I Love the Ocean....

I Love the Ocean….

I am not certain as to the why of it, but I do know the truth of it…

I love the ocean.

 

There is something about being near the ocean, waves crashing against the sandy beaches, sun rising all baby-pink, sherbet orange and stirred purple which makes my heart feel close to God.  I love visiting the ocean.  I would go so far as to say that an annual trek to the sand and foam is vital to my happiness, but would not want to lay that much responsibility at the feet of seascape and sunlight.  What I will say is that being in the presence of His majesty while taking in the vastness, the wonderment and the infinite strength of the ocean is a great joy in my life. 

In the past year, Ian and I have visited two oceans and the Gulf of Mexico, an ocean basin.  We have seen the sandy beaches of Florida and the white sands of Bora Bora.  It is the same…this love of things sandy and sunny. 

There is something powerful yet tender about the ocean..where deathly depths of infinite un-knowness mates with the laughter and light of children at play on its surface.   

Each time I am blessed with a visit, I learn a new lesson.  This trip was no exception… 

My teacher this time was my husband.  Ian is an Agriculture/Biology student of thirty-three years, plus a few.  His life has been one in deep appreciation of things God gave us to remind us of Him.  He loves to grow things, track things and hunt things.  He loves the swiftness of a deer as it runs through the woods and will stop roadside to look at the beauty of a wildflower.  His view of “all things great and small” is one I loved as a young girl and now appreciate as a grown woman. 

 So, it was no surprise, as we walked the beach “of a morning” as the sun rose, to have our conversation turn to things of nature.  This particular morning, we had our shell bag filled with Cockle Shells…

One of the most common shells on Sanibel Island is the heart cockle shell. This same shell is a rare find in other parts of the world. A cockle mollusk has feet and is able to jump several inches in a single bound.

I like knowing that the piece of the shell we were saving as a keepsake is the “heart” of something…not only is it a heart but it is strong and can leap in single bounds!

 A strong heart.

So, we began a hunt for all things “Cockle”…..and, we were in luck.  We found big cockles and little cockles; we found thick, hard-shelled cockles and thin, delicate cockles.

Each shell half equals one sea life

Each shell which ended up in my pink shell bag bore its own story…

We found a perfectly white, un-blemished, un-tattered shell which was thick and strong and bore ridges of time indicating a long sea life.  A survivor if you will and one with good shell genes.  If the ocean has tossed and turned this shell to extreme, you cannot tell it by its shell…white, pristine, it is lovely to behold and is a “keeper”.

But, I also love the other Cockles which made it to our sight and into our net and which tell a story of their own…

The “Etched” Shell…similar to the Keeper, this shell is white and strong and lovely but on its surface, life is etched.  It is as if someone took a knife during a vulnerable point in this shell’s life and made a permanent indentation on its shellish body.  It healed in its own way, but the scars it bears are an evidence of life battles.  It is forever bearing the imprint or “etching” of its vulnerability, its struggle evidenced forever in its etching.

 Then there is the shell which breaks my heart.  The “hole in my heart” shell.  This shell is perfect in all ways except for a hole near its center.  Perhaps what is not said about this heart-broken shell is more significant than any words I could pen here.

We came upon a “Partial Shell”.  It appeared to have been growing normally, strong countenance, ridges fine and color a healthy white, then something in its shell life came along which was so significant as to break it almost in half.  Beautiful on the one side and broken on the other.  Also interesting to me is that while it appeared to be growing in the direction of strength…it has the delicate-ness of suffering.  In my hand, you can feel it’s battle….and, its vulnerability.

 Then there is the diseased shell.  This is one where it’s original owner either died, grew diseased or was eaten by an animal.  I am told you can tell if disease was involved by the mis-coloring of the inside of the shell.  Life was tough on this particular Cockle shell as its color is a purplish-black and the indentation of where it’s inhabitant remains is as if  there was great sacrifice.

 Finally, we came upon a Cockle that was so beat up it barely wore its Cockle markings.  We are not certain what happened to this shell, but it most definitely bears the markings of a great warrior battler.

While none of the shells we picked are currently living,  the worthiness of the story of their life is told in the markings of their shell.

Much like us and our lives and our “shells”….

 As we have aged, Ian and I agree that we focus more on the unsaid evidences in a person’s life than on the spoken words.  We have friends and family and even ourselves represented in the shells we picked.  Some are gloriously shiny and new, some are lovely and elegant.  Some shells are large and boisterous and some are lean and purposeful.  And, sadly, some are just unlovely on their outside.  We agreed that as youngsters picking shells from the ocean tide, we threw back any with imperfections.  We clung to the perfect ones, the large ones, the shiny ones instead.

However, now, at fifty and fifty-five, we find the beauty of the broken shells, the battered shells, the one life has not been so kind to, but in that unkindness, has brought about great beauty. 

In fact, as we sat down this morning to review and inspect our collection, we were amazed to find we had more imperfect shells than perfect.  I liked one for it’s color but it had a hole in it; Ian liked one for its size but it had a spot missing.  One shell looked perfect from it’s front but turn it over and it was broken and holey.  Out of fifty shells, most had some imperfection…and yet, they were lovely enough to have made it to our shell collection.

 And, not only did they make it to our collection, but they made us smile and thoughtful as we placed them among our others.

 …I think God gives us shells and snowflakes, trees and rocks, land-scapes and sea-scapes as our reminder that all things beautiful are wrought with His hand.  Each has it’s own story, each bears it’s own beauty marks and battle scars.  Some grow stronger yet bear the etchings, some fall faint and give way to the challenge and some just float along the shores…living, thriving

 Surviving…

 So, if that applies to our own life…lives….

And, we are collected up in time,  in the net of His love, how much more will our beauty and struggle and courage and survival mean to the one who sent us all of these many reminders laid out like jewels on the beaches for hearts open to consideration and acceptance?

I like to think that God sent us the beaches and the shells, to the snow capped mountains with the snowflakes, to the forest with it’s trees….to our neighborhoods with it’s peoples as a reminder.

 Our lives have a purpose…a value…and a lesson

                                                   

That is a gift innately ours from Him and our ability to see that purpose and value and beauty in others, is a gift we give back…

To Him.

Blessings,

Lesa

Make a Believer of of "Em

"Make a Believer Out of ‘Em"

I can remember when my children were small and their Dad and I were struggling with some child-rearing issues and my Daddy saying, Sis…you have to "make a believer out of em".

At the time, he was telling us to be strong with our discipline and deep with our faith-walk. I cannot remember the infraction of which I was asking, but, it could not have been much, for they were smallish children, not very old. But, I do remember Daddy clearly saying,

"make a believer out of em"

I realized then and still do now that he meant that on several levels…

Make a believer out of them in the sense of literally sharing your faith so that they will grow into their own.

And

Make a believer out of them in the sense of disciplining them so that they will grow into their own.

I grew up in such a home.

When I was little, I LOVED going to church because I loved learning about Jesus. I loved reading about David and Paul and Moses. Miriam, Moses’ sister was my hero and I always wanted to be a sister like her. I loved learning about Mary and Mary and the Woman at the Well, Daniel in the Lion’s Den and Lazarus. I went with my parents to church not because they told me to but because they "showed" me to. Their own faith-walk instilled in me a love and passion very early on for all things Godly.

That passion stayed with me even into teenage-hood and young adult-hood. On those very few occasions where I would have preferred to stay at home and sleep in, I didn’t have to wonder if that would be a possibility or not. I knew that if you were a Millstead….you were in Bible class and worship on Sunday morning, you went to evening worship on Sunday evening and every Wednesday night you were front- row- center. It was not so much that they "made" us kids go….it was that you knew that you had to be with them on Sunday/Wednesday and you knew where they would be and what they would be doing.

You knew that Daddy would likely be preaching a sermon, brothers would be waiting on the table, Daddy would teach a class, lead singing and possibly even give out the announcements. Mama would have several little ones sitting with her in the pew and would then walk those same children to the class she would then teach, much of this after she had prepared communion and folded the bulletins. My parents were joined by our church family in "making us believers".

I was thinking the other day that my parents could be called "holistic" in their approach to their faith. "Church" was not something our family just attended on Sundays and Wednesdays, it was the way we lived our lives on all of the other days preparing for Sundays and Wednesdays.

I can remember Daddy and my brothers going over to the church building to cut the grass and ready the building for Sunday’s service. My mother and other ladies of the church would snap beans and prepare Sunday lessons and church bulletins while I babysat the younger children in my parent’s back yard. If I close my eyes, I can still hear the laughter of those sweet women mingling with the silly giggles of their little children.

I remember the "men folk" pulling up in the yard in their truck all grimy and sweaty from mowing the significant yard of our church building, back-slapping and laughing and smiling big.

Oh yes, I am the child of parents who "made a believer of out me", and I think my siblings would share that same heartfelt thought.

And, I am eternally grateful.

But, Mama and Daddy did not stop there. They also "made believers" out of us in the way they disciplined us. I sincerely don’t remember but a few times in my life where strong discipline was given to me by either of my parents. I do remember getting disciplined for cutting Missy B’s bangs when I was about five. For some reason, Mrs. Janie didn’t appreciate the way they were cut and my Mama didn’t appreciate that I didn’t confess "directly" that I was the scissor-welding hairdresser. I remember not coming home from play in time for dinner and coming in late once from a date. I am sure there were many more..All of those times, my parents set me down to discuss their expectations on my future behavior so that I was clear on what to do. Sometimes, they told me what future consequences were going to be but mostly they just told me to believe them…if I disobeyed, I would be punished. Frankly, for me, that was all it took.

I believed them.

I knew even as a very young girl that my parents loved me…they loved me enough that if I was going to make a bad decision, they were going to step up and "make a believer" out of me so that I did not make that same bad decision the next time.

One of my greatest regrets in my life is not staying in their line of vision all of my life. Because, the more I was in their "sights", the stronger was my clarity on how to live my life. Those times I ventured out on my own and on their teachings, it cost me. Dearly.

Those times I chose to remember the ways they had trained me and returned to those roots, the better and wiser my choices.

I see now that God gives us our parents as a guiding light for a reason. They are not there just to guide us to adult-hood, they are there to guide us through a lifetime. That is why there is such great loss for those whose parents are absent through death, through poor choices through failure to understand the responsibility God gives parents.

My siblings and I were and are blessed. We had and have parents who made believers out of us in both ways .

They grew in our hearts a belief that we were to obey them because they obeyed HIM and, they grew in our hearts a belief that we were to follow them in faith because they knew that if we followed them in our faith walk that we would be following HIM in our faith walk.

I am not my parents. I have not been so disciplined and faithful. But, I am my parent’s daughter and one thing they also taught me is that when you lose your way, AND you will, you draw a line in the sand of your life and mark it. That is your past. Walk in your future as one who was taught to "be a believer"…

So, I did and I do.

Blessings,

Lesa

　

My Greatest Treasurers….here on earth…..Happy Birthday! 

I am grateful….to be the mother of a daughter is a true blessing.  Daughters are treasures the heart wraps around all of your life giving you joy and light like only a daughter can. 

And, equally but differently, I am blessed to be the mother…of not just one, but two sons.  Sons are the gems in the heart of a mother which embolden her to be strong and courageous and brave.

My sons, while coming as twins do….within minutes of one another are so very different in ways only my mother’s heart can see.  While others claim a likeness which makes them hard to tell apart, I have never once had that problem.  Even in the womb, Baby A was quiet, reserved and strong while Baby B was active, busy and bounding.

God walked me through a very special journey to arrive at motherhood of sons.  He took me to places that, while painful and frightening at the time, caused me to grow in faith and trust and love as only God can. 

I am not special of person nor deserving of my children.  I think, rather, God knew that in my weakness, I would grow stronger with my children, because of my children.  I think God, in His infinite and tender mercy and wisdom knew that I needed my children to grow me into the person God intended…

I love my children….deeply….”as only their mother can”..

I love Madison more than all the sand on all of the beaches in all of the world.

I love Kenton more than all the stars in all the skies in all of the world.

I love Johnson more than all the blades of grass in all the fields in all of the world.

I love little baby Joseph more than all the dreams and wishes and prayers of childhood….

I am not only a mother, I am a grateful mother.  Today, May 31^st in the wee hours of the morning, I gave birth to two precious sons who would forever change my heart, my life, my personhood. 

My sons, while different, have some truths in common…some bonding seams of being which make them brothers…created together by father, by mother and knitted by God.

I noticed these things as I prepared a “Name Board” for each of my sons for their Seventeenth Birthday tomorrow.  I have grown to love this new tradition of “name boards” which Ian initiated a year ago for me.  You write the name of the person at the top and then list words to describe that person..one word for each year of life plus "God’s"…

These are not professionally crafted, perfectly made name boards…these are rough hewn wooden boards with names printed on white paper and cut out by hand, glued in place and lovingly- thought- through- boards.

As of tomorrow, all five of us Young-McKenzies will have a name board…with words like

“precious….selfless….expressive….rapper….honorable….athletic…warrior……sweetheart” written on them.

Ian initiated this “work board” tradition in an attempt to give me a more positive view of myself.  He posted the board on the wall of my bathroom so that each morning as I ready myself for work, I am able to view how he sees me….how he believes God sees me.

It works.

It works very well.

Such a smallish, little gift…

Such a large, impactive gift…

And so, as I ready our family for Seventeenth Birthday Celebrations….for the lives of my sons….I sit at my desk and pray God gives me the words to describe my sons…who they are now and who God will grow them into in the future.

I ask their Ladder, their sister and their Grandparents for input….it is a joint effort.

Words are powerful….just like sons and daughter.

And, the words we surround our children with will mold and shape and form their hearts.

Let them be loving..let them be kind...let them be truthful...

Let them be God's...

Blessed to be the mother of K and J.....and M.

Especially today,

Lesa

Listen Less to Your Own Thoughts and More to God's Thoughts....

Listen less to your own thoughts and more to God's thoughts
-- François Fénelon

When there are five of you in a medium sized home, it can be difficult to find quiet.  Don’t get me wrong, I love to hear the voices of my children and husband.  I love our early am chatter as we shuffle about in hushed voices and quiet slippers (well, most of us).  I love our “home from school/work” talks which are full of laughter and light and smiles (well, most times).  I enjoy the dusk conversations after dinner has been eaten and the dishes are washed (well, when we get to eat together).  Conversation is a constant in our home.

We are not perfect.  I will never ever again strive to provide the image that we are  perfect.  We have our moments of raised voices and mean words, but they are the exception rather than the rule and are substantially less and less all the time than in the past. We have our moments of highly charged opinions, stubborn refusal to share the remote and not wanting to do our chores.  But, they occur less and less.

We have a lot of “our words”, thankfully, mostly good words….but, they are mostly “ours”.

And, what bothers me most….what we are trying to work on…what we strive to grow in is listening less to our own thoughts and more to God’s.

How does a family go about doing that?  Good question.

When my children were young and I was their sole entertainment director, our lives were filled with K-love, Barney, Bible Men Two and Veggie Tales.  Those years have to be some of the sweetest years of our lives.  They started in 1992 and ended in 2002.  Yes, I can date them.

The reason I can date them is that in 2002, we started listening less to God and more to ourselves, our tv, our radios then Ipods.  We heard more game whistles, more cracks of bats, and less Bible story movies, Bible story tales and prayers of our children.

You cannot do that.

Well, you CAN do that but it will be at great cost.

And, once you replace the voice of God in your home with the voice of the world, it is hard to go back…hard to shut that door….hard to start over.

I love the saying from Oprah, “once you know better you should do better”.  That is where we are in our lives.  Quietly, methodically, carefully trying to lover the volume on the world’s voices and increase the voice of God.

It is a sweet, sweet sound.

But, it comes with great effort.

I envy those friends of mine whose children are smallish and whose influence of their children is primary.  To be able to go back then and understand what I do now, would be a great blessing.

But, I cannot do that.

So, I must carry on with where we are....praying God will remind my children of the foundation of their youth and will forgive the season of lapse.

And, I believe He will.

I think one of the things I most love about God, other than the fact He is God, is that He sees the very very best in us.  He believes the best in us.  He grows the best in us if we but ask.  No matter what. All the time.  Regardless.

He provides in us hope of change......and, because of Him, we are able to do so.

And, so I have great confidence that in this world where we are working to lower the volume of the world in our home and increase the volume of Him...that we will make progress....

We have to.

Our lives, our legacy and our little-ones-yet-to-come depend on it.

So, we try.  Against the odds, we try.

Against the television, cable, Ipod, Ipad, bored teenaged children, poorly versed adults, mean-spirited broadcasters, cell phones, and general public, we strive...

to take back our words....

and, instead....

listen more to God's.

“Fix these words of mine in your hearts and minds; tie them as symbols on your hands and bind them on your foreheads.  Teach them to your children, talking about them when you sit at home and when you walk along the road, when you lie down and when you get up.  Write them on the doorframes of your houses and on your gates, so that your days and the days of your children will be many in the land of the Lord…”  Deuteronomy 11: 18-21

Blessings,

Lesa

My sons turn seventeen next week. 

And, conversations are turning more and more into, “what are you going to do when you grow up?”

Mostly, what I hear is “I don’t know.  I can’t think about that today.  How do I figure out that?” “I’m thinking about it”, “I have a few ideas”…..

One future career which keeps coming to the forefront of our conversations is joining the military.  As in Army, Navy, Air Force, Marines.

My first response was, “some of the finest people  I know are in the military.”  Because that is true.

In every case.

But, those men/women are not my sons.

I think of my Daddy, my children’s Papaw James, my husband’s Daddy Herschel, our friend Brent, The McIntyre Brothers, Dave York, Kermit and Kevin McKelvey, Chip Jaenichen, and the list goes on and on…I think of Sara Guth, Emily Logsdon, Erwin Roberts, Shane Shablotsky, Chris Stivers, Melanie Deal’s husband (a/k/a Mr. Darcy), Josh Fogle, Kevin Anderson, Ed Valentine…..

Are my sons made of the same cloth?  Have I, as a mother, raised boys who could turn into men like these who have gone on before them? 

And, what exactly do those men/women of service have that makes them military strong?

I imagine a room filled with soldiers whom I know and love…and, this is what I envision:

Honor, Integrity, Truth, Bravery, Work ethic, Tenacity, Vision, Strength.

I see determination and intelligence.  Compassion, health and discipline…..lots and lots of discipline.

My Daddy, a one-tour Vietnam Vet is my image of a worthy soldier.  He’s strong of character, fastly disciplined, securely able, fit, intelligent, and quick.  Daddy is honorable, noble and strong.  He can do anything, anywhere, anytime and he will.  Daddy is no-non-sense, get it done, do it now.  Daddy has first hand witnessed what battling for our country means and has laid his life on the line for all generations.  A US flag means something to my Daddy….and, if you are around him, you need to stand straight and cross your hand over your heart in Thanksgiving for the men/women who served,  and be silent while the US Anthem is played.  He knows the cost. 

I think this applies to many of the soldiers I know.

So, as my sons’ conversations grow toward Military participation, I pause….

Do they have what it takes?  Am I exposing them to the qualities and characteristics they would need to be a soldier in the US Army, Marines, Air Force, Navy?

And, if I am not, shouldn’t I be?

And, even if they never ever enter the military service, shouldn’t I be preparing them as if they were?

And, if I believe I should, then shouldn’t I possess those same qualities so I can teach them to my sons? My daughter?

And, do I even know what are those requisites?

So, I did as all good modern-day mothers do…I Googled

“Characteristics of Military Personnel”

1.  Courage

2.  Selflessness

3.  Good Planner

4.  Quick thinker

5.  People Skills

6.  Cool Temperament

7.  Lead by Example

8.  Will

9.  Determination

10. Discipline

11. Intelligence

12. Interested in the world around them

13. Dedication

14. Honor

15. Communication

16. Respect

17. Committed

18. Noble

19. Confident

20. Ability to take direction

And, then, as my sons’ lay nestled in their beds, sleeping peacefully and snoring lightly, I took this measuring stick and measured them…

Do they possess these qualities?  Do they possess the potential for these qualities?

Do they have the kind of heart which would want to possess these qualities?

And, it was a sobering moment….

Because, while laying their character out against the ruler, I could not get past my own…do I possess these qualities?  Do I possess the potential for these qualities?  Do I have the kind of heart which would want to possess these qualities?

For, if I, their mother, do not, then how in this great, wide world, do I expect my sons to possess them?  CAN they possess them if I do not?  If the other individuals who surround them do not?

I pause to think of some of my toughest battles, and how I handled them….did I handle them with the precision, grace and dignity which befits a soldier?  Did I pursue avenues of peace, compassion and preservation of the greater good?  If the measuring stick of solder-ship was laid against my character, would I measure up?

And, if not….what can I do to change that?

It is a good question.

It is an answer-able question.

Others before me have done it.  Others around me do it.

I can as well.  And, so can you.

And, the men and women of uniform……their only true difference between them and us is that they already have done it.  They figured it out.  They set their path straight.  They committed their bodies, minds and hearts. 

They made a choice.

They fight and battle and serve for us, regardless of whether or not we ever figure out what they already have…

That service of our country, service for our family, service for our man…

It is the greatest, most rewarding, most brave and noble thing we can do.

It is not a perfect world the military have.  In fact, some would share facts that it is all about sacrificing…real, true, gut wrenching sacrificing…

But, at the end of the day…at the end of the battle…at the end of the war…

At the end of their life…

When friends and family gather around to hear the twenty-one gun salute, when the Red, White and Blue is laid draped over their frame…

They will have peace.

Because when the ruler of life is laid against their character, they will have measured up……

They will have measured up bravely, nobly, honorably….

Their lives are ones which make us want to live our own better. 

And, in their honor…we can.

We should.

And, it starts…today….

By remembering…..by laying flowers by the graves of those who have gone on before us, by holding fast our hand over our heart when we hear the anthem, by serving the families of the men/women who serve us, by being the best “us” we can be…

Taking out the list of “Characteristics of the Military” and using them as a guide for our own lives.

And, by never…ever…..ever…..forgetting the price of our freedom comes with it great cost, by men/and women with great heart who serve our country with great heart.

Blessings on your Memorial Day…

As my Daddy says to all….”Go Forth and Do Good”…….

Lesa