Save That One For The Book---Remembering, Reminiscing, & Re-pasting

As part of the Saturday Evening Blog Post at Elizabeth Ester's place, I plucked my favorite post from a short blogging selection. Just started a little over a month ago. In here you'll find two sisters, in not a perfect childhood, but finding all it's goodness along the way. Plus share your journey too. If you don't have a Sis, you're in the right place. Many Sis's in Christ are found along our paths here in bloggy world. They need you, as much as you need them. Thanks for stopping by my place.



Save That One For The Book---Remembering, Reminiscing, & Re-pasting


Plastic-wrapped pages, a book, some glue, random pictures, several memories and I’m set. Little did I know “set” wasn’t just glue-slapping pictures.

As my Sis and I dusted off the many moments stored under layers of life, we discovered more. Fragments filed behind today, yesterday, and all things bigger or better.


Pieces lost along the way.


Shelved behind the stuff of other things. Waiting. To be rediscovered.


Scrapbook-“a book with blank pages used for the mounting and preserving of pictures, clippings, or other mementos.”


Intimidating blank pages. So many, too many it seems.



With “Operation Scrapbook” in motion, our collective fragment gathering begins. Not only as a gift to our parents, but also to ourselves.



Recalling moments. Some forgotten, others buried, many shared, and ones not there. A thing I never thought of. Remembering moments that never came, because they never were. Yet pulled from the rubble, many others rediscovered.



Tagged in bold: “Alf”, “Greatest American Hero”, “Love Boat”, “Fantasy Island”, “E.T.”, and LOTS of “Favorite Memories” innocently arrive. My “inbox” now full, they patiently wait to be unbolded. Finding their place with the other “read” things. In it discovering life, my life, our life, this life.




Those not so remembered moments searched for its re-pasting, for The Book. Under life we find them.



As a small wave rolls into an ever bigger one, so our fun rolls into laughter. A morning of dusting off little pieces of goodness. Family. Imperfect yet shared , endured, loved, and lived together.




With “Elmer’s” no-wrinkle, dual tip glue pen, the slapping begins. Not only of family photos, but also, printed memories swapped between giggling sisters. Not being a serial scrapbooker or serious craft-er, I grope for creative juices to piece our fragments together. With flair.




Blank pages now brimming with scrapbooky doo-dads, family photos, memory “tattoos” (lost memories located more permanently), the last page is here. Arrived. Not someone just walked in arrived, rather the end of The Book, arrived. How quickly it has come. The end.




However not The End all. It’s here I find, beginning. Waiting to be discovered. Shared, endured, loved and lived together. Photo taking, Memory making, discovery staking, and glue pen pasting. Scraps of life filling blank pages. More imperfect life living to do. Together, with a dusting of laughter.




Just SOME of “inbox” messages labeled “Favorite Memories” swapped between my Sis and Me:


-Favorite Memory (Tammy & Michelle): playing “Pacman”, “Space Invaders”, “Aestoroids” video games at every convenience store we could find

-Michelle writes: “In high school we went to Taco Bell almost EVERY day and got a bean burrito”
Tammy’s reply: “Hey, YOU got bean burritos, I got tacos!

-Favorite memory: Having breakfast for dinner!!

-Favorite memory (Tammy & Michelle): playing on the hayrings on the farm

-Favorite memory Tammy: Calvin Klein & Jordache jeans

-Favorite memory (Tammy & Michelle): Shirley Temples at Red Lobster (on our Birthdays)


Feel free to “glue” some of your rediscovered fragments here. You may have to dig, but then again, maybe not…

A Picture, A Blog—Thawing Moments Frozen in Time

A blog is like a snapshot
frozen there in time
all sweet and nice the post is fraught
pasted in sublime.

So it goes, the words are inked
stamped in black and white.
Perhaps a day or in a blink
stay the words I write.
There they freeze a moment came
what God wrote my heart,
still the skin I live in, my battle is the same.

Godly snaps of what He shows
I share for you to view;
yet what to think of faulty lows
before my post is “new”.

Like a picture upon a stand
it’s framed in written hand.
Yet in the words flung so wide
are captured this earthen clay,
noting not all goodness abides
my path along the way.


But to Him I look
and stay my course,
my life I have forsook.
Going beyond these posts you see
my words from a thought;
rather to know the Author be
the One for whom is sought.

--Tammy


(After going through many boxes, albums, and zip-loc baggies of pictures for a scrapbook gift to my parents, I realized how many of the “good” pictures I’ve saved over the years. Not many of the not-so-good, or even the i-don’t-want-anybody-to-see ones survived, but still a few remain. Regardless, each picture is only a snapshot of all the living done in between. Like a blog, I’m living life between posts. And even if my i-don’t-want-anybody-to-see moments don’t get “snapped” in a post doesn’t mean I’m exempt from having one (because yes, I’m human). Although I feel blessed for where God has placed me in my life, I’m not always a good steward of it. In the end it’s not about how good I did everything, instead it’s about finding His goodness in everything. May we forgive ourselves our failings and run to the HIS perfect goodness!)

Inserted pictures are a couple of the "good" ones,My Sis and I back in the 80's when we lived in Dallas, Tx. Also, graduation from High School.

Warrior In My House

Metal clanking against metal. Sunlight glancing off heavy swords, flashing. A twirl here and stab there. Sounds of grunting and bodies slamming. It roars like rolling thunder, bellowing and vibrating the air. The very bloody field of our living room. So plays the battle of my littlest guy. A warrior, taking no prisoners; enemies beware.

A knight in shining armor, er, blue jeans and cowboy boots. Which aren’t so bad. Cowboys that is.

Don’t get me wrong. I don’t encourage this, nor condone it. It just is. Bumps, bruises, punches flying, often is found my little man. A fighter with a gentle, tender side too. Blondish-red hair, small hands and growing feet; a warrior in my house. Battle lines, sword fights, wrestling enemies and victories rage in his imagination. This little son of mine who searches with a spirit for a King.

How simple, yet complex. Whether living rooms, outside yards, or imaginary battles, a real one rages. So it is I tell the story. Of a real King, a Sword, an enemy, a Hero. Our only “super” Hero, who came swaddled among the hay. There my son. A journey beyond a baby, a victory from a grave, a Light in the darkness, our Star of Bethlehem.

Among the jabbing and stabbing, another lesson is found. Neither castle, moats, walls, or knights, be invisible indeed. There is a King who calls His own; it takes a heart to see.

--Tammy


(How true it is of the battle that rages in this world. Not just the physical ones fought on earthen soil, but also the ones in the spiritual realms. It’s this battle I’m trying to get my youngest to see with his little spiritual eyes. He’s so ready to fight the one here in his imagination. How exciting to share with him about a real KING who has real warriors fighting for him. Warriors in the flesh and warriors in the spirit, the angelic armies. But my little guy is still learning, growing. If only I am able to equip& train him for his real battles not just in the right now, but also for later when he’s a man. The awesome, humbling, inadequacies of parenting. All the more reason I need my KING. Oh, that my King would give me wisdom for equipping HIS little warrior!)

EXPECTING THE SHARING— In Unexpected Times

Giving and receiving comes with the season
celebrating family, friends and the true REASON.

So easy and free it seems to pass
lingering on, wishing it to last.

But when back to a box it goes
away for another year is stowed,
moving on we keep living.

Not expecting so, at other times, the giving
nor eagerly receiving when out of season.
Not expecting from others this thing
or from us a gift bring,
lacking is our ability the receiving, giving of.

Sharing becomes a moment gone
same as the Christmas songs.

If only continued the whole year long
our thoughts toward eachother stay
expecting our receiving & giving each day.


--Tammy
MERRY CHRISTMAS TO YOU! And ALL year long!

(Receiving is easy when you’re expecting it. Like at Christmas, Birthdays or etc. It’s those unexpected times, it may be hard. When I need them the most. Something else God showed me: Giving can’t be given, if the receiver doesn’t receive. Oh that I would be a gracious RECEIVER and a better GIVER!)

Capturing Hidden Treasures--Details Aren't Bad

It’s right there. I move closer, intently looking into colors of green and red. Again a finger blocks my view. “Mom, right there and there.” Nothing. “Just colors, Son." I study his face. Nose wrinkled, eyes studying, scanning. Then incredulous. “Mom, I can’t believe you don’t see that!” One more look. Where? Where? Maybe there, maybe. “Sorry, Son it looks great to me.”

Again, those pesky blobs. Little imperfections. You know the ones. The kind that invade. Computer “spots” that mar perfect pictures. “I told you not to use ‘Save As’ Mom.” Who knew? But I did. Little hay strands. Goatee and scarf. Shepherd staff. Green shoes and baby. Ruined. “I just pulled it up from the CD disk. That’s all.”

I press “enter”. There for the world to see. Our small world. Hanging out for close friends, his Christmas manager. Powerpoint, readable disks, internet. “Wow, Mom, can the whole world see it?” Scrolling down, friends’ and family faces look back. “Well, these people will.” From ear to ear, and missing front tooth, a smile. “Cool!”

Forgotten. Maybe not. Perhaps forgiven among the sharing. Spots sacrificed for the greater good. Here it is. Details. Scattered on the page. So many, there and there. Reminders of how different, yet the same. Different from me, same as my husband.

Broad brush strokes. Colors. Beauty among grassy hills. Awestruck mountain towers dribbled in snow. Narrow country lanes shadowed by old oaks. Me. Lens zoomed out. Sweeping the wide angle of life. Then here.

The lens captures another. Smaller point. Fine lines & swirls of a brush stroke. Naming each color. Fescue, Bermuda, St. Augustine. Cliff ledges. Matchbox cars on mountain roads. Tiny animal tracks. Plucking a brown, crunchy leave off a country lane. How different, yet the same. Zoomed out or zoomed in, God created all.

Two things. Reminders really. God put them there. A husband and a son. Showing. Sharing. Zooming. And of those little spots. Thankful I am. I wouldn’t know. But now I do.

----Tammy
(Tammy & Daniel, when posting Daniel’s Christmas picture on Facebook)

CHECKING MY CHECKLIST

1. Went to church. CHECK.
2. Received Christ in my heart. CHECK.
3. Was Baptized. CHECK.
4. Became a prodigal daughter. CHECK. CHECK.
(in laymen’s terms—I wallowed in a pig sty of bad choices)
5. Returned to the Lord. CHECK.
6. Constantly submitting my life to Him. CHECK.
7. Once called a “Jesus Freak”. CHECK.
8. Receive gladly when others offer me their assistance. NO CHECK?
9. Am able & willing to serve the body of Christ. CHECK. UNCHECK. CHECK…
10. Put on false humility & apologize profusely when someone insists on
helping me. CHECK!
11. Selflessly put myself out there for Him
& not wonder “What will they think?!” BIG FAT, NO CHECK.
12. Renewing my mind to find my ground in Him & not in this world. STILL CHECKING.
13. Want to be wherever He goes. CHECK.
14. Learning how miniscule & inept I am without Him. ALWAYS CHECKING.
15. Finding His glorious love toward me. MY FAVORITE CHECK.
16. Freely putting my words on this page. TIMID CHECK.
17. Being obedient to Him by walking in it. TRYING TO CHECK.
18. Going all out no matter the cost to me,
or what people think. DO I HAVE TO CHECK?
19. Knowing I’m not measured by my amateur writing,
faulty flesh, and blubbering mistakes,
but measured by His endless love. NO CHECK REQUIRED.

--Tammy

(I started this blog so I could glorify Him with my words. Sounds simple. But simple isn’t the “S” word that comes to my mind. Scary is the one that fits. Not tucking my words in a dark, hidden corner like I did for so many years. Scary. Now they’re exposed. I’m exposed. May I bless Him in it.)

Necessary Present—Not the Usual Suspect

No, not the kind stuck under a glossy bow.
Nor tissue paper topped in a bag just so.

Christmas is about presents and so much more.

Red balls and white, garland and lights, warm a corner of our room.
Glowing a reminder the day will be soon.

This necessary Present, so obvious to say.
Fill many a yard, a manager scene, for Christmas day.

Buried among the doing of, another present rises above.
Not only for the One who came, but us returning the same.

Words, thoughts, lists, and chores, blurr this life that I seek.

Aside the rushing and errands keep, may I be PRESENT when my children speak.

Putting aside, texting, computer screens, calls, and such
lingering long when at bedtime I tuck.

PRESENT, available, accessible, listening, for the here and now
not waiting for another moment that never arrives somehow.


--Tammy
(I just don’t want life to go by and I’ve been doing, doing. I want to cherish my family, the things God has given me. Also to take the time, to be PRESENT, not my mind reeling with checklists of things to do. But really be here, sharing moments with this family He's given me. He was always PRESENT. How can I be PRESENT for Him and for those He’s given, if my life is too “full”?)

"C" IS FOR CHAOS OR SO IT SEEMS

In a lone, far away spot, I'm resigned between two yellow lines of parking. From our perch, slowly my boys and I climb out our car. The hard black surface under foot holds a sea of mobile wheels stretching far and wide. Christmas.

Bells ringing, feet scurrying, babies crying, downward heads point, hands busy touching shirt, plate, toy. Dangerous corners harboring hurried shoppers. Bumper carts zipping across aisles blocked with bodies pressed against shelving. A breeze rushes past in way of a shopper scurrying near where I stand. Looking. Surveying.

Still I stand, not moving, among a sea of arms, legs, heads, carts, feet. Relaxing in a throng of chaos. Tucked close against a display of cookies, pies, and sweets, we rest. Or so we try. Even here, tucked away, obstacles are made. Us. Our lone retreat now blocking those retreating to their exit. Or some other place.

Wheels squeaking, our basket rattles to one of those cold metallic counters. Only a few items dot the black moving belt, before disappearing inside a sack. Not forgetting to smile, we bid the weary register operator a farewell.

Pausing before our exit, we take our time, on purpose you may say. “What are we doing, Mom?” my oldest looks at me. “Well, nothing, just standing here a moment.” I softly reply. How strange even my children think of me when we go slow, or much more, stand still. Heads bobbing, voices blending, feet shuffling, carts clanking. Christmas? Or Chaos? It depends on the pace.

Bundling up, the automatic doors give way. Not only to our exit, but the quick entry of some others.

Something to carry along, I ponder. Radio talking, song playing, children asking, t.v. watching, meager cooking, friend meeting, tedious teaching, house cleaning, Bible reading, and on it goes. If nothing else a Christmas bring, a moment to stop, still, stand. Beyond Christmas this present gives, for in the silence, HE is.

Beginnings

So I begin....black and white scattered to eternity. So it seems, doodling words across a page, a screen, then out. To where, I don't know.

But yet, I tread out for Him. And if I could write, it may say something like:

"Once upon a time, there was (and is) a King...."

Yes, my King, lead on........