Category Archives: memories

Aaron’s aggravated appendix

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Awkward fun at the hospital

Awkward fun at the hospital

The appendix is a fairly useless organ but it sure can wreak havoc. If you are planning appendicitis during your college career, remain well hydrated and carry an extra dose of humor for the journey. You also might want to finish all your important papers too. Just sayin.

My ministry-minded olive shoot is at a hospital in Chicago. Yesterday in the late afternoon, Aaron began to experience severe abdominal pain. His buddies took him to the Emergency Room and following a CT scan, Aaron learned his appendix is unhappy. Soon it will vacate its home.

Let the fun begin?!

Let the fun begin?!

It stinks being so far away from my OS right now but thanks to social media, I can see Aaron and his crew made the most of a stinky situation. His friends brought him to the hospital and had already purchased him a Get Well Soon balloon. The balloon and Aaron’s buddy, Ethan have been his constant companions.

Aaron’s appendix is/was kinda dumb – can’t even spell himself! #gottago @RIPuvileveriform

Aaron will have surgery in the next few hours and probably be discharged tomorrow. I praise the Lord for his goodness and how He has worked out all of the details in advance. He has surrounded my olive shoot with a caring community and a wacky bunch of friends which is exactly what Aaron needs and what the Great Physician ordered.

I learned that sometime in the middle of the night, one of Aaron’s friends even created a Twitter account on behalf of Aaron’s failing vermiform.

A few moments ago, Moody Bible called to check in on Aaron and to make sure I knew of his condition. Since I’ve had a son at a military academy who had ACL surgery at West Point last year and now an olive shoot at a Bible university, I have no idea if this is how the rest of the colleges handle medical matters. 100% of my over 18-year-old OS have had surgery during college. Ike, if you’re reading this blog post, Mama would  really appreciate it if you changed the stats when it’s your time to get your degree.

It has done this mama much good to trust in the Lord and rely on the mighty ways He can transcend the miles and distance.

Know your soap and enjoy a soapy sale!

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Let’s have a SOAPY sale in celebration of olive shoots!

If you are looking for a thoughtful gift for a loved one or a way FOR YOU to de-stress during the holidays, may I suggest something as simple as a bar of high quality soap?

Before my brain discovered why natural soaps are better, my skin told me. “We like this soap!” it squealed after first encountering lovely cold processed, handmade soaps. “I feel fresh and squeaky clean, not like I’ve been through a car wash!” my face declared one evening. 

There is a difference between natural soaps and commercially made soap. For a limited time, Olive Shoot Institute is offering a soapy sale. When I began to use soap nuts last winter and started a business in the fall, I discovered  100% extra virgin olive oil based soap bars. Since I’m the mama of three olive shoots, of course, the word “OLIVE” got my attention but to keep me interested, there had to be more. Here are some things to know about cold processed, handmade soaps –

Not many people make soap like this any more – it’s old school!

Caribbean Craze soap

Ingredients are unique – your nose will pick up notes of unusual ingredients – spearmint essential oil (Handsome Man), Pure African Shea Butter (Caribbean Craze and Charcoal Hippie), Cinnamon Leaf (Bay and Cinnamon Shaving Bar) just to name a few. The specks of color in each bar are visually appealing but offer their own health benefits. There’s a sense of care and nurturing I get in using and giving them to others. Honestly it was joyful giving my Soldier and my ministry-minded OS several bars of soap to take back with them to Fort Benning and Chicago.

Rich in antioxidants and natural nutrients

Glycerin – this gentle natural humectant is removed during industrial soap manufacturing which might explain why my skin always felt like it had been treated so harshly. Um, it was!

No petro-chemical derived ingredients, animal fats, synthetic fillers and/or synthetic dyes and fragrances.

True story, when I pick up my shipment of soaps, I rip open the box and take out a bar of  individually wrapped soap to inhale on the ride home. Weird, maybe. My latest fave is Charcoal Hippie. Activated bamboo charcoal helps deep clean pores without leaving a residue but is loaded with ultra-moisturizing botanical oils and shea butter of the highest quality. Too bad my blog doesn’t offer smell-a-vision.

Ike closed his eyes and he picked Handsome Man soap as his favorite every single time!

My orange hair, freckle face OS loves Handsome Man soap. He says, “it smells good. It smells fresh” Upon further pestering, Ike replied, “I don’t know, Mom, I just thought it smelled good.” There’s a succinct review for ya!

You don’t have to be a hipster to totally love Charcoal Hippie soap. Made with activated bamboo charcoal, pure African shea butter and essential oils of eucalyptus, lavender and patchouli!

Why torture your skin and expose yourself to unnecessary chemicals and toxins when there is a better alternative? Truly, cold-processed soaps are superior to what you are probably using. Treat yourself and others to the difference!

We also offer other natural products to clean your laundry and home! Check it out at Olive Shoot Institute!

Here’s another great resource that’s worth checking out – Environmental Working Group!

Five Minute Friday – stay

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Sometimes Kleenex, or in this case, a paper napkin, and words go together beautifully. Poignantly.

Our hands were still clasping around the circle. The ladies in my writers’ group had just finished praying. So many words, a few tears, precious, tender moments shared by women who love the Word and words. We don’t even hang out aside from our monthly meetings. I don’t know anyone’s birthday unless it’s on facebook. If I had a Christmas card list, they’d probably all be on it but we don’t speak very often or ever but once a month. Yet I love them so.

We are missing one of our beloved writer moms, Kristi, but we had Flat Stanleyette join us!

And when we enter into that holy, sacred place for about 90 minutes, our hearts are entwined and are pens are prolific, it is majesty. I learn that I’m not the only one who feels inadequate, discouraged, beaten down, anointed, driven and terribly imperfect, compelled to write and express.

“Wait. Stay. We have to get this moment.”

So after the “Amen” in our group, I felt the Lord speak to me. Hang on, ladies. Stay. I grabbed my camera and asked the ladies for one more brief moment in their midst. I didn’t want it to end. I had to capture our time together. Click.

Even got the Hubs to take pictures.
Words join us together and we acknowledge the Giver of words.
Nothing…autism, anxiety, illness, finances,
family woes, Alzheimer’s, aging parents, childhood memories,
these things do not separate us, they unite us.
Those extra moments of staying together carry me through today.

Seriously, you should do this. You have five minutes of voice and words. http://lisajobaker.com

Every Friday at 12:01am a few hundred (or is it closer to thousand?) women pop on over to Lisa-Jo’s page to find out what the word of the next 5 minutes will be.

No over thinking.
No editing.
No extreme planning and linking and photographing.
Just FIVE minutes of writing to see what comes out.

Here are a few of my writer’s friends’ blogs, check them out!

Still Delighted
Joy Goggles

A Matter of Grace
Sharing Life

Five Minute Friday – quiet

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Glamming it up at the lake – NOT

You won’t see me wearing “buds” in my ears when I’m walking or pretending to run around the lake. I have been assaulted in two countries – mugged in Peru and spit upon by a total stranger in France, I like to see and hear things before they approach me. Gotta be watchful after those kind of experiences, trust me.

Instead I enjoy hearing the ducks quack, the white swan bellow and the squirrels skitter. Dogs patter by and of course the people scuffle or rush past me. That’s all the earthly sounds I need.

I enjoy all those sounds but the thing I enjoy most, ironically, is the quiet. I spend a lot of time talking to God on these walks/jogs. Yesterday I logged over six miles around the lake and all the while, the Lord and I discussed life and my struggles. If I had music blasting in my ears, I’m certain I wouldn’t hear his voice. Instead the peaceful surroundings afford me a chance to reflect. To be still even though I’m walking/running if that makes any sense.

These are the sights and sounds I enjoy as I walk around the lake

Contemplative times around the lake

In the quiet, the Holy Spirit gets my attention. He bestows insight and courage. To move forward, to grieve, to heal, to contemplate, I need the quiet. I’ve asked the Lord why He has me going to a lake to exercise. It’s cold outside, not especially picturesque with the trees becoming barren.

And I believe He is telling me He wants to spend time with me alone. Just Father and daughter time.

For the losers, 5 lessons learned in junior high about running for political office

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Don’t let this picture fool you, I was a serious candidate, btw.

I know something about running for political office. I ran for Treasurer back in junior high. This is my advice for all the losers in today’s elections. It’s the least I can do for democracy.

Please feel free to pass this blog post along to the losers of today’s elections. I sure do hope it helps them move forward.

1. Be gracious – When I was running for Treasurer back at Jefferson Junior High in the 1970s, I learned to hold my head high as I walked past those who did not vote for me. And I did so in bell bottom jeans no less. Yes, I wanted to burst into tears upon the news of my failure. Sure, in addition, I was dealing with hormonal issues, what 12-13 year old girl isn’t? Yes, I had body issues, poor posture and pimples but did I seek vengeance on my opponents? NO! It probably crossed my mind but I chose higher ground. Dear losers, be nice even when you lose.

2. Work on your public speaking – I found speaking into the intercom during school announcements absolutely terrifying. Maybe that’s one of the reasons I lost. Not sure. My fellow classmates probably detected the quiver in my voice when I spoke into the microphone. So what did I do about it? Did that stop me from ever speaking again? NO, my friends. After college, I had a career teaching executives public speaking across the country and in three countries. Later, I spoke to over 50,000 kids about super private stuff like waiting to have sex. If you work on your presentation skills, you can channel that skill set into other endeavors. If I can do it, so can you.

3. Stand for something – With nearly three decades to ponder the reason for my unsuccessful bid as junior high treasurer, I think my platform might have been weak. I should have outlined clearer goals and strategies.

4. Campaign ads don’t always work – Trust me. I spent HOURS working on stenciling my campaign slogan on poster board. I bought neon poster paper plus I used brand new, smelly magic markers. WIN with WINTER was my catchy phrase, how perfect but guess what? I lost, people! You can pour yourself into your campaign, develop the slickest designs out there and still not rock the vote. It’s going to be ok.

5. Pursue other dreams. Try other things. If you would have told me as junior high Cindy and that in just two short years, I would make history, I wouldn’t have believed you. But sitting in front of me as I type, I hold the title for being Gala West’s MOST IMPROVED BOWLER – 1974-1975. The trophy sits proudly in my office next to my computer. I’m looking at it right now. Dear losers, may my story inspire you. My dreams were not dashed only diverted.

The coveted Most Improved Bowler trophy, yeah, I got insurance on this.

My Soldier, myself and my trophy. Btw, You can order your own doll at http://stores.oliveshootinstitute.com/-strse-26/Guinea-Pig-Girl-Doll/Detail.bok

Interesting side note – two of my three olive shoots have also run for student body political offices. I’m the mother of two former class senators (Nate and Aaron) and the mother of the student body President (Aaron). Furthermore, as the mama of a West Point grad (Nate), a comparative politics major no less, my public service aspirations or that of my olive shoots will not be revealed but here’s a hint. We will not rule out a future run for office. Stay tuned and be encouraged all you winners and losers out there!

Do you have any suggestions for the losers based on your junior or high school government days? I’d love to hear them! Check out http://stores.oliveshootinstitute.com/-strse-26/Guinea-Pig-Girl-Doll/Detail.bok if you’d like a super cool homemade gift for the holidays!

Five Minute Friday – roots

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Attacking roots

Picking weeds
Attacking roots
Anger, anxiety, bitterness, jealousy, shame, fear
Regrets

Firming rooted in my faith in Christ
I now have the courage to get my hands dirty
Digging deep and hard

childhood home on Roosevelt Road, I did a lot of weeding and dug out many roots

As much as I hate weeding
I do enjoy that satisfied feeling
Grabbing ahold of an ugly, unwelcome root
Victoriously
Knowing it no longer lives where it does not belong

A recent visit to Chicago to drop my middle OS (olive shoot) off at Moody Bible Institute, allowed me to return to my roots.
I visited two of my childhood homes
I do not think it is humanly possible to visit a childhood home without tears

Aaron took some pictures of my home
Cars speeding past as fast as my life
The Hubs took me to my first home as a baby
Pangs of grief but love
Time stood still there

I was relieved and blessed to see my grandparents’ home well manicured. It was sad to go back to my roots but it would have been miserable if it had been in shambles.

Visiting roots, keeping the good
Pulling weeds, removing the bad

Every Friday at 12:01am a few hundred (or is it closer to thousand?) women pop on over to Lisa-Jo’s page to find out what the word of the next 5 minutes will be.

No over thinking.
No editing.
No extreme planning and linking and photographing.
Just FIVE minutes of writing to see what comes out.

Five Minute Friday – VOICE

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It’s a “flash mob” of writers. Every Friday at 12:01am a few hundred (or is it closer to thousand?) women pop on over to Lisa-Jo’s page to find out what the word of the next 5 minutes will be.

No over thinking.

No editing.

No extreme planning and linking and photographing.

Just FIVE minutes of writing to see what comes out.

I wrote this on my kitchen blackboard last night not knowing that today I would be writing about VOICE. I think that is interesting. Thank you, Lord.

It’s not ironic or a coincidence that Five Minute Friday’s writing prompt is VOICE.

Hearing God’s voice can be difficult.

Sometimes it comes to me as thunder.

I’ve learned that Psalm 29 was probably a song. A majority of the song describes the sounds and impacts of a severe thunderstorm. The word “voice” is an ordinary Hebrew word which can also mean sound. These are the notes in my Bible this week.

Like literally thunder. Scary, booming and intimidating.

Other times it’s a soft whisper.

Did you just say that, God?

Are you sure?

Tell me again, please.

A private communication shared by daughter and Father.

I’m in a weekly Bible study and we’re studying Psalms.

This week I’ve been reading contemplating the voice of the LORD.

What that means to me in many ways.

When I was a child and prone to nightmares, the only voice that seemed to soothe me was my father’s voice.

Not an award-winning father, (understatement), my dad’s voice was the perfect blend of stern and caring

Not always, mind you (see above parenthetical comment),

But when the shapes were crashing in around me

Triangles, rectangles and circles whirling toward me like meteorites in my dreams

I really did have those kind of visual nightmares often as a little girl

I was only comforted by his voice

The same is true today

Though I look up and listen heavenward

Through the din and clamor of this world,

I’m inclining my ear to the One who understands and hears me

My moans and aches and prayers

He catches my attention in the way only a Father of the eternal kind can do.

An Army/West Point mom angry about orange beards

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On the afternoon of November 5, 2009, I called my Soldier, then a yuk at West Point to express my sympathy. A yuk (or yearling), btw, is a second year student at the United States Military Academy.  Choking back tears, I left a message on his mobile phone when I learned of the shooting at Fort Hood.

Obviously I’m a fan of hair dye. And my precious olive shoot.

Nate called me back but he didn’t know what I was talking about. He hadn’t heard the news. For some reason, I thought that since he was at West Point, this kind of news traveled through the barracks and classrooms. It hadn’t yet. I was the first person to tell him about how Army Major Nidal Malik Hassan while dressed in Army uniform entered the Soldier Readiness Center and killed 12 soldiers, one civilian and injured 30 other people. It was a miserable conversation, Nate wasn’t sure what to say, I was emotional, we awkwardly changed subjects unable to deal with the information. I was trying to comfort my boy and he knew nothing about it.

We all have phone calls we remember. Usually, my memories revolve around a bad phone call of someone relaying sad news. This is one of them.

Sickening in every way

Instead of calling Nate today, I’m writing. As a military mom, my radar is heightened, my ire struck. My brain thinks differently because it has no choice. Figuratively speaking, my heart even beats to a new rhythm – I have a son in the Army.

This might not be something that has grabbed your attention but I’m wondering why Nidal Malik Hassan still has a beard? Why he is allowed to have it orange? My neck gets splotchy (a sign that I am nervous or angry) every time when I hear that this monster still hasn’t shaved.

My kid now an 2nd Lieutenant in the Army could get in trouble if his hair is too long according to military standards. He told me about times when as a cadet at West Point, he told someone he needed to get his hair cut. Nate has to keep it high and tight even if his girlfriend begged him to look like Fabio!

And to add insult to injury, since Hassan is being denied henna, he has resorted to making his own hair dye. In case you haven’t heard, Hassan isn’t mixing urine with another biological product to color his stringy beard (that’s what I’d recommend), instead he’s using the juice and berries that he gets served during meals.

More neck splotches…Why are prisoners getting juice and berries? Really? Ok, we need to feed them but can’t this individual be served a bologna and bacon sandwich on vitamin depleted white bread instead? Couldn’t that juice and berries be used to feed hungry families and not served to a person who was responsible for the worst mass shooting ever at a U.S. military installation? Yes, I realize he is innocent until proven guilty under our laws but come on.

He’s still an officer in the United States Army and therefore still held to the dress and hygiene standards required by the military, right? If so, then he shouldn’t have long hair. He had short hair at the time of the shooting when he shouted “Allah Akbar” and opened fire. Dude shouldn’t have a beard either. These are things that can make a Soldier mom’s heart break and blood boil. Don’t mess with a West Point/Army mom.

Raising sons with a spiritual heritage when you didn’t have any

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As I watched my orange hair, freckle face OS read Psalm 110 before the congregation today, I couldn’t help but wonder how a formerly agnostic, almost atheist, feminist, existentialist, abortion rights activist (yep) could find herself in a moment such as this.

This is one of my sons’ Bibles. I never owned one when I was his age. I’m amazed at the Lord’s kindness to give me children who seek God’s Word.

A few weeks ago, at Moody Bible Institute in Chicago, sitting in Ernest Gray’s The Gospel of John class, the same thing happened. Another surreal experience as my middle guy Aaron casually pulled out his Bible and it was filled with notes in the margins. What am I doing here, I thought to myself.

A redeemed mama and a cherished olive shoot just before class. So proud of this olive shoot/sugar boy.

And then there’s Nate, the 2012 West Point guy who has Scripture engraved in his graduation ring. Sometimes when he calls and is struggling, without hesitation, I will just break out in prayer. Not because I’m an amazing mom (fail miserably) and not in a speaking tongues, snake handling way either for those who might have been totally creeped out imagining this. Just a real and honest exchange of a mother and son speaking to the Father and the Son. Kinda cool actually.

3 John 1:4
I have no greater joy than to hear that my children are walking in the truth.

You see I did not grow up in a Christian family. The only time I remember seeing the Bible was after my dad died. Oddly enough, we were looking for some verses to use at his funeral. We picked some fishing verses because my dad like fishing. Not because he was a fisher of men actually he was a fisher of fish(!), trout exactly, but I digress. From my recollection, the Bible was retrieved from underneath the bed. That was where it was kept for safekeeping as to not be scorned by my dad when he was on a spiritual tirade. His understanding of Christianity amounted to watching the Jim and Tammy Faye Baker show on tv or some other wild evangelist while waiting for the next episode of Soul Train. Not joking. To him, the Bible was a source of mockery and pity, something a strong man would never rely or depend upon. But I have to tell you, it’s still weird for me seeing my family so comfortable with God and Jesus. I’ve been a Christ follower for 15 years, a church attendee for over half my life but I remain awestruck to dwell in a home with men who earnestly live their faith.

For more than half my life, I thought the Bible was for sissies. You only pulled that thing out if times were REALLY bad and you needed a crutch. Maybe if you were dying or needed to slay someone verbally who called you out on sin but other than that, normal people didn’t read the Bible. It was only after I began dating the Hubs that I realized that real men can actually admit to believing every word contained in Scripture. The Lord had some work to do on the Hubs but he was a genuine Christian guy who actually OWNED a Bible and it even had his name on it! WOW!

While dating the Hubs, I sheepishly asked him what was up with the guy holding the John Three Colon 16 sign up during a football game. He’s always been a person I can trust with embarrassing spiritual questions since I do not have a rich Christian heritage. I never learned the Sunday School songs, the hymns or the Bible stories. At best, my religion was dogma and rules that did not match up with my sinful lifestyle.

Before my precious grandma died while she still lived by herself in Florida, I remember her proudly stating to me that her Bible had dust on it. She thought that was a good thing. It wasn’t. There was no way she was going to just randomly open it so she didn’t. This broke my heart as I pleaded with her to give God’s Word a read.

So seeing my children, sons, no less, actively pursuing a life of faith in Christ grabs a place in my heart like nothing else. Watching one of my bairn at ease with proclaiming God’s Word as truth is like a bowl of slightly warmed vanilla ice cream with caramel topping and multi-colored sprinkles served with a non-sticky spoon. I don’t deserve this. We fall short. I stumble. My olive shoots are not perfect. The Hubs snores. But yeah, today I saw my youngest  reading Scripture with reverence and maturity.

This is my prayer and it’s for you, random reader or sweet friend too. May images like this emblazen hearts forevermore. May we never grow tired or bored with seeing our family seek God’s face. Lord, if it’s in your will, give us more of this. Glimpses of grace and faith. Rays of hope and redemption.

As Jesus did for me, I pray for the Lord to speak into your life.  I know for some of you all of this might sound awkward and feel uncomfortable, yeah, I’ve been there. God changes things. He transforms people. He heals. He redeems. He blesses. How do I know? I’m living, undeserving proof.

My Soldier wearing his new cav hat! He loves El Salvador (the home of his bonita) and Jesus, they both hold the key to his heart.

I realize not everyone owns a Bible, it was a big decision for me. I remember being scared when I bought my first one! Here’s what I’m wondering – if you have a Bible, do you ever read it? Did you grow up in a family where the Bible was read? Can you relate to my story in any way?

Five Minute Friday – Look

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LOVE this, join us! http://lisajobaker.com

It’s a “flash mob” of writers. Every Friday at 12:01am a few hundred (or is it closer to thousand?) women pop on over to Lisa-Jo’s page to find out what the word of the next 5 minutes will be.

No over thinking.

No editing.

No extreme planning and linking and photographing.

Just FIVE minutes of writing to see what comes out.

Ok, here’s my FMF…

Who knew Ohio could be so scary? Long regarded in my mind as a place of beauty and Americana, nothing prepared me for the treacherous journey the orange hair, freckle face olive shoot and I would have both coming and going to Chicago.

Fog hung in the air like mucus and there was no relief from the patches of blindness. I couldn’t pull over because I couldn’t see any exits and I was terrified to stop my car off the side to the shoulder because I was certain a truck would plow through my vehicle. Only a rail would have possibly shielded Ike and I from driving off the deep ravines but I’m not even certain there was a rail. It was only after telling a friend of my harrowing travels that I learned there was something like this on the stretch of highway. I’ve been driving since I was 16 years old and never been more frightened behind the wheel in my life. (This experience was only matched by the drive back from Moody Bible Institute and I’m not prepared to write about it yet).

My nerves were frazzled and we stopped after the fog had cleared. Hungry and needing a potty break, Ike and I paused at a restaurant at a nearby exit. I had forgotten that we had entered Amish country but judging from the simply clad little boys in the front of the restaurant and the young lady working behind the counter, I soon realized seeing me with my pink highlights surely gave them reason to pray.

Praising God for THIS rainbow in the sky!

As we returned to our car, it was my sweet Ike who pointed in the sky…”Look, Mama! A rainbow!” Sure enough off in the distance that beautiful reassuring arch (not McDonalds!) blazed through the powder blue sky.

I had been seeing gray patches of nothingness that only held fear and pending death. My son had been in the car with me and I was gripped with anxiety. It was when I paused, physically and emotionally, that the Lord provided a symbol of His presence. God knew at just the right time when I needed to see a sign of His glory.