I crack myself up!

Really. I do.

Or, maybe I've just cracked...

Yesterday, I had to run an errand after I finished blogging, and I came up with a brilliant idea while driving back home. I laughed out loud at the thought of it. Which also reminded me of another time when I laughed at another brilliant idea... I feel a SIDE STORY coming on... Okay, time out... here's the SIDE STORY:

Quite some time ago, I was sitting at our kitchen table feeling so overwhelmed with all I had to do, and not knowing where to begin, or where to muster the energy to do it with. There was a pen and paper in front of me, I picked them up, and I started drawing. Pause...

(Okay, here's another SIDE STORY; try to keep up... I'm not sure when it was, second or third grade, my mom made me go see the school guidance counselor for some therapy. I was emotional and grouchy (sounds nothing like me, I know!) and I guess she didn't know what to do with me, so she made me go see the guidance counselor. You learn something new about me everyday, don't you? (thinking about this story yesterday, for the first time, I thought, "my mom really was a good mom, she didn't know how to help me, or how to fix a problem and she decided she was going to do all in her power to help me, and fix the problem, so she sent me to therapy." That's love.) I even remember my mom telling my doctor that I was her most emotional child. I would insert the word verbal instead of emotional, but to each their own. Anyway, so I had to go see the guidance counselor who was a funny looking lady who wore clothes from the 70's, (which I guess would be in style now, but not then), in her little office off of the stage. I remember playing with puppets, my mom being there sometimes, and that I didn't go for very long. I don't think anything really came of it, except a long standing joke between my mom and I. The guidance counselor was always like, "Draw me a picture to tell me how you feel." Even at that age I thought it was silly. So, this became a joke between my mom and I. Even as an adult, if I was sad or upset she would say to me, "Do you need to draw me a picture to tell me how you feel?" And, then we would both laugh.)

So that brings us back to the first SIDE STORY with me sitting at the kitchen table starting to draw. I was going to draw a picture of how I felt. I drew me, or a really ugly version of me, leaning over at the shoulders, with a frowny face, and I started making a list of words starting at my shoulders going up. Can you picture it? A pile of words starting at my shoulders, piled on top of each other, going on to TWO pieces of paper, just in words. While I drew, I laughed. Then I laughed some more when I decided what I was going to do with it. (Gosh, I sound crazy!) I was making a list of things that I felt I shoulder alone, responsibilities that seemed endless, too much to do, and that was making me lean over emotionally and physically. I then taped it up on our kitchen wall for John to see when he came in from working in the yard. I was working here in my workroom, and he came in, I heard him pause and then he said, "What is this?" And, I started laughing, really, really hard.

Fast forward to yesterday. Remember? I had a brilliant idea driving home, and it made me laugh?

I came home, immediately got some white paper and an orange highlighter and started counting my blessings, literally.

I kept counting. (I would take a picture of them, but I'm honestly too lazy.)

I envisioned me taping them up all over the walls to remind me, to help me focus on good, happy things. And, I laughed thinking about it. I laughed thinking about John coming home and seeing them. I kept laughing while writing my blessings. (Maybe I am losing my mind?) I started thinking, "it's already working." I don't care that life's not fair, I can deal with life, etc. Then, I went to put something in the mail, and it had already come and I received some unpleasant news that made me want to stop counting my blessings. I was not very happy...

I stood at the ironing board, (I was using it as my table to write my list) and stared up at the ceiling, I had no desire to count my blessings... I took a very deep breath and had to force the highlighter back in my hand. Ridiculous blessings started to cross my mind.

I'm grateful that we have a kitchen floor that all of those shoes can be scattered on.

I'm grateful we have a house that can hold all of this mess.

I'm grateful for the toilet that John needs to clean that we can use the bathroom.

I'm grateful I have a pen to write with.

Okay, so I got a little sidetracked, but I tried. But, at least for half the day I spent counting some real blessings, and laughing. It really did make me feel a little better.

Then, last night I watched the movie Seven Pounds with Will Smith. I totally cried (you would too). It helped me put things in perspective. Life could be so much worse. Yeah, it really is unfair, and the movie showed that, but it's really wonderful too. Talk about random acts of kindness!! Seeing the issues in that movie made me feel a titch ungrateful, and helped me see I really did need to count my blessings.

The orange highlighter awaits...

Blogging Book Club Review Post

Okay, so I picked a book a lot of you had read already, you can still leave your thoughts if you'd like though.

Because we have unlimited funds for this blogging book club, I decided for this book club party review post we are flying to Europe. We'll visit World War II sites and visit the Hiding Place Museum in Holland. We'll discuss the book in flight while enjoying our peanuts and ginger ale.

I love good books that have a good message, and inspire me - this book did not let me down. I expected this book to be about Corrie ten Boom and how great she was helping the Jews escape, and what great faith she had. Though, the message I thought to be the strongest in this book was really about Corrie learning from her sister Betsie. For, Betsie was an amazing person loving unconditionally, and she had such great faith.

On the night World War II arrived in Holland, Corrie and Betsie had leaped from bed at the sound of explosions coming from outside, and they knelt to pray together,

Betsie and I knelt down by the piano bench. For what seemed hours we prayed for our country, for the dead and injured tonight, for the Queen. And then, incredibly, Betsie began to pray for the Germans, up there in the planes, caught in the fist of the giant evil loose in Germany. I looked at my sister kneeling beside me in the light of burning Holland. "Oh Lord, " I whispered, "listen to Betsie, not me, because I cannot pray for those men at all." (p.79)

It was the end of a long day of standing, marching and waiting to get into the bunkers of another camp,

"Betsie!" I wailed, "how long will it take?"

"Perhaps a long, long time. Perhaps many years. But what better way could there be to spend our lives?"

I turned to stare at her. "Whatever are you talking about?"

"These young women. That girl back at the bunkers. Corrie if people can be taught to hate, they can be taught to love! We must find the way, you and I, no matter how long it takes..."

She went on, almost forgetting in her excitement to keep her voice to a whisper, while I slowly took in the fact that she was talking about our guards. I glanced at the matron seated at the desk ahead of us. I saw a gray uniform and a visored hat; Betsie saw a wounded human being.

And I wondered, not for the first time, what sort of person she was, this sister of mine... what kind of road she followed while I trudged beside her on the all-too-solid earth. (p. 188)

In another part of the book, Betsie and Corrie moved into new barracks at Ravensbruck, an extermination camp for women, and they had been reading the Bible (they were able to keep one hidden almost the whole time they were in these camps and read it and share it with those around them) and they read in First Thessalonian that they need to give thanks in all circumstances,

"That's it, Corrie! That's His answer. 'Give thanks in all circumstances!' That's what we can do. We can start right now to thank God for every single thing about this new barracks!"

I stared at her, than around me at the dark, foul-aired room.

"Such as?" I said.

"Such as being assigned her together."

I bit my lip. "Oh yes, Lord Jesus!"

"Such as what you're holding in your hands."

I looked down at the Bible. "Yes! Thank You, dear Lord, that there was no inspection when we entered here! Thank You for all the women, here in this room, who will meet You in these pages."

"Yes," said Betsie. "Thank you for the very crowding here. Since we're packed so close, that many more will hear!" She looked at me expectantly. "Corrie!" she prodded.

"Oh, all right. Thank You for the jammed, crammed, stuffed, packed, suffocating crowds."

"Thank You," Betsie went on serenely, "for the fleas and for-"

The fleas! This was too much. "Betsie, there's no way even God can make me grateful for a flea."

"Give thanks in all circumstances," she quoted. "It doesn't say 'pleasant circumstances.' Fleas are part of this place where God has put us."

And so we stood between piers of bunks and gave thanks for fleas. But this time I was sure Betsie was wrong. (p.210)

A little while later Corrie returned to her barracks after a days work at the camp to find Betsie's eyes twinkling,

"You're looking extraordinarily pleased with yourself," I told her.

"You know we've never understood why we had so much freedom in the big room," she said. (She would take the Bible in there and read while others worked because she knitted so fast and would reach her quota so quickly.) "Well - I've found out."

That afternoon, she said, there'd been confusion in her knitting group about sock sizes and they'd asked the supervisor to come and settle it.

"But, she wouldn't. She wouldn't step through the door and neither would the guards. And you know why?"

Betsie could not keep the triumph for her voice: "Because of the fleas! That's what she said, 'That place is crawling with fleas!'"

My mind rushed back to our first hour in this place. I remembered Betsie's bowed head, remembered her thanks to God for creatures I could see no use for. (p. 220)

Corrie eventually was assigned to work in this big room with Betsie, and she described it as the most "joyous weeks" while in Ravensbruck. They shared the Bible with the women in that room, and prayed together.

"And as we prayed, God spoke to us about the world after the war. It was extraordinary; in this place where whistles and loudspeakers took the place of decisions, God asked us what we were going to do in the years ahead." (p. 222)

Betsie had the answer, they were going to have a large home where people who had been damaged by concentration-camp life would come until they felt ready to live again in the normal world again. Betsie would describe this house very specifically, as if she had been there before.

In one of their last conversations before Betsie died, she was telling Corrie about the home they were going to have and the work that they had to do together, and Betsie talked about the people that would come would plant flowers and garden,

"It will be so good for them... watching things grow. People can learn to love, from flowers..."

I knew by now which people she meant. The German people.

"... It's ready and waiting for us... such tall, tall windows! The sun is streaming in." Betsie told her. (p.226)

Betsie died in camp, and after the war, when Corrie had been home a while someone approached her about using their home for Corries efforts. Corrie went to check out the house,

I didn't answer. I was staring up at the gabled roof and the leaded windows. Such tall, tall windows....

"Are there-" my throat was dry. "Are there inlaid floors inside..."

She then asked the lady if there were the other same features that Betsie had described to her back in the concentration camp.

Mrs. Bierens de Haan looked at me in surprise. "You've been here then! I don't recall-"

"No," I said, "I heard about it from-"

I stopped. How could I explain what I did not understand?

"From someone who's been here," she finished simply, not understanding my perplexity.

"Yes," I said "From someone who's been here."

I loved this book. There are so many great messages and stories in this book, I didn't even scratch the surface, I may blog about some more of them some other time.

I just loved the example of these two Ten Boom sisters. Had I been placed in this situation, I know I would not have been able to look at things so positively as Betsie did, and see the good in even her prison guards.

If we were all only a little more like Betsie and Corrie Ten Boom...

Emilys Post

Last week, I finally mailed my thank you cards from Christmas. A little late, I know. I have had quite a few of them written for a long time. Some of them waited patiently on my ironing board to be mailed, and then carelessly left on the floor in my bedroom waiting to be addressed. It’s pathetic.

Emily Post’s, Etiquette states this: The two most important things to strive for when writing thank-you notes are sincerity and promptness.

At least I got the sincerity part.

I seem to have gotten worse over the years with thank you cards. I think it is because the older I get the more indebted I feel to everyone. Have you noticed some thank you cards are just harder to write than others? I have decided that is what really delays me. Sometimes a thank you card doesn’t seem like enough. Like it doesn’t really show the depth of my gratitude, and I feel silly writing pitiful words. I really struggle writing thank you cards for things that really mean a lot to me, usually to my parents. Words sometimes cannot adequately express my thanks, just like when you can’t find that perfect gift to tell someone they mean so much to you.

My mom taught us to send thank you cards for everything. Every Christmas we had to sit down and write our thank you cards.

If I had found this when I was a kid I would have read it to her, “In general, a thank-you is expected for any gift not opened in the giver’s presence, (but I would have stopped there) but it’s a good idea to have your child write notes for most presents, even if she thanked the givers in person.” (From Emily Post’s, Etiquette)

Also from Etiquette: Children who are familiarized with thank-you notes early are less likely to regard this essential courtesy as a chore, and teaching should begin well before children can write.

It was a chore to watch my mother write thank you cards. Thank you cards were hard for her to write. She wanted them to be perfect. Have you ever known someone to write rough drafts for thank you cards? She did, sometimes multiple drafts. She wanted them to be thoughtful and personal, to really show her appreciation, and to be error free. I think most of us never really got it. “Mom, write thank you, why you appreciate it, what you did with it, and that’s it.” It does seem simple doesn’t it?

As I looked over some of the thank you cards she has written me, they all brought me to tears. They aren’t just thank you cards. They are “you are the best cards,” “you can do it cards,” “I love you so much cards,” and so on. “Thank you” just happens to be written on the outside of the card, her love is on the inside.

From Etiquette: Two characteristics distinguish a well-written note: personality and genuine interest in others.

Even though my mother was writing to thank me for something, she was showing her genuine interest in me. I think that is why thank you cards were so hard for her. They weren’t just thank you cards; the thank you card was another way to tell the person she was writing she loved them.

My brother, Jeryl, is the epitome of showing personality in thank you cards. I couldn’t find the more recent funny ones, but here are some examples his personality,

“Thanks for the gifts you sent by your little elves. Heather really loves her head ornament (I gave her a hat). Heather is appreciative of the napkins, the napkin rings, and the book. Jeryl tries to be dainty when he uses the napkins.”

“Also, thanks for all the great fun we had. Volleyball, Rook, Balderdash, Risk (Jeryl apologizes to John for allowing Jon to take Europe without a struggle), and all the other games were wonderful.”

I enjoy the hand-made thank you cards from my nieces and nephews too. This one is from my nephew, Lanning.




Also, from Etiquette: Express appreciation for the specific gift or kindness.

Have you ever received a thank you card, and it was just generic, not even mentioning the gift you took time to pick out, or even make? I don’t give a gift just to receive the thanks, but I must admit to feeling a little slighted that they wouldn’t mention it, or what they thought about it. I often think, “they must have hated it or they would have mentioned it.” I will admit though, I have mailed off a thank you card and two days later realized I forgot something that I should have said thank you for. (sorry if it was your thank you card) We shouldn’t take offense, obviously, if we receive cards like that, now I just try to think they must have forgot to mention it. Emily Post just reminds us we need to mention it. Sometimes we don’t mention it all by not sending a thank you note. Once again, I try to keep in mind sometimes our brains are fried and we forget. (once again, sorry it it was your thank you card I forgot)

Etiquette states, “There are no hard-and-fast rules about the content of thank-you notes...”

I think the one hard-and-fast rule is just to say it, and remember that sometimes it means more than just “thank you.”