Tancy Talks

I have always loved Thanksgiving.  The holiday that MOST people can agree on.  Who in their right mind isn’t thankful for something.  You can’t argue about Thanksgiving. I mean, I realize that people call it Turkey Day or do not give true thanks to the God that has blessed them, but most people are thankful for something.

I sit here on the day before Thanksgiving and I can’t help but think about years past.

Thanksgiving Eve 1993 – My grandpa had been having lots of heart trouble. He had open heart surgery earlier that week.  I remember that his situation was dire and the hospital had given us an entire waiting room for our personal use.  We were sleeping, eating, and spending our time between updates from nurses and the two-at-a-time visits.  I remember barely sleeping, and the nights turning to morning in a blur.  Very early that morning, his heart finally gave up.

I remember being inconsolable.   What is strange is my most vivid memory is Pastor Swanson arriving shortly after he was gone.  I remember him hugging me. I remember his cologne. I remember the feel of his shirt. I remember his coat.  I remember where we were standing. The rest of the night is a blur.  It seems strange to remember THAT, but that is what I remember of that Thanksgiving Eve.

Honestly, I don’t even remember if we had Thanksgiving dinner that year. I really don’t even remember his funeral.  I just remember him being gone and how much it hurt.

Years went on, and new Thanksgivings softened the memories.  I began to love Thanksgiving again.  Some years were rough, but most were great.

Thanksgiving Eve 2005 – Again, so much time is a blur.  We had had two months of insanity. A sudden cross-country move and then the early birth of this spectacular little boy stretched us thin.  From the day he was born, he had been a NICU resident.  If you had been in NICU, the emotional roller coaster is exhausting.  We so wanted our baby boy home by Thanksgiving, and God answered our prayers.  We brought him “Home” to my parents house where we were squatting, on Thanksgiving Eve.  I remember feeling that life had made a full circle from death unto new life 12 years later.

I sit here on a rather ordinary day that happens to be another Thanksgiving Eve.  Sure, we have been fighting a nasty little cold and fever thing, and my husband is overwhelmed by food poisoning, but nothing too exciting.  It is a pretty ordinary day.  I am so thankful for a nice ordinary day.

I am so thankful for how extraordinarily I am blessed!

I am so thankful on this Thanksgiving Eve that I am surrounded in my little home, by my little family, and that God has giving me that.

 

Is it a full moon?

Have they been drinking some Mountain Dew?

Has someone fed them red food coloring?

Are we on Candid Camera?

Because the animals in this house have gone crazy.

We all know what happened to the dog…

And pretty soon I will blog about the coyote…

But it all started around here yesterday morning.  The kids came storming in to inform us that there was a groundhog… or a really big squirrel… or large chipmunk… maybe a skunk… or a possum… in the shed.  Jp instantly went for his pellet gun.  They were pretty sure it was a ground hog.

Imagine, JP and I stalking a wild animal in the shed.  See four children… “Helping”

Add flashlights and a pitchfork, and you might get a good mental picture.

When we finally all calmed down enough to get a good look, it was indeed an animal.

It was a fluffy tan CAT!  We had to move a ton of stuff out of the shed, including a broken riding lawn mower with flat tires that the cat was using as its panic room, but we finally shooed the cat.

It then ran around the house, and right into our garage.

We have caught glimpses of her, but that is about it. We can hear her running about. We see the stuff she knocks down.

Later that afternoon, JP called me into our room where his beloved little mouse lives in her cage.  “Sylvia” is a white mouse with black spots and a excellent temperament   We noticed that she has been acting strange, but we finally discovered why.  It seems there were TWO young BROWN mice in her cage!  Please tell me how this happens?

How does a single WHITE mouse get baby BROWN mice in her cage?

We do hide Sylvia in the garage or the shed when Grandma comes to visit, but could she have gotten pregnant in a cage?

Could a field mouse have given birth to them on  her cage?

We were baffled.  We put the entire cage into a rubbermaid and left it until the morning.

This morning, I noticed the absence of chirping from the front room, and I soon discovered that poor Freddy had finally joined his three previous wives in Bird Heaven.  If anyone (like Julie, Joanna, or Lorrie) remembers that last bird death in our home you will know why this worried us as parents.

Just imagine the wailing.

After the bird crisis was contained, JP went to our room to discuss the mouse problem. He lifted the top of the cage off, and I had the bottom of the cage.  Well, little baby mouse decided he didn’t like that and he jumped right out of the cage, ran across our bed and disappeared.

Call in Manchild to help.

Three people chasing a two inch mouse.

Phone rings. My mom (who is terrified of mice) calls from MO. I knew I couldn’t tell her about the escapee because she would have a heart attack, so I had to just keep chatting.

I sent in oldest girlee. Trying NOT to alert little kids.

More chasing.

Eventually, I return to the hunt and the four of us are chasing tiny rodent. Under the bed, behind the dressers, behind the chair, Up, down, back forth.

Our tools consisted of a roll of wrapping paper, a used Priority mail box, and a Road Ranger Cup.

Tiny little Mickey got caught in cup more than once, and escaped.

After a wasted hour, and the destruction of our bedroom, tiny mouse was finally caught in Road Ranger cup.

Tiny mouse siblings were then taken to the woods and let free to live as mice should.

This is my life.

And I wouldn’t trade it for the world.

 

 

Tonight, I am weary and just plain worn out.

My thoughts dwell with Mary and Martha. Recently, my friend Karen and I attempted an online study on the book Having a Mary Heart in a Martha World. I really struggled with the study. In fact, I totally flopped. I kept getting hung up on the author’s scolding of Martha.

Poor Martha.

Considering the fact that I am a Martha, I took up great offense for poor Martha. She was just trying to do what she thought needed to be done. She was frustrated that she was the only one in the kitchen while Mary was simply LOUNGING AROUND JESUS’ FEET!

The Mary and Martha war rages continually in my heart. I would love to sit at Jesus’ feet. I want to sit and soak it all up, but I can’t.

Why does Martha have to be the bad guy?

What if your life requires you to be a Martha?

Can you be called to being a Martha?

What happens when Martha is tired?

I think that our trip south has stirred this fight within. I was able to sit and listen to my husband preach for five straight services. Beside the fact that he is my husband (and I am sure I am biased), he is enjoyable to listen too. Time flies, and yet my soul is fed.

Also, we were the guests, and it was certainly wonderful to be treated as one. The food was fantastic, and what made it even better was that I did not have to cook any of it! It was such a treat. We were well cared for.

For the one who is usually the caregiver, this was amazing.

But, alas we must return to our real lives. The lives that we are called to. The life where I am the caregiver again.

I struggle with fatigue.
I struggle with control.
I struggle with my attitude.
I struggle with my focus.

I KNOW that God can give me the strength… even when I am tired. I must just trust that He will.

I KNOW that my need for control is sinful. It is a pride issue. I am NOT in control, and if I was, it would be VERY scary.

I KNOW that it is MY attitude that needs to change.

I KNOW that if my focus is not on Christ and giving him glory, that I am going to sink just like Peter.

So why is it so hard?

 

Second morning in Lesterville, and I actually slept last night.  AFTER, I stayed up half the night praying and writing for my chance to speak to WMU this morning.  God changed everything I thought I was supposed to say. I plan on blogging about what was able to share at WMU.

Our first stop this morning was at the local General Store.

It was nice to step back into time. The store owner was waiting for us and had prepared a plate of the most delicious peanut butter cookies that I have ever had!

One one of the many shelves of antiques, I found this fantastic set of metal cups.

My dad’s mom had this same set in their home in Albuquerque. I grew up drinking from those metal cups. I always thought that the water tasted fantastic in those cups (I later realized that the water tasted great because it was from their well) and I was sad when they vanished.

I tried to buy the set from Dawn, but it wasn’t for sale. 🙁

We moved through town and saw the sites 🙂

I love the quaintness of the town.

Our next stop was at the Baptist Women’s Day of Prayer. We had a wonderful time with the ladies there. My husband was able to speak to them, and spend some time with Scott and Steve. These two men were on our missions team for VBS.

Our meal tonight was with Scott and Lesley Sanders. Scott made a fantastic smoked pork. He gave us an entire roast to take home! Delish.

Tonight we had a wonderful service with the people at Fellowship Baptist church.

I must say that I love it here. I love the pace and the people.

Twenty four hours into our stay in Lesterville, MO…

All is quiet here.  I love it.  I am enjoying the absence of television and internet.  We can make and receive phone calls, but our smart phones are resembling the kids who ride the special bus.  When you pull up Facebook, you drop your phone on the table and walk away to accomplish something while the phone slowly accomplishes its task.

Our children are enthralled with a VCR.  They haven’t used one of those in a long time, and enjoyed watching a movie backwards this afternoon.  A game system sits in the master bedroom, and I heard that it works.  I have a feeling it is many generations previous to my husband’s precious 360.

The boy child is in his element, much as I am in mine.  He is happily scampering about outside playing with rocks and sticks and anything else he may find.  His sisters aren’t quite as busy as he is, but they are happy nonetheless.

My husband… well, let’s just say that the city is deep within that boy!  We went on a short walk through the woods, and it wasn’t his favorite activity.  He misses his constant connectivity, and he is scheming to drive to the big city and find an internet hotspot.

 

The back woods of Missouri, and I am happily in the country.