Well, You See, There Was This Blizzard ...

FYI:  This is a blog post I wrote back in February but never actually posted it.  (We were more than just a bit busy back then.)  As I was doing some clean up today, I ran across this and decided to go ahead and throw it on the blog.  Plus, it's just plain fun to look at that much snow right now when it's been so hot here.

Blizzard 2011 is in the books.  Don't get me wrong, there is still plenty of snow around.  Parking lots still have huge piles of the white stuff. In fact, there were numerous high school students who didn't have places to park this week because snow piles have taken up about 100 spaces.  There is still snow in our driveway where the snowplows continued to pile it up behind our teenager's truck.  And our house faces North, so ice and snow are still present on our roof.  But the blizzard itself, the Dale's-car-couldn't-make-it-through-the-snow storm, the we-missed-three-days-of-school storm, the businesses-were-closed-and-streets-were-deserted storm, that storm is over.

I took some pictures, and there is certainly a lot of snow in the pictures.  But as I looked at them today, the snow doesn't seem as deep or dangerous as it did last week.  And you certainly can't tell from the pictures how cold it was.  A quick picture, a snapshot of a moment in time, does not give you all the information you need to really know what is going on in that situation.

I think we too often settle for snapshots of people's lives.  We catch up with a friend at the grocery store, we see a friend smiling at church, we read a status update on a social connection website, and we think we're all caught up on what's going on.  What if those snapshots don't tell the whole story?  Is what your friend shared with you at the grocery store really the most significant thing going on in her life right now?  Can a smile be a cover for a hurting heart?  Are your friends really that real in their status updates?

Don't get me wrong.  I'm not advocating that we share every intimate detail of our lives with everyone we know.  And the grocery store isn't really the place to purge one's soul.  I'm just saying that we cannot believe we know the depth of the pain, joy, loneliness, anxiety, heartache, exhilaration, etc. that someone is going through when we catch up in snapshots.

I made a commitment to be transparent in meaningful ways, and the blizzard reminded me of that.  I sat and talked with my mom for hours (well, we giggled a bunch, too), I spent time with my soon-to-be-gone soldier, I watched TV with my 2 younger boys, I even had a day with Dale home in the middle of the week.  I was reminded, once again, of what really matters to me:

I just cannot believe that any amount of money I ever make or work I ever do will be as important as the relationships I have in my life.

So there it is.  No great revelation, nothing I haven't said a million times.  Just another tool God used to remind me about what is really important ... and what really isn't.

Help Me, Rhonda

If you've never given your car a name, you may not understand this at all.

She was likely never beautiful.  It's not that outward beauty is the most important thing, because it truly is not.  But by the time she came to live at our house, she wasn't even remotely pretty.  Regardless, two of my sons have loved her with a commitment that bodes well for future marriage prospects.  Rhonda, the 1995 Ford Ranger who came to live with us five years ago, has finally waved the proverbial white flag and said, "I'm done."

She was tough, for sure.  Though not equipped with four-wheel drive (let's face it--she was barely equipped with four wheels), she went mudding with the big trucks. And pulled others out of their stuck spots. And squired around loads of all kinds of crud.  And I have a sneaking suspicion her bed was a makeshift cooler on more than one occasion.

After coming to live with us, she survived all kinds of abuse and neglect.  Her headliner was spray painted black.  She sported no less than 4 different gear shift knobs (the most recent wasn't even a knob--it was a leather glove with duct tape around it).  And she was on her last leg for the last 3 years.

But she hung in there.  She started every morning when I just knew that wouldn't happen.  She kept plowing through the snow even though her tires were bald (there was no way we were going to spend a bunch of money on tires when she was going to die any day).  And then, suddenly, when we were ready to go ahead and buy tires, she died.  Her clutch just plum wore out.  She gasped as if to say, "Hey, enough already."

Hopefully, she will have a new home in a few days.  I hope she brings as much joy to her next owner as she did to 2 Duncan men.  Rhonda, these boys loved you.  Thanks for never flipping over and never hurting my boys.  You were good to us, Rhonda Ranger.  Thanks for everything.

By the way, sorry about the mixed messages on your windows and bumpers.  The Army soldier and the future Marine had a decal war, and you lost.  Then again, maybe that's why you held together so long.

So long, old girl.  Thanks for the memories.

Military Mom, Part Six: Up, Up and Away

Note: This is the sixh in a series of sporadic posts about this military thing happening in our family (one son in the Army; one joining the Marines). How many Military Mom posts will there be? No idea. But more than six.

I've been trying for several days to put into words our experience of watching our soldier leave.  I can't.  I decided to show pictures instead.

The day before he left.  This soldier was exhausted emotionally and physically.  He had to be exhausted to take a nap.  He never napped as a child. Never.  When I took this picture, I stood there for a few moments and just looked at this boy who is a man on the outside but will always be a little boy in my heart.



This was just a few moments before they lined up in formation.  It was a sea of camo and civilian clothes, plus lots of Kleenex and American flags.  If you get discouraged about your life, stand around a group of soldiers for awhile.  They are people, just like you, with families and problems and dreams.  And they are willing to defend not only their rights, but yours as well.

For some reason, I get to be the mom of three amazing young men.  I have no idea why I am so blessed, but I am incredibly thankful. 

There are two boys who are missing their big brother right now.  And a big brother who is missing them.

You know that saying about good friends are always there for you, and REALLY good friends are the ones who help you hide the body?   These two are REALLY good friends.  Though there haven't been any bodies to hide, other than their own when one or the other set of parents was looking for them, these two are as close as can be.  They have made me laugh so hard my sides hurt.  They've made me cry a little, too.

This is the bird that took my boy away.



Before they circled around for one last flyby.



If you look closely, you can see a soldier standing on the ramp at the back.  Wonder whose daredevil that one is?

The three specks in the sky are the first wave of soldiers taking off on their big adventure.  The pics are a lot clearer than I remember.  Maybe it was the tears.



This precious little girl carried a flag and followed her dad around.  It seems to sum up how I felt:

So proud to be an American.  So sad to see my soldier go.  

Please pray for our troops, all of our troops, and for the families they leave behind.  No matter what you believe about why we are where we are, or why we aren't where we should be, at least be thankful there have been and continue to be those who answer the call to protect and defend the United States of America.