The Little Things

Can you read it? TMI?

My friend posted a picture on her blog of a love note her husband put in her trunk to hang down when her trunk opened up. I love thoughtful things like that. I always tell John that things he puts thought into I will always love more than just spending money on me. I mean, it's okay if he spends money on me sometimes, but it means a lot more if I know it was thoughtful, and it took a little planning.

The little things are my favorite. I came home from being at my Dad's house once a couple of months ago, and I look in my workroom and the screen saver was dancing wildy with the message, "I Love you so much!!!!!!!" It immediately brought a smile to my face. So simple, but knowing that John had thought about doing it, and taking the few seconds to do it, is what meant the most to me. About a month later, I noticed he had changed the screen saver to say what is in the picture above. He's so funny.

Back in May, I was having a really bad week. Really bad. I came home one night and walked in my bedroom and saw the massage table up and ready for me. (SIDE STORY: Did you know John was going to massage therapy school when I met him? He was taking a break from school to do it, so he could work on a cruise ship or something, and then use it to pay for his schooling. He finished before we got married, we paid the money for him to take the certification test, he passed, and he never worked in that field - it's the only school loan we have to finish paying off. So, I say I have my own personal massage therapist; as long as we are having to pay the loan, I should get as many massages as I want. Right?) Anyway, when I walked in the room and saw the table, I thought it was the sweetest thing ever. He knew I was having a hard time, and could use a little stress relief. (Umm... I don't want you to get the wrong idea here. A REAL massage knocks me out. Cold. So much so, if John wakes me up I'm a little cranky. So, don't even go there.)

I think it's those little things that keep a marriage progressing, growing, and fresh. John and I started a notebook a few years after we got married to write "love notes" to each other in, and then leave it in random places for the other to find. There were a few times I would go to take a nap during the day (how I miss those days) and my head would hit the pillow and I would feel the book in my pillow. It has shown up in John's lunch, in someone's Christmas stocking, or sock drawer. It isn't a big thing, but it brings a smile to your face and gives you warm fuzzies, because I knew he took the time to think about how he could make me happy that day.

Of course, that's the secret to a happy marriage, spending your time thinking how you can make your spouse happy, instead of thinking of the things they do that get on your nerves. Oh boy, do I need to do better. I remember in a marriage class I had in college (shouldn't every college require people to take those?) the teacher said, he thought one of the keys to a successful marriage was spending your marriage trying to "one-up" your spouse. That is what he and his wife did. He said if you are spending a lot of time thinking of how you can surprise your spouse that day and bring them a little happiness, you won't have time to focus on the negative things. I liked that. Enough for me to remember it ten years later. I just need to practice it more. It's totally about those little things.

Dear John, (he'll read this in about two weeks or so)

Thanks for taking care of the kids and the meals on Saturday so I could get some work done. You are such a good man. I know I'm pretty lucky.

I Love You,

Holly

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...

Happy Mother's Day

My mom holding Mallary

“If I were to die today, what would my children remember about me?” A bit morbid, I know, but I often consider this thought. It is scary to think of how your children will be raised if you were to die. I know mine are still young, but would they remember anything about me? Would Trevan remember I taught him how to use good manners? Is Mallary just going to remember what my back looks like when I’m working on the computer? Will she remember me rocking her and singing to her? Will the sound of a sewing machine remind them of their mother? Will the TJ Maxx or Marshalls logo make Trevan think of me? Will they remember how often I threw up my hands in frustration while sighing my famous sigh at having to clean up another mess? I’m hoping that they would at least remember my laughter or their silly mommy dancing in the kitchen or in the car. I really do worry what would happen to my children if I were to die. What kind of influence can I have on their lives if I am not around? What stories will they hear about me? Will they know how much I loved them? What my dreams were? What kind of people I hoped they would become?

The possibility of dying and not being able to teach my children the things I want them to know scares me. Am I the only one? What am I leaving them to remember? What lessons will they have learned from me? Do I have the things I want them to know written down somewhere?

After losing my mother last year, I thought about these things even more. I mentioned before how much I treasure my mothers letters to me, and being able to have her journal to read anytime I would like to. Well, last year on mother’s day I started a new tradition of writing a letter to each of my children on Mother’s Day. I will compile them someday and give them to them. So, if I were to leave earlier than I’d hoped, they would know at least a little bit about me, the things I love and believe, and how much I loved them and felt so very fortunate to be their mother. Having had just lost my mother, in each letter I included a little something about Grandma and something that she taught me. That will also be part of the tradition to help them learn a little bit about her and how much she loved them.

One year ago, the first weekend of April, I had my last real conversation with my mother. We were up visiting for conference weekend. We watched conference in the living room as my tiny mother slept stretched out in her make shift bed on the love seat, listening to her snoring come and go. She rested a lot that weekend. I wished I had kept a journal then and written all of this fresh when it happened. I remember her waking up to greet us and exchanging kisses, her playing in the floor with Trevan for a little while, and her wanting to see the scar on my back from my most recent mole removal surgery.

When you know your mother is dying, you find yourself a bit desensitized from the constant resting and discomfort while at the same time wanting to curl up next to her and sob. You try to focus on everything else going on around you to distract you from the sadness (desensitizing myself as a way of coping). I tried to focus on conference that day, because the moment I let my mind drift back to my mother asleep across the room, the tears would start to come.

Later that afternoon Mom had been resting on her bed, and I went up and sat on Dad’s side assuming the normal position, one foot tucked under me, the other one resting on the bed rail.

I am sure I asked how she was feeling, and I am sure she asked what was going on downstairs. That weekend mom wasn’t really carrying on long conversations, and the conversations were kind of random.

“Mom, can I look at your buttons some time to use for some of my crafts?” I asked. That wasn’t the real reason I was there, but I had been thinking about it.

Silence for a little while. Intermittent, random conversation.

I couldn’t hold it back any longer, and I started to cry, “Mom, I’m just so sad.” “Aren’t you just so sad, and frustrated that you have to deal with this?” “Doesn’t it just make you mad?” I can’t remember all the other things I said, but I just let it go. “You deserve to enjoy growing old with dad, and doing all those things you wanted to do.”

My mom was quiet for a few seconds then started, “Your father and I have shared so much. We have had so many special moments through this that I wouldn’t trade for anything. There have been so many miracles.” Then she got emotional, “I just feel so sorry that he has had to deal with all of this.” She got a little more emotional, “Holly, soon I get to see a lot of my family that I haven’t seen in a long time, and look forward to meeting some I have never met before. I will miss my grandchildren, and it makes me sad I won’t get to see Trevan and Mallary grow up. I love my grandchildren so much. I know I’m a child of God. I know that He loves me.”

There was more conversation like this, but I can’t remember any of it. There was silence for a while, and then my mom said, “Make sure to stay on top of your weight. I know it’s hard when you’re nursing.” (I think she remembered we had just had a conversation on the phone about me trying to lose weight) “Ummm, mom, I’m not really worried about it, it will be easier when I stop nursing.”

More silence, and then mom breaks it by saying, “Let’s go look at the buttons.”

I really wasn’t ready for our conversation to end.

“Mom, we don’t have to do that right now.”

She was already out of the bed and walking out of the room. Wiping my eyes I followed her down the hall and down the stairs. “Mom, we don’t have to do this right now.”

She got in the floor and started rummaging through the white cabinets. “Mom, I can do that.”

“Why is your mother in the floor?” (I knew my Dad was going to say that as soon as he walked into the room.) “What is she doing in the floor?” “Mary, get out of the floor.” (yes, out of the floor, not off)

“Dad, I asked her about buttons… I didn’t mean right now… already tried…”

That evening, saying good-bye to my mom was so hard. I think I put it off as long as I could. I hugged her and just held on knowing it would probably be one of the last times. I cried as John backed the car out of the driveway, and I cried off and on the whole trip home.

Mom was put in the hospital soon after that, and passed away about two weeks after that weekend.

You’ve seen those deathbed scenes in movies and on TV, the person dying seems to always have some message for the people they are leaving behind. Last words of wisdom, making people make promises, etc. I expected it to be like that. Mom didn’t say a lot in the hospital, she was kept pretty sedated because of her pain. During that last week while sitting by her bedside, part of me expected her to all of sudden wake up and have some last words of wisdom for us. She didn’t do that, and honestly, I was a little disappointed. Didn’t my mother have any last words of wisdom to leave me? Didn’t she want me to promise to do something?

How silly of me.

Seriously, just within the past few months I realized that my mother didn’t need to leave me with any last words, or advice. She left me with her life full of examples of how I should be living. She didn’t need to make me promise anything; she’s taught me my whole life. I know what she would expect of me, and what she would hope I would be doing. I don’t know why I thought she would feel the need to add anything more.

The only thing she really said while in the hospital was, “I love you.” I think that was the only thing important enough to her for her to muster up the energy to say. Though, I really didn’t need her to tell me that, I knew she loved me - she spent my whole life showing me and telling me that she did.

Hopefully, my children will be able to say the same of me.