Embracing the Sunrise

I heard a story one time about a woman who had suffered years of physical abuse from her husband. After ten years, she finally managed to break away from the hold he had on her, and even though she had re-married and moved on with her life, those feelings of hate and resentment were never far away. It was like a boulder tied to her waist; she was never free.

One day, an idea came to her. She went to the store and bought ten helium balloons and a black marker. Then she drove out to an open field.

Taking the balloons, she wrote a number from one to ten on each one. She got out of the car with the balloons and for a long time she sat on the ground, thinking of the years of abuse she had suffered at the hands of a man she once loved.

But today was the day for forgiving. As she released the balloons—one for each year of marriage—she visualized all of the hurt, the pain, the hatred that she had carried around for years floating away from her and out of sight.

She says it was only then that she forgave her ex-husband, and, strangely, only then did she feel truly freed from her past. The weight she had carried so long was gone.

Carrying past hurts and personal mistakes around is a self-defeating activity. It's like trying to walk with a ball and chain on your ankle. It keeps you from moving forward, and is constantly rekindling unpleasant feelings. Every time you would get on with your life, the ball and chain yanks you back, reminding you that you aren't free to move forward. Your spirit is still bound to the past. It’s a trick of the enemy.

It is only when we truly forgive others, and ourselves (which is just as important), that we will be free to move forward.

No doubt, we've all been hurt by someone—by actions, by words, by lies—and surely we've all been guilty of hurting others, as well. Neither is a great feeling. They both can keep us from God. Whether it’s holding onto bitterness and anger from being hurt, or feeling the weight of guilt and self-hatred for having hurt others, such things are debilitating and can consume our thoughts. I’ve been in both places. It can be a long journey to freedom, either way.

A religious teacher once had this to say about the past: "Let go. Why do you cling to pain? There is nothing you can do about the wrongs of yesterday. It is not yours to judge. Why hold on to the very thing which keeps you from hope and love?"

I’m guilty of falling short on every level—as a wife, as a mother, as a friend, as a sister, as a daughter, as a neighbor, as a church member. You name it. I’m not a great example of anything, except a flawed human being in need of God’s mercy. But I can’t allow my frailties to be my excuses, nor to hold me back from becoming a better person.

We can, and should, apologize to those we've wounded, and do our best to make things right. Whether they forgive us or not is up to them, but we must forgive ourselves and believe that God has forgiven us. It isn't healthy to wallow in yesterday's mistakes. Neither should we replay the harsh words and hurts that others have brought to us, over and over in our minds.

Today is a new day, and it’s God’s will that we come boldly to the throne of grace, that we let go of the mistakes and pain of our past, and walk humbly into the future. What did the Apostle Paul say? "Putting the past behind me … I press forward." It's the will of God. It's the best we can do.

Until next time, dear friends, I'm embracing the sunrise. Won't you join me?

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Joining my friends at "Spiritual Sundays" today,

where it's all about inspiration and encouragement.

A Surprise, A Quilt, And A Trip

The last three posts have all started with a similar statement, but I need to say it once more. It really is relevant to this post, so, if you've read it already, please bear with me while I sound like a broken record. (hehe)

The Man and I left on an extended trip this week, part of which will include celebrating our 30th anniversary on August 8th. Before we left, my twin sis asked us to let her buy us lunch on the Sunday prior to our departure. It would be her "anniversary treat." So, not one to miss a free meal, we said OK.

And so it was, this past Sunday, after church, we drove to meet Gayle at Salt Grass, when what to our wondering eyes should appear but almost my whole family (minus Big Sis and brother-in-law)! Come to find out, it was our sneaky (but beautiful) daughter who had concocted this little plan, and Aunt Gayle was only happy to help pull it off. :)

I love my peeps, especially the body guard in sunglasses behind me. (wink)

I couldn't believe my daughter had managed to surprise me.

After a yummy lunch, we went to Gayle's house and there was yet another surprise--a beautiful table full of mementos from the early years, and gifts and cards. My sweet daughter had brought fresh flowers and ordered a fabulous picture cake, with colors representing the pastels of our wedding. My sister had adorned the table with lovely candles and seashells, a perfect fit for this beach bum at heart.

Not only beautiful, but delicious!

The Mr. & Mrs, soon-to-be married 30 years.

I will be blogging more about our 30-year marriage on, or around, our actual anniversary, August 8th, but the short of it is no matter how many storms we've encountered, we've found a way to survive them all. If two people (two being the key word) decide nothing will separate them, then nothing will.

 

Another Sunday surprise was this magnificent king-size quilt, designed and pieced by the hands of my talented mother, and quilted by a local artist.

This added detail makes it extra special and a future heirloom.

I'm so happy to add this quilt to my growing collection.

~ A wider view ~

My dear mother knew I wanted a quilt for the king bed in our motorhome.

She rocks!

Here we are with my beautiful twin sister, and my gorgeous niece, Leslie.

When God gave us Anna Marie, He gave us our hearts' desire for a daughter.

She is beautiful inside and out.

After 30 years, he still makes my heart skip a beat.

I hope you enjoyed my Sunday of surprises.

It was a great send-off for our 30th Anniversary Tour, which starts very soon.

Simple Pleasures ~ Reading

The Man and I are on an extended road trip. (Don't worry, we left capable house-sitters and a big bad dog at home.) One of the best parts about leaving home, for me, is deciding what books to take. I often end up taking repeat material, books that I read over and over again. But, ironically, I always find something fresh between the pages.

What's your simple pleasure? I created Simple Pleasures to remind me to stop, to look, to listen, to pay closer attention to the small things in life. And whenever I do, I'm never disappointed. It might be the sound of a baby's laugh, the gentle splash of a summer rain against the window, or flowers in a jar on the kitchen windowsill.

Thanks so much to those who linked up last Thursday. I'm excited to see what you're sharing today. I may be a bit late getting around to you, being on the road and all, but I'll be by at some point.


Note: If you link up and later discover your post has been deleted, please review the guidelines. As fond of you as I am, posts not using a permalink, not on-subject, and not linking back to this post may be deleted. For complete guidelines, please visit this page.

The View from Here

Let the road trip begin ...

Since some have asked, I've edited this post to reveal more.

The Man and I are leaving on an extended trip this week, part of which includes celebrating our 30th anniversary on August 8th (will blog more about that later). We talked of Europe, almost did Hawaii, but chose to stay on the ground for this one. The Man has it all planned out, as he always does for our road trips. So, in no particular order, Ohio, Michigan, Minnesota, Wisconsin, Illinois, Nebraska, Kansas, Oklahoma, Tennessee, Arkansas, Kentucky, Indiana here we come! Postcards from the road will follow. I know you wait breathlessly. (wink)

P.S. And don't worry, we left capable house-sitters and a big bad dog at home.

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Linking up with Susan for Outdoor Wednesday.

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The Shoes

Bethany House has a beautiful new anthology out. It's titled, Love Is A Flame (Stories of What Happens When Love is Rekindled), with a foreword by Gary Chapman. I was honored to be included in this collection of unique and moving stories and have decided to share my story, "The Shoes," here.

The incident I write about occurred many years ago, but I'm still quite embarrassed by my childish behavior every time I read the account again. But all's well that ends well, and that's what Love Is A Flame is all about.

The Shoes

As I walked through the dimly lit house one evening, I stumbled across my husband's size-13 tennis shoes. I went crashing to the floor, taking with me several picture frames from the coffee table.

Why can't he put his shoes in the closet? I mumbled to myself. He knows I hate tripping over them.

Just then my husband yelled from the back of the house, "What's all the racket about? Are you okay?"

That did it. "No, I'm not okay!" I hollered. "Not okay at all!"

Stan came to the door and stared down at me. I could tell he wanted to laugh, but he didn’t. "What happened?" he asked, innocently.

"Why can't you just put your stupid shoes in the closet, like normal people?" I grumbled, sitting up to inspect my wounds.

"Well, it might help if you'd turn a light on instead of wandering through the house in the dark," he said, smugly.

"That's beside the point, Stan. You know I've asked you dozens of times to stop leaving your shoes all over the house; they're like two sailboats. I’m serious. They’re dangerous."

We stared silently at each other across the floor. Saying nothing, he reached for the shoes and disappeared down the hall. I knew they'd be back. It was only a matter of time.

Later in the week, I arrived home and discovered five pairs of Stan's shoes in the living-room.

His house shoes camped under the edge of the couch. His work shoes decorated the hearth. His brown dress shoes jutted out from under the coffee table. His high-tops lay in front of the rocker. And those abominable tennis shoes glared at me in front of the grandfather clock.

Scowling at the slew of shoes, I had a malicious idea. Starting at one end of the living-room, I placed all ten shoes in a straight line until they reached the hallway. Breathing hard, I stood back and admired my work. He wouldn’t be able to get through the room without having to walk over them—or move them.

For a moment, I felt remorse. But the feeling passed and I attempted to justify my immature behavior. That'll serve him right, I said to myself. Let him see what it's like to maneuver around these boats. Better yet, let him see what it's like to have to put them all in the shoe rack.

I waited for his arrival home with much anticipation, but, to my dismay, the parade of shoes didn't seem to faze him. "What's this?" was all he said. The next time I looked, the shoes were gone. Still, I knew they'd be back. They always came back.

One day after driving my daughter to school, I returned home, made myself a cup of coffee, and settled on the couch for a time of devotion. I would try to ignore the familiar size-13 shoes scattered all over the room, but it was difficult. As I read from Thessalonians, I laughed out loud when my eyes came to rest on this verse in the fifth chapter: "Rejoice evermore."

"God," I said, half-laughing, "If you can give me one good reason to rejoice over these shoes, I'll be happy to do so."

Early next morning, I drove Stan to the airport. He was flying to Baltimore for the weekend to participate in the Houston firefighter's annual muscular dystrophy softball tournament. "Have a good time," I said, giving him a kiss at the gate. "See you Monday.” He waved me off.

I returned home late in the afternoon, switched on the radio, and started preparing dinner. Suddenly, I heard the newscaster saying, "Once again, there are no survivors in that plane crash."

For a moment, my heart stopped. I sat down at the kitchen table, my hands shaking. Plane crash? What plane crash? But the news was over. Fumbling frantically with the dial, I found another station and heard the tragic details: USAir, flight 427, had gone down from Chicago to Pittsburgh, killing all passengers on board.

Shocked by the news, I laid my head on the cold table and wept. Both from relief and sadness. Even though my husband was not on that plane, I realized how uncertain life is, and how numbing the shock must be for those families who had loved ones aboard.

That evening, after putting my daughter to bed, I stooped to remove Stan's tennis shoes from where he'd left them in front of the full-length mirror. But instead of putting them away, I put them on. They felt awkward and massive on my small feet.

For several minutes, I stood studying my ridiculous reflection in the mirror. Then I looked down at the shoes. They were molded in the exact shape of my husband's feet. I knew every hump and bump so well.

No one else could wear these shoes but Stan. How would I feel if I knew my husband would never again fill these shoes? The thought was unthinkable. Somewhere tonight, a woman, without warning, was a widow. Her husband would never again wear his shoes. A chill sliced through my heart. I mourned for her.

The day Stan came home, Anna Marie and I gathered in the living-room listening to all the details of his trip; of how his team had gone undefeated in their division. And while my daughter admired the shiny, first-place trophy Stan pulled proudly from his bag, I couldn't keep my eyes off the size-13 shoes he'd dropped underneath the coffee table. Funny, I didn't wish them to be anywhere else. They were a comforting sign. My husband was home.


This story appears in the upcoming release, Love is A Flame (Bethany House) compiled by James Stuart Bell.

Adapted from the book, Silver Linings, by Dayle Allen Shockley. All rights reserved.


Epilogue: This was one of those rare occasions when it only took one prompting to change my ways. I never complained about my husband's shoes again, even though he still keeps them scattered from here to yon. I now happily consider them part of the decor.

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I'm linking up with Charlotte and Ginger for Spiritual Sundays,

a blog filled with inspirational words and music.

Our Evolution of Camping

This is a story about how I went from a hotel kind of gal, to an RV and camping enthusiast. If you want the shorter version, without all of the photo illustrations, you can click twice on the following image from July 18th's Beaumont Enterprise. But if you want the rambling version (oh, joy), with all of the photo illustrations, scroll on down.

In 1994, my husband purchased a used pop-up camper. On the day of its delivery, we popped the top and unfolded its canvas walls—right in the middle of our driveway.

My friend next door walked over and presented a dubious scowl. "Is this yours?” Kathy seemed shocked.

“Yes,” I said. “Isn’t it wonderful?”

She laughed. “I’m sorry, Dayle, but you don't look like the camping type. You’re much too…. prissy.”

Truth is, I haven’t always considered myself the “camping type” either. I thought folks who frequented RV parks were either a) not very bright, or b) broke. Possibly both.

But early on in our marriage, my husband insisted camping might be fun. So, in the summer of 1982, we borrowed a friend’s trailer, invited my sister and brother-in-law to join us, and headed to Florida.

(1982 - The Man on our first camping trip, in a tiny borrowed trailer)

Our campsite was a shady spot. A picnic table rested under a grove of pines, and just beyond a hedge of shrubs, white beaches and emerald waters awaited us.

As we set up camp, I was acutely aware of the sounds around me. Birds chirping. Gravel crunching as folks walked past. An occasional wind rustled the trees. Everything seemed alive, and yet the noises were remarkably calming.

In the past, I’d always been a hotel kind of gal, but I was curiously being mesmerized by this natural setting. I remember thinking: I can’t believe I didn’t know this existed.

As the week unfolded, I had a revelation. Chaos and busyness ruled my life—even my vacations—but a natural environment calmed the mind and body.

Such a thought seemed radical, but by stepping out of my normal routine I was able to identify exactly what had been missing. Previous vacations were spent doing and going and rushing, all sandwiched between irritating encounters. Crowded hotel elevators. Televisions blaring from hotel rooms and cafés. Children screaming while being dragged from amusement park rides. No wonder I returned home from such trips exhausted.

Out here in nature, things were different. Even the children seemed more relaxed as I observed them playing board games at picnic tables, riding bikes down dusty trails, or throwing a ball around. In spite of earlier doubts about camping, I was close to conversion.

On our final evening, we sat talking in soft tones beneath the pines, a stream of moonlight falling across our laps. The impact of that peaceful moment was unforgettable and impossible to put into words. A moment like that can only be experienced.

On our second camping trip, in 1983, we went for the whole tent experience, and I’d say it pretty much climaxed when I crawled in one evening and found a snake coiled up on my cot. Yikes! After nearly tearing the tent down, I still managed to finish the night—and the trip—in a good mood, but a girl has her limits. That was the beginning and the end of the tent-camping era for this gal.

(1983 - The year of the tent ... and the snake.)

Our daughter turned eight the year we bought the little pop-up, and I discovered that camping with children is less stressful than the hotel scene, for several reasons. Children are calmer in a natural setting. You don’t have to worry so much about what they’re wearing, or if they get dirty. There’s room for them to unleash their energy. And they don't want to stay glued to the television all night.

(1994 - My sweet daughter and Princess, the year of the pop-up)

In 2000, we sold the pop-up and bought a used 30' bumper-pull trailer. Going from a pop-up to this had us feeling like the Jeffersons—we had moved on up! While it was still close quarters inside, it had a full kitchen, a queen-size bed, a sofa that made a bed, a dinette that made a bed, roomy closets, an indoor bathroom (hello!) and a bathtub, to boot (double hello!). Heaven on wheels. This was our home-away-from home for the next nine years.

(2000 - We enjoyed this 30' RV for nine years.)

So, what attracts me so much to camping, you might ask. For starters, camping is more economical, but more importantly, it offers a chance to “unplug.” It allows the mind and body to disconnect from the synthetic world of artificial noises and electronic bombardment, and connect to the real world—a world filled with life and soothing sounds. But that's not all. Consider the following:

* You don’t have to squeeze into an elevator several times a day.

* Your pets are always welcome.

* Whatever is in the fridge is yours for the taking.

* You know the sheets on your bed are clean, because you washed them. And if they’re not, it’s your dirt.

* You can go to breakfast in your pajamas.

* There are paths and trails that beckon the curious soul.

* You have a front-row seat to nature’s wonders.

* Camping brings you closer as a family.

Almost 30 years have passed since our first camping experience. We now consider ourselves veterans. In 2008, The Man retired. A year later, after much research, we sprang for a 38-foot Fleetwood and are so blessed to be able to travel extensively, something we dreamed of doing for many years, and something we never take for granted.

But I've discovered that the charms of camping have less to do with whether you travel by RV, or enjoy camping in tents or in on-site cabins. Camping is mainly about getting out in nature and drinking in the magnificent views by day, and inhaling the night air. It's about slowing down the pace.

(2009 - Cloud Nine, as we call our Fleetwood coach,

with Goldilocks following behind.)

Gary Smalley, founder and president of Today's Family, an organization which sponsors family enrichment seminars, traveled across the country interviewing "unusually happy" families, trying to find a common thread. Speaking with each family member separately, Smalley discovered one activity they all enjoyed: camping trips.

If you don’t know beans about camping, here are a few suggestions.

Start small.

State parks are a great choice. Click on this link to find the destination of your choice.

Plan ahead.

Many campgrounds fill up early, especially on weekends. It’s a good idea to make reservations.

Gear up.

Check out this website for advice from the camping pros.

Have fun.

Take board games, books, puzzles and things like dart-boards and horse-shoes. Bicycles make nice additions for afternoon rides through the park.

RV parks usually have swimming pools, and some offer a large variety of sporting equipment for your pleasure. In addition, look for paths and trails for casual hiking. Lazy evenings are a good time to bring out the guitar for a little round-the-fire singing, while roasting marshmallows and talking about the day’s activities.

Until next time, happy camping!

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Article first appeared in The Dallas Morning News. All rights reserved.

Simple Pleasures ~ Flowers in a jar

One of the best things about growing flowers outside is bringing a few of them inside. With these on the windowsill, working in the kitchen is practically a thing of beauty.

What's one of the simple pleasures you're enjoying lately? Link up below and let me know.

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SIMPLE PLEASURES - Posting Guidelines

1. CREATE a new post, showcasing your SIMPLE PLEASURE. Somewhere in the body of your post, include a link back to this page. You can use a hyperlink (by copying the http:// address at the top of this page), and/or include my blog button code (found on my sidebar) in your post.

2. PUBLISH your SIMPLE PLEASURE post on your blog.

3. AFTER your post is published, click on the TITLE of your post. This will allow you to capture what’s called the permalink. Your post’s title should be visible at the end of the link.

4. COPY your permalink using the “copy” command, then RETURN to this SIMPLE PLEASURE post.

5. Using the “paste” command, PASTE your permalink into the appropriate linky box at the end of this post.

6. Type your NAME in the appropriate linky box and click the ENTER button.

7. That's it! It's always a good idea to check and see if your link is working. If you have any questions, feel free to contact me through my Profile page contact information.

8. Please visit some of the other participants, as time allows. I like the idea of visiting the one above and below your entry, if you’re short on time. That way, everybody gets a visitor from the SIMPLE PLEASURES party.

Please Note: Posts not using the permalink, not on-subject, and not linking back to this post will be deleted.

Thank you for sharing your simple pleasures with me. I’m looking forward to visiting you.

Some days ...

... you just need somebody to play with.

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Joining the fun over at "Outdoor Wednesday."

(Photo of Diesel, by Dayle)

On Thursday, I’m stepping out in faith and hosting my first blog party. Yikes!

The theme is “Simple Pleasures.” I hope you’ll join me.

Dining Room Revealed

This is how the dining room used to look, except for the party stuff.

In the 21 years that we've lived here, I've changed very little in my dining room, other than the carpets and window treatments. What can I say? I’m not a fan of change. If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it is my motto. But I gave in somewhat and decided a little change would be good, emphasis on little. I stuck with the basics—wall color and fresh wallpaper on the accent wall.

But first, more before pictures.

My original plan was to do away with the wallpaper altogether, although it is making a comeback in the world of design. However, when my helpers (my sweet daughter and her sweet friend) peeled off the first layer, there was another underneath it, and yet another layer underneath that one. It was soon evident that it would be simpler to hang wallpaper than texture a wall for painting. Been there, done that. Not fun.

Funny how just changing the basics can turn into a week-and-a-half ordeal. I thought that wallpaper would never come off!

Things got ugly.

Really ugly.

Chaos ruled. My head hurt.

But, at last, the wallpaper was down (thanks to The Man using his manly muscles), the wall was primed, and a fresh piece of wallpaper was hung. I'd forgotten how much fun wallpapering is not.

And now, without further ado ...

Welcome to my newly updated dining room! It looks much the same, yet very different. Come on in and look around. (Click on images if you prefer larger pics.)

I wasn't sure I would like the paint color (it’s called “Restful”), but I fell almost instantly in love. It is, indeed, restful and calming and has a vintage feel to it, which is a good thing since everything I own is vintage. And the wallpapered accent wall turned out better than expected. I like how it compliments the furniture and the paint color. It's also got a vintage vibe going on.

Everything here has a history, which only adds to the charm for me. I purchased this old pie safe years ago at a remnant store in McComb, Mississippi. It was painted a flat, milky white when I bought it and looked terrible. I stripped it down to the original finish, then brought it back to life. It's far from perfect, but so am I, which is why it works for me. The cabinet knobs are original, but the screens in the doors had to be replaced.

After the makeover, I decided to place it next to the window, and I'm liking it much better, so far.

I've had those old canisters up top since before I married, and used them in my kitchen until last Christmas, when The Man bought me a new set of my choice.

This dessert cart was purchased many moons ago at a local antique shop.

The crocheted pieces seen in this room were all made by my mother; we call her the Queen of Crochet. Her work is exceptional. This is the only room I use them in and I change them out occasionally for runners.

My mother-in-law gave me this wonderful set of silver, packed neatly in a velvet-lined case, but I love how it looks displayed in an old sugar bowl. I use it often and it’s much handier this way.

I have a thing for rusty buckets. Not sure why, but they’ve always appealed to my rough side, I guess you could say. I have several in and around my home, and they make wonderful containers. This is the corner where the pie safe used to sit. Now it holds a vintage lamp, topped with family photos, and a rusty bucket filled with fresh eucalyptus.

We’ve been in our home since 1989, but the house was built in 1972. The mirror seen here was original to the house and was in one of the bathrooms. The original sticker is on the back, along with the date, 1972. While it isn’t my style, I just couldn’t part with it. It will hang here until something better comes along.

The piece of needlework hanging beside it has very special meaning for me. It was the first needlework kit that my mother gave me in 1973, while I was a patient at M. D. Anderson Cancer Center in Houston.

I hope you’ve enjoyed this tour of my little dining room.

I'm good for the next 21 years or so.

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This post is part of the weekly series, "Metamorphosis Monday" and "DIY Project Parade."

On Thursday, I’m stepping out in faith and hosting my first blog party. Yikes! 

The theme is “Simple Pleasures.” I hope you’ll join me.