Lord Have Mercy...I thought they had an empty nest

Lord Have Mercy...I thought they had an empty nest!
(what my mattress would say if it could tweet!)

(I'm entering a contest to win a fabulous bed...wish me luck!)
~Mollianne

One of the Perks

Sometimes, it really is hard to work up a lot of enthusiasm about getting up and going to work. Any work, I imagine. This morning, I let myself into the building at 6:30am to make use of the walking track before I actually began my work day. I am fortunate to work in a building that has both a walking track and shower facilities to use to get clean after walking.Starting next month, Rocket Man will be coming with me as his basketball game is going to move to the gym here at the Church House.

Anyway, it just isn't always a joyful thought to get up on Monday morning and know that I'm coming back to the Church House, especially when I was here on Saturday for a meeting and Sunday, of course, for Worship.

I was, however, reminded this afternoon, of one of the reasons I love working at the Church House.

I was headed downstairs to use the copy machine. I walk through our Narthex to get to the stairs and as I was entering the Narthex, I heard the organ. The organ in our sanctuary is simply amazing. Someone was practicing or perhaps getting a lesson. But the notes I heard, drew me to open the door and stand quietly at the back of the sanctuary to listen.

It was a familiar piece, and I recognized it (as I'm sure you would, too) by the first 3 notes. I stood in the back and watched the light play through the stained glass and listened. I thought, not for the first time, what a blessing it is to be able to work at the Church House and be able get these little mini-concerts.

Even when it is someone practicing or having a lesson, I love to hear the music that drifts from the sanctuary into the Narthex and down to my office, if I have the door open. Just a little perk that comes with the job!

What did I hear today? Here, let me share it with you.



See...I told you you'd know the piece!
~Mollianne

An Occasion of Grace

Receiving grace may be one of the most difficult things I know.  We speak so often of giving grace but to receive it and to do that…gracefully?  That's hard!
  

I must confess it is something that I am not very good at.  Especially when I feel that I've really messed something up.  And somebody else has to pay the consequence.  Oh, how I want that somebody to be mad so I can be indignant.  At that point, I can begin my mental list of

     whys

          wherefores
               becauses
                    and rationalize
                         and justify
                              and come to the conclusion that it wasn’t really my fault anyway.

In the end, if I’m very clever, I can find a way to place blame on the very person who paid the consequence.

Please tell me that I’m not alone here.  That you do it, too.

 Here is my most recent  sad  joyous tale of receiving grace.

We were in San Francisco this past weekend to celebrate college completion with my son.  Did you know that San Francisco is number 3 on the list of ‘most expensive places to visit’ in America?  Our hotel bill for 4 nights was more than we owe each month on our mortgage, although I should say that our mortgage is pretty low.  I was very pleased that we got our flights by using Rocket Man’s Delta Frequent Flyer miles. 

I went so far as to brag about the fact that it was only going to cost $20 out of pocket to travel back and forth. {Why, oh why do I insist on calling down the thunder like that?} I carefully and meticulously poured over the choices of flights and considered pros and cons of travel time to make the best use of our time and especially to get home at a reasonable hour.

Imagine my surprise when I looked closely at the printed itinerary on Sunday night, before we were to leave on Monday morning, when I saw that our departure time was not 11:30 am as I believed, with an 8:35 pm arrival in Huntsville.

Nope.  It was not what I thought.

We had seats on the 11:30 pm flight last night to arrive in Huntsville at 8: 35 in the morning. 

Panic set in. I felt sick at my stomach.  I looked at Rocket Man (who was already in bed, falling asleep) and told him the grim news.  His terse reply was, “That ain’t gonna work!”  We’re just not cut out to take the RedEye and come straight to work.  There was also the problem of having to check out of the hotel and find something to do with our luggage for about 12 hours.

I’m telling y’all.  I was getting sicker by the moment.

He suggested I call Delta right away and see what they could do.  They were happy to change our flights.  For a tidy sum, and more of the precious Frequent Flyer Miles.  At one point, I was sobbing and blubbering and the customer service rep wanted to know if there was someone else in the room able to finish the transaction.

I finished the business, got us on a more reasonable flight.  That flight  arrived back home at 11:30 pm.  I hung up the phone and hung my head.  I must have said, “I’m so sorry” a thousand times.  And I cried.  And I cried. 

Do you know what Rocket Man did?  He did flinch when I told him how much money it cost to change the flights.  But he said, “Its only money” and he held me while I cried.  The nicer he was, the more miserable I felt.  He explained to me that everyone makes mistakes.  Nobody is perfect.  Which I suppose I know in my head, but in my heart…I like to feel that I do everything  just right. 

My heart was breaking because I felt that I’d let him down somehow. 

The response I got from this one man, the one I prefer above all others was love and grace.

I found that so difficult to receive.  I love him more than any human on the planet and I never want to let him down.  But  lately, little things keep cropping up where I am in great need of grace and love.  I find myself  asking for {gasp} help and admitting that I can’t do things I used to do and realizing that there are hours/days/weeks when I’m not my best because of my physical difficulties and limitations.

It  just isn’t easy to accept that grace.  It would be easier in the moment to be defensive if he were to offer something less than loving grace.  To fall into fighting and bickering leading to being angry and sullen.  Instead, he offered arms of comfort and a spirit of love and grace. 

I was awash in it.  And I felt so unworthy. 

He doesn’t want me to feel unworthy.  He only wants me to feel loved.  He offers grace with open hands and no strings.

What was I thinking? 

Run to that grace, Molli!  Accept it. Embrace it. Let it wash over you.

Continue to learn to receive grace…receive it graciously.
Remember to also give grace.  And give it graciously. 
Do both joyfully.

You know, I cut my teeth on grace.  Free and abundant grace of God.  Grace offered everywhere from family and friends.  Why, then, is it so hard to accept from the Rocket Man, who by his own admission  and certainly by his actions loves and adores me?  I think it is pride.  Yikes.  That hurts. 

Grace and pride just don't mix very well. 
I'm working on that.
And accepting his grace.  And accepting God's grace.  And counting it all joy.

~Mollianne
PS...according to Blogger, this is my 100th Post!  Yay!!

Still

5 Minute Friday

Its Friday again, and time to play with Lisa-Jo and friends.  On Fridays, we write for the joy of the words.  We write with no edits or do-overs.  Simply write for the joy of it.  We set the timer and let our words flow from our hearts into our fingertips and onto the screen.  I just love 5 minute Fridays.  Its a wonderful excercise.

So, the timer is set.

The prompt is 'Still'

Go:

The earliest thing I really remember is being in a crib in my parents't room as a toddler.  And the feeling of being surrounded with comfort and warmth.  Because my Sweet Daddy was there.

I was a Daddy's girl from the time I could call him "My Sweet Daddy".  I'm told I would save a hurt knee all day long and begin crying pitifully when he opened the door so he would kiss it and make it better.  I'm sure that drove my Mother crazy!

I still remember being very naughty once when I was about 4 and begging my Mother to spank me, spank me please...but don't let my Sweet Daddy know I was a bad girl.

Istill  remember him holding me in his arms and singing to me and teaching me to trust in God during a storm, because I was terrified of the strom.

I still remember the look in his eyes when he baptized me.

I stil remember the tears that fell from his eyes as he walked me down the aisle and gave my hand to a young 2nd Lieutenant in marraige, and then stepped around us and performed the ceremony himself.

I still remember calling him when a doctor suggested I abort my second baby, because he thought it could get messy.

I still remember him offering his love and support when I called him to let him know that my teenaged daughter was pregnant and I didn't know where to turn.

I still remember showing him the broken pieces of my heart when my marraige failed.  I remember how important it was to me that he love and respect my new husband when I bravely tried again.

I still remember all these thing.

And still...always and ever...

still...

I am a Daddy's girl. 

In fact,

I'm the Queen of Daddy's girls.
Always
Still


~Mollianne

(Pictures added after timer)

Grateful-and Holding



Here's the challenge. Write for 5 minutes. No rewrite. No edits. Write straight from your heart for the pure joy of forming the words and sentences that put expression to your thoughts and feelings. Then, link up to The Gypsy Mama and share the link. 

Its 5 Minute Friday, y'all!  Come on and join the fun!

The prompt:  Grateful
Go:

In April of 1981, I sat in front of my black and white television with an infant in my arms and a toddler at my side and watched the first launch of our new Space Shuttle program. Tears of wonder and awe streamed down my face.  I was not yet a full-blown space nerd, but I was entralled with the program and wanted to be sure that my children grew up aware and excited about the US Space Program. 

I thought of watching launces during school and that thrilling Sunday evening when we saw the pictures of the first moon walk.  It was an exciting time to be alive.

Little did I know in 1981 that my life would take the course that it has, or that space flight would become such a part of my life.  My husband, my amazing Rocket Man, builds space flight hardware.  He is a NASA subcontractor and has been involved with the Shuttle program for 29 years.  I have walked the past 13 years of his career with him.

It was one of the greatest thrills of my life to be beside him on October 28, 2009 when  ARES IX launched successfully and to know of his part in it. 

Tonight... this morning...I am watching the end of that era.  Atlantis is on the pad and the clock is at T-3:00:00 and holding. 

And I am very grateful.  Grateful to have had a brush with this noble dream and program of a proud America.  Grateful that I can tell my grandchildren and great-grandchildren that their Granddaddy was a part of that.  Grateful that something so amazing and awesome a part of our everyday life.  Grateful that when I crest the hill of my daily drive, I look out and see Saturn Rockets strongly standing sentry at the entrance to our town, Rocket City USA.

The beginning and end of an era.  And I am grateful to have been a witness.  I will not soon forget. 
Godspeed, Atlantis.  Fly true and wing your way back to us.  For all you represent.  For all your proud moments of glory.  For the brave crew who have flown you over and over again.  I am grateful.
Always.
Grateful.

photo added after timer...taken with my phone
from the television coverage of NASA TV

Home

Here's the deal:  We write for 5 minutes from our heart.  We write unedited. We write for the joy of it.  We write without rewrites. We write and we link up and we share with each other.  Pretty neat idea. Come with me and join http://www.thegypsymama.com/ for 5 minute friday!  You won't be sorry, I promise.

The Prompt:  Home
Timer set for 5 minutes

Go:

Home.  I used to think it was a house.  Where I grew up.  Where my parents were.

No longer.

Home. It became the house where my children were.  Where we laughed and sprawled and crawled and it was a vast array of different houses, as we were a military family.

No longer.

Home.  It turned into a place I didn't want to be because it was as empty as my soul when their father left and the children scattered and I was facing a dark and uncertain future...alone.

No longer.

Home.  Now it  is that place where I handed my very wonded and bruised heart to a man whose heart was so tender and also war-worn.  Home is where he kissed me and in that kiss I began to believe that my heart could heal.  Home is where he put his arms around me and they have stayed.  Home is where he brushes my hair from my face and whispers, "God Bless my Molli and keep her in His care" in the middle of the night when he thinks I'm asleep. Home is where he intentionally works out to stay strong should I need him to lift me and carry me up the stairs on days I just can't make it myself.   Home includes all of our children and grandchildren and extended family, but mostly, it is that circle of unending, undying love of a union born from hurt and pain, cemented with grit and determination, blessed of God and nurtured with love, care, tenderness and laughter. 

Home, for me, is in the presence of the Rocket Man of my dreams.  Where he is, where we are togehter...that is home. My forever love.  My heart...Ed Massey

Stop

{Picture added after the timer}

~Mollianne

Somehow

Somehow, I thought I'd have more anwers than questions when I reached my {clears throat loudly} mid-fifties!  Silly me.


Somehow, I never really believed that I'd have to exercise more and eat less as I got older to maintain a size 6 body.  Ooops!  That one is in the rear view.  Silly me.


Somehow, I thought that once I was no longer listening for babies needing to be fed, children who might be ill or having a bad dream, teenagers sneaking in after curfew, or a husband who worked shifts...I would sleep deeply and soundly all night long.  Silly me.


Somehow, I thought that my energy levels would always remain high and I would be able to clean house all day and go dancing all night...forever.  Or at least long past this age.  Silly me.


Somehow, I thought I would magically become disciplined in all aspects of life when I attained midle age.  Silly, silly me.


But you know what?  Where I am...still full of questions, size larger than 6 body, insomniac, less than energetic and still not as disciplined as I would like to be...I'm mostly okay with most of that.  Because what I have somehow gained over the years is more grace. 

Grace to learn to trust God more fully for all my needs. Grace to become friends with me.  Grace to give myself a break.  Grace to linger over the good things and try to forgive the bad.    The grace of being loved wholeheartedly by a good man.  Grace to enjoy my grown up children and their spouses, my stepchildren and my adolescent grandchildren.  Grace to embrace my aging parents in new and poignant ways.  I find new graces daily and cling to them.


Somehow, in all that grace, I've found that I sort of like me.  Lots more than I ever thought I would.  Silly me! 

~Mollianne