Category Archives: faith

Sometimes being normal is a good thing

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I have never wanted to be normal. I like being different. I like bright colored walls, streaks of pink on my hair, making my own chicken broth and although I have many insecurities, I like those things about me. I don’t consider myself weird or strange but also not ordinary.


That is until today. Today I found out I was “normal.” Today I found out I do not have cancer.

For almost eight months now, I have been suffering from constant hip pain. I took an exercise class back in February and I’m not sure what happened but I felt something like a tear in my hip. I had trouble walking out of the class and even to my car. I learned that I didn’t rip any tendons but I haven’t been the same since that class. I’ve been to numerous doctors, physical therapists, massage therapists, you name it and the pain hasn’t abated. I’ve had MRIs, CT scans and felt drained emotionally as the pain has traveled to my back and left hip.

A recent x-ray revealed something that required further tests. I have waited about a week to get the results. This afternoon, as I sat in the doctor’s office today by myself. I alternately played Scrabble on my iPod Touch and prayed to Jesus. When my doctor walked into the room, I barely exchanged pleasantries. I just wanted to get the news.


When she said that the tests didn’t show anything cancerous, I felt so thankful. Today I found out that I was normal. As much as I enjoy being different, I want desperately to be normal.

I realize that some of you reading my post today have been in my place. You’ve sat in the sterile doctor’s office waiting to see if your life was going to drastically change. I know some of you have accompanied a loved one to get test results and surely your heart sank when you didn’t get the kind of news I received today. I have hesitated to even write this post today because I do not want to cause anyone sadness. Please forgive me if you have heard different news and you are hurting because of me, in some small way.

I still have another medical test regarding some ovarian cysts. And I am not giving up on overcoming this ongoing struggle.


But tonight y’all, although I don’t have all the answers, I am happy that as far as certain things are concerned, I am normal. 😉 I raise a bowl of homemade chicken broth in Paris up high for being normal!

Having babies, real and otherwise

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Last night I had a weird dream. I dreamt I was pregnant. Before you read any further, I am NOT pregnant in real life. Throughout my life I have had recurrent dream themes.


Dream themes in my life if anyone cares

1. Shapes – these dreams were mostly as a child and the gi-normous shapes moved like meteorites by my face and often nearly killed me

2. France – I lived in France for a year and am a French major. I will speak French in my dreams and remember words I thought I had long since forgotten.

3. Natural disasters- I will spare you the horrifying details

4. Spontaneously losing my teeth – for no apparent reason, my teeth literally fall out of my head. Not a good dream since I have a thing about dentists!

5. Giving birth, being pregnant – I have had many dream babies.

But what made last night’s dream especially interesting was how vivid it was and the timing. I share this with you because it is still so real in my mind. I need to share.


In my dream, I was asleep. I awaken in my dream (does this make sense??) next to my husband much like I do every morning. But in my dream, I am pregnant and our still unborn child is gently kicking me from inside the womb. I nudge the Hubs out of his sleep and put his hand on my roundish belly so he can feel our little person kicking me. Who is this little person? In my dream, in my roundish belly is a girl. And somehow, since it’s a dream, I can see her, almost like there’s a transparent window. Who does she look like? She looks like my orange-haired, freckle face OS. I love her. I awaken this time in real life and I have to pause for a moment to take in the depth of that dream. I awaken the Hubs who detaches himself from his C-PAP machine and he chuckles when I tell him about our little dream baby.

Why did I dream this? I have at least two theories.

1. My sister is soon to give birth. After having two simply delicious sons, Denise and her Hubs will welcome a daughter. With each passing day, I know that a little girl will join our family and PINK shall rule the land. I currently call my yet to be born niece “Miss Thang” but soon, she will have a new name. Maybe that’s the reason for this dream. I’m going to be an aunt again SOON.

2. Or maybe it’s this other reason. Last night I became a Teen Community Bible Study Leader. As of yesterday, I will lead (I’m pictured here with my co-leader) and disciple nearly dozen sixth and seventh grade girls!!! Girls with sparkles and pretty colors. Girls with beautiful hair the shades and hues we adult women pay top dollar to replicate. These girls are just beginning the complicated journey into womanhood. They are girls trying to flesh out their faith in Jesus and make it something authentic not just a thing their parents made them believe. And if they’re like most females, they are probably full of drama, potential and personality plus some genuine problems and struggles.


I have never nor I will ever give birth to a daughter in my real life. At times I have wondered why the Lord never allowed that to happen. I don’t question His will and I am perfectly, absolutely content to be the mama of three fantastic OS. I’ve never had to share the “joys” of menstruation and for that I give eternal thanks. Being the mama of sons has many benefits!

But I am beginning a new journey which will include girls that I will surely grow to love and cherish. I have included pictures of me here when I was in sixth and seventh grade. Maybe parts of that dream are actually becoming a reality?

Thinking pink, I am…

When strangers speak the truth

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Have you ever had someone who doesn’t really know you, say something very profound to you?

And have you noticed that when that happens, that person usually is clueless as to the depth of the statement s/he has just made?

If you answered yes to these questions, you will understand what happened to me today at the Apple Store.

I had scheduled a One-on-One appointment with a skilled Apple technician because as of Wednesday, I became the proud owner of a brand new aluminum 15″ MacBookPro. This computer purchase was necessitated because I was never the owner of the MacBookPro I have been using years with my job.

But when I lost my job in June, essentially I lost all rights to that computer. It wasn’t mine, was never mine and they deserved to get it back. It’s as simple as that. On this cloudy summer day, I brought both computers to the Apple Store to make sure I had transferred all the personal stuff from the old computer to my new “baby.”

Austin, the Apple guy, guided me through the process and everything was going quite well. I had been looking forward to the appointment and getting the job done. With great ease, Austin helped me and erased non-work items off the computer.

And then he said it…

“There won’t be any trace of you on this computer.”

And with a nod of my head, Austin clicked a few more things and 1,866 items began to disappear before my very eyes.

I choked back the tears. I thought to myself, “Don’t cry. Don’t. Cry. You’re at the Apple Store for Pete sake! Puh-lease!”

So I adjusted my emotional big girl panties and didn’t cry. Wow, that wasn’t easy! There were some quiet and awkward moments where neither Austin nor I spoke.

Photo flashback of my previous life. I was blessed to do this and relieved when it was all over. Eight years was enough.

Photo flashback of my previous life. I was blessed to do this and relieved when it was all over. Eight years was enough.

I composed myself and watched the computer transition from being something I used and personalized to being just another piece of work equipment ready for someone else. Austin was right. There isn’t any trace of me on the computer.

I hope I will be remembered for the work I did and the love I poured into it. But more importantly, as a wife, mother, sister, daughter, friend, oh how I want to have lived a life that matters. I pray that the traces of me I leave behind are worthy of the life I was given.

Psalm 103:15-16 and verse 22
As for man, his days are like grass, he flourishes like a flower of the field;
the wind blows over it and it is gone,
and its place remembers it no more.
Praise the LORD, all his works everywhere in his dominion.
Praise the LORD, O my soul.

Being still

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Now that I’m back home after a great vacation, I face an empty nest. The guys started school today and Nate leaves for West Point on Sunday. It’s the first time in my life where my kids are at school, the hubs is at work and I’m home without babies or a job.


It reminds me of the time when my youngest OS was old enough to go to a gymnastics class by himself. I had longed for the day when Ike was old enough for me to not be there. When that day arrived; however, soon after dashing to the grocery store, I vividly recall pushing the empty cart along the aisles at Kroger and fighting back the tears. My orange-haired, freckle faced toddler was not squeezing me. Instead my stupid purse filled the place where Ike used to be. Oh, how I loved madly embracing that cherub mid-turn at the end of each grocery aisle and I didn’t care who saw us or what they thought! (Tears are falling from my eyes just thinking about this…)

But here I am now, a chapter of my life is unfolding. I am adrift and possess a blank canvas of opportunity. Oh, the possibilities!

The varied bass tones which fill my home will be making noise elsewhere. I feel the void and the quiet. Everyone is going forward. Where am I going? I am not going back to a familiar job that I loved and was pretty good at. It is weird, because about this time last year, I was busy scheduling speaking opportunities. Now that season of life is over. Poof. Just like that. I am relieved because the work was so draining and sad because I loved the kids and the message we shared. If I could color my feelings, they would be a dark mustard (for the sad feelings) and a streak of pink (representing excitement.) Yes, it is an awkward and ugly collection of hues.

So what is next? I’m taking a Wednesday morning Bible study and I’m going to lead a girls’ Bible on Monday night. That much I know. And honestly with this extra time I now have, my house can be cleaner, I could be leaner, that list of improvements, both personal and otherwise, is long.
Many Bible verses pop into my head but this one has echoed within me…from Psalm 46…

Be still and know that I am God

That’s where I am, keepin’ it real…

Sea glass is so lovely

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Taking a leisurely walk on the beach in the morning with the hubs, the ocean’s frothy waves roll onto my feet and I spot a little treasure. You don’t find too many intact seashells these days but you can still find wonders. Yesterday I began collecting something new…I now collect sea glass.

Sea glass is created when a piece of glass falls into the ocean. Stupid knuckleheads chuck beer and soda bottles into the ocean and the water and sand tumble and smooth the sharp edges. The result is pretty pieces of smooth, frosted glass in a variety of colors.
The more I searched for sea glass, the more I found!

Sometimes I’d find sea glass in a mass of shells and sand. I’d see slivers of shells made of tans and soft oranges and suddenly, a piece of sea glass in a minty green or a gentle turquoise would emerge. Or a beautiful piece of amber sea glass would peek in sand, the result of a wave. My heart skipped a beat when that would happen.


Later in the day, two of my OS joined me and soon we began a new collection…of shark’s teeth. And then I began another new collection, I began searching for shells to spell my name. I thought it would be impossible to find a “Y” and no sooner had I said that, when I gazed at a shell in my hand and realized that a “Y” was carved right on the shell! Talk about fun!


But sea glass and I have a few things in common. I confess that there are some jagged places in my past and plenty of broken pieces. Life has tumbled me about and I have been tossed by the waves of the world. As I reflect on my life, the good and the bad, the things I did to myself and others and the things that have happened to me, I have seen how the Lord has used those pieces formerly tossed aside to ultimately make something of worth. He has smoothed out the rough places, (ok, some of the rough places as I’m an ongoing project!) and the things I assumed were junk and created a person of greater value. Like sea glass, I have experienced a transformation. I am a new creation. “Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation; the old is gone, the new has come.” 2 Corinthians 5:17


We have one more day to go before going home. I can’t wait to comb the sand for more sea glass to serve as a memory of what God can do for even a wretch like me.

We did it! Thanks Pistol Pete!

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I’ve never been a big fan of 11 year old kids reading the f-bomb. I don’t know, I guess I’m weird like that.

And so you can only imagine my horror 18 months ago when my orange-haired, freckle faced, youngest OS announces one day that the book his daddy got him had that lovely word printed ON THE VERY FIRST PAGE! I nearly fell out of my chair.

It was a basketball book entitled Pistol: The Life of Pete Maravich and the reason the hubs bought it for our OS is because Isaac loves basketball. Our OS needed to work on his reading and boy, was I glad our OS said something about the curse word! Faced with a dilemma, do I throw the book in the trash or take it back to Borders, I took immediate action. I chose to do neither but I did do something with that book I never expected.

I read it out loud to my son. The G-rated, completely edited and censored version, of course.

And guess what?

I loved every minute of it. We finished the book on Friday. 323 pages, 18 months, we did it!

If you know me at all, you know I am not a sports person. Much to my OS’s chagrin, I still can’t remember the positions they play in their respective sports. It drives them nuts! And for the last year and a half, Ike and I have been reading a book about the great basketball legend, Pete Maravich.

When we finished I seriously wanted to cry. It was an accomplishment and a blessing. We didn’t merely read the book; we took it deeper. We talked extensively about the book. Pistol Pete Maravich was a complex man with a difficult life. He had many excesses and demons, he had a complicated childhood ~ there were many dimensions to this man. This book touched both of our hearts.

And we did even more than that. We did A LOT of vocabulary. Always by our side was the trusty Webster’s. At times, my OS loathed that dictionary with a passion but together we learned words such as:
mollify, triumvirate, augur, majordomo, chaw, vestigial, bonanza, vituperative, excoriate, progency, ignominy, assiduous, junto, bifurcated ~ nearly 200 words my OS searched. It turns out I don’t think Ike could have read this book without me. It was an advanced read for both of us but so worth it.

We learned so much ~ about Pete Maravich (he came to know Jesus and died of a heart condition while playing basketball with Dr. James Dobson) and we learned things about each other too. Sometimes, while I read to Ike, he would draw and despite countless emotional outbursts “I hate this stupid book!” “I don’t want to read!” (read this in your loudest, most emotional 12 year old boy voice!), we didn’t give up. The time we had with each other makes me feel that this “fait accompli” has blessed us with an “inexorable” experience which has left me feeling “ebullient” inside. How’s that for using my new words?


I must share with you another book we read together which was delightful which was very different than Pistol. I’ll do that soon, it’s just the best.

Any ideas as to what to read next are welcome. I’m really proud of us. Don’t let anyone tell you you can’t read to older kids. You’re missing out on a treat, seize those special moments.

Thanks to a curiously placed cuss word, I got treasured time with my OS which beats sitting in front of the stupid box (TV) any day.

PS. Don’t tell Ike that I’m working on a comprehension test next. 😉 Spelling and grammar will count!

Being on the mission field, part one

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Prior to going to Guatemala, I gave my middle OS a project. A crafting project. Most 14 year old boys don’t really like doing crafts. My 14 year old boy is no exception but with constant prodding on behalf of his mom, my son made these…

Aren’t they pretty? So simple and cheap but I just know that God is going to use that boy and these necklaces in a powerful way. How do I know? Because two years ago I had a similar experience. Not with a craft item but with a simple bottle of shampoo.

In July 2007, I went to Lima, Peru on a mission trip. Prior to leaving my hairstylist, (the one who puts pink highlights in my hair), gave me a big bottle of Bumble and Bumble shampoo to use there. Not for my head, there would be no vanity on this trip, but because we were going to be washing children’s hair. In certain areas of Peru, people can’t even afford shampoo, it is a luxury they often do without. I packed it eagerly curious as to what the Lord had in store.

Weeks later, to my astonishment, I found myself washing children’s hair on a filthy, dirt-covered street. The kids would just line up and with nary a peep, we would pour cold water from a hose on their head. With plastic gloves, I would squirt a dollop of shampoo on their little charcoal black heads and proceed to wash their thick Peruvian hair. We used buckets to rinse the water and their attentive mothers would just look on and act so grateful. It was rather amusing because there were even adult men lining up for our hair washing services but we had to decline and concentrate just on the kids.

It was our last day on the mission field. The big bottle of shampoo I was given had been too cumbersome to lug around for our hair washing projects so I still had it in my possession. I certainly wasn’t going to be taking it back home with me. I trusted it was meant for someone else so I placed big bottle in my backpack determined to give it to someone deserving.

We arrived at an impoverished village. The ramshackle homes spoke of a hard life bereft of most creature comforts. I helped prepare chicken foot (yes, chicken FOOT) soup and served hot chocolate to the scads of children milling about.
Another group washed hair and when we were nearly all done, a mother approached me. Through the help of a translator, she asked me if we cut hair. I knew I didn’t cut hair so I went the easy route and said we didn’t have any scissors. Then she told me, not to worry, she had scissors.

Because I’m so quick on my feet (HA!), I presumed someone could do it and I told this mama we could probably do that. I went inside the bus and asked if anyone cut hair. No one listened to me and then it occurred to me that she wanted ME to cut her child’s hair…something I have never done before, not in my own country and certainly not in South America…


I’ll write another post and tell you what happened next…

June 29th is a curious day

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What is up with these kids of mine? They are all gone as of Monday. And what is up with June 29th? This is the second year in the row that I have bid farewell to one of my OS on that blemished day. When I told my boys that I wanted them to be confident, independent people, I wasn’t thinking they were going to take me seriously! When I told them to go where the Lord wanted them, I still hadn’t finished praying specifically that it was just going to be up the street not far away as in West Point or Guatemala! Zheesh!

How come they listen to me about developing into their own person and following the Lord’s leading but these guys can’t seem to remember to pick their clothes up off the floor?? Kids these days…

The house is now empty. Nate has been gone for two weeks at Camp Buckner until 15 July (I wrote it the Army way ~ huah.) He is doing fun things like shooting stuff, sleeping on rocks and other assorted merriment. Ike, my not so little orange-haired, freckle-faced 12 year old left for Crossroads, a Christian summer camp complete with a tummy ache just prior to leaving. Miss me!

And then there’s my middle OS whose journey-bound to Guatemala. Wasn’t I the one who prodded this kid in the fall? “Aaron, you really should go. Aaron, this trip is made for you ~ you’re gonna love it and it will mess with you (in a good way.) Aaron, I’m tellin‘ ya, you really should pray about doing this…” He listened and now look at me. Waa.

This will be Aaron’s first trip overseas and it’s without us! What was I thinking? I truly believe this is where the Lord wants my boy and I am excited to hear about all that he experiences along the way. I know my OS will have a blast as he uses the talents the Lord has given him to minister to the people he encounters but I am admittedly human and already miss him.


We took the OS to the airport yesterday and I think if it had been possible he could have flapped his wings and flown to Miami all by himself. “I’m pumped!” was the frequently heard sentence for the last two days. I hung onto my OS’s neck and once outside my grasp, Aaron strode confidently to the security gates.


Just like his brother on R-Day, Aaron never turned around and ran back into my arms – my open arms that desperately wanted to hold him back but didn’t because it would have been way wrong.

Here is Aaron – June 29th, 2009

This is Nate – June 29th, 2008 ~ This is a picture I can barely look at, oh the anguish and the pride of that day!

Instead, just like his brother last June 29th on R-Day, Aaron moved forward to his destination and never looked back. I guess those are indications that just like his brother, Aaron was ready to leave. Not because he hates his parents or his life but because it is time. That is a good thing, right??? Somebody tell me “Cindy, this is a good thing!”

Three girls going on the same mission trip were flying out on the same flight. It was delayed by four hours and I distinctly recall talking to Aaron and he said he was having fun with his “friends.” They even all sat together on the plane! We spoke to him later that night and he was giggling and having trouble finishing our conversation. Why? He was having fun with his “buddies” already cracking jokes with the fellas on the trip.


The fourth of July is this week but I think June 29th is fast becoming our family’s Independence Day.

I fed 11 teenage boys and lived to tell the tale!

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I hope you have all recovered from my love letter to beets. Something just came over me and all I can say is that I am feeling a mushy letter for lettuce coming up in the future, just warning you. The lettuce at the farmer’s market been absolutely delicious but I’ll wait for another time to lavish its praises. However, lettuce was in some small measure, one of the reasons I offered to make dinner for a group of teenage boys last night.


For the past several months, my middle OS Aaron has been involved in an accountability group of about a dozen young men. They are Christian guys who pray for each other, talk about struggles and encourage each other. Where was a group like this for me back in the day??? I could have used a female version of this!

They call themselves BOB which stands for Band of Brothers. Isn’t that cool? Dutifully Aaron goes to BOB meetings once a week at a nearby place and the guys just talk about Scripture, share and hang out.

When I have asked Aaron what they talk about, he holds their conversations so sacred, he refuses to tell me. I respect that and see that they are forming a trusting bond, something so many teenagers (and adults) need. I admire his sincere desire to live as Scripture says, “as iron sharpens iron, so one man sharpens another.”

This week they were figuring out BOBish plans. My middle OS asked if he could go out to dinner with the guys and that’s when we suggested hosting a gathering at our house. I looked forward to it all week long because, well, I love to entertain. In my “formative” years, I tried to quell my domesticity but now I’ve got to say, it’s on. I’m full tilt and up in the housewifey hizzy, apron and all.

And it is a joy to have company, especially to have a house full of boys feasting on my food. One day I will have to share my kitchen with their girlfriends, then wives and then hopefully grand-daughters so I savor each moment now as if it were a juicy red, locally grown, in-season beet (sorry, I had to do it.)

For the meal, I made marinated pork tenderloin, brown rice, baked beans, fresh green salad with my own dressing, grilled white corn still in the husk and watermelon. I determined to feed these boys a healthy meal. No hydrogenated potato chips or CheezBalls would enter their lips on my premises, no sirree! We even had homemade soda = fruit juice and Club Soda. My OS love it and it’s better than all that other icky stuff.

One by one they arrived until 11 boys ranging in age from 13-18 circled around our kitchen island, held hands and prayed before digging in to dinner. One of the sweetest sights of the evening was when a BOB who’s actually named Scott arrived at my front door with his Bible. You gotta love it! My husband, Isaac and I ate indoors while the BOBs enjoyed fellowship outside.


In general, I find guys easy to please, at least in the food department. They gobbled up every bit of the food and even said “please,” “thank you,” and “this is awesome!” several times. I was blessed to have served them and was so proud of my youngest OS, Ike who willingly assisted me.

And then afterward, they stayed outside. It’s blazing hot these days and the BOBs were welcome inside but they crowded around the deck instead. I have no idea what they discussed except to say that when Aaron walked in for a moment and I inquired oh so innocently, “Hey, Aar, are you guys talking about spiritual stuff?” My son said yes but that was the extent of the conversation. I sat in the kitchen by my faithful friend, my sewing machine, and secretly wished I was a fly or a mosquito buzzing about, able to listen. Not to be nosey but just to hear the sweet sound of young men earnestly seeking things of God.

As the night drew to a close, the Scripture found in 3 John 1:4 came wafting into my heart, “I have no greater joy than to hear that my children are walking in the truth.”

When things change, sometimes it hurts

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It can be a strange thing when verb tenses change. Often it has been my experience that verb tense changes signify a modification in a situation or a person. I’m sure I use them all the time without a wince or a struggle and only notice when verb tenses change if something or someone’s situation is different and I wish it had not changed. Often when I do perceive this verb tense change thing, I find myself hurting because I want the verb tense to have remained the same. (Has any of this made sense???) 

Well, this week, I have experienced two significant verb changes. Something that is, isn’t. Something that was, wasn’t. Something you have, you don’t anymore.

On Monday, I lost my job. 

On Sunday, my husband lost his much loved uncle. 

After 7 1/2 years, the job I loved and poured myself into with every fiber of my being, is now gone. In a split second, after an emotional phone call from my boss, I experienced that verb tense thing I hate. I work in non-profit ministry. Correction, I worked and I was blessed to be around people I treasured.  When donations went down to an all-time low, a difficult decision was made and I, along with several other co-workers were laid off. It happened that fast. I harbor no hard feelings (at least at this point) with the decision. It’s just that I’m trying to get used to this new way of defining myself. Who am I now? 


There have been countless times when I have wanted to quit and I have dreamed of this day. When I have been overwhelmed by annoying students or heavily burdened by a teenager’s story. When a high school girl is picking her nose and eating it! the entire time we are speaking, um, yeah, I want to quit! When a skinny, pale-skinned teenager is bent on interjecting a sarcastic answer every time I speak, you bet, I want to hand in my notice! But then, there are times when a student is crying and her tears have soaked through my shirt, that I praise the Lord because I am there to encourage and love. Or the kids who write to me afterward and say we have changed their lives. Nothing can beat those moments. My job, working with teens and meeting so many in the midst of regretful choices and pain, has been exhausting on every level. Y’all, I have seen and heard more things than I ever imagined and most of it wasn’t pretty. But it was my mission field (in addition to my own OS and DH, that is).

But it’s that verb thing that is haunting. I found myself trying to figure out what verb to use today. I was talking about my boss, was he now “my former boss?” It seriously stings just to type those words. 

This is coupled with the fact that we are driving out of state for a funeral. On Sunday, my husband called to see how Uncle Bill was doing. We all knew he was seriously ill and would not survive much longer. When Aunt Emmy answered the phone, she told us his grave condition would soon end. We talked about Uncle Bill as we drove to the farmer’s market and then, about an hour later, when we were at home, Aunt Emmy called. Uncle Bill was gone. 

I began unloading the bounty from the farmer’s market and realized, crud, here goes that stupid verb tense change thing again. 

Uncle Bill was a heck of a guy. He was into everything. An avid Boy Scout leader, a researcher, very active in his church, he was a microbiology professor at Bowling Green University, he was a husband of 56 years and a father of four. And he was quirky. Like you’ll never meet another Uncle Bill. They broke the mold, as people would say. For example, he and Aunt Emmy were fascinated with Civil War medicine and attended conventions and seminars about it. Did you even know there were Civil War medicine conventions?? On their way to these conventions, they would stop by and visit. It’s there that I got to meet and love good ‘ole Uncle Bill. 

When Mark’s mom (Uncle Bill’s sister) died about 15 years ago, I gave the tearful eulogy. As I recall, he was the first person to come up to me afterward and give me a hug. I will never forget his kindness.

So in the span of 48 hours, I have reasons to weep over loss and verb tense change. We are on our way to Ohio for the services. I have Kleenex, family, memories and my Jesus to see my through.