.
Her large and loving family hold vigil.
And I can see she knows this is her Heritage.
Her gift to give the world, her life reproduced in her children.

It's beautiful, she's beautiful.
And humble, She has no real idea of her impact on generations to come.
Of Children, Grandchildren and Great Grandchildren who will, because of her life,
Her love and her example become the hope of new families and communities.
This is the real circle of life.

I know because you see, I married her nephew.
She probably doesn't even know her impact on he and his brothers lives.
And consequently mine and my own girls.
She didn't think of herself as a rock and a foundation for life but she was.

From the moment I met keith I heard tales of 820 and "Grundy"
To three little boys from a Broken home "Grundy" became their ideal and hope.
It was a place of faith, Hope, Family, Hospitality and Love.
Where fathers didn't leave and mothers always put their children first.
Where there were always hot and happy mealtimes.
Values were taught, A place where Faith and Family and Country came first.

A place you were always welcome.
There would always be hot coffee and a tray of cookies.
Aunt Dolly would always hug and kiss you.
And sit and have a talk, and she really listened and she really cared.

Its so hard for them all to say goodbye I know.
But as I watch the beauty of her passing.
I know her secret. I can se it her beautiful, loving eyes.
Shes about to embark on the journey of a lifetime.

She knows she can go on in peace to her Savior and Her Sweetheart Uncle Bob.
Because she has fought the good fight, she has run her race,
And she has led a life to be proud of..... a life well lived.

The Greatest Generation

2009-09-11T17:32:00.000-07:00

The Greatest Generation

Today I was asked why I am the way I am about America.
It made me think. Am I that unusual?
I've been reflecting on it all day.
I know why.......................
I was raised by the "Greatest Generation"
I was brought up in a home where we all ate together as a family,
prayed together for our nation, family and our fellow man.
Work ethic was expected and personal integrity was demanded.
My parents didn't believe the government owed them anything.
They believed in the value of hard work.
My father was a World War 2 hero, but he didn't think of himself as a hero.
He didn't serve his country just because he wanted an education.
He believed it was his responsibility to serve the nation he loved, even to the point of shedding blood.
He believed in Liberty and taught me" Freedom it is never free."
He came back from the war with more than medals,
He experienced Normandy and held his American brothers as they payed the ultimate price.
He walked the streets of Post war Poland and drove the trucks that carried the Holocaust survivors.
He knew The Holocaust happened because he was there.
He saw the worst that Man could do and He saw the best that man is capable of.
Yet he didn't return home bitter he came back filled with love and compassion.
It made him a better man, He would tell me never to forget.

My parents lived through War, the Great Depression and the turbulent 60's and 70's
They faced disappointment and the heartbreaking loss of their beloved daughter but they were strong.
They never lost faith in God or Country.
I wondered why? Because they grew up in Godly homes and prayed in School.
They studied History before it was rewritten.
They came from good, large hardworking families that were always there for each other.

I was blessed to have had Parents, grandparents (who died before my birth) aunts and Heroic Uncles.
All served their God and served their country,
and told the stories to me at family reunions and Kitchen tables.
I am their heritage. I will never forget their stories and I will always teach my children their values.
Maybe one day a generation will arise and become "The Greatest" again.
I pray for that with all my heart!

Throw out the lifeline.....................

2009-09-08T23:11:00.001-07:00

Throw out the lifeline.....................

Have you ever heard that old hymn? I grew up on it and It always conjured up images of cold seas and battered men drowning in the dark waves reaching so desperately for the lifeline. A lifeline that was in my imagination a simple utilitarian rope. Of course the rope was not really that special as were the men in the lifeboats who would pull the cold, hungry nearly dead survivor from his watery grave. I've always had a vivid imagination. Tonight as I was trying to sleep I kept hearing the words to this hymn in my heart then I realized that it was coming from me. It is the desperate cry of my heart, It is my prayer and my only hope.....Someone throw out the lifeline I pray.

Have you ever watched the climatic scene in the movie Titanic where Rose is shipwrecked? All is lost she has experienced the most horrific tragedy of her life.She has watched all she loves die and she herself is slipping away, her lips are turning blue and she has no strength left not even enough to whisper. All around her are lifeboats that are partially empty yet also all around are the sounds of men and women dying. Suddenly she grows desperate without a care for her pride and self sufficiency she summons all her courage and shakily puts a whistle to her lips and blows with all her heart,with her last breath, her last resort. all it took was for ONE of the many lifeboats to hear her...just one to throw out the lifeline and she is saved.

Do you ever wonder about the lifeboats that cold and horrible night that stayed still? What did they fear? did they fear that throwing out the lifeline would cost them too much? I'm sure they were afraid that it might cause them to sink it might make them unstable or cause a shift that might topple them.All I do know is that all it took to answer that desperate cry was one lifeboat of strong, loving and caring hands that threw out the rope and then pulled her to safety.

It's not very "spiritual" to admit you need a lifeline today, to confess that you are sinking and need your brothers and sisters to rescue you. It's uncomfortable and makes you appear needy and desperate.
But aren't we all desperate without the lighthouse and the community of lifeboats patrolling the shores of our life? Haven't we all been shipwrecked at one time or another? Why are we so afraid to sound the call for help?

I don't know if you are another soul that is being tossed by the storms of life or if you are my brothers and sisters in the lifeboats but if you are shipwrecked put the whistle to your lips and blow with all your might and if you are so fortunate to already be in that lifeboat will you please throw out the lifeline, throw out the lifeline, someone is sinking today........

lyrics: Edwin Smith Ufford\
Music: Edwin Smith Ufford

Played by Jerry in the JGB with Melvin Seals. Based on a hymn by Edwn Smith Ufford, apparently written after observing a lifesaving drill at Point Alllerton near Boston, Massachusetts in 1888.
Chorus
Throw out the life line
Throw out the life line
Someone is drifting away
Throw out the life line
Throw out the life line
Someone is sinking today

Throw out the life line
Across the dark water
There is a brother that someone could save
Somebody's brother needs help today

[chorus]

Throw out the life line
With hands big and strong
Why do you tempt me
Why must you wait so long
You see me sinking
Hasten today
Throw out the life line
I'm drifting away

[chorus]

Throw out the life line
Danger from man
Someone's in trouble
Do the best you can
Ain't in temptation
Pillars of woe
Throw out the life line
When darkness takes over

This Old House

2009-08-25T05:56:00.000-07:00

We've had the best of times, and the worst of times...
You've been a joyous and happy place, we call you home...
when we have been tired and heartbroken from the cruel storms of life,
We have retreated into you for comfort and shelter.
You have been our sanctuary and our retreat

I remember the first day I met you...You were so pretty on the outside..
but horrific on the inside, such a disappointment, so dark, dreary and covered in old wallpaper.
But you had great bones so we bought you and spent the next three months lovingly restoring.
Turning you into our happy home.

It was the best times, We we're in the happiest stage of our life. And you were ours.
Armed with love and paintbrushes and supported by an army of young, loving students,
We peeled off your layers of old paint and wallpaper and we pulled up your ancient carpet .
Cabinets were painted, wood floors were laid and we fell in love.
Sandwiches were made and friendships were strengthened.
We spent days and long nights, Laughing painting, cleaning, learning and loving.
You were an experiment in community. You were created in a flurry of love and excitement.
We knew then that you belonged to all of us and you would only be happy IF
you were overflowing with friends, family, love and hospitality.

Then we lived, busy happy days, cell groups and "family Times"
breakfast coffee and homeschool classrooms, slumber parties and "girl nights"
A piano and sweet worship music, prayer meetings and long discussions'
Birthday dinners, tea parties and impromptu cookouts and suppers.
Holidays and every day you were home sweet home.
later you would host house shows and become a crash pad for weary traveling bands.

At Christmas you became "The Christmas House "
We really did deck your halls and you were filled with Constant baking, Christmas music,
And a fire crackling (even if we needed the AC)
Christmas parties and caroling....
You were cheerful and you opened your doors wide and invited us all into your cozy warmth.

How do we say goodbye to you sweet old house?
We have lived in you and loved, dreamed and suffered in your sancturary.
Our children have learned and laughed and cried and grown within your safe confines.
you have heard our deepest secrets and shared our greatest joys.
So we say Thank You for the good times and we appreciate you holding us in sad times.
We love you and will never forget you, Goodbye home.
We hope "They" will love you as we do.

You are getting a beautiful new family I can tell they can see your charms.
Children will laugh and play in your yard again and new memories will be made.
I heard them saying you were pretty and they have big plans for you.
I think you will be full and happy and as welcoming as ever....So goodbye dear old home place.

To My husband On Fathers Day

2009-06-20T20:31:00.000-07:00

When we met you were just a 15 year old boy,
The boy in the Red Hobie Jacket.
Everyone was talking about you that year at camp.
They said you had just gotten saved but you preached like a pro.
When I first saw you you were standing on top of a van pleading with the lost for their souls

The next thing I knew you joined my team.
I was shocked because it was the clean up crew.
I remember you with your arms in the sink doing piles of dishes .
I heard rumers you joined just to meet me.

On the last day of camp, you showed up at my dorm.
and declared your crush outside my window.
All the girls were jealous, I was embarassed.
but I still have that letter.

I thought it was just a summer crush and we were so very young.
But soon I found out as I returned home that you were very serious.
In no time at all you were there in West Virginia.
Mom and Dad asked you to speak at the service that night.

I knew on that night that I would be your bride.
Dad, Mom and Jerry all were in tears as you ended the sermon.
It was so simple, you just preached the cross.
But you had won the love and respect of my family.

In a just a few years we were married.
One year later our Amber was born.
I never loved you more than when I saw you with our daughter.
16 months later Ashton was born and you thought they walked on water.

You were a wonderful Daddy,
everyday you came home with a "prize" for them.
they were always watching at the door for you.
You played with them read to them and spent happy hours watching cartoons.

Do you remember them always piling in our bed?
You told them silly stories and sang them ballads
like a boy named Sue and silly rap songs.
You were conquered by two sweet lttle girls.

Hannah was born a few years later.
she almost died that night but you rode with her in the helicopter.
Praying all the way, I never saw you so worried.
We held each other and cried in the elevater begging God to heal her.

God asnswered our prayers and we spoiled that little girl.
And we're paying for that yet. She is our baby to this day.
You taught them how to ride bikes and fish and camp.
Holidays and vacations your always the funny one.

Then they became the dreaded teen-agers.
And you worried and cried and prayed.
Many family meetings I bet you didn't think they were listening.
But I know they were, you should hear them brag about you.

I've held your hand through these times, good and bad.
Sometimes I do and say things that I shouldn't.
I'm a Mom and your a Dad and sometimes our perspectives are different.
But one thing I know is how much you love and would gladly give all you have for them.

Thank you for loving us and working so hard to provide for us, I know thats it's not easy.
Thank you for being honest and a real man of God and doing what is right even when it cost us.
Thank you for loving both of our parents and always caring for them and honoring them.
Thank you for crying with us and laughing with us and living "happily in a house full of girls.
They will always know what a "real" man is because you are their father.

I know we're not perfect parents but we have this common bond.
There is nothing in this world that is more precious than these three beautiful girls,
They've seen you live a life, sometimes full of strife but they know that their Dad is so REAL.
So the prayers that you've prayed I know are not in vain because of your example,

So I love you so much more today then I did way back then.
I'd never trade one day of this life that we've lived even though at times it's been tough.
And I'll stand by your side for the whole ride, We're in this until the very end.
I want you to know that we are so proud of you and we know the price you have paid.
You are our very own hero, my husband and one of the very best Daddies to 3 beautiful girls.

HAPPY FATHERS DAY!

My Dad, the Fearless June Bug Killer

2009-06-19T16:45:00.000-07:00

My Dad, The Fearless June Bug Killer.

I came into this world, Late in his life,
53 years old with 3 kids and a wife.
I wasn't planned It was shocking I'm sure,
But here he was now with a new Baby Girl.

For the start I loved my sweet Dad
and spent many happy hours right there in his lap.
He had the strongest shoulders in the world.
He throw me up high and I was secure.

He made me big breafasts of eggs and corned beef
in the little black skillet in the oven he'd keep.
He'd sit at the table and read God's word every day
then take me to school and then the playground to play.

I'll never forget the time that I fell off the merry-go round,
He had tears in eyes as he picked me up from the ground.
Rushed back to the house where he cleaned up my cut's and combed my curls
Then off to get Ice Cream at Red Barn with his little girl.

Saturday mornings were the happiest yet.
Up early to practice my coronet.
After my lesson without fail, to Duncan Donuts we would go.
He'd let me have coffe as much as I'd liked and all the doughnuts were chocolate Iced.

He spoiled me rotten. It was a disgrace,
but he couldn't handle my sad little face.
cold luches at school just couldn't be had,
12 :00 every day, here would come my Dad.

Mc Donalds, Hardee's, Pizza or Chicken.
It was always a hot meal that I would be getting.
And sometimes he'd stay and have lunch with me.
We'd eat on the playground and he'd stay for P.E.

I can still see him sitting in his station Wagon.
reading his Bible so patiant so happy.
My friends all said I was the luckiest girl around.
Because on weekends he'd take us to town.

Off to the mall it was a long way,
but he was happy to do it and happy to pay.
He was our hero our favorite Dad,
and gave me the very best times to be had.

And on those long, hot summer nights,
He's sit with me and watch the lights,
in old mason jars the lightening bugs.
we caught in the cool green grass that I loved.

Stricklands Ice Cream runs.
Late at night and lots of fun.
Falling asleep in the car coming back,
Then to be carried up to my room like a happy sack.

On the hot and sweltery summer nights
I had one horrible, scary fright.
The horrid June bug buzzing in flight.
They would terrorize me until I would cry

And then here would come my big strong Dad.
With a giant fly swatter in his hand.
He'd kill the pesky bugs outright and then he's make sure he left on the light.
Then a drink of water, hugs and kisses, prayers and good night.

The very best Dad in the world I have known.
A great Man a hero, in war and at home.
He was a husband who lived for his wife
and loved his children more than his own Life.

Teen age years, I'm sure for him wasn't easy at all
but he was determined that he would stay close and keep me safe from harm.
One night I was sure my heart was shattered, My dad showed me what really mattered.
He went and got pizza, candy and Gone With The Wind Marathon and very soon my tears were all gone.

Then the day came that he had dreaded. The day his last little girl would be wedded.
Right before we walked the aisle he was crying through his smile.
He loved Keith as a son and he knew he was the right one.
On the day that we left to start our life we pulled away as dad stood crying in the drive.

Then the day came when he was Grandpa Murrell,
and there was one special, little smurfette girl.
He was more gentle even kinder, more loving and happy,
and each new grandchild made him kind of sappy.

Grandchildren were perfect he'd say,
and get mad if you discilined them in any way.
The'd climb on his lap and ride in his car.
They'd get by with anything, they were the star.

Then we could see our dad was growing old.
Silver haired and a back that was bowed.
He was sweet and gentle and selfless up to the end.
He was a treasure to God we would send.

On a hot summer afternoon one sad day in June,
We all gathered in his living room.
He held us all close and the look in eyes,
Let us know he was not very long for this life.

He looked at his beauty, his best friend, his bride,
And told he loved her they'd had a good Life.
He held all his children 2 daughters a son,
son in laws, Tammy, one just like his own, little granddaughters and grandson.

He smiled and told us of his love,
For us and Mom and most of all for his Jesus, His Savior
Then we sang to him "Peace Like A River in my Soul"
And we watchesd in awe at a perfect man go.

Heaven trembled and cried as hail fell to the ground,
And we all knew somehow as he made that last sound,
This world had lost a most powerful warrior, a hero,
A patriarch had entered heavens portal.

Now he's reunited with the love of his life,
and together they are with the daughter, they lost one sad night.
In heaven with the GOD they served all of their Life.
I can only imagine it's one beautiful sight.

As the years pass by and I miss them so much.
I'd give anything for just one last precious touch.
But the memories I've kept so deep in my heart,
And I live to be reunited again.... never to part.

You Just Never Know

2009-05-20T06:48:00.000-07:00

Jace called me a couple of weeks ago.
He's a friend and gifted worshiper and lead singer for the
band The Ember Days. His voice is always welcome.
In a beautiful New Zealand accent He asked How are you?
I've come to hate that question but from him it's so genuine.
He really wants to know, to pray no doubt.

I met him and his amazing wife and talented band last year,
Also unexpectedly. We were running a music venue.
I was tired, burned out and questioning my sanity
in even endeavoring to run a venue.
I was caught up in hosting the band for the night Showbread.
The Red Door Venue had been much more work and disappointment than
I had bargained for. I had seen so much from these kids the really good and the really BAD.
The hurt the despair, loneliness, anger and even rage.
I'd been overwhelmed by the bands that were disrespectful and enticed the kids to
the lust of this world sometimes after a set I'd go out back and just cry.
The atmosphere sometimes, a lot of times just felt dirty.

I was excited this night because I knew Showbread was there with one purpose
to reach these kids I'd come to love so much.
Out in the back parking lot as the bands unloaded I greeted each of them
Showbread was touring with an unknown band to me The Ember Days.
As I introduced myself to them and listened to their smooth and lovely accents
I felt peace. I still went over the rules because you never know, I've had "Christian" bands
behave badly. They stood smiling as I recited our rules no cursing or encouraging others to curse, no obscene lyrics, no drugs or alcohol on premises etc etc etc..

I was in the staff lounge when they took the stage the night.
As soon as Janell hit the first note on the keyboard
The atmosphere changed, people stopped talking I walked into a room
That had changed no one was goofing off or talking all eyes were fixed on the stage.
I looked around at my exhausted volunteer staff mostly kids themselves.
Tears were welling up in eyes some just sat with eyes closed against the walls silently weeping.
We could hear the sound of eternity, It felt as though the whole venue and everyone in it was being bathed and cleansed, It was more than just refreshing
It was healing. It was one of those few moments in life where you really do collide with eternity.
God was there, love was there and peace unbelievably sweet restful peace was there.

We took them home with us along with Showbread
(who was also more amazing than I had hoped) We stayed up almost all night.
I was hungry for friendship and fellowship. We had connected and I was refreshed.
They called almost every week, Jason, Janell, Matt, Tim and Jordan
They listened, cared, prayed and shared with us.
I was going through tough times and the calls were like water to my soul.

So here they were on the phone again. asking the question I always dreaded
So I poured out my heart, my struggles my heartbreak in losing The Red Door
My greatest battle in almost losing my beautiful daughter, all of it.
They listened and prayed and then told me they were coming our way.
We brainstormed and came up with the idea of a house show.
He asked if his friend Bradley Hathaway could come recite some poetry.
I didn't know who he was or care as long as Ember Days were playing.

Monday Night they arrived I moved furniture out to make room for the kids who were coming.
Kids I hadn't seen in months that used to be my daily life. I was very nostalgic as I baked cookies and cakes and made vats of tortilla soup for everyone, this is my gift and I've missed it so much.
I love having a hectic, busy and loud house full of teenagers
Why on earth I don't know but I love them, their noise and their energy.
I knew it would be bitter sweet and would leave me as quickly as it came feeling lost.

They arrived and it was a happy flurry of activity as the kids also started arriving, parking was crazy and we probably all wouldn't actually fit into one room so every room was full to bursting.
Bradley Hathaway was a bit late. He and his band were genuinely sweet and so thankful for the meal. I liked them but was hoping they wouldn't take too long so I could hear my friends play.

They were up first and the room was full people sitting everywhere standing in doorways, against the walls. He was a skinny, unassuming young man with long hair and no shoes on, he sat on a chair his face was almost beautiful and wistful. Then he opened his mouth and we were blown away It was unexpected, he bared his soul in poetry and prose.It was almost uncomfortable it was so intimate, his struggles and his love for God, nothing was covered he exposed his weakness and Christs strength. The anointing flowed I wasn't sure if a prophet or a
teacher or an extraordinary kid was sitting in my living room. Everyone was riveted and moved.
He last shared a poem called the hug I will enclose it at the end.
I stood listening in my kitchen and tears were streaming down my face as I watched the kids faces yearn with him for the reality of the closeness of Gods love.
It was another beautiful, healing moment and I watched my daughters faces
and I saw desire to love God like that, to express it so freely.
I saw my Ashton open her heart. It's been a long battle but she's starting to heal.
I am so grateful for the unexpected people God sends with the fresh new ways of expression.
I bought his book of poetry and read it in one sitting.
He is a voice of his generation, prophetic, haunting but soothing and uplifting.

We ended with The Ember Days the most beautiful and anointed intimate worship you can imagine. They sang Yearn, and much more and a new song with the lyrics "I come alive in your presence" the words struck me It is the only time I feel alive, It's such a real and simple truth.
My soul was filled, it was like refreshing rain, my heart was full of love for these precious
kids that I ache to reach with love and hope and purpose in Christ.
I don't know what the future holds I can only live one day at a time but It was a Beautiful Day.

Lyrics to The Hug Poem : Bradley Hathaway

I read about how you touched them and they were healed
Or even if someone just touched your cloak they were forever changed
You let a broken women bathe your feet in her tears
And you washed your best friend’s feet
I am just wondering though did you just ever hug people

I mean I know that it is a silly question and all I am sure you would have why wouldn’t you
But its one of those things that was never mentioned that got me thinking about it

And how whenever there was a touch from you sins were forgiven and sickness fell
I think I’m caught up in my sins last time I checked all my body parts were properly working, nothing special here
I am just a kid with a heavy heart these passing sunrises and sunsets

I don’t think our encounter would have ended up in the gospels or anything
Because all I really need is a hug
That is ok for me to imagine right
That’s not going to be conflicting with any sort of theology is it
Ok good, then hug me

But not one of these side ways one arm around the neck type hugs
Or the ghetto right hand clasp fists elbows to chest pit pat on the back back
Or you put your right arm over my right arm and I put my left arm over your left arm and we make this weird sort of diagonal thing
Nah none of those

BEAR HUG ME MAN
Take your old school carpenter arms and throw them over my upper body leaving my arms dangling underneath yours somewhere and I can barely move them because your squeezing so hard
But don’t pick me up and make my back pop because I hate it when people do that

And hold me, hold me here in your arms until I start to cry because
I WANT TO CRY
But I just can’t seem to do it on my own
I have been teary eyed once recently but not even enough for a drip down my cheek
Theres just hurt in my soul that needs to be purged so hold me in this hold pose until the pain is flowing from my eyes and nose
[ The Hug Poem Lyrics on http://www.lyricsmania.com/ ]

I Did Not Recognize You

2009-05-19T21:57:00.001-07:00

I came at daybreak,
My hands shaking, My heart broken,
All hope lost.....Emptiness
heart wrenching grief.
A darkness inside me, that could not be dispelled.

I watched him die.....
He who said I shall never die.
I witnessed him bleed and suffer in unmentionable ways.
I saw his shame but I could not turn away.
I was stricken by grief and disbelief.
Why why why?
My heart, soul and mind scream within me
a primal pain and a dark foreboding fear ripping through my soul.

Doubt, ugly dark doubt...
Is he who I thought he was?
For the first time since he set me free.
Looked deep into my eyes, heart, soul and my mind.
I doubt him but I cannot leave him
and I unequivocally cannot deny him my love and passion.

And so I watch him fail me now.
My healer cannot heal himself.
my deliver cannot be delivered!
I wanted to run to hide my eyes from the greatest injustice
The greatest evil of earth.
The love of my life, the hope of all mankind.
The only Truth I know, the only future I believe in DIE.

I thought he had come to rule.
To set things right, to triumph over evil.
He heals the sick, raises the dead Why is he still hanging there?
Than the earth groans and the heavens shake.
My heart skips within me this is it.
All will see his power now!
Wait what is he saying? I strain to hear my heart bursting within me
Oh the possibilities....My feet are ready to run
my mouth is anxious to proclaim again his wonders.
I am waiting to rejoice. This is crazy he will not die I tell myself.
"It is finished!" he says.
What does this mean?
NOW He's coming down from that cruel cross to bring justice I am sure.
But he hung his head and died.

I stood gripped by disbelief
reeling with shock NO NO NO
This is not how it ends.
It's over! It's finished, this is it?
This is what I've been living for?
All light left me, unshakable confusion, fear even anger.
tears blinded me and heart wrenching pain overtook me.

I could not eat, or sleep or even think.
My tears are endless my grief unbearable.
I cannot accept this death this finality
It killed my hopes, my dreams, passion, all love and my belief system.
EVERYTHING GONE IN A DAY!

So now I find myself
confused, hurting and broken.
But loving him even more, grieving for him, weeping for him
vowing never to forget him.
So I come early to lovingly prepare his body. My last act of devotion,
to anoint with spices the anointed one.

The tomb is empty....
someone has stolen him and stolen from me,
my goodbyes, my savior. Oh where have they taken him?
I breakdown in tears, anguish and fatigue.
I'm totally empty now nothing left to cling to.
I collapse..... " Woman why are you crying?"
What an insane question isn't it obvious? I've lost everything.
I weep, I cry like a child They've taken my lord away."
Mary, Mary the words cannot register.
My mind is too numb, my grief too real
I cannot recognize him!
I am so consumed by grief I DO NOT RECOGNIZE HIM.
I am so busy grieving over my past I cannot see him in my present!
Cannot believe him for my future!
MARY! Wait I know this voice, I know this tone.
TEACHER!

Tears, this time of relief,
this time of release.
I once more run to him and cling to him
HE IS ALIVE! HE IS ALIVE! HE IS ALIVE!
And he spoke my name again.
He spoke MY name again!!!

Wake Up Call

2009-05-07T12:09:00.000-07:00

It's been a hectic morning for me.
Tonight is our first home prayer/fellowship meeting.
It also happens to be The National Day Of Prayer.
I've been rushing around cleaning.
Baking and just preparing.

The laundry is piling up again and Amber and her Father
leave tomorrow for a trip.
There's no time to be wasted.
As I'm putting Banana Bread into the oven to bake.
With a long mental list of chores still to be done,
The phone rings.

It's my middle (sensitive) daughter and I can hear tears in her voice.
This is her second call this afternoon.
She just started a new job after a year of being a full time student.
She couldn't have started at a worse time. she's working at a florist shop.
Mothers Day week is more than hectic, and everyone's much too busy to train her.

"Mom" she says "Do you have anything extra I can cook for a dinner for someone?"
I'm busy and exasperated And tell her this is no time to cook for her friends!
'It's our first prayer meeting and we're having food after and I'm too busy
and I do not need a mess to clean up.
There's a girl at work she tells me who is very poor and hungry.
She goes on to tell me that she met her three year old today and he was skin and bones.
They are living in an abandoned trailer,
with no electricity and only the food they can scrounge up.

I was silenced with this information.
What good am I doing planning for prayer and
cooking food for people who most likley have already eaten dinner?
I know God would rather have me feed the poor than simply pray for them.

I realized two things, First, even though we worry as parents.
Worry that we've actually raised mature, compassionate and loving children.
I had found this truth on a very unlikely day.
Second that she had taught me a lesson and unknowingly,
rebuked me and put my day back in focus.
What good is a home group or church,
if we can't reach out to the needy and broken around us?
So she's going to take them dinner and I'm so proud of her!

Mugs for Mom

2009-04-27T11:24:00.000-07:00

Today as I was unloading the dishwasher and tenderly putting my mugs into their place I realized I could tell a lot about the weekend and my girls by which mugs had been used.
We are a very sentimental bunch and perhaps one of our (definitely mine) greatest treasures is the beloved mug collection.

The star by far is a handcrafted green glazed mug humble and utilitarian but she's the favored mug of our home. It may be for it's earthiness and comfort, maybe because it was made of clay in a homemade kiln in Texas and we were at the site of it's birth. It came in a set of two and I must confess I cried when it's twin was broken. It was given to us one Thanksgiving as a gift. Our family and our dear friends the Borens were invited by Sonny and Margey Janes for a wonderful Texas Thanksgiving at their lake house. It was one of those weekends you never want to end. Our girls were still children and we were surrounded by good friends and family and all was well in our world. My best friend Lisa was also chosen to receive the gift of the perfect green mugs. We have had countless talks, sharing life's joy, struggles, disappointment and hopes for our dear girls as we sip our concoction of coffee and hazelnut creamer from the green mugs. It's comforting, somehow a token of our friendship and history. If you ever visit me and I bestow on you the honor of drinking from the green mug you must understand it is my highest compliment.

This weekend I am sad to say a pink, chipped and well used mug found it's way out of the back of the dark cabinet, searched out with a heavy heart. We are a family of girls, girls, girls and this is the dreaded heartbreak mug with the crude words "love Stinks" printed on it. Everyone knows that in The Collins house that if you sit at the kitchen table with the Love stinks mug, you are needing your sisters and "Mom" and whatever girl friends may be around to come along side to listen and help you wrack your brain trying to understand the mystery of "Guys, boy's or rarely men". This usually calls for the collaboration of The Boren Girls and Collins Girls to go over every detail of what your feeling, Why your feeling it and what can be done about it. It usually ends with us needing chocolate but hopefully knowing we're not alone in our quest for understanding the male mind and it's perceived insensitivity.

The Owl Mug is a bittersweet one It was bought last year as we shopped for a short lived but joyous project called The Red Door, a music venue we ran for one busy, hectic but very happy year. Anytime I drink from it I say a prayer for all the wonderful "Red Door Kids" we loved, laughed with and cleaned up after. I know my dear Mya would like it but I can't bear to give it up.

A small mug with the scrawled writing declaring "I Love Mom" is used when someone wants to declare her love for me or is used by me when I'm feeling unappreciated. If I fix a drink for my girls in that mug I'm reminding them that even though I'm exasperating, irritating and paranoid that I love them more than life, I'm going to forever and nothing they can say or do will ever change that. I know, it's my manipulation mug.

My manly mug, a huge, white Old Spice, ship mug was my fathers shaving mug long ago. After he died I asked for it and drank from nothing else for a long time because using something he had used everyday made me feel close to him. I can still picture him shaving and hear his voice and when I use it.

A few years later Moms favorite mug that was given to her by my sister, joined the collection. It has her birth year and trivia printed on it. when I wish I could share a cup of coffee and get her advise and wisdom I use the mug as I read over her collection of poems and essays. (She was a writer and left hundreds of poems, essays, short stories, songs and sermons.) I know my sister probably doesn't even know I took it. I'm Sorry Sherry but I had to have it.

A patriotic flag mug was bought years ago one fourth of July and was casually used until that awful morning on September 11th. I drank from only that one for months as I grieved for my beautiful country and the valuable lives lost that day. I still remember and pray for America and our precious troops as they pay the ultimate price every day. It's so faded now from all it's use but it's beautiful to me.

Then there's the large green latte mug given to me by my assistant and friend Jennifer from the days at BRSM and BMTC (back when my husband and I presided over a Bible School) It reminds me of the happiest times of my life. I miss those days and students more than anything.

Then there's the colorful, chipped, glued Mexican mug that my oldest daughter brought back from Mexico. I love it's shape, character and bold and bright colors It reminds me that she loves me and knows there's no better lasting gift for Mom than a mug. It also reminds me of another one of my "kids" Michael who would drink from nothing but the "Mexican Mug" on the afternoons he ate lunch with us which was almost every day last year. It can no longer be put in the dishwasher because it's handle has been glued so very many times. I'm sad to see it in the back of the cabinet because it reminds me that it's been too long since he visited me.

I also favor a sweet black and white plaid, Starbucks mug that was a gift from my friend, sweet Helen of Wales. I always think of her and my Welsh friends as I drink from it.

Then there's the friendship mug given to me by my dear, old friend Kay Holly along with my first copy of "Chicken Soup for the Soul". It was on the tragic day that I was moving away from my home and terrified of a new beginning. She drove with us to help us move from the mountains of West Virginia to the beaches of Florida. We read the book aloud and laughed and cried together. This mug reminds me that even when moving forward we always need to hold on to our history and friends from the past. I always think of the beautiful years of babies, kindergarten and Central Elementary School , field trips and ice cream and the joy of living in a small, sweet mountain town when I see this mug.

Then there's the ancient tea cups, family heirlooms that are only used for holidays but had their day back in the blissful years of little girls and tea parties. I have pictures of my youngest and her friends all dressed up in hats and gloves for the tea party. I hope one day I'll bring them out again for the next generation of sweet little Collins ' girls.

So I guess my life story can be found in a cupboard. One thing I do
know is that There are many more mugs and memories to come, so bring on the coffee and the tea we can handle any crisis from our families kitchen table. I think I have a mug for that........

To All The Guys And Girls

2009-04-23T06:22:00.000-07:00


	Once more I hold a weeping daughter, and I struggle for the words... words that cannot dull the pain, of a heart that is once more broken. And I too try to understand, because It's not just my daughter, but so many beautiful young girls, I've seen them light up with hope. believing in the fairy tale. Opening their hearts up selflessly only to be left broken. and I question, In this generation of mtv and so called reality TV, What is the reality? Love is not just a cheap experience. like hollywood tells us Its our lifeblood, Its real, its the ultimate commitment. TO the boys who will be men... Where are the young men...who will guard her heart above your own? who will pursue her with abandon? Who will know that her value is high above rubies. who will treat her as a sister first? will you please not.. handle her heart casually, speak empty words that hold no future, and steal kisses that dont belong to you? Think before you touch her heart. I'm sad for so many of you. because you may have discarded a treasure In the hopes of self preservation, So afraid that you'll get hurt that instead you hurt her first,,, Dont forget your role! You are suposed to be the pursuer A prince to scale the walls of her heart. A real prince is brave and valiant willing to risk all for his lady. Your example is Christ, who gave himself for his bride, To young girls who will be Women.... GUARD your heart. It is your greatest treasure. Dont be acquired so easily. Please realize your worth. Your so precious a king gave his life for you! Hold on to the fairy tale. and NEVER settle for anything less. You are a princess and... One day your prince will come! And.....You will not find him by kissing FROGS!!!!! Wait for the right one and in the meantime get to know your King and measure each young man to him. History is waiting to write your love story... You will find the secrets in an ancient book. start in Proverbs.

Once more I hold a weeping daughter,
and I struggle for the words...
words that cannot dull the pain,
of a heart that is once more broken.

And I too try to understand,
because It's not just my daughter,
but so many beautiful young girls,
I've seen them light up with hope.
believing in the fairy tale.
Opening their hearts up selflessly
only to be left broken.
and I question,
In this generation of mtv and so called reality TV,
What is the reality?
Love is not just a cheap experience.
like hollywood tells us
Its our lifeblood, Its real, its the ultimate commitment.

TO the boys who will be men...
Where are the young men...who will guard her heart above your own?
who will pursue her with abandon?
Who will know that her value is high above rubies.
who will treat her as a sister first?
will you please not..
handle her heart casually, speak empty words that hold no future,
and steal kisses that dont belong to you?
Think before you touch her heart.
I'm sad for so many of you.
because you may have discarded a treasure
In the hopes of self preservation,
So afraid that you'll get hurt that instead you hurt her first,,,
Dont forget your role!
You are suposed to be the pursuer
A prince to scale the walls of her heart.
A real prince is brave and valiant
willing to risk all for his lady.
Your example is Christ, who gave himself for his bride,

To young girls who will be Women....
GUARD your heart.
It is your greatest treasure.
Dont be acquired so easily.
Please realize your worth.
Your so precious a king gave his life for you!
Hold on to the fairy tale.
and NEVER settle for anything less.
You are a princess and...
One day your prince will come!
And.....You will not find him by kissing FROGS!!!!!
Wait for the right one and in the meantime
get to know your King and measure each young man to him.
History is waiting to write your love story...
You will find the secrets in an ancient book.
start in Proverbs.