Baseball

Flowers.  Chocolates.  Perfume.  Dinner.  Blah!

If you want to spoil Kath, please

“Take me out to the ball game.  Take me out to the crowd.
Buy me some peanuts and Cracker Jacks, I don’t care if I never get back.”

What is it about a game, a win… home runs, hotdogs, sunshine, caps, radio commentary, crazy fans, give-aways, the wave, families, the jumbotron, the pitches, the plays… that makes me happy?  Wait.  That’s what it is!   It’s all of that!

It’s all of that and my baseball buddy.  None of it is any of it without him.

Here we are.  Baseball season.  Baseball without Bill.  Baseball without my baseball buddy.  Fun without the fun-maker.  Without the share-wither.  Without the memory-builder.  Sheesh.

So, I tune in from home, imagine the skies, the chatter, the smells, the come-from-behind thrills.  I remember the pregame show in the traffic, the handy-dandy parking kiosk, the bulging-with-binoculars-transistor radio-peanuts backpack.  I remember the long entry line for the first-20,000 t-shirt.  I remember texting selfies to our friends because of course, they wished they were us.  I remember the gasping awe I felt at the views from the 3rd deck.  I remember bumping into the right fielder once, and restraining an embarrassing scream.  I remember these happiest of happy outings with Bill.

A TV game still happys-up Kath.  Partly because of the rememberings.  Partly because baseball is us, Bill and Kath.  But also because, I’m a baseball crazy even though it’s not the same.

And…

Just so you know… the happiest part of baseball is extra innings.

 

Take me out to the Ball Game by Jack Norworth and Albert Von Tilzer, 1908

Love

 

How to love a husband:

In the car, across the console, hold his hand.

On any day, for no reason, make his favorite. 

In the midst of tasks, before he comes home, straighten the house. 

At church, side-by-side, lightly rub his neck.

On an errand, whatever it is, go with him.

Before you leave, atop his pillow, hide a note.

While he talks, about his topic, listen with interest.

On his birthday, after he’s left, let his co-workers know.

As you pray together, following your worship, thank God for your husband.

Because he wants you to, find the courage, give it a try.

In the heat of conflict, in spite of your feelings, take the blame.

With his preference in mind, without his knowing, plan a date.

When his behavior falls short, if he’s sorry or not, forgive and forget.

If he’s sound asleep, in the middle of the day, throw a blanket over him.

After he makes a decision, whatever the sense, get on his side.

As he walks through the door, from any room, mildly berserk over him.

When he awaits your laugh, after his joke, make him think he’s the funniest.

 

And that, plus a zillion more, is how to love a husband.

If you have one, love him today.

Who

 Who cares if I eat cookies for dinner, wear the same socks for days in a row, land in bed at 6:30. 

Who cares if I pile my plate, ignore the dirty windshield, spread out under the covers. 

Who cares if I watch the recording at midnight, leave the back door unlocked, sing pretty loud off key. 

Who cares if I splurge on the souvenir, arrive 20 minutes late, leave the walls and shelves bare. 

Rats.  Nobody.  Absolutely nobody. 

But

God cares that I feel Him with me, grow in His spirit, nourish in His word.  He cares that I’m provided for, defended against, met in the midst.  He cares that I see Him, hear Him, recognize Him. 

He cares that I know He cares. 

Changed/Unchanged

    

• explored 3 national parks
• wrote 100 posts to my blog
• took in a puppy roommate
• ran 3 more half marathons
• befriended a dozen new friends
• volunteered at the Rescue Mission
• learned fix-it tricks
• found a new seat in a new church
• discovered podcasts
• followed current politics

without Bill.

Would he know me?  I’ve tried and done or tried and failed a zillion new things.  Some want to’s.  Some have to’s.  But all tried to’s.  Each one has changed me a bit of a bit.  Am I still the person he knows?

I drive highways now.  I pay bills now.  I meet people now.  I fix the ice machine now.  I see beautiful new landscapes now.  Would he know me?  Would he still choose this changed, take-a-chance, independent, step-my-big-toe-out-the-door, Kath?

I still make the bed.  I still plain myself up for the day.  I still eat salads and oatmeal and grapes.  I still sit in the same chair.  I still say ding dong things.  I still yell at scores.  I still watch our favorite series.

I think I still do the same do’s more than I’ve tried the new do’s.  I think he would still know me.  It comforts me to think, that though I’ve changed, he would still know me, like me, choose me.

One thing is sure.  Everyday I know him, like him.  Everyday I would still choose Bill.

 

(I think I’ve wondered about this wonder a few times.  I just looked back at posts, and sure enough, there’s the same wonder.  It must be a deep one.  It must be an all-the-time one.  It must be an it-matters one.  It must be.)

Grandpa

The grandpas of all grandpas.  The try it, do it, fun it, picture it and keep it… up.  That’s Bill.  He’s the:

• pull my finger
• don’t eat my green M&Ms
• Looney Tunes time
• Disneyland
• horsey rides
• baseball catcher
• Cheez-Its
• Rindercella
• piles of Christmas presents
• legos

grandpa.  He tops the list.  He wins the universe trophy.  “Bill” means “grandpa.”

But Grandpa is gone and missing out on grandpahood.  All that grandpaness went home to Heaven with Grandpa.

Whoosh!  That is just sad.  Sad for me, sad for littlebears.  Sad.

Randy Alcorn eases the sad in his book, Heaven.  He says of the New Heaven, “Perhaps they’ll go together to places they would have gone if health had allowed… Their gracious God, who delights in redemption and renewal and restoration, will give the wonderful family times they were robbed of on the old Earth…  Perhaps he will in some way actually restore what (was) lost.  God won’t just take away suffering; he’ll compensate by giving us greater delights.”

”God promises to make up for the heartbreaks of this earth.”

Soak that one in.  Just let it go down deep.  All the missed-outs, all the grandpaness, Cheez-Its, baseball, and presents — all made up.  Nothing missed after all.  Every last special moment redeemed.  And more.

Lookout Grandpa Bill!  Grandpahood is just ahead!

Training

Noticing God with family.  Obviously God.  Wow! 

 

I’m in training.  Physical training, always.  Skills training, never ends.  Mind training, yes.  Biblical training, that too.  But I’m in a new kind of training for me.  It’s a notice-God training.  And here’s why:

“My Father is always at his work to this very day, and I too am working.” John 5:17

If he is always at work, in my life, I don’t want to miss it.  So my eyes are being trained to see it.  My ears are being tuned to hear it.  My soul is being turned to notice God’s work.  I’m learning to attend to Him.

I remember a Christmas morning when I opened a card stuffed with 2 $100 bills.  What a delightful surprise and kind gift, I thought.  And then my eyes and ears sought the next gift and the next giver.  I didn’t keep the 200 dollars in mind.  And then the 200 dollars was gone.  Forever.  Swept up in someone else’s stash?  Carried out with the wrapping?  Who knows.  I didn’t pay attention to the gift.  I didn’t care enough.  How reckless!

I am caring more about God’s work and gifts in my life.  Especially since no one else is particularly adding to it, shaping it, correcting it, gifting it.  My family does this as our days intersect, but “my Father is always at his work.”   Think about that.  Always.  It’s time to take notice.

Now, I recount the expressible and inexpressible occurrences, solutions, interventions, attitudes, ideas, helps, comforts that fall in my lap every day.  I notice them.  I praise God for them.  I say, that is God right there.  There He is.

I’m in notice-God training.  I see Him and hear Him and am mindful of Him just a little bit better now.  I’m in training.

Hold

 

Can I put you on a brief hold?

Or a long hold?  Or a whole-weekend hold?

A problem.  I need help.  I listen to the automated recording.  Here’s my name.  Here’s my date of birth.  Can the robot help me?  No, I want an agent.  I want a real person.  Select 2.  Select 3.  Do I want a call back?   No.  I’ll wait for help.  I hold while the machine gets someone to help.  I explain the problem to someone from the other side of the world.  After a “brief hold” he elevates the problem to an “expert.”  Someone from another side of the world tries to assist.  I ask him to repeat himself.  I ask again.  Wait… did we get disconnected?

I start over.  And over and over.  I take a break.  I breathe deep.  I eat some… some of those.

I missed my Bible time.  I missed my friend-walk time.  I missed my Littlebears’ board game time.  I missed out!

The old me, the stinky, married me, would grumble and pee-yew-up the day.

This me, the oh-well me, surprisingly fixed my thoughts on… Heaven.  I won’t have this problem there.  I won’t be put on a brief weekend hold there, speak to a nobody there, decipher an accent there or get disconnected there.  I won’t start over there.  And!  I won’t miss out on… anything there.

That’s what a husband in Heaven does for me.  He draws my mind to a problem-free, phone-free, robot-free, hold-free, amazingly-free place.

Put me on a Heaven hold.  A brief eternity hold.

Value

Goodby group hug.  See ya next time.  Love you. 

It’s only a scratch in my throat.  So, sure!  Come on over.  For 6 full days.

Sure, bring your dog.  Is he potty trained?  No?  Oh well…

Sure, bring the Littlebears.  Do they have schoolwork due?  You don’t know?  Oh well…

She loves her Bears more than she hates her cough.  She loves her Bears more than she loves a good night’s sleep.  She loves her Bears despite a bit of chaos, stains on the carpet, juice on the floor, dirty feet on the couch.  She loves them.  She loves family.  She wants them to feel her love.  She hopes they do.

And so for a full week, her cough got worse, her schedule thrown off, her steps multiplied, her dollars disappeared, her laundry pile didn’t disappear.  But ooooooh the happy.  Everyone.  So happy.  Who can calculate the value of family.

Me.  Do whatever it takes to bless all you love.  Say yes.  Lavish praise.  Acknowledge character.  Add extra.  Share Jesus.  Serve up, pick up, clean up.  Value the family over everything.  Value their happy.

Who taught me this?  Who taught me the value of family?  The one who gave me a family and valued us before anything else.  He made us oh so happy.

We still are.

Jobs

 Not-my-jobs have been jobbing me this week.  Requiring me to do I-don’t-want to’s, I-don’t-know-how-to’s, I-need-help-to’s.  Bill-jobs.  Jobs he did for us.

I did dishes.

Bill cleaned the garage, knew what to keep and what to toss.  Bill calculated taxes, knew what was owed and what to deduct.  Bill haggled insurance policies, knew what to cover and what to claim.  Bill dealt with auto repair, knew which tires were new and which to rotate.

I did laundry.

This week I have been deep in taxes, insurance, tires — all the not-my-jobs.  Not my problems, not my world, not mine.

It’s easy, Kath.  Just call, schedule an appointment, guess at answers, ask how many hundreds of dollars it will cost.  Why is easy hard?  Why am I spilling tears and hating this week?

All I want to do are dishes and laundry.  Jesus, please help me do the not-my-jobs.

Favorite

                                

 “Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens, bright copper kettles and warm woolen mittens, 

brown paper packages tied up with strings, these are a few of my favorite things.”

Good for you, Maria.  Yea.  I used to have favorite things like these.  These are my favorite things now.

Gas in the tank, heater that works, Bears who call me, a roof that doesn’t leak, a lawn to play on, morning coffee with Jesus, an invite to walk the course, a body that feels good, and something on my calendar.

And some laughter.

And a sleep-in now and then.

Pleasants gave way to please-just-work and thank-you-for-helping-me.  Operating operations, helping helpers, healthy health.  These are my favorite things.  No rhymes, no melody, no Christmas song repeat.  Just the basics.

The basics make me happy.  So thankful.  I can truly say,

“When I’m feeling sad
I simply remember my favorite things
And then I don’t feel so bad.”

My Favorite Things, by Julie Andrews

Taxes

                                

    

 Here’s what I know about taxes.  Nothing. 

Well… something.  

I know that after January 1, a know-nothing-about-taxes gal should check her mail every day for letters that say tax statement at the top.  She should stuff that kind letter in a folder.  She should collect letters through about the end of February.  Now she has a nice file.  

Here’s where it gets tricky.  What to do next.  

First pray.  Always pray. 

Then she should call a know-something-about-taxes person.  Over the phone, she will provide basic information.  She knows her birthday.  Whew!

Here’s where it gets trickier.  What to say next.  

First listen, then “uh huh uh huh” a few times.  If a seems-like-a-smart question falls in her brain, she should be brave and ask.  

Here’s another thing I know.  God cares about taxes and tax talk and no-nothing-about-taxes gals.  He will provide, help and bless her through all the tricky.  God honors prayer.  He loves her.

Anniversary

                                 

 Yr 1.  We argued over how to use the new camera before heading out the door to dinner.  Oh brother.

Yr 5.  With 2 babies and no furniture, we made a homemade meal and watched a movie on the floor.

Yr 10.  We posed for a roll of Kodak film in our floral dining room because I thought the wall paper was beautiful.

Yr 15.  We spent the weekend at a B&B in the foothills, toured caverns and arrived back too late, according to the host.   The door was locked.

Yr 20.  We took Bill’s mom to pizza then Dairy Queen where she ordered her favorite hot fudge sundae.  Happy Anniversary, Mom.

Yr 25.  We biked the river path, found a bench to read romantic letters to each other but were interrupted by a ranger on her horse who felt she needed to take care of business.  And so did her horse.

Yr 39.  We made the out-of-town trip to shop, hold hands and splurge at Cheesecake Factory.

Yr 40.  We sat side by side Bill’s hospital bed and thanked God for one last anniversary, one last photo, in look-alike sweatshirts.

Today is our anniversary.  Was our anniversary.  No… still is our anniversary.  In my heart, I’m celebrating a marriage that no one celebrates anymore.  Cept Jesus.  I think Bill does.  And I do.  This marriage transformed my life, gave me a family, and taught me more about the love of God.

I might not be lingering over a slice of shared cheesecake in a booth in the back, or laughing over words in a silly card, or singing, “Happy Anniversary, Baba, got you on my mind,” out loud all day.  But in my heart, I am celebrating.  A marriage like the Lord gave Bill and me is a rare treasure.  I am treasuring it.

In fact, I cannot wait to pick it up again someday.  Maybe not in a married form, but in a I-know-you-best form.  I-love-you-so-so-much form.  Let’s-go-do-stuff form!  I think about this future often.  What is good on this earth is perfected in Heaven.  I love to think about it.

On this anniversary, Yr 42, we are celebrating and treasuring from different homes.  Happy anniversary, Babe.

Hobbies

                              

There’s work.  Important work.There are hobbies.  Important Hobbies.

Biking, hiking, sewing, crocheting, writing and editing, running, reading, studying and learning, soudoughing.

I used to think hobbies filled time to fend off boredom.  Then I realized hobbies fill and spill over time with no thought of boredom.  Now I know hobbies fill and spill over with no thought of time.

I used to think hobbies were extras.  Then I thought they were knacks.  Now I think hobbies are essentials.  At least for me.

Unfilled time equals unproductive, equals what’s-my-purpose, equals confusion and lonely.

Now I know that hobbies equal God’s gifts to widows.  When work is done, chores completed, responsibilities tackled, and time lurks — ride a bike, crochet a row, stretch a loaf, and feel God’s pleasure, know His goodness, receive His gift.

Hobbies equal joy.  Widows need joy.

“God made me fast.  And when I run, I feel His pleasure.”  Eric Liddell from Chariots of Fire.