Be My Valentine

There are three words that always warm hearts: I love you. And then there are another three and they are, “Be my valentine.” It’s at this time of year that we turn to these words. For myself, I am always taken back to the third grade. It was the first time that these words became meaningful to me. They became more than a party and a day off from schoolwork.

It all actually started days before the Valentine’s Day party. I was seated at the dining room table making out my valentines. I had my list of names of all my classmates provided by my teacher and a package of valentines to address. One after another I read the names and carefully assigned a card to each person. I sent my best friend the best card I had, and it went from there until I got to the last name on the list… a little girl that no one in the class cared for too much. Probably because she always had a bad odor about her, was not well dressed, and was pretty much a mess to look at every day. I had two cards left. Back and forth I went with which card to give to her. In the end, I gave this little girl the one I didn’t like and I gave the better card to my teacher. All done! The next day I placed my valentines in this beautifully decorated hat box provided by one of the mothers.

At 10:00 on Valentine’s Day, the cards were delivered to all the children and we ate our fill of cookies and drained the punch bowl dry. Recess! Everyone clambered outdoors to play while the volunteer mothers cleaned up the wreckage from our frivolity. I had remained behind to read my valentines. As I surveyed my valentines like loot, a shadow fell over my desk. I looked up. It was the little girl whom no one liked. Even on that day when other girls had worn party dresses to school, she did not dress well and her bad odor lingered in my presence. On her face was something new; she was smiling ear to ear…. a smile that I can still see in my mind’s eye at this moment. She was radiant with joy and holding the valentine that I had placed in the hat box addressed with her name. Her big dark brown eyes were filled with love. Real love. And then she said it:

“Thank you for my valentine. Thank you so much. You really care about me… I know… Because no one else gave me a valentine. But you did. Thank you, Carolyn for being my friend.”

It stabbed me right in the heart, as well it should have! I had not been a true friend to her. I had given less than she imagined. I didn’t tell her this. Instead I just said, “You’re welcome.”

That night as I lay in my bed with my little sister, I related the party episode to my parents. I felt terrible about myself that I had not seen who she really was! I recall my parents saying that people are so much more than their clothes, the house they live in, or even the language they speak. People are who they are by what we see in their eyes and the way they live their lives. Do their actions demonstrate love? Do their actions make you feel good? And, do you see their souls in their eyes (did I see love there) and does that look you see say I care and I have the actions to match? These were the benchmarks my parents gave me to ponder.

I didn’t think my actions were good… certainly no better than those in my class who gave her nothing. I recalled my motivation in giving that card and it said I gave her less. Yes, she received a valentine. But my motivation from the heart (what I had in my mind’s eye, not just the eyes that I see with) was not enough to allow myself to be called good. I determined that the only good thing I could do was learn from this terrible event. (We are not the some total of our mistakes, but what we DO with those mistakes and how we proceed in life after having made them.)

My parents were correct. Love is so much more than just the action. It is, in the end, the motivation from the heart and soul that matters. Put the two together and it can make a great difference in someone’s life. I wish to love with unselfish acts and maybe a bit of sacrifice. (Being a Good Guy like this will not make you finish last. It helps all concerned to finish first!) So now, when Valentine’s Day comes knocking at life’s door, I give cards that are sent with some kind of true affection in it. I don’t know if those cards are received that way, but it is the way they are given by me.

“Be my valentine” are not random words. They are meant to be healing words, and words full of joy! They are meant to make us feel better about ourselves, when someone took the time to love us from the soul through a simple piece of paper decorated in pink and red with white lace.

There is no red on this page. There is no blushing pink. Still I hope my tale leaves you woven in a lace of knowledge that a little girl years ago taught me a very important lesson that I now live and hope you, the reader feel. People, all people, are meant to be happy. And, in this month of love, I am sending out a deeply heart-felt valentine to you!

May February treat you well. Choose happiness! Feel loved by many!

Best… Carolyn Thomas Temple

Sudden Death

Most American men are glued to their television sets and car radios listening to a football game on Sunday afternoon. We experience two teams in more gear than a marine in combat as they knock each other’s brains out, but by the rules. (Yes, there are rules, ladies. Doesn’t look like it at first, but close observation will reveal order.) Yesterday, both teams were supposedly excellent teams. They both had fought their way to this moment in time over a season of one game after another. And now the culmination of the season… to decide which team will play another in the greatest football game of all time (ask any man).

January 24th, 2010: The game was between the Minnesota Vikings and the New Orleans Saints. The game was back and forth… first one team winning and then the other. A key player was injured and took the bench. And then this key player came back into the game, wounded but ready to fight with teammates for the right to be in the Super Bowl.

The game between the Vikings and the Saints came down to what is called “sudden death,” meaning that the game between the two teams would continue to be played until one team scored over the other. And eventually one did just that. Suddenly the other team was dead, unable to continue, having not scored first. One team goes on to play in the Super Bowl and the other goes home defeated and the season is over. Sudden death: To terminate in an instant. One rises and one falls. One continues. One ceases to move.

They do this for love. Yes, love. I mean, these guys must really have to love what they do to train together, travel together, and sacrifice any sort of a normal life for months at a time. Yes, they are well paid. But there is love and sacrifice here. Love of the game. Love of one’s teammates. Love of winning. Love of triumph and success in being the Number One Team in the nation. Love.

But while it may be a relationship of sorts, no one truly ceases. Falls. These guys finish their season and return to their lives. They breathe, they eat, they laugh, they converse, they hug their loved ones, they think, they make decisions, they continue. It is not so in life’s sudden death… This sudden death is in every way the opposite.

I might go so far as to move Shakespeare’s words around and say that Death… “is a dish served best cold.” No pregame show. No warm-ups before the game. No pep talk. No autographs signed as you leave the field. No breath left at all for any of this. Just depart.

I have known in my life just a few people whose loved one left this world by sudden death. It is, to my thinking, a blessing to he (or she) who departs… We all have to go at some time… But it stings badly for the ones left behind. Like a hard fist in the gut and you can’t breath. Like a dirty slap across the face that can sting for months or years. Unexpected, unprepared, we say, “What? NO! It can’t be.” But yes it can!

In shock, the loved one left behind reels from being hit. The room spins. Life spins. Questions are left unanswered. Sudden death does not allow us to query ever again. Anything that was unfinished before death remains unfinished, until that loved one left behind has time to clean up the mess while still gasping for air from that deathblow of one hard slap. The sting remains to burn in the soul as this explosion of pieces begin to settle all over and around your life. And the “Why?” that lives deep down inside continues to go unanswered as the pieces are slowly picked up and put back into new places.

I have personally buried three out of five members of my birth family. I am familiar with sudden death. And I thought it was the worst thing that could ever happen. I believed this until I experienced lingering death that sucks the very life out of all family members while your loved one leaves you by inches. Lingering death has no heart. It is cruel and painful in a whole new way. It claws at your loved one and you as well. And while you know death is coming, and everyone is saying to you, “Just spend time with them,” this seems so impossible as you work 24/7 to help someone die with any sort of dignity and grace.

Do you know the hour they will leave? No. We never know that. Not in sudden death or lingering death. Only three things are for certain: That we love them, that we don’t want them to leave, and that they must and they WILL depart.

We play the game. We live and die… That’s what I use to believe. And then I grew up and fed on solid food. It is never that simple. Here it is.

A friend of mine comes to mind right now. He was raised in a very poor country with very little food for anyone in the family. As the oldest child, responsibilities fell to this young man, and at some point his mother asked him to feed his baby brother. This was not an easy thing to do, because the baby was just going onto solid food and had no teeth… This friend of mine had to chew the food for the baby and turn it into mush in his own mouth. Then he had to take from his mouth and place it in the baby’s mouth. He was not allowed to eat until the baby was fed, so this meant my friend remained a hungry child while feeding his sibling. He could taste the food but not swallow it. Ergo, he prepared food for his loved one without feeding himself. Such an action is love, sacrifice, and self-discipline of a very high order. He loved his mother enough to obey her and his little brother enough to sacrifice his own comfort. In both instances, it required discipline. Love. Self-sacrifice. Obedience. It’s not football or any other sport. It’s real life at the core of a being and it is survival with a price.

I will tell you that as an adult my friend is a most remarkable man! I’ve always wanted to ask him if he loved his family enough to let them go when the time came, because letting go is the last test of love. Even the Minnesota Vikings can grab onto that… They saw themselves going a certain direction in earnest effort and then Slam! All is gone without permission. Sudden death. Let it go? Could you?

In the real world, lingering or sudden death, both suck! And the bottom line is we don’t want what OR who we love to leave! Collectively, whether you’re a Viking losing your chance at the biggest game in football or you’re a husband who just can’t recover from cancer and leaving this world for the greatest life ever, your fans are going to want to say, “Don’t Go!”

I’ve loved a lot of persons in my life. Still do. I’ve loved them enough to obey them, learn from them, follow in their footsteps, sacrifice my comfort for them, feed them, clothe them, listen to them, teach them, and let (some) of them leave home. But sudden death? Well now. I’d have to really steel myself for that one!

Love has always been my mantra in life. In death it would have to be the same. I would do it well only if God had my back and He helped me to continue in love as I let go of whomever had passed. And even then, I’d probably wallow through the test while struggling to find the discipline I’ve lived by and the sacrifice I’ve known too well.

Losing is never fun, is it? But every football player and every sportsman will tell you that it is part of the game. Even my friend would say that you chew it up (the bad moments) before they chew you. To those who have lost this past week, lingering or sudden death…

May your burden be light with the help of a faith in God.

Best… Carolyn Thomas Temple

Travel

Nineteen-fifty-something. I was very young and sitting in the back seat of the car. The family was taking a trip up into the mountains for a picnic. No music. Radio turned off. Dad was driving and I think he wanted to visit with my mother. My sister was in the front seat because she was just a baby… she needed our mother’s care. My brother was seated by one window, and I was seated by the other window, in the back seat of our family car. We were all happy and excited to be going to the mountains. We had fried chicken and potato salad… my brother was really looking forward to the food. He kept talking about the chicken and looking out the window. I was too short to see out the window and there was no music. I really would have loved to have had the car radio on. Nothing was distracting me. I had nothing to make the ride interesting. Even the car windows were closed. There was no breeze. No fresh air.

We traveled away from the plains of South East Colorado and into the mountains. The car swayed and leaned with the rolling of the road from one side to the other, and then again this side to that. I tried to look out the window again, and get a fix on something outside the car. All I could see was the side of a mountain closing in and getting taller and taller. More swaying. No uncontrolled lulling. More talk of fried chicken. Still no music. No breeze, no fresh air.

My body began to rumble deep inside me. I started breathing funny. At last my mother looked back at me. “Oh, Carroll… We need to stop the car. Carolyn’s sick.” And yes, I was. Very carsick! My dad stopped the car and out I jumped and immediately lost my breakfast there on the side of the road.

In any given moment of misfortune, we will be moved to be true to ourselves… who we really are. No mask. No Saturday face. My parents were very sympathetic. My sister was crying in the front seat. (She cried a lot as a baby. I wondered, that day, if she felt a little carsick too. But she never threw up from riding in the car like her big sister did.) My brother? He was very sorry I was sick but he couldn’t wait for me to be done with it so we could get going, find a picnic table and eat that fried chicken!

Ten years later and the five of us were still going on picnics: In the Summer or Fall, the mountains with fried chicken. In the Winter or the Spring we went to the Cedars to grill hamburgers over and open flame. And in between all of that, we went to the sand dunes to eat sand riddled sandwiches.

On one of those warm Spring weekends we were heading back into the mountains. Not much had changed… My dad still wanted to visit with my mother, but my sister was now older and reading in the car (so, she definitely did not have carsickness). My brother was still talking about the food we would consume. And yes, still sans music.

We hit the rolling hills. The car swayed lightly. Up up up… into the height of the Rockies. Moving this way and that as the road directed the car. I stared out the window and watched the distant view of the trees close in. Higher and higher into the mountains… The tree line disappeared. And with it my control grew faint. I rolled down the window of the car and leaned my head out into the fresh air. It helped. Too late. My stomach rumbled and growled and turned inside my body. Then out of the blue I started to sing. My mother began to sing with me. My father began to sing. My brother sang (adding new and unexpected lyrics based on the food we were soon to eat). At last I felt focus and relief. To this day, music always helps me get passed the rock and roll of carsickness. And so it was that as I continued to mature, music became my constant companion in the car.

January 15th, 2010: I was driving to the Arizona border by myself. Not a fun trip. A work trip. There were no curves in the road to irritate my countenance. Yet I had my music. What could deter me from my appointed round?

Music is many things to its listeners.
*It can say things and communicate when we ourselves can’t find the words.
*It is a soother of souls.
*It is an answer to an angry soul that won’t be heard by others.
*It fills up a lonely place inside us when a void is created through the loss of a loved one.
*It can make us think and ponder and discern.
Music did all of these things for me as I drove south on Saturday. Most of the time, it made me think, ponder, and discern.

Jeckyll and Hyde: A musical written by Frank Longhorn and lyrics by Leslie Bricusse.
“Lost in the Darkness”
“This is the Moment”
“Nobody Knows Who I Am”
“Pursue the Truth”
“I Must Go On”
“A Brand New Life” … to name a few pieces in this musical.
I listened to these pieces and others as I drove a straight desert road south to the border. The story of Dr. Jeckyll and Mr. Hyde had so many twists and turns that it more than made up for what the road did not provide.

For starters, the plot begins with Dr. Jeckyll just wanting to discover something to improve humanity. (Well there’s more, but this is the base theme.) He falls in love with a young woman named Emma who as she sings it, “always loved you, always have… always will and your dreams are mine.” And they are forever bonded. Then. THEN! In just one injection of untried formula, he releases a terrible monster that is every evil thing our society tells us to fear and avoid. Jeckyll sings, “What is this thing I feel?… Willing me. Killing me!” And Mr. Hyde answers him by stepping into reality (through Jeckyll) and proceeds to murder, rape, and plunder whatever suits his selfish persona. Emma, Jeckyll’s great love, does not know what to do. She is not aware of this devilish personality as a part of her true love, but she is aware of him drifting further away from her. Emma can’t see where this is going. Yet she stays with Jeckyll, trying to help. Her friends beg her to reconsider but she can only see him through eyes of love, as she sings “In His Eyes I can see all the things he longs to be.” None the less, she can’t understand the change in him anymore than anyone else. No one knows that he is slowly losing himself to Mr. Hyde, a murdering, raping arrogant vision of unholy crap!

As Hyde, Emma’s husband meets people and does things that Dr. Jeckyll would never do in his right mind. Jeckyll fights this ugly side of himself from what was released by an injection that took only seconds to administer into his arm. In the end, he believes that the only way to stop the horror is to take his own life. He does this.

Through this act of madness, everyone whom Jeckyll loved suffers a loss. His true love, Emma, remembers in song that, “When this all began, we knew there’d be a price to pay”… It wasn’t the price she thought it would be either. She had believed she would lose him to his all consuming work; and her partial invisibility would be the price. Instead, it was HIS total and permanent disappearance, as he struggled to save himself from an ugly inner being that threatened to completely overtake him. He committed suicide to kill the beast within him.

In the end, she loved him beyond this life and tells us this as she sings, “You are free now, you’re with me now, where you’ll always be.” And the curve in the road of her life finds peace to help her move on.

It is a tale that is filled with thought provoking issues and beautiful music. Those twists and turns of the plot, expressed through the music and lyrics, made me remember that tragedy is all around us waiting to happen. In fact, it does happen to all of us at one point or another.

On a plane trip seated across from the District Attorney of a prominent city in Texas, I listened to this man unfold thoughts about his job. (People are always telling me the most interesting things.) This DA said that there are actually very few really bad people in the world. There are mostly very good people making very poor choices. For one reason or another, their judgment is clouded and their lives can just unravel. He proceeded to tell me of the many people that were upper class, highly respected, and living “honorable lives” who had made very poor choices. No names, but their stations in life. He told me of their struggles to preserve their dignity and their property and their lives, while their choices brought life and/or hard work tumbling down around them.

I believe he is correct. But further, I also believe that every one of us is making missteps and recovering, missteps and recovering. Some of those steps are of our own doing while others are the sadness of having been tripped up by some other individual’s poor judgment. At one time or another, we all weave on our road, and go under a ladder (or into the mountains). As a result, things happen and we are expected to deal with it as we learn from the painful event.

Have you heard it said that we are not given more in life than we can handle? Hard to believe when the unexpected crap is flying into our faces and reaking havoc with our lives. We travel through these twists and turns, and it is for sure that will do it with grace or anger (maybe both for a while). It is for sure we will need oxygen. It is for sure we will want peace.

Driving that straight road south as I listened to the lyrics unfold the story of Jeckyll and Hyde, it occurred to me that life is not unlike my carsickness… when missteps happen, or misfortune befalls a person. There are these twists and turns in situations for which we have no control. We will feel sick and maybe even panic through the ugliness of what seems determined to unfold. We may even end up at a stand still for a while as we wretch on the side of our personal journey’s path.

Yet as I arrived at the border to do business, I got out of my car thinking the following… for this trip was most certainly a serious matter. I thought to myself, “Look for a window. Open it for the fresh air of new ideas. Strive to find calm in music so that you can think clearly… music written by humans and that which is written on our hearts and souls by God. In doing so, solutions will be clear. I will stand up straight and not be burdened by whatever life has thrown at me.”

May your journey also be filled with discernment from God, and music to enrich your path.

Best… Carolyn Thomas Temple

Adversity

I recall the anticipation of going to my classes as a freshman in high school. Many of my friends were concerned with the fear of the upper class student, the inability to find their way to class in a new school. I had discussed much of this with my older brother, the light of my life, then. Tommy had this to say, and I believed him.

“Sis, when you get there… sure it will be different. But that’s a good thing! Change is a good thing. It’s an adventure. So go with the plan to love it, and even if you get lost and wind up in the wrong place… smile and love it. Believe that it’s all good. As for upper classmen harassing you, none of them are going to harass you because I’m an upper classman; and everybody knows that you’re off limits. If anyone bothers you, I’m around and not that tough to find. I have your back.” (He had the most infectious grin, and I always believed EVERYthing he said to me. Because at that time in my life, he WAS everything to me.)

So what happened that first day…
*Had trouble finding my locker and I said, “It’s all an adventure.”
*Was late to the first class and I said, “It’s all an adventure.”
*Got pushed around a bit but as soon as I said, “Who are you? I’m Tom Wright’s sister,” they backed right off.

And then came the last class of the day: Science class, with Mr. McCrery. Seated at his desk in front of the sorry tired lot of us, he said, “Procrastination means to put off intentionally and habitually. I am about to give you your first assignment. If you choose to put it off instead of going home and getting it done tonight, you have chosen to procrastinate. Since you’ve then done it once, there is a good chance that you will choose it again, and that is a habit. Begin this year in this science class by making the right choice.” (“Holy cats,” I thought. “Tom and I didn’t cover this!” So looking into this man’s face [that is now burned into my memory] I made the decision to not procrastinate with my assignments.)

I went straight home (short walk… just across the street!) and got to that assignment. When my brother showed up and wanted to talk about my day, I told him I had to get my science assignment done right now! “Ah,” he said… “You got McCrery.” We did eventually talk, but I stuck to that thing of getting not only science assignments done right away but all of the other assignments finished immediately as well.

I am a workhorse! Or I have been known to be one. So with these habits fully formed, I became an adult who can out work most everyone I know! There may be those who will work as hard as I do, but few if any will work harder.

Enter adversity. Marriage and family at best is adversity. Oh it’s a good thing… a very good thing. But it is and always will be adversity as well. And this adversity makes us feel alone. It can make us feel like sucking on ourselves. It can make us want to pout and whine. And don’t think I haven’t done my fair share of that! We all do, starting with me. My marriage and raising four bros thousands of miles from any of my family or my husband’s family just about took me to the floor. (In my meager opinion, one son is not having boys; two sons is a good start; three is humbling and four or more? Well just lie down and prepare to die or else find God! I chose the latter.)

I am one tough woman in my faith and my belief that God is not only “THERE” but that He is everywhere. I love God. I’m crazy for God. I am the one that will always be putting Him first. But more than not, when I prayed in the beginning of my faith as an adult, it seemed like all God wanted to say to me was “Wait.” And man, did I hate hearing that! And God knows that. So I got to grow up.

I experienced the pain of death through the loss of family members and I asked for help to bare the agony. He said, “Wait.” I lost my health and asked for it back and God said, “Wait.” I stayed sick for twenty years or more and finally I got to the place where I went into the church and said, “God! You! NO more! I am not only sick, I am sick and tired of waiting! DO something I can recognize as helpful. I’m reading this Bible, I’m taking classes in how to be a good person, I’m praying… Come on! Cough up something I can hang on to! Amen to THAT!”

This is the wrong prayer. You probably already knew that, didn’t you. Well I also knew that but I said it anyway. Idiot Carolyn! I’m keeping good company though, because this is pretty much what Job said to God when things weren’t getting better (according to him). I should have read the last two chapters of Job… where God hears Job ranting (God really always hears) and raving in prayer and answers him…. “Gird up your loins, Job, for I will speak with you.”
And God proceeded to point out how very ignorant and arrogant and wrong it is to put yourself first before God… The One who can do any damn thing He wants whenever He wants for our benefit. Messing with God this way is like sassing your daddy, when you know he’s bigger than your five year old tail… and he can so kick it to kingdom come!

In the silence (such pain for me) that followed my ranting prayer, I can truly say that I have never felt more alone in my life. I did not get well. And I have wondered if God had already planned to allow more adversity or did I just earn it with my smart mouth… But the bros and I and Hubby lost our home, cars, stocks, bonds, saving accounts, all insurance and were left with a new kind of recovery besides my lack of good health. I recall my husband outside looking up at God… shoulders sagging… and hearing him say these quiet words: “Lord, my name is not Job.”

I felt so alone I considered alcohol as an answer. I considered the damage to my soul, and my family, if I just took my life and died. I considered just getting on a plane and running away, like Noah did. (We all know how THAT one turned out!) But in the end of that agonizing period of silence, I must have been blessed because I found no value in doing any of those things. And when the two youngest bros asked me how we would live and how we would survive this personal holocaust, I heard myself saying to them, “You read about super heroes in your comic books. They are not real; they are pretend. But there is a super hero who is real. And we’re going to believe in Him, and call on Him, and He will save us. Believe. Believe beyond your unbelief… Beyond your fear, beyond your anger in being hurt, beyond yourself. I can’t tell you how but I know that we will be okay.”

We were. Okay. It was not without pain. (Pain is necessary for growth.) It was not without hard work. (Hard work is a requirement of life.) But people kept showing up at just the right moment saying, “I was thinking of you last night and I want you to have this money… no strings attached.” Or they would say, “I heard you needed a car… if you have one dollar you just bought yourself a car.” And that didn’t happen one time, it happend many times over and often from people who were total strangers to me. As for my health, I fought like a son-of-a-gun to live. And beyond all understanding (I won’t go into to it because that’s another story or two) I am completely healthy for the first time in forty-two years.

In my very healthy body and looking back, I can see that adversity has been my friend and my teacher and NOT my enemy. Adversity fires the spirit and matures an individual. Do not lie down in the face of it. Oh you may want to lie down; it may even seem like the natural conclusion to the problem. But don’t do it. I suggest believing beyond everything you see before you to something you cannot see. Beyond all hope. Beyond pain. Beyond fatigue and frustration, beyond anger and despair, beyond self and intelligence and emotional quotient. Believe that there is a one true God who gave us life and that you are not alone in whatever seems to be burying you.

In retrospect, I can see that when I did the a fore said and did that and did that and did that… When I chose God, God showed up. He stayed with me. He showed me the way to adulthood.

It is my hope that as we each face adversity, we can see that none of us is alone. We’re growing. Life isn’t meant to be a cakewalk. It’s meant to make you grow. Listen to Mr. McCrery… Do not put off the learning. Do not make it a habit to lie in wallowing pain. Become contrite before God and humanity. Get the homework done. School’s not out for any of us.

May it be a short trip to happiness. Be blessed.

Best… Carolyn Thomas Temple

Three Things

Today I spent the day in a very lovely town called Roanoke, Virginia. It was a good hour’s drive to get there and I was not driving… so I thought a lot about the historic Roanoke Hotel that I wanted to see in Roanoke. I also thought a lot about what I wanted my new year to be. Because after all, it is soon to be or already is (depending on where you live) the last day of the year 2009. As I thought about the two, it was interesting the way it sort of blended together.

I wondered if the new year would be much different from the year of 2009. (I always wonder that. Do you?) I wondered if I would be a better person. I wondered if I would help others in a way I had never helped before… some years have been that way… and some years I’ve been the one helped like I was never helped before! (God bless the people who’ve helped me!) I wondered if I would make any great changes in the way I live. (I would have to say that once in a while, I’ve had to make great changes in the way I’ve lived… like the time we lost everything but faith, family, and a few family heir looms and had to move to a rat infested, German roach infested, ant infested and snake infested house! I recall wondering what God’s plan was… and I recall wondering what I’d done wrong to have landed in such a terrible place. But after a while, ya just stop wondering and roll up your sleeves and deal with the life you were dealt. You make a house a home. You love your family just as you always did, and you thank God that you still have the right to breathe in a healthy body! … And the snake, by the way, was dispatched by a neighbor and his son whom I quickly befriended since there was NO way I was going to pick up a snake and show him the door!)

When we got to Roanoke, Hubby and I went into what must surely be the most beautiful hotel in town. Built in the 1800s and filled with lovely Christmas trees that are all decorated to match different themes chosen by those who sponsor the tree. As I wandered through the hotel, I found myself visiting with a plethora of interesting people.
*A gentleman in a green plaid vest and beige slacks (wearing loafers) who looked to be about 80 years of age
*A little girl maybe 5 years old dressed in pink and white with white patten Mary Jane shoes
*A mother of four children all in coats, over-shoes and mittens with her mother
*And then there was Mary and her care giver Phyllis. (I’ll tell you more about her in a minute.)
All had stimulating thoughts to share about Christmas past and Christmas present. All of them shared one thing in common… they smiled. They smiled right into my face and into my soul. “Next year… Smiling is something I must do more,” I recall thinking.

During the trip through the hotel display, I happened upon a very well kept grand piano. True to myself as a musician, I went over to see if it was locked. Usually these nice hotels have them locked because the staff doesn’t want anyone playing it unless they’re good enough to be paid to play. But this time the hotel had taken a different tact… the piano bench was gone but the piano was unlocked. (Who would play if the bench was gone? Well, of course I would since as a music teacher, I have often done that!) I looked around and saw that everyone was busy viewing the trees and the staff was busy staffing… so I opened up the piano cover and touched the keys. One chord. Hmmm… it was in tune! Happy accident? Whatever the reason, I couldn’t stop myself… I put two hands to the keys and began to play a piece from the Romantic Period that I have always been fond of… When my children were little and would be sick, I use to hum this tune to them to help them sleep. So thinking of my children and how much I love them, I very quietly began to play.

Funny how as the music came out of the piano, my thoughts of my children at different ages rolled through my soul. One phrase made me think of the oldest, another made me think of bro number two and then it just went from there until I had finished the piece and blessed myself with memories of all four of them. I thought I had just played for myself. But a moment later, as I was walking through the tree display, a very striking woman of age 85 (she told me her age) mentioned how much everyone enjoyed the music as I played. Mary shared many thoughts that I hope I will not forget. Most of all I will recall her very beautiful face with her purple cane, vivid white hair pulled away from her face and dressed in red and white… all this framed by her strikingly erect posture…. even now as I think of her, she makes me want to play the piano for the pleasure of someone besides myself. So in 2010 I hope I will often see Mary’s face in my mind’s eye and play for the joy of others.

At last it was time to eat lunch. Hubby and I entered a very large dining room decorated in red, gold, and silver Christmas displays. Again, everyone, staff and guests alike, wore smiles. (I really do have to do more of that!)

There was a buffet being served and so I sauntered in to view the feast. SO many recipes I had never heard of let alone eaten. As it happened, a chef was standing right there! So being my chatty self who questions everything, I struck up a conversation. I learned a great deal about Southern cooking! And this chef shared recipes with me that had history back to my great-great-great-great relatives! All the time, she spoke, this wonderful drawl was floating from her mouth. I was enchanted by her Southern enthusiasm to make me want to eat everything in sight! Another “I shall” found my 2010 list: I would like to prepare these historical recipes for those I love and make them as happy as this chef made me.

Now back in my hotel room and considering the great day I’ve enjoyed, I feel prepared for 2010. I shall smile smile smile! It’s cold as ice here in Virginia, but I don’t feel it when so many people smile at me and I do the same in return. I shall play the piano for the pleasure of others. Music also warms the soul and eases the pain… whatever it might be. And finally, I shall prepare those wonderful Southern recipes and hopefully serve them up with the sweetness of Chef Jackie!

Happy New Year, my friends! May you also find joy in the resolutions you chose for 2010!

Best… Carolyn Thomas Temple

Miracles Still Happen

Sometimes I wonder to myself as I sit down to write, should I tell this story? This one is really amazing… probably because it happened to me. So should I tell it? This Christmas Eve Day… a day dedicated to miracles. Yes. So yes, I shall. Maybe it will resonate in some way with you. Merry Christmas to all… Here is the true story that I remember as “The shopping Cart Miracle.”

I had only three of the four bros at the time. I wasn’t pregnant with number four yet. But I already felt as if I was feeding a regiment. I would go to the food store and fill two grocery carts from the very bottom to over flowing on the top. I would try to total the cost (in my head) for all those items on my carefully planned shopping list. It was consistently more than I could afford. Shopping was the least favorite thing I did, because it is a terrible thing to feel like you can’t pay for the lives you of whom you are in charge. I wanted… I needed this to stop.

Onto my knees… Looking up… Alone in my bedroom… “Father, God… You are the keeper of my soul, the light of my life. You are my rock and, just like David, the shade on my right hand. I need you in my life in so many ways… but right now I need you to help me stop the craziness that happens when I go to the food store! I can’t track these little boys and count dollars and place food in the basket all at once. And I can’t go crazy with worry over whether there will be enough money to pay at the end of the shopping. So right now, I give you my grocery list. I give you my worry, and I’m asking for peace in this matter. Let me go into that store with YOU, my God, as my counter, with YOU as the one who pays. I will shop… and I need you to make that money be there for the items I need. You know I only have $200 for the five of us twice a week. Make that total come out to no more than this… not just once or twice but every single time I shop for food. I Carolyn, now make You the keeper of my pocket book! I will be the keeper of my children. Right now, Lord, I own this request. I take it to my soul. I believe. I am expectant of your good return. I love you. In Jesus name, Amen.” (I said that prayer such a very long time ago and I am amazed that I still remember what I said. Maybe it’s because I really did take it to my soul.)

From that day forward I prepared mentally to receive this gift from God. I went about my business as wife and mother, and waited on the day when He would make good… not just because I wanted it but because I truly knew to the depth of my being that I needed it! Living in California was always such a cash struggle with expensive homes and very high car and health insurance, and three boys that couldn’t stay out of the emergency room (bless them).

Enter shopping day. I had the bros with me: Nate in my arms, Tory’s hand in mine and Trav’s hand in Tor’s. We walked into the store. I placed Nate in the child’s seat of the shopping cart. The other two boys were each holding onto opposite sides of the cart. We filled one cart to the brim. Tory went for another one. We filled it as well. I forced myself to concentrate on the expectancy of no more than $200.00… and even spent time thanking God for the outcome. We got into line… one cart was emptied onto the counter. The second cart began to be my focus, as I took each item out to be scanned and added to the bill.

“Two hundred dollars. Two hundred dollars. Thank you Lord for your grace. Your goodness.”

“Mom, you look worried. You okay?”

“Pretty much… just staying focused.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s necessary… I’m thanking God for making the grocery bill no more than $200.00. Why don’t you thank Him too.”

“Right now in the store????”

“Yes. You don’t have to… but it would help.”

Three little boys all shut their eyes and began to pray. The clerk hit the total. $187.63!

“Hot damn! I mean… thank you Lord,” I thought. I looked at the boys who were grinning ear to ear. Finally one of them said, “God is good, huh Mom.”

“Yes He is.”

From that point on (for months in fact), we went to the store with great confidence and always came home with our grocery bill less than the $200.00.

And then, a challenge, or maybe even a test came our way.

The bros and I had done our shopping and were in a fairly long line. As usual they passed the time making themselves available to all, in any and all lines, for chatting it up.

“That’s a lot of food you kids have to eat there,” said a gentleman in line behind us.

“Yes it is, answered the bros.

“I bet that’s at least $400 worth… you guys stocking up for a winter storm,” exclaimed the same fellow.

The bros answered him. “Heck no… we eat like this all the time.” And then it happened… “And just for your information, that’s not $400 worth of food; that’s $200.”

“Oh you must be mistaken.”

“No sir. We asked God for it… and He always makes it less than $200. Our mom doesn’t have any more money than that. So God pays for it.” (And are the bros sharing this with just one man behind us? Well of course not. They have chosen to tell everyone who will listen, it seems.)

“How much for all of that?” and “What’d those kids say?”

The bros continued to share their story with not only those in our line but other check out lines. A crowd (no really, it’s true) was now gathering. “It’s never more than $200.”

“No way!”

“Way!” said the indignant bros.

Everyone wanted to see what the total would be, including our clerk who was saying, “This is definitely more than $200.” Everyone was listening to her and touted her as the authority because after all, she rang up these totals for a living every week! Who were the Temples to say that it would be no more than $200?

She punched in the last item. “Everyone ready for the grand total?” I recall thinking to myself, “I believe. I believe. I believe. Thank you for this answer to prayer.”

Silence ensued for an infinite five seconds as the clerk milked this moment of drama and attention.

Cha-Ching! $192.89! God is so incredibly good! So amazing! So faithful! So loving!

People up and down the line and all around the check out stand, including our clerk were saying things like, “I can’t believe it.” And number two bro announced in a loud voice, “That’s why your food bill is higher than ours! You don’t believe.”

“I wanted,” just like everyone who ever had a wish through the Christmas holiday season. I know, though, that the answer to prayer I received came my way, because God knew I more than “wanted.” He knew I “needed,” and I asked Him for help and gave away my desire to control the outcome. I am so grateful for God’s continued care and love of my family and me. The food bill still never totals more than $200 even though the bros are all now gone to live their own adventures and prices continue to escalate.

At this very minute, outside, there are people hurrying about with lists of this and that in there heads. Inside, red and green with gold deck the stores with boughs of Holly. Cash registers ring totals and items are bagged and handed over to customers. The only thing I hear is one son in his innocent faith saying to an astounded group of people in a food store, “That’s why your food bill is higher than ours. You don’t believe.”

May you believe. Believe beyond your unbelief. Always and forever.

Best… Carolyn Thomas Temple

More Shopping More Gifts

Isn’t it interesting the way the mind works. We start out on one path and that takes us to another and then another. The next thing we know, we’re saying, “What?” or “Where are we?” So it was for me just the other day. A half hour coffee date with a friend became an entirely different path than expected.
9:30 a.m. A trip to the high school to take her son some forgotten items that he needed for the day.
10:00 a.m. Christmas gift shopping
11:30 a.m. Lunch
1:00 p.m. Closing out the day with more shopping. (Stores I had never set foot in, and others that I didn’t even know existed.)

It wasn’t my adventure: it was hers. I was just along for the ride as company. Throughout the day, she chatted freely about family life with three children and the joy she found in doing any and everything they needed. It reminded me of a time that seems like yesterday, and yet so long ago.

December 17th, 1981:
The bros and I took off on a Christmas shopping trip of our own with all three talking at once and excited about spending their cachet of savings. And, the bros always liked it because after the shopping was done, I would take them for hamburgers and French fries. So while visions of fast food danced in their heads, they chose something for their gifts.

These gifts varied from a “whoppee cushion” in the shape of a chicken, to a necktie I’m sure Hubby would never wear but would cherish and keep. You may wonder why I let a son give his father this in sane chicken gift… It was because this son wanted to have some fun with his dad; and their father had and still has a great sense of humor! Hubby never cared if his kids wanted to make fun. And one has to admire that kind of confidence in a man. That said it also must be in the genes, since years previous to marriage and family, I myself bought my father a cuss bank! (Ten cents if he said “damn.” A nickel if he said the word “hell.” And, a handsome fat quarter if he took the Lord’s name in vain. I figured a gift like this would make us independently wealthy since my dad was always cussing somebody… and remember this is from a child’s perspective! My dad, LOVED that bank. He actually wore out the stopper in the bottom of the bank from use. We never became millionaires but we all enjoyed that bank.)

Back at the mall, the oldest bro (ten years of age) asked if he could take off by himself for a little while to buy a gift for me. “Fine,” I said. He came back shortly looking very satisfied but sort of flushed. I asked if he was okay… he said, “Yeah, but I sure hope you can appreciate that I had to walk through the ladies underwear to get this gift and the panties touched me!” I had to turn away because I didn’t want him to think I was laughing AT him, but instead with him. So many of us will do the darnedest things to please our parents with a gift! Love and sacrifice! This is what gift giving is all
about.

Number two bro was done shopping almost before the others had started. I thought of how my dad was so pleased that I could shop in such a short amount of time. And here was MY second child doing the same thing. When he finished what did we do? Checked out the window Christmas displays while number three finished up his purchases under his oldest brother’s supervision.

At last, everyone was finished. All but me… but my gift was on the lay-away plan. Too soon to get it. So, with gifts bundled under arms we headed for Burger King where I recall we met their dad. Everyone talked at once until the food arrived. Then no one talked at all… dead silence. All you could hear was munch munch munch! Then into the car and home with everyone talking about tomorrow being the last day of school before Christmas break. (And yes, we did call it Christmas Break.. we were in fact breaking because of Christmas… and no person of any race, creed or color threatened our lives or was insecure enough to be offended. We were all happy together. Imagine that.)

That night, when all were in bed, I reviewed the day… the long Christmas program at the elementary school where I had arrived last and had to stand or sit on the floor for the better part of almost two hours. Then the shopping and the bros wanting me to carry their purchases that day. I had refused stating that I was already carrying enough. And now with all tucked away, I too went right to sleep thinking about the gift that was due to make an appearance any day now.

(Baby) Temple number four was three weeks, six days over due. The doctor hadn’t wanted to induce for fear he had the date wrong (which incidentally, he did not). To his mind this was a “vasectomy baby” and Hubby and I had no idea when I had become pregnant.

About 6:00 a.m. the next morning, I awoke to find myself in labor. I called the doctor. He said, “Too soon… Wait another hour or two and then come to the hospital. I considered how far out we lived from the hospital and, “No. We’re going now!”

With the kids squared away and my mother there to handle any emergency that might occur (and often did) Hubby and I were ready to make our journey into town for the hospital. The three bros were all wide-eyed and excited.

“The next time I see you, we will be six of us.” Tory high-fived number two bro and Nathan touched my baby spot to feel the baby moving and just grinned at his mom. Nate had just celebrated his birthday four days previous… this had a whole different meaning for him. December babies share their birthday with a very special baby… it changes everything because from the get-go, they know they are not the only person on the planet.

In my euphoric state, I turned to go get into Hubby’s car. No! He had decided to take the truck to the hospital. Now any woman in labor will tell you that a truck would be the last choice of transportation for a woman in labor. My water had broken which meant there was no cushion between the mother and the baby. This could be (and was) a rough ride. First time around one could excuse this colossal boo-boo for simple ignorance. But the fourth time? If I had not been busy dealing with labor I might have chosen to disembowel Hubby.

Forty-five minutes later we arrived at the hospital. The doc examined me and told me that for sure I would be having the baby today but he thought he’d go do his rounds… probably see me around 5:00 in the afternoon. “Idiot.” I thought to myself.

I considered the horror of getting into the truck with Hubby. I considered the rate at which I had cut my delivery time in half every time I’d had a baby. I considered being delivered somewhere on a California freeway in rush hour traffic with “Truck Man” as my OB. No way was I leaving the hospital!

Fifteen minutes passed and contractions were increasing. The head nurse walked over to me and planted herself right in front of me. “You think you’re having this baby a lot sooner than the doctor thinks, don’t you.”

I said, “Yes.”

“How many deliveries have you had and what was your labor time with each?”

I told her.

She took me by the arm and told me I was getting a room.

In less than thirty minutes I was rushed from a labor room into delivery. My doctor was nowhere to be seen and there were no other Ob docs on the floor other than a gentleman from India who came to study our birthing practices. He became the delivery doctor. It was a hard fast delivery with no bows or fancy wrapping paper. The bro came so quickly and was so big, my body tore and bones fractured during delivery with no anesthesia. (And good old American medicine would have sent me home the same day. I ended up staying overnight so I could rest, only because the pediatrician couldn’t check out the baby until the next day. God is good. And FYI… had I tried to go home, I would have delivered somewhere on I-805 between the hospital and home.)

Saturday, December 19th, 1981 and back home with my little bundle. I stood in front of the Christmas tree and considered all of the shopping on Thursday. There was no doubt that Hubby and I were giving the best gift! The one in my arms.
*He didn’t come with instructions in a language I don’t speak.
*There are no parts to put together, for he came all in one beautiful piece.
*Instead of wearing out, this gift continues to get better and more interesting. (In fact this gift will surely improve everyone’s life as we all grow and mature.)

“Four boys,” I thought. “So much to love, and teach, and take to a wonderful place in this world of ours. God help me to be up for this.”

And so it was, that the shopping with my friend was not the excitement I experienced that day in 1981. It was quiet in comparison. The mother with whom I shared the day was about the same age that I was in 1981. She was happy and smiling and beautiful with the joy of the season. She was filled with energy to raise her three kids. God was and is in her. Funny how time repeats itself and gives us a chance to be the observer.

May you also enjoy terrific shopping experiences whether it’s a quick purchase or the lay-away plan like mine.

Best… Carolyn Thomas Temple

Post Script: “Happy Birthday, Nicholas Bartholomew-Bransom Temple! May your life be filled with the joy you bring to so many who know and love you.”

This Is Too Rich

Yesterday: I was writing and writing away, one project after another. In the background I could hear first the football highlights, then the football highlights discussion… I was getting tired of the volume cranked up with our surround sound set-up. I found my mind wondering to the freezer with every sentence I composed. Soon, that “want a fudge bar” grew into a “must have,” and by the time I finished writing my project I was sure that I had earned a treat. After all, I was having to write in the same room as the TV and the competition had been stiff. So the “want” permanently billowed into “must have.”

Over to the freezer I went and opened the door. One quick look told me all I needed to know. Fudge bars GONE! I asked Hubby what happened to that box (as if I didn’t know)… He didn’t even look up from the TV, just hollered my way (because the game was on and of course had to be very loud to give the feel of “being there”… or so I’d been told)… Those fudge bars were gone last night.”

This was not a good answer. The wife was in “most have” mode. So, I asked him if he could go down to the corner and get another box of fudge bars.

“Carolyn, the game is on.” (Which in Hubby language means “No!”)

“Hmmm…” I think to myself. “Sounds like a double standard to me. I can get up and get Hubby’s whatever-he-wants while he’s working, but he can’t leave the game while I’m working and get something for me.”

My nose was out of joint. I know I know… It was only a fudge bar. But I was suffering from “must have.” I tried to sublimate by searching for the previously mentioned ipod. (You remember that story? And yeah, it’s still missing!) I looked everywhere for the fiftieth time and continued to salivate over a fudge bar that wasn’t there anymore than my ipod.

Empty-handed yet again, I turned to see Hubby totally oblivious to my pain. Snap! I sidled over to the boss and sat down next to him. (fyi… Sidling is NEVER good.)

“Honey, you said you loved me, adored me, can’t live without me, that I made your life every good thing you ever wanted.”

Hubby continued to watch the football game…. “Yeah. So what’s your point?”

Poor Hubby. He’s about to be “had” and he walked right into it. (If you ever want anything, always ask during the last down just before the half time of the game.) “Well, I would like to know,” I said, “How you equate love, adore, can’t live without, and best thing in my life with I can’t go to the corner store because the game’s on.”

His head snapped my direction. He looked like a deer that had just been snared in a trap. Hubby knew better than to fight it. He got up, headed for what I assumed was his coat and car keys. In maybe ten minutes he was back leaning over me with a really evil grin on his face… Like he was hunting for fresh meat and I was dinner.

“Did you ever find your ipod,” he asked.

“No I didn’t;” and started to launch into all the places I’d looked for it. His hand went over my mouth as an arm curled around my waste. We were eye to eye. I ripped his hand off my mouth…

“What,” I snapped. (Probably out of dire need for that fudge bar.)

“Here.” He reached into his coat pocket and produced my “much-loved-by-me” ipod!

“Where did you find it,” I asked. I was stunned because I had literally torn the house apart searching for it.

“This is too rich,” he said under his breath. He leaned into my neck and whispered, “In the ipod case where it’s supposed to be. Did you just assume you never put it up?”

I guess I had. I have no recollection of putting it away. “And, I will never hear the end of this one,” I’m thinking.

Hubby continued to hold me tight. Then he said, “Now. About the ‘love, adore, can’t live without, and best thing in my life’ stuff? I think I could easily go back to my game. But since I’m up, Ill go get you the fudge bars.”

“Yep. I’m never hearing the end of this!”

May you always have the last word.

Best… Carolyn Thomas Temple

The Quest

At this time of year (as we think of others and buy buy buy to show our love), I find myself going back in time, to thoughts of my maternal grandmother who saved saved saved.

Yes, she was an amazingly frugal woman. She could save to the extreme. Grandma would stash a little away before she paid the bills, before she sent savings to the bank (which she did every pay check). This was her habit until after she passed away. Her thrift became evident when I went home for her funeral.

I was helping my granddad by making up all the beds for him; and as I was tucking the blankets into one of the guest beds, my hand touched something that felt foreign for the underside of a mattress. I lifted the mattress a bit only to find a considerable cachet of cash. I didn’t even count it. I took it straight away to my granddad.

I told him the story… how I came by the money. I waited as Grandpa took it, counted it, held it for a moment. Then he looked up with big tears rolling down both cheeks…. “Your grandma use to squirrel money away to help her kids, the church, maybe something we wanted but didn’t need. I use to wonder how she was doing this when the bank savings kept going up. I never looked around for where she put it… just figured if she thought she needed a safe place, then she needed it.”

What an impact that had on me that day. I decided that I should have a safe place. Maybe not just for money but also things that were valuable to the family or me. So after my grandmother’s service was over and everyone had been hugged, kissed, and helped I boarded a plane for home with a plan to have a secret hiding place for valuables and perhaps a special savings.

I started by stashing money under the mattress like my grandmother. Unfortunately I had two sets of little boy eyes at that time; and they thought this was a game. They kept pulling the cash out and handing it to me saying, “I found it. Go hide it again!”

So I let this be for a while and didn’t look for a safe place. Not until our home was burgled. And what did they steal? None of Hubby’s things… they stole mine! Theft made me re-think the safe place project.

I proceeded to find safe places all over the house. In the family room, in the master closet, in the guest room, in the kids’ rooms in the garage… And yes, I even found one in the laundry room. The trouble was, I could never remember where my safe place WAS. And this would explain why there were so many! Sigh! As I grew older (notice I did not say OLD) I also became a master of multi-tasking… or maybe it was that I was taking care of so many men, and I was trying to do it all at the same time. In the course of man-care, I would lose track of things. I would still try to find a nice safe place… as I tried to care for the six of us all at once. Whatever the reason, I could not remember the safe place once I triumphantly hid an item.

Side Bar: My father once jumped all over me because I had a personal drawer that was a mess… My mother scolded him for chewing me out and told him “Her drawer is messy because she keeps five men clean!” (God bless our mothers!) But while this saved my tail once, it didn’t explain why I would so often lose things… a thing I was careful not to tell my father.

Now stay with me. Fast forward to a few months ago. I either misplaced or actually lost or have put in yet another safe place, my precious and much-valued-by-me ipod! I remember the last place I saw it. I tried to back track. No good. I tried looking in other places where I might have used it last. No good. So a couple of days ago I decided to go through all of handbags… maybe I had left it in one of them. No good again. But I did find $37.00 in cash. (Grandma would have been proud of that!) Then I tried just looking in odd places that seemed like good hiding spots. The corner cabinet. The shelves in the closet. Nope. The crystal cabinet in the kitchen above the roll-top desk. No ipod, but at some point I had turned back into my grandmother and stashed $205.00 in various sized bills. A happy accident to have run on to this cash, yes?

While this has not been a total loss in saving cash, it has pointed out to me that I am most certainly not my grandmother. Yes, I can save. But when I squirrel it away in the best bank in the world, I fail to remember where it is! Perhaps this is why it really IS the best bank. It can’t be spent if it can’t be found!

May your safe places truly serve you well, and be remembered at the most propitious moment!

Best… Carolyn Thomas Temple

Post Script: Bros, should your mother die after your dad, be sure to go through all the pockets before you give my clothes to Good Will!

Let There Be Lights

A few days ago, I whiled away the early evening as I watched a Christmas flick where the hero made a complete fool of himself trying to put more lights on his house than anyone else on the planet. You know this one? He was totally obsessed with lights in every way shape and form. I thought, “That’s just nuts,” and then I walked outside. All of my neighbors (no it’s true!) were putting up Christmas lights.
*Lights on the roof.
*Lights on reindeer
*Lights around the front door
*Lights on the windows and in the windows
*Lights that blinked and lights that didn’t blink
*Lights sans color
*Lights of every color
There were displays of Santas that heaved with air inside and they were lit up! (Scary. It was actually a balloon filled with air, but still… Santa “breathing” like the last chimney was going to give him a heat attack? The sound was awful.)

We had put up our Christmas tree a few days previous. You could see it in the front window of the house, so we had lights that decorated the house… well, sort of. Now it was me who was thinking lights lights lights. Carolyn to Hubby: “Let’s take a walk around the block and see the lights!” And we did.

Every house looked magnificent! Our neighborhood was really into celebration mode. And we began to get caught up as we viewed the Las Vegas like venue of the area. We chattered away recalling when we use to put lights on our house. They were the white ice sickle type lights that hung around the edge of our Arizona residence. And there was the Mother Mary with Baby Jesus that sat outside our front door. She had sort of a glow about her that changed from blue to green to lavender, and back to blue again.

Carolyn: “Hmmm…. Let’s put up our lights.”
Hubby: “Hmmm… (He knew that when SHE said “Let’s” it meant YOU.) “I guess we can do that,” he said. And “she” let out a squeal of joy!

So off we went to buy lights. Excited like kids (well I was) we jumped into the car and hurried on down to our local Walmart. The parking lot was jammed with shoppers. Shopping carts were everywhere… In the middle of the lot, in the middle of the road, and taking up parking spaces. They were stuffed in the cart bin which was over-flowing. Mothers were dragging their toddlers into the store. Fathers were hustling to the door as they checked their blackberries. A car honked at one man as he stepped out in front of the moving vehicle. The guy didn’t even look up from his texting… just kept heading for Walmart, the king of stores that has all your shopping needs.

Inside we could hear nothing but adults talking, carts banging, and children mostly crying or arguing with their siblings. Underneath it all was the buzz of canned holiday music and various announcements to we holiday shoppers. Hubby and I headed for the Christmas section and quickly found the lights we needed. We were off to pay and be out of there.

Lines. Every checker had a line that leaned aggressively toward the rear of the store. It didn’t matter which one we picked; they were all of them long enough to keep us there until way past dark. So we split up and each stood in a different line, thinking that this way one would get to a checker faster and the craziness would end. (This is of course like buying five tickets in the lottery instead of one. But we did it anyway because we needed hope!) Finally we paid and got out of there. The two of us hustled to the car, leaped in to just sat there. Ah! Silence! Our ears were ringing from all that noise.

Half recovered, Hubby headed us home into the darkness of the night. As we pulled into the driveway glad to be moving into stage two of our plan, I looked up at our tree shining through the living room window. The very top string of lights on our tree was not lit. I said, “Oh no! The top of the tree isn’t lit up.”

Screech! Halt! We came to a grinding stop in the middle of the driveway. Hubby considered the tree.

He looked straight ahead, hands gripping the steering wheel with white knuckles. He looked my way… Then He looked straight ahead again. A low and ruffled sigh, that seemed to barely replace the obscenities he seemed eager to spit, rolled from his gut through his nostrils. Finally one hand came off the wheel and pointed in my direction. “Open the door.” I did that. “Get out.”

I’m thinking to myself, “How did we so quickly go from the energetic ‘Let’s do lights’ to ‘Get out of the car’?” Again Hubby spoke. It was slow and over controlled… “Out. Now.” Oops. Maybe I should have waited from a more propitious moment to mention the tree lights. (“A moment’s insight is sometimes worth a life’s experience.” _ Oliver Wendell Holmes)

I decided that obedience was the better part of valor, so out I went and headed into the house and as far away from where I thought he might be going. Hours later Hubby came to me and gave me a hug and a smile. I wanted to ask about the lights, but I knew it would be a death sentence to bring it up. I left him there in the bedroom and went to take a look at the tree.

The lights on the top of the tree had been replaced with what appeared to be the lights we purchased for the outside of the house. The lights he replaced from the top of the tree were lying on the floor plugged into a wall socket… and working again. (There is a Christmas tree light phantom in our house. I hope he’s done!) I opened the front door and stepped outside to take a last look at the neighbors’ lights before bed. Standing in the middle of the driveway I considered the beauty. “Is it worth all that we go through to make our homes shine? Isn’t the radiance of life itself and a God that loves us enough?

I turned to go back inside. “Oh my gosh! He did it!” And I laughed right out loud starring at the three light bulbs in our entryway that had been changed out (all three) from white to blue and green. (Thank God he didn’t do red… that would have been a travesty!) Hubby had decorated the outside of our house! Simple but elegant!

Lights. We love them and they are like children that won’t obey. This Temple House does not look like the many lights I saw in the movie nor does it radiate like our neighbors. But, at least if these Christmas lights go out, only a single light bulb has to be changed.

May your life be filled with light, in the smiles of others, and from heaven above!

Best… Carolyn Thomas Temple