Take my breath away...

In the end, it's not going to matter how many breaths you took, but how many moments took your breath away.- shing xiong The average respiration rate for a person at rest is about 16 breaths per minute. This means on average, we breathe about 960 breaths an hour ; 23,040 breaths a day; 8,409,600 a year. That means I have taken over 445 billion breaths in my lifetime so far. But what do they account for? To breathe is to exist. But I want more than an existence. I want to remember the lifetime of memories I stored up from my childhood that I can take out at any time and think about with fondness and love. I want to remember how it felt the first time I looked my husband in the eyes and felt that "Oh my" feeling that you get when you know he's the ONE. I want to remember when they placed my new born twins in my arms and I looked down and felt that tug on my heart strings that said, "They are mine...forever". I want to remember that thrill of the most beautiful words in the world, "Mom, how would you like to be a grandmother". Four times, I've had my breath taken away as each new born grandchild was placed in my arms for the first time. I want to remember all the "Mamaw, can I's" and the "Mamaw, I did's" and every single precious moment I get to spend with my precious grandchildren. I want to remember the first time I saw the mountains in all their grandeur and fall beauty. I want to remember the awe I felt as I looked on and thought "How can you look at this and NOT believe that God does exist. I want to remember the first trip to the beach as I stared at all that beautiful water and sand, thinking about how somewhere on the other side of all that water, another lady with her children is staring at that same water and marveling that there is a whole other world across that sea. I want to remember the soft fallen snow that came in 1993 when the blizzard dumped 23" on us and how beautiful it was. How for that one moment in time, the world stood still. I want to remember the sound of the mighty eagle as he glides over the river out back and scoops up a fish for super. I want to remember the beautiful colors in my backyard at the bird feeder. The deep emerald of the hummingbird, the brilliant red of the cardinal, the yellow in the small finches, the bright blue of the bluebird, the soft gloss of black and white on the chickadee. So you see, life is NOT about the number of breaths we take, but it truly consists of the number of moments that take our breath away. So don't just live, live for those special moments. Make each and everyone of your breaths count. Love your family, enjoy the world around you and take time to make that special moment that will live in your heart forever.

Help me, Lord

I have always had great faith in God and the infinite work he does in our lives. I have always asked for his guidance and assistance. Notice I say...assistance. I have a bad habit of asking him and then telling him how I want him to handle it. Well, recently I was overwhelmed with so much going on that I need his guidance and help in that I simply bowed down on my knees one night and said, "Dear Lord, Help me." Then I left it there, walked away from it and figured he could do better without my intereference. I had the best night sleep that night. I woked up refreshed. All the "little things" that had been adding up and keeping me wired slowly melted away through out the day as one solution after another presented itself as he took care of the items on my list. So, see he doesn't need our help at all. He just needs us to ask for his. So as we go into 2010, my prayer for you is that God will help you, too, with the little things as well as the big things that combine to overwhelm us from time to time.

The day after Christmas

Twas the day after Christmas when all through the land Things needed to be done but no one felt like lifting a hand. Should the tree come down and be put away? Or should we leave it up till New Years Day? Do we want to work hard and undecorate until all is well? Or should we go shopping for the perfect after Christmas sale? Should we go outside to walk off the extra weight? Or should we stay in and have a piece of chocolate cake? For me and mine, we'll decide later today. Should we work hard or continue to play? I'm savoring this moment and enjoying the rest. For Christmas was great and we truly were blessed.

The House Up the Hollow

It was more than a house. It was our home, our shelter, our refuge. A place of love and family so dear. A place to laugh, a place to live, and a place to love. So many memories live inside her old walls. We lived there from the time I was 9 months old. When Daddy passed away in 1999, my brother bought the house and remodeled it. We still have family get-togethers at the old home place. My brother remodeled it so it is now a two story instead of one and has cedar siding instead of white wood. But the memories are still there, trapped inside her walls for safe keeping. Every once in a while, I pull them out and remember….. I remember winter nights so cold that Mom would hang blankets over the doorways to keep the warmth of the old gas stove in the living room since there were no doors on the rooms yet. I can remember the day Jack came home from the hospital and me sitting in the old green vinyl chair holding him for the first time. I can remember when Andy was born and Mom had a cab bring us home the day he came home from the hospital. I remember when Rachel got married and I finally got our bedroom to myself. I remember the loneliness of not having her there at night. I remember Dad teaching us to play checkers. I remember drying the dishes and the special time with Mom to do it. I remember how slow I was because I didn’t want to do the work. I remember baby dolls at Christmas and Mom making our Barbie clothes. I remember homemade Easter dresses and summer pajamas. I remember sharing the big Hershey bar in Dad’s drawer. I remember Daddy having bread in coffee with cream and butter for a late night snack. I remember folding Andy’s diapers, fresh off the line. I remember crawling in bed with clean sheets, smelling like the summer sun. I remember stuffed animals lined down the middle of the bed between me and Rachel. I remember my green pajamas with a turtle on the front. I remember being outside taking pictures with Andy in his stroller and Jack being inside pulling the chest of drawers over on himself. I remember long walks to the store, the Corner Grill, the golf course and the cow pasture. I remember eating supper in cardboard boxes on Thursday nights in front of the TV. I remember learning to drive and taking Andy and Jack places. I remember walking to the library. I remember cheese sandwiches and lemonade under the shade of the oak tree. I remember Noxema on sunburns. I remember melting the snow from our gloves on the pipe of the old gas stove so we wouldn’t have to go back in. I remember homemade donuts and chocolate pudding. I remember Christmas candy being brought out a little at a time during the holiday. I remember Nehi Grape and Orange with ham sandwiches on Christmas afternoon. I remember grape Kool-Aid with lemons. I remember Lady, our beagle, having puppies on my birthday and we brought them in to keep warm in front of the old gas stove. I remember all the “Good Night, I love you’s”. I remember watching the well light so we didn’t run out of water. I remember Mom fussing about all the dust from the dirt road. I remember Easter egg hunts...over and over all week. I remember a lot of things about that old house. I remember the tile floor with all the assorted colors. I remember jumping from bed to bed in the middle room when we had the flu because Mom said not to get off the bed. I remember Daddy building me and Rachel a new room. I remember all the different paints on the walls and all the patterns of wallpapers. I remember Dad cutting holes in the wall so Mom could have shelves. I remember every tree, every hickory nut and every acorn. I remember every blade of grass and every spot of dirt in the driveway. I remember the laughter and the good times. It makes me smile as I remember those old days. It makes me sad that we can’t go back, but it makes me glad that I have my memories. The House Fresh coats of paint and a new porch or two, Rooms were added and changed as she grew. Wallpaper and carpet and furniture changed, But in our memory, she was always the same. But now we’re all grown and moved far away. Her old walls still stand, remembering the days. I wonder sometimes in the midnight so deep, Does she think of us and do her walls weep?

Christmas Memories

Packages wrapped up with ribbons and bows, Stockings over fires with embers aglow; A tree in the corner strung with tinsel and lights; A soft falling snow on a cold winter night. Under the tree on a soft woolen skirt, Sat a nativity scene of the dear Savior’s birth. As I knelt down close to take a good look, My mother would read from an old worn book. She told of a mother, weary and worn, Looking for a place for her child to be born. The inns were all full, no room could be found. They were shown to a stable with hay on the ground. She read how the shepherds were watching their sheep When angels came to them with voices so sweet. She read of their messages of tidings of joy As they told the shepherds about the birth of a boy. We’d listen intently, eyes glued on that book As she told how the shepherds went to go look. How they found the sweet baby in a manger that night And how they gave praise to God for the sweet blessed child. We hung on her words, the picture so clear, For this was a child the world would hold dear. She flipped back some pages as we knelt at her feet, While she read of some wise men and a star in the east. She told of their journey to see the small babe. She read of their worship and the gifts that they gave. We heard about the frankincense, the myrrh and the gold, As Mom quietly finished her story of old. As she closed the worn book that she’d just read, We’d get our kisses from Daddy and scoot off to bed. As she tucked us all in and kissed us good night, We’d think of that story as she covered us tight. For we had been raised to know the Lord’s love, And we knew that sweet Child was a gift from above. We knew that a great sacrifice had been made, That started with the birth of Jesus that day. So forget all the presents, the ribbons and bows. Forget all the stockings and lights all aglow. For the greatest gift you’ll find on your Christmas morn, Was given by God, the year our Savior was born. Written by Brenda Garretson Keefer December, 1999 for my Mom

Is Christmas too commercialized?

As with anything of magnitude, our country as a whole tends to "over do" it. Ford comes out with a new car; Chevy comes out with one better. Nike invents a new shoe for athletes, Adidas has to improve the design. We have become a world of one-upmanship. Nothing is good enough for us. We used to pick up the phone to make calls to loved ones or drop them a card in the mail. They now have phones that can make calls, send text, send photos, access the Internet, give you directions, update you as news happens and play as a radio. We are in the age of progress and the higher tech we get the more competitive suppliers and designers get. But there is a time to get back to the basics. I was talking with someone about how commercialized Christmas is. It donned on me that I heard that from my grandmother's generation, my mom's generation, now my generation is starting to feel the same way. But do we need to buy into the commercialism? No. Just because you love the crowds, love the thrill of being out in the thick of things, does not necessarily mean you have bought into the hype and hubbub that Christmas has turned into. I love the thrill of finding the best bargain and knowing that someone is going to be thrilled to get that one thing they really wanted. I love the rush of having to hurry from here to there to attend Christmas dinners and Christmas parties. I love watching the cartoons, the movies and the Christmas specials on TV. I love the excitement of putting my decorations out and watching my home evolve into a winter wonderland. But does this mean I've went over to the "dark" side and become commercialized. No. It simply means that I enjoy every facet of Christmas. I still feel the joy and excitement of that first Christmas when we sing those old carols like Silent Night or Away in the Manger. I still like to sit and think about how Mary and Joseph felt when they held that little babe for the first time. I like to close my eyes and feel the excitement of the angels saying "Fear not: for, behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people." How powerful are those words "For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Saviour, which is Christ the Lord." No matter how commercialized the world gets or how much fun and joy I have at Christmas, I never ever lose sight of the true meaning and the one and only joy that matters, the birth of our Lord. One of my favorite Christmas songs by Alabama says: Out here is the country there's magic in the air. It's the middle of December there's excitement eveywhere Everyone's invited, the celebration's planned The gift is just what's in your heart and not what's in your hand Who's the one we need to thanks Who's the party for Who's the one responsible for all this peace and joy Who deserves the credit for the blessings we enjoy Preacher said last Sunday it was Joesph and Mary's boy That sums it up pretty good. It's okay to get into the spirit of things as long as we don't forget the true reason we are having so much fun this time of year.

Happy Birthday to my Twins, Diana & Chris

It was 2:00 in the morning on a Saturday. The pains had started at 8:00 the night before, but they were mild and would come and go. I would walk the hallway, back and forth, trying to decide if this was the real thing or false labor. I had been to the doctor earlier that day and he had said my backache was nothing to worry about; I still had four weeks to go. He sent me home and said to just take it easy and he would see me next week. Yeah, right. This pregnancy had other plans. Once the pains grew steady, we called my mom and sister to meet us at the hospital. On the way, I allowed my thoughts to wander. Will it be a boy or a girl? Light hair? Dark hair? No hair? Then another pain hits and I realize it doesn't matter. I will soon be holding my precious bundle of joy and it won't matter at all which it is. I am in so much pain by this time that I think I must surely be dying. The nurses at the hospital assure me that it will get worse before it gets any better. Now isn't that a comforting thought? I get poked and prodded and hooked up to gadgets. I am not a model patient. No matter who comes to comfort me I want someone else. I'm burning up so they give me a cool cloth for my forehead, which I promptly sling across the room because I am now freezing. Several nurses have commented on the heartbeat. They say it is good and steady; a nice strong beat that could only be a boy. It is now noon on Saturday. I have had hours of excruciating pain. Pain which I know is never going to end. Pain I am sure I will remember until my dying day. The nurse does her check and announces I may have my epidural. They have to do it twice before the pain begins to ease. I am so exhausted that I promptly fall asleep. Somewhere in the midst of my peaceful slumber, I hear a new shift of nurses arriving. They comment on the dainty, small heartbeat. They claim it is going to definitely be a girl. My mind begins to worry over this new information. I am convinced something is wrong for the heartbeat to have changed so drastically. Before I can express my concerns, my nurse rouses me and tells me it is time. We travel down to the delivery room and my anticipation peaks. The moment will soon be here. The waiting and worries will all be over. As I hear the soft swish of the closing doors, I watch the stage be prepared. Everyone's in their assigned positions and the curtain is ready to rise. When in the brief moment of stillness I hear the doctor say "Nurse, please get another warmer, I believe we have twins." Happy birthday to my precious children — Diana Lynn Hayes and Christopher Shawn Boyle. May God always keep you in His care and bless you with His grace. May your children be as much of a blessing and comfort to you each as you have both been to me. I love you.