He Called her Jeanie

(The writer's grandfather. And loving Dad to Jeanie.)

It was 1931.

Babies were not supposed to be born to single mothers.

When a young woman found herself “in that condition”, she was sent away.  

Far away.

Not spoken about.

And there was shame. A lot of shame.

So what about the child? Innocent…having no part in the means of her existence.  

God, in His mercy, had a plan. Long before she ever was, He formed a family of broken pieces. An abandoned child, a couple unable to conceive.

He was a furniture delivery man. She was a homemaker. They had a garden.

She became theirs when she was only three days old. She would be their only child.

Her mother cared for her and taught her things a young lady should know.  Cooking, cleaning, sewing, ironing.

But she was daddy’s girl.

He was the one she went to for everything. He adored her and said yes when mother said no.

He called her Jeanie. His endearing love for her was evident with the adding of “ie’ to her middle name. He always called her Jeanie. Mother only used her first name.

When she wanted a bicycle and mother said no…he bought her one. When she wanted to play the clarinet, mother said no…but he made sure she was in the band. When mother wanted to sew her prom dress, daddy gave her cash for a store bought one…made of the finest satin.

Things that we speak freely about these days were off limit topics back then. Adoption was such a topic. They never told her she was adopted. She learned of it when a family member blurted it out one day.

The icy sting of reality never left. She loved her parents. But now she was curious…and hurting.

She didn’t ask questions. They never knew that she knew. The longing to know her truth grew over the years.

Greater than her longing however, was her love for her father. It would hurt him deeply if he knew she was searching for information about her biological parents. Records from that era were sealed. She was left wondering.

Her daddy lived a long life and closed his eyes for the last time when he was well into his eighties. Jeanie felt lost. Again. Orphaned for a second time.

She faithfully cared for her mother until her passing. But it was him that she missed. He was the one that made her feel loved. And whole.

A law was passed some years later that opened adoption records. She learned who her birth parents were. Teenagers. An unlikely pairing.

Her teen mother later married, having more children. She passed before they could meet. And though contact was made with extended family members, there was no interest in getting acquainted.

Her birth father’s life tragically ended at a young age. No contact was made with his family.

I find it remarkable in this life that some people, who are supposed to love you, can choose to ignore your existence.

While others can choose to love you and leave you yearning for them until your very own last day.

Love bears all things…believes all things…hopes all things…endures all things.

Love never fails.

Love called her Jeanie.

Being a Warrior in My Own Home

Let’s be honest, most of my days are filled with cleaning dishes, entertaining a whiny toddler and putting things back in their places after said toddler blows through the house like a hurricane.

Seriously, toothpaste ends up in the kitchen, socks under the dining table, cooking spatulas in the shoe bucket. I’m thankful our house is a little bungalow or else it would take me hours to go from room to room replacing things.

A good day usually means I get a shower in. Actually, a good day means I get some writing in. I usually opt for the keyboard over the shampoo when given twenty quiet minutes, sorry hubby.

It all seems the exact opposite of being a warrior on a battlefield. Warriors wear armor, shout battle cries, risk their lives and gain glory each and every single day.

I am fascinated with King David’s Mighty Men in the Bible, who have crazy tales of admirable feats. There’s one story in which David says he wishes he could have a drink of water from the well in his hometown. At the time, his hometown of Bethlehem was occupied by the enemy, the Philistines. That’s no problem for three of David’s Mighty Men. They risk their lives, breach enemy lines and smuggle back a pouch of water for David’s parched throat. (2 Samuel 23:15-17)

At another time, one of David’s men, Benaiah, fights with a lion and wins. (2 Samuel 23:20)

And a third battle that fascinates me is when Eleazar stands his ground against the Philistines while his army flees. The Bible says his sword became fused to his hand. Thanks to God, Eleazar beats the Philistines almost single-handedly. (2 Samuel 23:9-10)

Glory and honor. Fighting against a dark force and beating the odds.

Minus the blood and guts, there’s something really cool about being a warrior. It’s being called to fight for something, it’s taking action against a dark enemy, it’s finding courage when there really shouldn’t be any.

So I’ve been toying with the idea that maybe I CAN be a warrior—in my own home. Maybe I’m in training. A young Jedi, I suppose. (I got you, Star Wars fans.)

I fight for my family and I fight hard. I fight to keep our basic needs met—ya know food on the table and babies in clothes, ahem CLEAN clothes, kinda thing. I also fight to keep us physically healthy—doctor appointments, medicine, cleaning to keep the germs away, although notably not my strong suit.

I also fight to keep us doing things that are mentally engaging, and restful and social—fulfilling those needs.

Now spiritually I could do more, but my husband and I pray and pray hard for our marriage, our children, our children’s spouses and futures and more. That’s definitely a battle.

There are many times I want to give up. I want to stay in bed all day and stare at the ceiling, oh that would be beautiful. But I get up. I face another day, another battle and fight sometimes valiantly and sometimes just enough to keep us alive.

But the truth is that my role as a mother at home is honorable. I may not have stories written about me in the Old Testament, thank heaven, but I am certainly a HUGE part of my son’s and my husband’s stories. I may not slay thousands or risk death by battle wounds but if I didn’t do what I do then my household would crumble.

Yes, it’s a much smaller scale but it’s really important. And while I’m changing another diaper, or putting all of my son’s books back on his shelf (again) it doesn’t feel very admirable, but it is. It’s a thousand tiny, small things done with love that lead to one big thing— impacting someone’s world.

One husband, one son at a time.

I can raise my sword to that.

A Café in Arizona and a Table of Laughing Ladies

My husband travels for business. Often.

And it’s always a road trip. He’s driven hundreds of thousands of miles over the years. Nowadays he takes someone along, but years ago he traveled by himself.

He’s had many adventures on all those trips. Helping stranded motorists, seeing the country, making friends, and conducting business.

While I could fill many pages with his experiences, the following is one of my favorites.

He stopped for dinner at a café somewhere in Arizona. He was tired and hungry.

He placed his order and sipped some tea while waiting for the meal.

He and I have always enjoyed some good old fashioned “people watching”, and though I wasn’t along, he took in the different scenarios around the restaurant.

Families, couples, a few sitting at tables alone like him, and a table full of older ladies talking and laughing.

He settled his focus on them. They were having so much fun! He decided that they must have been friends for a long, long time. There was an obviously deep bond between them. And though he wasn’t at their table, he was having fun just watching them.  

His attention shifted to the steaming plate of enchiladas set before him. He was hungry after all.

Often times he drove longer than he should before stopping to eat. And today was no exception. It was a really good meal.

The check arrived. He left his tip on the table and stretched his legs as he stood. On his way to the counter to settle his bill, he passed by the table of ladies…still sitting there and still having a wonderful time.

He paused to say hello. He told them that it was so nice to see them talking, laughing and enjoying each other.

They laughed some more and honestly…I’m thinking they may have thought he was flirting with them a little. And then, he did it.

What I’ve seen him do so many times before.

He picked up the check from the corner of their table and announced that he wished to bless them by paying for their dinner.

Their excitement and disbelief was hard to hide. They thanked him profusely for his kindness.

He assured them that watching their good time helped him to miss his family a little bit less.

And so, he wished them a good evening and went on his way. I imagine that they sat a little longer to talk about him and what he did.

That’s how he rolls. A table full of ladies, people sitting alone, police officers, military personnel, homeless. He’s paid for dinners all over this country.

Sometimes they know it was him…like in this story. Other times, he just quietly asks the server for someone else’s bill.

His heart is kind and he looks for ways to help others. He doesn’t really tell anyone about it. He likes to do things out of the spotlight.

There are no records to keep after all. Just do good.

In Acts 10:38 we read that Jesus himself “went around doing good”. We’re to be as comfortable helping a stranger as we are helping a friend.

Look for your own way. We all feel prompted at times. And the more often we follow through, the more often the prompting will come.

I promise that while you’re doing good for another, your heart will be full too.

The Dread and the Tactics of Immunization Day

When our children were small, they didn’t much like the doctor’s office.  Thankfully they were healthy kids with only the occasional ear infection, cold, or stomach virus.

The pediatrician’s office was decorated with animals and cartoon characters. Toys and books were scattered about. No amount of window dressing deterred mine from not wanting to be there.  

They knew an office visit would include a lollipop and stickers. The stickers were cool!  Big, square, shiny stickers of the latest kid fare – princesses, superheroes, puppies and kittens! 

But they always wanted to know if the office visit was going to include shots. Every parent’s battle.

Before child 2 and 3 were old enough to reject the idea that shots were good for them, I had the first born convinced of the following: “Shots are good for me. They help me stay healthy and strong. They keep sick germs away from me...and besides they only hurt for a little minute.”  

I can hear her sweet voice in song-like rhythm.

But as things would go, child 2 would have nothing of that sentiment. Shots hurt and she wasn’t having any part of it.

When the nurse brought in the syringes, she clamped up and melted down. The screams were piercing. That little body was far stronger than it seemed and holding her down took every ounce of strength I had.

The nurses were so kind…bless their hearts. As the years unfolded, I would begin my apology as soon as we arrived for the appointment. I knew she wasn’t the only child that kicked and screamed, but it was epic!

Child 3 tried to be brave. He would stoically fold up his shirt sleeve as his eyes welled with tears. He would reach for my hand and I would cover his eyes as he laid his head on my shoulder. He tensed up and winced when the needle punctured his skin.    

I scheduled an appointment for all three of the kids to get their annual flu shots. Although I was dreading it, I thought I’d put a positive spin on things.

I decided to bribe them. Yes, bribe. Indeed it had come to that.

As I loaded them into their car seats, I announced that we had two errands to run. We were going to the store and they were allowed to choose any candy they wanted. Cheers erupted from the back seat with each child proclaiming their favorites.

Then, I foiled their plans. I told them we had to make one stop first. It wouldn’t take long, but afterwards the candy was theirs.

Silence as we pulled into the doctor’s office parking lot.   

"You tricked us! Why would you do this? That’s not fair!"

These were just a few of their sentiments when they realized that our first errand was to get their flu shots. The cheers and excitement turned to disbelief. I thought I was clever, they considered it betrayal.

Child 2 would not speak to me. She vented through comments to her older sister.  “Don’t talk to her. She did this to us. It’s not okay. She tricked us.” 

My clever plot was unraveling.  

The oldest went along with it. She always does. She didn’t really like my method, but as she still does, she keeps her thoughts to herself and complies.

The youngest cautioned that maybe this wasn’t the best idea. So often when he was little I felt I was talking to an adult. Well, when he wasn’t repelling the bedroom wall with his sister’s bathrobe ties, that is.    

Band aids across their arms, lollipops unwrapped in their hands and stickers reluctantly clinging to their clothing, the appointment was over. It was time for the payoff.

I convinced myself that the bright colored wrappers of the candy aisle would perk them up.  

They trudged into the store to select their candy. It was the first time they made it seem like a chore. The ride home was rather quiet with just the faint crinkling of candy wrappers in the back seat.  

Author’s Note:
I read this story to child 1 & 2 who happened to be home the day I was editing it for the blog. Both are now in their twenties.

You would think the appointment was yesterday the way they went on about it. Child 2 would like all of you to know that she still stands by her statements and will never, ever trick her children like that.   

Okay.