Seeing Jesus

Our church was packed full today, Easter Sunday.  Pews full of people dressed in their Easter finest...new dresses, perfect pearls, hair reaching for the Heavens (we live in Texas, after all). 

Just before the service started, a man walked in and sat in the back row, right behind us.  I recognized him, not from church, but from the local bar where he works behind the counter. He wore a borrowed jacket. I know because I heard someone ask. He did not know the words to the hymns. Someone told him there were seats closer up, but he joked that he did not want everyone to see him for fear they might go into shock.

And then celebration of the resurrection began. The cross was flowered. The hallelujahs were sang. Prayers were prayed. "He is risen, indeed" was proclaimed. 

Meanwhile, BB began to get a bit fussy and uncomfortable. The Boy from Texas put him up over his shoulder, face to face with the bartender. And immediately, BB giggled. I glanced over my shoulder to see the man in the borrowed jacket who felt like he did not belong anywhere but be back row playing with my son. Smiling and making faces and entertaining him until the service was through. 

I thought it interesting and perfect that I saw Jesus that Easter Sunday. Not in the  perfect Easter attire or the songs in the hymnal or the words repeated in the affirmation of faith.  But instead, in the face of the bartender who did not fit in. In the smiles he offered a child. In the joyful playing with a baby he had never met. In the complete lack of annoyance or care when BB made a noise or did things like gnawed on the pews.

If our mission as Chrisitians is to be His hands and feet, to show love and kindness and Jesus to everyone we encounter, we might ought to take a look at that bartender.  Then we might better take a look at ourselves and ask if anyone saw Jesus in our actions today. 

Big questions. Important answers. Happy Easter. He is risen, indeed! 

52 Week Photo Project {12}

Family Farm Friday #98: Fourth Generation

Almost 60 years ago, my grandparents bought a farm.  They spent money.  They spent time.  They made sacrifices.  They irrigated, plowed, and fed sheep and cows.  They planted our tree row, got our lambing barn, and raised their children.

When my grandfather died at 45, leaving behind my grandmother and two teenage sons, everyone told her to sell the farm and move to town.  A single, working mother trying to raise boys simply could not manage a farm.  But they didn't know my grandmother.  She stayed put and went to work.

My dad took up the baton for the second generation.  He gave up a lot in order to keep the farm going. He never go to play sports in high school.  He did not get the chance to spend summers bouncing from basketball camp to State 4-H to Washington, DC.  He did not have the ability to go on post-college trips to Costa Rica or Italy.  He stayed home and worked his ass off to be sure that farm continued.  He was overlooked for promotions at work because he was simply not willing to leave home.

When he married my mom, she was drug right into the fun as well.  She talks about how she gave up a teaching job on the California coast to become a farmer's wife in New Mexico.  And after years of making lamb bottles and plugging holes with the pick up when we're moving cows and making sure every breathing creature on the place has clean water and (more than) enough to eat, I think she'd tell you it's been better than California.  Most days, anyway.

When my brother and I were children, we were quickly brought into the farm business.  My Gran taught us to write checks.  She taught us never to put up land as collateral for a loan.  My parents talked to us about the struggles of having jobs in town to help support the farm.  We knew what it meant when it did not rain and a crop did not make.  We understood what was lost when a ewe or a cow died.  And, maybe most importantly, we understood the importance of that farm.  The land, it's story, well...it's in our blood.

The Boy from Texas jumped right in.  Fortunately for me, he had his own farm background.  He has become quite the sheep expert in the time we have been together.  He's worked on balers and helped sort ewes and branded calves.  He happily posed for wedding pictures in a wheat field.  He understands the importance of the farm to me and over the last few years has developed similar feelings himself.

And now, the fourth generation has set foot on that same soil.  He doesn't know the history of the place yet.  He's not driven a tractor or gotten a lesson on docking lamb tails.  He doesn't realize that the dirt he plays in is the same that his great grandfather plowed, and his grandfather sowed wheat and his mom ran a swather.

But one day, if we do anything right at all, he will.  This land will be in his blood too.  And maybe one day, it will be the fifth generation sitting in the middle of a wheat field wearing baby Carhartts.

Happy St. Patrick's Day from Your Favorite Redhead

"When Irish eyes are smiling, sure 'tis like a morn in spring.

In the lilt of Irish laughter you can hear the angels sing,

When Irish hearts are happy all the world seems bright and gay,

And when Irish eyes are smiling, sure, they steal your heart away."

~Chauncey Olcott and George Graff, Jr.

52 Week Photo Project {11}

52 Week Photo Project {10}

Truth from the Trenches: Helping the New Parents

I have been pretty honest about how hard those first few weeks were with our little bundle of joy. A few people have asked me as they plan for babies what people can do that is really helpful.  So I made a list. 

1. Bring food. Not sure what they like?  I can help! The answer is "anything they didn't have to make." We had several folks show up to our house with a full meal in tow. Ty's cousin brought tacos complete with tortillas already fried and ready, cheese in a bag, and homemade salsa.  My cousin and her crew arrived with sloppy joes, chopped veggies, dip, and a cake. Best meals I ever ate. If you are not much of a cook, bring snacks. New moms are starving and busy so something they can eat quickly is awesome. 

2.  Don't forget paper goods. A couple people brough is paper plates and boy was that a life saver! We don't have a dishwasher (I know, you are picturing that "we are settlers" commercial) so it was lovely to eat and throw everything away at the end. 

3.  Go grocery shopping. Twice I asked people to take my list and go to the grocery store. I cannot tell you how helpful that was. The idea of us loading up and trying to navigate the cart down aisles to find oatmeal and shredded cheese made me want a Prozac. They just brought me a reciept, I wrote them  a check, and it was glorious. 

4. Take on some household chores. Admittedly, I was not very good about taking people up on this. But looking back I should have been. A mom has a very narrow of when the baby is napping to sleep, eat, pee, look at her phone...so things like laundry are not a real priority.  Run their laundry. Sweep the floor. Wash the dishes.  Anything like this is huge. 

5. Walk the dog. When BB came along, our poor dogs probably thought we had fallen off the face of the earth. For a couple weeks all we could manage to do was yell hi and throw them some food. It would have been so nice for someone to take them out for a short walk or to play with them in the back yard. 

 6. Encourage. Every new mom feels like she has no clue what she is doing. Don't make that a worse by questioning her or telling her what she is doing wrong. Be helpful and encouraging and supportive.  This one is a biggie. I didn't need someone else telling me how I should burp him or how much better their kids were...I needed someone to show up with a carton of cookie dough ice cream to tell me I had this!

52 Week Photo Project {9}