Because of Her

"It is not primarily out of compassion for humanity that we share our faith or pray for the lost; it is first of all, love for God.” ~ John Piper

My Aunt Jean lived right down the road from us, our nearest neighbor.  She and my Gran were best friends, so growing up we spent a lot of time at her house.  We picked peas in her fields.  Ate lots of "Aunt Jean's candy," which I now know to be the mini Hershey's bars that she bought at K-Mart.  I can still remember the clothes pin apron she always wore, the color and location of her living room furniture, and how even if we had been there for hours, when we left, she'd always say, "I just sure wish y'all wouldn't run off!"

When her daughter posted a Mother' Day tribute, she thanked her mom for being the best at many things, including teaching her children common sense and to love God.  The comments started pouring in.  I was first and said that any list of what Aunt Jean did best simply had to include cheesecake.  Y'all.  I don't even like cheesecake.  But she made hers with some sort of manna from Heaven because it was to.die.for.

I enjoyed reading through the rest of the comments that day as well, people remembering her cinnamon rolls, carrot cakes....anyone noting a theme here?  And then, one comment really stood out.

"Because of her, my husband is on his way to Heaven one day."

Stopped me dead in my tracks.  Everything else...all the money, all the diplomas, all the baking ability....doesn't matter.  This is what we're here for.  To help God lead each other to Heaven. How often do I completely miss the point? Aunt Jean didn't.  And there is no cheesecake that can beat that.  Although, Aunt Jean's did come awful close.

Thoughts from An Outsider #3: State Basketball Tournament

"I think you'll find it's the exact same measurements as our gym back in Hickory." ~Hoosiers

Well unlike my two prior Outsider posts, there was a time that I was not an outsider at State Basketball....but 10 years later, I definately am! Here are a few observations from last week's tournament....starting off with my favorite photo I caught of the event! (Which I'm linking up with Show Off Your Shot.)
1. Basketball Mamas are crazy. We always joked growing up about horse show mamas being a little crazy---you know the type, super competitive, Type A, really intense. Those ladies have nothing on the small town mamas of senior basketball players. After we won the game to go to the State Championship (in overtime, I might add), those mamas were screaming and crying and headed for their babies! The announcer asked the fans to stay off the floor, but soon gave up that cause. I'm here to tell you, when Frosty and LD were headed on that court to find their baby boys, there was not going to be any stopping them! I know how stressful it was to watch those kids play for me, so I can't imagine what it's like watching you own kid play. Although after seeing one of the toughest guys I know in tears when his son won that trophy, I can imagine it's pretty dang nerve wracking!
2. High school girls should not be wearing that. I just have to say that if I ever have a daughter, she will not be wearing clothing from Victoria's Secret when she's 15 years old. Don't get me wrong, I love me some Victoria's....in particular my favorite orange sweatpants that I'd live in if I could....but I'm 28. And my parents certainly did not ever buy it for me. Really, people? Really?

3. Everyone loves to remember the good ol' days. Whether you won the State Championship in 1962 like Ski Trip Jerry, played back in 1988, or would have won had so-and-so just made that free throw that one time....everyone has a story. And at the State Tournament, that's prime story sharing time. It's fun actually to listen to generations of people relive their glory days. I also found it really entertaining to listen to the people around my age at halftime of the game on Thursday. I bet you I heard 15 people say, "If Mr. Franklin was still coaching and we had missed that many layups, he would have had us running suicides on a time out!" And they meant it...because he would have. Those really were the good ol' days in my book. It's fun to think that these boys will look back on these as their good ol' days!
4. It's not always on the ref. I'm glad I'm not a ref. No matter what call they make, half of the gym is yelling at them. Now, I'm a yeller. That doesn't surprise anyone. And when there's a crap call, I'm all for letting someone have it. But EVERY call is not a crap call. When your kid bounces the ball off his own foot out of bounds or jacks up some stupid shot from behind his head and it banks off the glass, that's not the ref's fault. I'm just saying.

5. Family is more than blood. On Friday night I headed to the Pit to watch the Corona Lady Cardinals play for the State Championship. In particular, my girl #14 (who is a total superstar in in the 8th grade, mind you!). And I sat with my dear friend Sis, who I would have been watching except for her crappy knees that keep requring surgeries. On Saturday night, I headed back to watch the Logan boys play, in particular #13 in his last game. I'm not related to any of the kiddos I mentioned above. But you know those neighbors and that showing family I talk about all the time? Well these kids are part of that. Which means that in my mind, we're family and I loved getting to watch them play for the Championship!
6. I'm officially old. You know that it's bad when you look at the boys playing ball and think, "what cute kids" and have to check out the refs, coaches and parents section if you're looking for Mr. Right. Sheesh.

7. I love Small Towns. I think that this may be one of those "you just had to be there" things....but instead it's "you just have to live there" because I'm not sure that I can describe what small towns are like. But if I could show you a picture to describe it, I'd show you Thursday night.

Our boys just won in overtime to make it to the State Championship. The stands emptied out and everyone--I mean most of the TOWN--was on that gym floor hugging those boys and hugging each other and laughing and crying and carrying on.

And back home, anyone who was not able to make the trip to Albuquerque was glued to the radio or piled in the restaurant in town watching it on tv.
We might not have a stoplight, or a movie theater, or a chain restaurant. And people will probably never know where we are unless we pull out a map. But you know what, those people are missing out. Because for all the things we might miss out on, if you ask me, we gain so much more in terms of knowing what it means to be a friend, a neighbor and a true community.
8. It's about more than basketball. Don't get me wrong. Upsetting the undefeated #1 seed and taking that trophy back hom to Logan was pretty dang awesome. But it's about more than just the trophy. These boys started playing ball in the third grade. Here's photo proof of that.

You think back to every practice they have had in the last 10 years. Think of every up and back they've run. Every freethrow they have shot. Every play they've learned. It all led up to this moment. But watching these kids made me realize that basketball really is about so much more than basketball. It's about learning to set a goal, and to work for it. About never giving up and pulling together when things get hard. About being part of a team that they'll tell you is like a family and a community full of people who support them all. And while in my mind, learning those lessons is far more important than any trophy....it was sure nice to see the Logan boys learn the lessons and get a trophy to go with them!

Letters to Mr. Right: Letter #9

"Say not in grief: 'He is no more', but live in thankfulness that he was." ~Hebrew Proverb

Dear Mr. Right,

I think that the thing that makes me the most sad about you not being here yet is that you didn't get to meet some really great people.

You won't understand that when people say things like "Hogan's goat" or "Sweet Petunia" they are quoting Mr. Franklin. And you won't know what my cousins and brother mean when we talk about Faye's weenies. Likewise, the phrase "Aunt Jean candies" means nothing to you. You won't get to hear this one laugh that could make a whole room crack up for no reason at all. You won't get to meet First Valentine who got me a passing grade in home ec, and blame him for my inability to be domestic. You'll be confused when I drop everything if Paul Harvey comes on the radio and enjoy watching MASH episodes even when I can quote them line by line. Those are thanks to Gran, by the way. And to you, pink cowboy boots are just pink cowboy boots. rather than what found me my best friends.

But hopefully, if I'm doing anything right, you'll see parts of these people in me.

Beyond that, I guess you'll just have to learn as you go.

Waiting for that day,

Me

Photo via

The Little Blonde Headed Kid

"The angels are always near to those who are grieving, to whisper to them that their loved ones are safe in the hand of God." ~The Angels' Little Instruction Book

I'll never forget the little blonde headed kid with a big, goofy grin, tearing down the road on his four wheeler or dirt bike or bicycle or whatever other contraption he could come up with to ride, with his sisters flanking him on either side. Once the sisters got old enough to drive (meaning they could touch the pedals and see over the steering wheel of the big grey truck at the same time because, really, what else do you need?) the kids moved on to that mode of transportation. They would ride up to our front yard, park the "vehicle" and come in to sell some sort of chocolate bar or talk about pigs or have a coke.

In recent years, that little blonde headed kid grew up--about a 6 inches taller than me--he became a teenager. This meant he played football. Went to the prom. And did lots of other things that made me feel super old. But every time I would see him, I'd still see that little face of the kid on the four wheeler coming over to have a coke. He'd forever be about 5 years old in my mind.

Our families have been friends and neighbors for 4 generations. His great-grandpa used to help me with my science homework and with the FFA creed. His uncle is the "Dan" in Dan and Jerry. I used to babysit this little blonde headed kid and Little Brother got paid to go help his mom trap mice in the house. We used to go to their house to watch the National Finals Rodeo, because his parents sprung for cable tv and got ESPN. We are connected...our two families.

On Friday, that little blonde headed kid was killed in a freak farm accident. When Little Brother called and told me, I just froze. I didn't cry--not because I was not completely heartbroken, I was--but because I could not get my head around it. I just can't comprehend what happened.

What I can do, is pray, and ask you to do the same. Please keep the Gunn family in your prayers. The pain that they are going through must be just unbearable. And hug the little blonde headed kids in your own life. Because you just never know what may happen tomorrow.

Family Farm Friday #58: Dan and Jerry's

"For our family, farming is not just a business; it's a heritage rich with a history filled with treasured memories and great stories." ~Sine Kerr

While I was home for Memorial Day, Little Brother and I got to have sort of a flashback to our childhood. In doing so, I was reminded of yet another reason why I love having grown up on a family farm as much as I do.

We have always had great neighbors. You've read about the recent examples here and here. Back in the day, it was no different. Aunt Jean always had the best candy and snacks when we would go visit, and always invited us to pick peas in her field. Robert and Tressie always brought the best homeade bread at Christmas. Linda saved my brother during a violent turtle attack by burning that darn turtle with her cigarette. Ralph helped me with more science projects than I can count, and Faye was the genius behind Faye's weenies. But I would be lying if I didn't tell you that my favorite neighbors were Dan and Jerry.

Dan and Jerry grew up in our neighborhood when they were kids, and moved back during their summers off during college. Little Brother and I were little kids by this point---maybe like 3-7 years old or so. Dan and Jerry were crazy and funny and you never knew what they would do next. My parents used to periodically let them babysit (makes me wonder WHAT they were thinking) Little Brother and I. My Dad probably said it best when he said, "Just saying 'Dan and Jerry' sort of makes you laugh when you think about them."

Well over Memorial Day, we were reunited with Dan and Jerry, along with their wives and kiddos. They were all in town to go to the lake and were camping at the old farm house where they lived. So on Saturday night, it was like old days....Little Brother and I were hanging out at Dan and Jerry's.

We sat around an old lantern in the yard and talked and laughed at their stupid jokes about the north star and whatever else they came up with. We talked about funny memories of the crap they used to get away with. They told stories about how once my mom and dad got in a fight and dad showed up to their college bachelor pad and just said he needed a beer. We remembered driving down to check on them in a tornado warning once and them planning to chain themselves to the hay barn.

We talked about how the land where we all lived had been in our families for 3 and 4 generations. We remembered when houses were built and neighborhood picnics and how much we missed our grandparents, and each other's grandparents for that matter. We talked about history and memories and it became pretty clear how much these farms meant to all of us.

And I watched Dan and Jerry's kids get so excited when Little Brother said that we would come back for dinner the next night. And how they would run over to see what he had done all day as soon as he drove up. I realized that Little Brother had become those kids' Dan and Jerry. And the circle continues. (Note: I didn't get a picture, but Little Brother, Dan and Jerry were all three dressed like this....priceless!)
When I say "family farm" I guess I mean more than just my own family. I mean the neighbors who become like family too. It means passing stories and friendship and memories to the next generation. Chalk another one up to growing up on a farm, huh?