Hi Beautiful!

After a rough weekend and an old argument that resurfaced in our marriage, my husband and I were moving around our house like repelling magnets. When Sunday morning came, I wanted God to fix our troubles and fix me, starting with my heart. I wanted to be reminded how to love, forgive, and reconcile. I knew if I could just get to church, I’d be on the right track. So, I woke early, slipped on the clothes I’d left in a pile the night before along with the previous day's socks and tennis shoes. I ran a comb through my slightly greasy hair, brushed my teeth and cleaned last night’s mascara from around my eyes. I drove to church before 8 am and suddenly, there they were, the whole passel of overzealous, smiling greeters shaking all the church goers' hands too enthusiastically right outside the main entrance. I snickered sarcastically inside and imperceptibly shook my head. I wasn't finding a lot to be happy about and didn't feel like being greeted. Even in my grumpiness, the loud Christian music and the cheerful atmosphere started to soften my heart. I was beginning to feel the positive effects of the environment, but I purposely slipped behind the front door greeters near the main entrance and continued to walk the gauntlet towards the sanctuary reluctantly accepting well-meaning greetings and smiles.  I even shook a few outstretched hands. Inside of me there was deep sadness but inside the church there was palpable joy.  Although I was looking for healing, I was entrenched in my anger and actively resisting joy. But somehow among the many cheerful greeters, there was this one guy. He was maybe my age or a little younger, medium height, not necessarily in peak physical condition, but wearing a huge smile. He saw me coming and in a very ordinary, uncomplicated way, said, “Hi Beautiful!” I laughed out loud! He couldn’t be talking to me.

As I got closer, he reached his hand out to me. I tried to squelch my smirky grin, still amused at his "beautiful" comment. I was un-showered, unfriendly and uninterested in being greeted, but he had a sense of humor. I accepted his handshake and said, “You’re very funny, and thanks, I needed that this morning.” You see I was not and didn't feel beautiful in any capacity, but he was the hand of God reaching out to me. I don’t know who he is and couldn’t pick him out of a lineup, but he offered me exactly what I needed. Old age, marriage challenges, greasy hair, last night’s makeup and clothes, and my bitter attitude didn’t stop the love of God from reaching me this morning through a greeter who dared to say, “Hi Beautiful” to an older woman who felt unlovable and anything but beautiful. He was seeing each person who entered church as a child of God, fearfully and wonderfully made. Psalms 139:14 He was bringing God’s love to the church attendees and reaching people far from God. I’m so grateful.

 

The Ring

While it seemed we were always in a hurry, this particular morning, we were on schedule. Zach was safely in his car seat and our arrival in the drop off line of his 4-year-old pre-school would be right on time. I strapped myself in, started the Honda, put my hands on the steering wheel and prepared to back down the driveway. But something was off. Pausing to think, I looked at my hands and realized my wedding rings and birthstone ring were still on the kitchen windowsill where I left them after scrubbing the sink while our two sons ate breakfast. Andy was a second grader and had already joined his walking group to make his way to second grade at Orange Hunt Elementary School three blocks up the hill. Tom had left early that morning for the Johns’ Hopkins School of Advanced International Studies where he was working on his PhD. I needed to go get my rings.

I turned off the car and explained to Zach I was going to run back in the house and get my wedding ring. He said, “Okey Dokey” which was his normal affirmative response at the time. I was back in less than a minute with my rings on my hands and began again to back down the driveway. From the back seat I heard Zach’s sweet little voice say, “Good thing you got your rings, Mommy.” Curious about his thinking on the whole marriage concept I asked, “Why is that honey?” He said, “Without them, people wouldn’t know I was yours!”

At that moment I understood that his concept of marriage and family included permanence, ownership, belonging, safety, security, stability, and love. He wanted to be associated with me and I with him. My heart swelled. His little voice and big heart offered insight into his love for us as his family. That wedding ring connected us all for now and forever.

Just a Half Mile West of the Farm

When our sons were young, we would drive to the farm in North Dakota and spend a couple of weeks living the fabulous farm life each summer. My parents would put us up and we'd enjoy outdoor fun, tractor rides, combine rides, golf cart driving, go cart driving, picnics, family, cousins, reunions, and church. We puddle stomped on rainy days, we rode rafts on the coulee, we made forts in the trees, we walked fields, we packed lunches to take on hikes through the "time tunnel" and tall grass to magical places while our imaginations ran wild. I was inexorably compelled to make the trip each year and we made terrific memories.

My memories started early as a little girl growing up on that farm. My respect for my Dad, Uncle, Grandpas, Brother and other farmers steered me into agriculture as a career. My fascination with the beauty, productivity, and miracle of seeds developing into harvestable crops remains. The chemistry of the soils, the joy of the seasons, the dependence on the weather, the demands of technology, the teamwork, and the intuitive "art of farming" still hold me captive. 

For 25 years, while our family grew, I reserved two weeks in the fall to help with sugar beet harvest on the farm. I'd drive my truck from midnight to noon loading and unloading as many times as I could as a part of the harvest crew. It was invigorating! It was scary, fun, difficult, challenging and magical. Being on the harvest team filled me and thrilled me, and my Mom, who loved the farm even more than me, noticed.

When I'd get off my 12 hour shift at noon, Mom and I would review the progress of the crew and scout the next field that would be harvested paying special attention to the crossings where the large trucks would enter and exit. This was important as I'd be coming back to work in the dark, and loaded trucks on narrow crossings had to be managed with care. Seeing the approaches to the fields in the daylight would help me navigate my loaded semi on those crossings at night. Then Mom and I would drive on and share our stories of our truck driving and farm experiences and we'd grow even closer. One day as we came back to the farm she pointed at the beautiful cottonwood trees just a half mile west of the farm and remarked how appropriate it was that I loved the farm so much. Then her face softened even more, she smiled, almost shyly, and gently shared the following story.

When my parents were 25 years old, they had three little children (Laurie - 4 1/2, Rob - 3, and Pam 2 months) and lived on the Green Farm. They earned the right to live there as the oldest children of George and Johanna Green. They managed the farm along with Dad's sister Carol and her husband Ralph Tucker. They were young, fun and extremely busy. On a pretty evening in late May of 1957, they arranged for a baby sitter and went on their first "date" since bringing their newest baby home. The date plan was actually just a "crop tour" into St. Thomas, ND (6.5 miles away) by way of the fields they were farming, a visit with friends at the American Legion Club, a few adult beverages, and a quiet drive home. They knew that once they got home they'd need to take the baby sitter home, deal with any little ones who might still be up, clean, organize and plan for the next day. They were a little reluctant to hurry right home. The evening was delightful, warm and starry, and one of them had a twinkle in his eye. 

Mom says they stopped the car and threw a blanket onto the soft green grass under the cottonwood trees that rustled in the light evening breeze. They were just a half mile west of the farm. She said they felt like irresponsible kids, smugly delighted with their growing family, the beautiful crops, and the love they shared. She knew she couldn't get pregnant because she was still nursing her 2 month old baby Pamela. But she was wrong.

Nine months later my parents welcomed their fourth child. My sister Pam and I are Irish Twins (no offense intended to the Irish!) and proud of it. All of us kids know we were conceived in love and I appreciate (and am quite amazed) that Mom shared this story with me. 

Someday, I hope someone will toss some of my ashes out... just a half mile west of the farm. 

 

Belief

When I was in elementary school, I was a big fan of anything gymnastics. I learned to do cartwheels, back walkovers, and handstands at home with the help of my sister and Hollywood Palace, a tv talent show that featured a wide variety of performers. We would watch the show and try to imitate the gymnastics skills of the performers. We'd also sing our hearts out to be like the singers, but the gymnasts motivated me.

On one of the shows I saw a woman do a cartwheel without using her hands. I called it a "no-hand cartwheel" and would later learn that gymnasts called it an aerial. After seeing this gymnastics move performed on tv, I was determined to learn to do it. I began practicing in earnest. 

My technique was to do a cartwheel and use my hands less and less each time. I'd speed up my efforts and touch and release my hands. I'd do cartwheels over and over using my hands less and less. I'd push off harder from my supporting leg and fling my legs over my head to touch down again with out the use of my hands, if possible. I was marginally successful but believed I was making progress. I worked and worked without any coaching or a clue as to how to make it happen. 

I did all my gymnastics training in the living room and adjoining dining room of the old farm house in the evenings where I grew up. My Mom was usually in the kitchen and my Dad was often in the living room either reading the paper or watching the tv at the end of the day. He tolerated me flying by with these cartwheels landing right in front of his chair for days on end because winter in North Dakota on a farm doesn't offer a lot of options. 

On one night in the winter in my 10th year, with Dad sitting in his chair, I did it! I did the "no-hand cartwheel" without my hands! My dad looked up just in time to see it happen and gave me a big smile as I beamed with my success. I had done it! I would do it again. 

I was sweaty and tired, I had used the short carpeted runway in the living room over and over again and I had done an aerial and my Dad had witnessed it. Then Dad sent me to bed. Not sure if he was tired of watching the Tasmanian devil spin past him all night or not, but he said, "Well done, now its time for bed." 

Naturally, I fussed and whined, but I went to bed fully tired and fully pleased. 

The next day and many following days I worked at my "no-hand cartwheel." I had marginal success, but it seemed when Dad was in the room I had more success. His presence, even when he wasn't paying attention, made me try harder. I believed more in myself when he was watching and I had greater success when he was in the room. So, I began to believe that I could do the aerial if he was watching. He continued to give me positive feedback when I'd accomplish the objective. It happened more often, in fact almost always, when he was in the room. 

When my Aunt Lorraine (Mom's sister) was visiting, my Mom mentioned that I was wearing out the carpet with my attempts at a "no-hand cartwheel" and had finally learned to do it. My Aunt said, "Let's see her do it!" They called me in from playing with my cousins and asked me to show this skill. I was hopeful but lacked confidence that I'd actually be able to demonstrate this new feat. I made a couple of attempts without success. Then I got a break. 

Dad was working at the farm shop that day and at that moment he came in the back door. I was struggling to perform the aerial and said, "If Dad watches, I can do it." He smiled at me and instantly gave me confidence. The others in attendance (my cousins had come inside to see this aerial cartwheel too) were not as convinced as I had failed in a number of attempts. But as soon as I saw my Dad I knew with him watching, it would be easy for me. 

I lined up at the far end of the dining room and looked at my Dad. He gave me the look that I knew meant I was his little girl and nothing was impossible. I took the four quick steps, pushed off with my supporting right leg and made it happen! My Aunt Lorraine and cousins cheered. It was a success. Dad smiled at me, grabbed a cookie, some coffee and went back to work at the shop. 

It happened a few other times where I wanted to perform this aerial. If I had trouble, even when I was just practicing, I'd ask Dad to come watch, and I'd do it to perfection. His presence was all I needed. His presence was the manifestation of my confidence. He believed in me more than I believed in myself. He never took credit for my success, he just believed in me. I borrowed his belief and knew that his confidence in me made anything possible. 

Did I make her proud?

I could tell when she wasn't happy, I could tell when she didn't like my decisions.  I could tell when she was disappointed, but over all, did I make her proud?

When Tom and I announced our engagement, I think we shocked her a bit.  She suddenly saw what I didn't even know enough to see.  She knew that a military husband would take me away, away from everything I knew and her.  I was too in love to see that.  She saw that clearly, and in hindsight, I saw the realization in her eyes.

But she loved me and wanted me to be happy, follow my dreams and follow my love. After all, she did.  She followed her military man to Fort Knox, Kentucky during the Korean war and I know she was the sweetest little military wife in the world.  She washed and ironed his shirts to perfection, learned the ways of the Army and gave birth to my brother in a military hospital without any "help" for the pain of childbirth.  She joined her neighbors for social fun, cared for her baby girl Laurie and supported Dad.

As a military wife I didn't iron shirts.  We had a baby in a military hospital and I did it without medication, just like Mom.  We did the whole socializing bit and she loved to hear about our adventures.  I love to tell her about my military volunteer efforts and I think that made her proud. We shared the military wife gig.  She was a military wife. She was my Mom. She was. She was. I am so proud and I love because she loved me and taught me to love.
She loved with the joy of the Lord.

She loved without apology. 
She loved with the knowledge of salvation.
We shared a faith born of Love. 

 The Valentine

The dust motes floated in the sunlight that streamed in the east windows of the old farmhouse on that sunny, bitterly cold February morning. I stood on the large furnace floor grate and absorbed the warmth of the heat rising up all around me. Staring through the heat waves made everything beyond appear wavy and distorted. The grate appeared to be moving under my feet and completely captured my attention. It was a fascinating optical illusion and the warmth felt so good.  

I had just gotten dressed and eaten hot buttered toast before assuming my place on the furnace grate. It was the prime location where we kids all stood, warmed up, and waited for each other in the cold winter months.  The rising heat would fill my pant legs and force its way up my sleeves completely removing the winter chill. My feet would get so warm I'd have to step off the furnace to keep them from burning in my winter boots.  I was thoroughly warm, in fact toasty. Mom had gotten me ready for Sunday School first as I was the youngest at 6 years old. Next she would go upstairs and encourage the older kids to get out of their pajamas, get dressed, grab a bite to eat, don their coats, mittens and hats, hop in the car and off we'd go to Sunday School with Dad behind the wheel. 

But before she started up the stairs, Mom paused from her busy morning and handed me a precious little red plastic heart with conversation valentine candy inside. She was clearly occupied with tasks running through her brain but she hugged me quick and said, "This is for you. Happy Valentine's Day!" 

At first I didn't know what my Mom had given me, but through the clear plastic lid I could see colorful candies with words on them. As excited as I was at the thought of eating those sweet candies, I was more excited with the moment, the gift, and knowing it was mine. Although I knew about paper Valentines cards, I was unused to Valentine's Day gifts and was filled with gratitude and probably greed as I recognized that those candies were just for me. I'm confident Mom had a little heart with candy for each of her four kids, but in that moment, nothing existed except me, Mom and the little plastic heart loaded with sweetness. 

I can't recall if I ate a candy before Sunday School or not. In fact, I don't remember anything else about that day except how special I felt in that one moment. Mom gave me a sweet little heart that day, and since the first time my heart recognized the beat of hers, she has loved me. I'll always have that joy. 

Thanks Mom. Happy Valentine's Day.

Service and Sacrifice

In honor of my Mom and Dad on the 4th of July, I'm posting her recollections that include a recap of Dad's time serving in the US Army and more. Thanks for your service to our country, Dad and thanks for standing by him, Mom.

From my Mother's Journal.

November 4, 2011

59 years ago today (11/4/52) my husband had to leave for the army. We had been married for 6 months and were working on the farm with his mother and father. When we got the letter that he was selected we did nothing to stop the process as his uncle Floyd Green was on the committee for the war department at Cavalier and it would not look too good if we used him for an excuse. I started crying as soon as the letter came and kept right on crying ‘til he left. Grandpa George cried with me. That first night I put his work boots by my bed and grabbed one of his shirts and wore it to bed and started a letter than night. I’d write a page a night telling him all the days events. He went to Kentucky and did well as a soldier. We thought he would be coming home for Christmas, but it didn’t happen. So we wrote to each other every day and I’d be standing at the mailbox waiting for the mailman. (His name was Lowell Livingood.) Whenever there was a letter he would blink his car lights a few times and I’d jump up and down and wait. He wrote of all the stuff he was learning and doing, a lot of walking. He had a chance to go to OCS (Officers Candidate School) but some how it didn’t happen and he felt lucky after hearing about all the guys who did make it and went to the front lines in Korea. He was responsible for a lot of guys going through basic training. And then they found out he was good at typing he got the job of Ammunitions Records Clerk in an office with a nice group of men. By the time spring came around we had a little girl and she and I joined him in Kentucky. Laurie became her Daddy’s greatest follower. She would get so excited when he got home at night, and she would say, “There he is!” But it didn’t not sound like that. She would even salute him.

Every day we thought it would be our last day together as men were leaving for Korea daily. Then it was quite obvious that I was pregnant again so soon and we had a May 13^th baby boy. It was that doggone furlough in August of 1953 to combine wheat that I got pregnant again. Oh well, we love kids.

We met a lot of nice people and we seemed very happy. November 4^th, 1954, we came home to the farm. Grandpa and Gran’ma Green went to California for the winter and we took over the farm house along with El Prigge, the hired man that had been here for many years, a very nice fellow. Both he and Manvel worked at the potato plant in St. Thomas washing out spuds or tying sacks. The deep freeze was stocked full of beef and pork and we had lots of potatoes. El would help with the dishes after supper and Manvel played with Laurie and our new baby boy, Robert. We had a fun winter. We had a few people over for meals, played cards, and cribbage.

When spring came Grandpa and Grandma came home and then rented a house in Grafton before buying a home on 7^th street west (451 West 7^th Street) where they lived many years. We were not through having children. We had Pam in March of ’57 and Karen in Feb ’58. We were always lucky to have good help with the washing, ironing, vacuuming and I cuddled my babies, washed, fed and sang to them. I just loved my job of being a mother. Manvel was very helpful with dressing them for bed after baths and reading stories and a good Daddy!

The growing up years went fast. We seemed to be going to someone’s game and school programs (we enjoyed these little people very much) and loved all the activities. We were very pleased with their interests in Christian activities. Rob had perfect attendance in Sunday School. Now when I was growing up at the Lutheran Church, when you had perfect attendance for a year you got a gold tiny cross pin. But, Robert got his whole record of gold stars. He never was ill, but the girls sometimes missed because of illness. I was so proud of Rob being head of Sunday School and working so hard with young Christians. The girls did a lot of singing for church and school. Laurie and her friends had a little group that played guitars and sang called The Farmer’s Daughters. Rob enjoyed playing basketball and the last year of high school he played football. He was always needed at home after school to help on the farm. The gals all took piano lessons and now I wish that we would have had Robert take piano because he liked it so much when he got older. But, none of his buddies were interested.  At that time not very many boys were taking lessons at all. Today I’m sad over this fact. Our 4 children brought us so much joy and fun. We really had some wonderful meal talks. Manvel laid down the law that if the phone rang, the person was told they would be called back after dinner was over. It worked.