Keeping Sugar Plum ~ Simple Pleasures

Welcome to another Simple Pleasures party. I took last week off for a bit of rest, but it feels good to be back, hosting this weekly event. If you’re here for the first time, please click on the Simple Pleasures tab above for important information before linking up. If you check back and find your link has been deleted, please re-read the guidelines. 

I've said it before, but let me say again that I want to keep this party fun, which means you shouldn't stress out about it if you don't have time to visit with everybody. If you can only visit the one in front of you, and the one behind you, then you're helping spread the love.

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Not long ago, my niece called and asked if I had a few hours the next evening to watch Ainsley, her first baby, and my first great-niece, while she and her husband went on a little date.

Well ... I couldn't say "YES!" fast enough. I was so excited about my upcoming babysitting job that I smiled the rest of that day and lost a bit of sleep that night. The next morning, I was still smiling. It seemed 5:00 would never get here.

But a little before five o'clock, there she was, coming to stay with Aunt Dayle. I'm sure one day I'll call her by her name, but for now she's sugar plum, sugar pie, sugar baby ... anything with "sugar" in it because, quite frankly, she's just a little pile of pure sugar!

The first order of business was sitting on the table while Aunt Dayle ate her dinner.

Shortly after, she had her dinner and passed right out.

And when she woke up, we took a little stroll down the street.

All too soon, she was whisked away by her mommy and daddy, but for a few short hours, she was all mine. And the way I see it, there is no sweeter simple pleasure in the world, than time spent watching over the little ones.

What's your simple pleasure?



Renewed, Refreshed, Refueled ~ The Girl is Back

Even though I'm blessed to live a retired lifestyle, there are still days that I don’t really take time out to just do nothing. Believe it or not, it takes an effort to do nothing, at least for me it does. If my hands aren’t busy, my mind is racing.

But last week, I slowed way down, and took care of my inner self (it's been needing some pampering lately). Can you believe I didn't even read a book? That's something I generally do during slowing down times. But last week was all about clearing my head, opening my heart, and refreshing my soul. I didn't want to follow a plot or anything that needed too many brain cells.

That’s not to say I didn’t have moments of business, but they were enjoyable ones, doing things I love to do, things that bring me peace and a warm, fuzzy feeling.

Like planting a few things here and there.

Nothing fancy this year.

But, for the most part, I spent a week doing things like this ...

Having my morning coffee outdoors, soaking in the sounds of the real world. It was here that I had my time of devotion, as I do most mornings, praying for friends and family, and even those I've never met, who need strength and healing and courage for one more day. Prayer. What a powerful thing. It is not limited by geographical boundaries. Prayer can scale a mountain or cross an ocean in a split second.

The Man did a fair amount of yard work last week.

Once his hat came off, that was my queue for serving him a tall glass of iced-tea.

While he rested, I thumbed through the community newspaper.

Listening to the trickle of my little water feature doing its thing was a daily "activity."

We had some wonderfully windy days last week.

The windchime worked her magic.

I wrote a page or two in my journal. Nothing has to sing there.

It's raw and it's real and oh, so cleansing.

...

In the evenings, I watched for that enchanting blue hour ...

... then spent some time in silence, thankful for another day's blessings,

and for the significance and meaning of Easter.

...

Easter Sunday found me in church with The Man and my twin sister (that's her on the left). Church is a place that always leaves me feeling refreshed and renewed, and humbled.

There you have it. The essence of my week away from blogland. I missed all of you and hope you had a blessed Easter week. I look forward to visiting with you soon. Isn't it great we can just pick up where we left off?

An Executive Decision

I have made an executive decision. I am taking a week off from blogging, a week in which I plan to rest, reflect, and roll with whatever comes my way.

The Simple Pleasures series will return on April 28th, and I hope to see you there.

I'm linking to my Easter post from last year. It contains the beautiful voice of my identical twin sister, singing an Easter song she penned some years ago. If you missed it last year, I think it's worth a listen (but of course I would). :)

Until next time, sweet blogging friends, have a blessed Easter week. Christ arose! Let's celebrate!

Unexpected WOW! Moments ~ Simple Pleasures

Ah ... it's time for another day of Simple Pleasures. What have you discovered this week? Whatever it is, I hope you'll share it here at the Simple Pleasures series. Each week, you'll find a friendly crowd, and a creative group of women. If you're new here, welcome! You can find the guidelines by clicking on the Simple Plesures page below the header.

Note: If you check back and find your link has been deleted, please review the guidelines. 

I can't wait to visit with you!

Yesterday, The Man and I drove down to the garden center just to see what we could see. When I came upon this blue orchid, I, without meaning to, gasped, as in sucking in my breath while my mouth fell open.

It was one of those unexpected WOW! moments in life. I'd never seen a blue orchid. Lucky for me (and for you), I had my Kodak handy. Have you ever witnessed anything more exquisite?

What's your simple pleasure?

The Stories of Your Life : Only You Can Tell Them

Several years ago, I was asked to serve as one of the first-round judges for the Writer’s Digest Annual International Self-Published Book Awards contest, specifically for the “life stories” category.

While I recognize that there are some fine writers who have self-published books (some even went on to become famous authors), I knew that all of the wanna-be-writers (polished and unpolished alike) would be represented in this contest, which meant I could end up with daily migraines for the better part of a month. That’s why I hedged a bit with my decision. And when I added the fact that my compensation for this task would be little more than nothing, I wasn’t sure if I wanted to do it at all.

But, in the end, I agreed. I felt like the experience itself would hold some value for me, and, as an author who has been blessed by God and a few editors, I believe it is my duty to give back to the writing community in one way or another. Maybe I would find a gem or two in this task.

A few days later, a box of 26 books arrived, along with my judging criteria. After reading each book, I was to fill out an evaluation sheet answering the following questions: 1) What impressed you most about the book? and 2) What one thing could be changed to improve the book’s commercial success?

Finally, I was to only return my top picks, listed in order of preference. The top picks should be both impressive and marketable. These would go on to the next round of judging. While there were no limits on how many books could be returned, “three or four” was mentioned several times during email exchanges with the folks at Writer’s Digest.

I went to work immediately. And I took my work quite seriously, placing myself in the shoes of all those who had spent $100 (quite hefty, if you ask me) to enter the contest, entrusting their precious words to the eyes of a stranger.

Some of the books were written about fascinating characters. Space doesn’t allow me to name all of them, but I can’t forget Hube Yates, a remarkable and colorful man. Yates may not go down in any official book as a “great man in history,” but the life he lived, the deeds he performed, and the spirit with which he faced challenges makes him a “great man in history” nonetheless.

I was pleased that some of the authors proved to be excellent writers. In her book Dear Mom: Remembering Our Mothers, Patricia Jana Hassler’s descriptive writing captivated me, its rhythms and sounds providing rich images. Almost every page contained at least one jewel, and I cited a couple of them in my evaluation of the book. Like this one describing Hassler’s great-grandfather’s appearance in a photograph: He is a distinguished man whose ears bend away like great question marks from his bald head. And this one from the Introduction: It is consoling to connect the dots of experience and watch patterns appear.

In all, I ended up with eight top picks, which seemed like a lot, but I felt strongly about each of them, and felt they deserved a shot at the next round.

My top choice was a book entitled, Taking the Stairs by Julie McKown. With a few exceptions, I liked everything about the book. "McKown is an exceptionally gifted writer," I wrote in my evaluation. "Her word pictures and analogies were brilliant, and she reached deep into the soul of the reader, touching the most secret places. It was a trip down a path of healing and self-discovery, and the reader felt every remarkable bump in the road."

I was happy to see that this book won an honorable mention in the final tally. Not bad, considering more than 2,000 books were submitted in all.

In the end, what impressed me most about the books I read was the passion of the authors, and their tenacity at putting words to paper. It isn’t easy, but having such stories in printed form is a priceless gift for future generations.

Have you ever considered that the stories of your life will die with you, unless you document them somewhere? No one else has the stories that you have. They are yours alone, and only you can tell them. Writing them down is one sure way of keeping them safe. And you need not be a great writer. You need only write.

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The Boy Who Played Baseball

Friday night was the Houston Astros opening game day at the lovely Minute Maid Park. The Man took a passel of kin folk to the game, as has become a family tradition. If you know The Man, you know he loves baseball ... and there are good reasons why.

I don't think I've ever written about my husband's love affair with the game of baseball, but here goes.

This is a photograph of The Man when he was a few months old. That's him in his mother's lap. Ironically (or prophetically, perhaps), he was named Stan, after baseball great, Stan Musial, who was also known as “Stan the Man.”

The Man (my man) played on organized baseball teams from the time he was a wee thing.

That's him, third from left, on the back row.

Every year, he proved himself as a player.

That's him, second from right, on the back row.

The Man lived up to his namesake. He loved the game. It was all he ever wanted to do.

That's him, second from left, on the back row.
He's the one with big glasses and a big smile.

That's his little brother on the end.

He had parents who loved the game as much as he did. (They didn't name him after Stan Musial for nothing.) Some of my favorite photos of his childhood are the ones below, of him posing on a baseball field.

Showing his brother how a pitcher holds the ball.

That's his intimidating stance.

And here comes the wind-up.

He's ready to hit it out of the park.

As the years went by, the competition got tougher, but The Man kept proving himself to be a great player, over and over.

And his dedication to the game, along with his God-given talents, paid off.

In his senior year of high school, The Man pitched the Aldine Mustangs to their first state championship. That's him on the right, being hoisted up by his team, following the win.

The neat thing is his name is still listed on the UIL State Baseball Records web page under "Pitching, 5A No-hitter."

Following graduation, The Man was scouted by the Houston Astros farm club. You see, not only was The Man a great pitcher, he was a great hitter (a rare combination in baseball).

It’s a long story, and I don’t have time, nor space, nor permission, to share it all here (hehe). Ultimately, The Man chose another path for his future, but he continued to play the game well, long into his adult life. Baseball is in his blood, and he’s always been my favorite player.

Truth is, if you want to know anything about baseball, anything at all, just ask The Man. He knows the answer.

So, it comes as no surprise that visiting all of the Major League Baseball stadiums was first on The Man’s wish list after retirement, and in the three years since we retired, we’ve already made a huge dent in that goal. Lord willing, we’ll get to the rest of them.

In the meantime, Major League Baseball is again in full swing. May the best team win.

Simple Pleasures ~ Lunch Under the Gazebo

Are you so busy you fail to notice the simple pleasures around you? It might be the smell of freshly mown grass, the sun on your face, or the giggles of a child. Not to sound cliche, but life is short, and we often spend too much time in the worry and hurry mode, while missing out on some of life's greatest blessings. It was Laura Ingalls Wilder who wrote, "It is the sweet, simple things of life which are the real ones after all."

After a morning of yard work, it was a pleasure to prepare a light lunch and enjoy it with The Man under the backyard gazebo. It's my simple pleasure this week, and if I mention those $1.00 tea glasses from the dollar store, that'd make it a triple simple pleasure ... lunch, gazebo, cute tea glasses. Why not? 

As always, thank you for slowing down with me on Thursdays, taking time to appreciate the simple pleasures that surround us. Whether you link up, or just visit, you are a blessing. If you're new here, please read the guidelines at the Simple Pleasures tab under the header above. If you check back and discover your link has been deleted, it isn't personal. Please re-read the guidelines.

 I look forward to visiting with you.

Monday Musings ~ When Hope is Misplaced

Sometimes, the best way to move forward is to give up hope.

My sister and I were talking about this not long ago. Hope can be a hindrance to progress, an endless waiting room, a waste of emotional energy. In order to move forward (or just come fully back to the present), you must sometimes let go of hope. You may not agree, but this has been my experience.

Hope is often held up as something we must always cling to. Always. Never let go of hope, people tell us. A part of me agrees with that. But there comes a time, for me, when I’m better off letting go of hope, because the thing for which I hope is, in all probability, never going to happen. It might be a phone call that never comes. An apology that is never offered. A lack of forgiveness from someone you wounded. A thank-you never uttered. A person who treats you badly. A boss who doesn’t acknowledge your efforts. An unreturned affection.

You wake up every morning and think maybe today it will happen. Today, it will be different. And you wait. But nothing changes.

How long should you go on like this? Is it healthier to keep hoping, or to give up hope? The Bible says, "Hope deferred makes the heart sick" (Proverbs 13:12), and in my experience, I’m much better off to let go of hope. Does that mean it’s easy to do? Absolutely not. There is even what I call a “grieving” period that follows, but, in time, your emotions settle down. Your expectations cease. You find yourself living in the present moment once again. You don’t have this sense of underlying anxiety that hope often produces.

Don’t misunderstand what I’m saying. I’m not saying that we should ever stop hoping in the Lord. God is always able to perform above and beyond our biggest dreams and hopes. I’ve seen that happen more than once in my own life. We should always hope in the Lord. But He doesn't always give us everything we hope for. And did you know that God won’t make anyone do anything against his or her will? He can change hearts, but your will must be surrendered to God, freely. So if your hopes depend on another person's will, that can pose a problem.

Personal story, and one I blogged about more extensively in previous years, but here’s the short version.

When I was dealing with infertility in my early married life, my hope was largely in what the medical experts could do to help me realize my dream of conceiving and giving birth to a child. That was my will. It was what I wanted. I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with that, but the problem came when I refused to consider any other possibility.

I was into my fourth year of the emotions that threaten to drown you when dealing with infertility. And that’s when it happened. Draped over a cold altar bench, alone in a darkened prayer room on a rainy September morning, after questioning God and all of His motives, I simply opened my hands and said, “Lord, I give up.” I said a lot more, but that was the bottom line. And it was there that I wept for my loss—the children I didn't have and would never give birth to. I cried until there was nothing left in me. A death occurred there. It was the dying of my will.

On that day, I didn't give up hope, but I finally surrendered my hopes to the God of all creation. He, alone, held the answers. He, alone, knew what was best for me. Not the medical community, but God. And when I gave God my hopes and dreams, the peace came rushing in like warm oil from my head to my toes. I remember wondering why it took me so long to give up and say, “Not my will, but thine.” Suddenly, the way became clearer. The heaviness lifted. I was in God’s faithful hands and I knew He loved me more than anyone ever could.

So what does this all mean, this idea of giving up hope?

For me, it means that we should never place our hope in a person, because everyone you know in this life is capable of disappointing you—even those you thought never would, will. (We’re all humans and we’ll never be perfect.) The only safe place for our hopes is in the One who never fails. He may not give us all that we hoped for, but His way is always best.

I can certainly attest to that in my own life. To think that I might have missed my beautiful daughter, had I not surrendered my will to God’s will, is simply unimaginable. I call her my gift from the Lord, because that is exactly what she is. Without question, God’s plan was the best choice for me, and I wouldn’t have it any other way, even if I could.

Underlined in my old green Bible is this verse from Psalm 31: “Be of good courage, and he shall strengthen your heart, all ye that hope in the Lord.”

It’s not wrong to hope. Just make sure your hope is in the right place.

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Linking up with the lovely Michelle for "Hear it on Sunday. Use it on Monday."