Tuesday With Teri

This is the third week of our advent celebration.  Each week, four leading up to Christmas, we take time to focus on the real reason for our merriment.  While we mark the days for the coming of Christmas, we also recall the coming of our savior.  This week we consider PEACE.

       I was sitting in a small airport in Florida awaiting my return flight home to Virginia.  It seemed to happen in slow motion, a sort of quiet wave of cause and effect.  First, a fellow traveler sitting beside me received an alert on his phone.  A tiny “ping” prompted him to look at the updated information about his/our flight…there was a delay.  As I noticed his activity, I looked at the board above the gate as it rolled over a new notice for passengers…”flight delayed”.    There were only about 20 of us in the waiting area, but eventually everyone had out lap tops or cell phones.  You could hear the other conversations, some to family members alerting them to the glitch in the plans, most were to booking agents seeking assurances that connections could be made.   Then the real trouble began!

        I heard it before I saw it, a heavy sigh, an exasperated gasp, I looked at the board above the gate now radiating that dreaded word, “canceled”.   No one rushed the counter, which was good since there was not an attendant there at the time.  Everyone used calm hushed tones while making calls to airlines, travel agents, and those who would be impacted by the cancellation.  If it were not for the jarring word “canceled” above my flight number, I would have considered the scene serene.

       As I sat there, the scene around me relatively calm, I thought about how very different this would have been if I was at one of the two busier airports we fly out of in Northern Virginia.  I have been there before, at the airport, when flights were getting delayed/canceled….it would never be described as serene

       As soon as there was an indication of a delay, cells phones would burst into action, callers taking demanding tones with whomever they were engaging with.  Long lines would quickly form in front of the gate’s podium.  Overwhelmed airline personnel would attempt to service distraught passengers.  Throughout the gate area you could hear everyone’s stories of despair as they shout into phones or at attendants… “I’ll miss the wedding”, “This meeting is huge, I can’t miss it”, “my boss is not going to believe this”, “where am I going to stay if I can’t get out tonight?”.   Eventually the chaos rolls into a general grumbling that is heard under every breath.   There would be a noticeable rise in the collective blood pressure of everyone involved.

       A canceled flight.  A common crisis.  A dramatically different response. 

       The “plan” changed and passengers could choose how they would respond….peace or panic.   “Peace or panic?”  In my head I hear this phrase in the tone and voice of the cashier at my local Farm Fresh, “paper or plastic?” 

       This week I am thinking of all the things that have not gone as I had planned or hoped.  I KNOW, I KNOW there have been tons of wonderful things that have gone far beyond my expectations.   I do not mean to imply that I take the blessings in my life for granted, but if I am honest, I must admit, there have been moments where I have been shaken, and decidedly a little panicked, when things  did not going according to my plan. 

       My peace. My sense of calm. My feelings. My plans.  These things are always changing.

This week, as we focus on PEACE for advent, I am breathing in the wonder of HIS PEACE. 

 His peace, the peace that settles over me even when things make no sense. 

His peace, the peace that relieves the weight of my guilt.

His peace, the peace that replaces my panic and reminds me that HIS plans are best. 

 His peace, the peace that bundles me up in the knowledge that He will never leave me nor forsake me.  His peace, the peace that “surpasses all understanding”(Phil 4:7)

“ ..and His name will be called Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Eternal Father, Prince of Peace…” Isaiah 9:6  

Again, I can hear in the voice of a cashier..”Peace or Panic?”…..”Peace, please!”

This is the second week of our celebration of the advent of Christ.  Each week, four leading up to Christmas, we take the time to focus on the reason for all the merriment.  While we mark the weeks for the coming of Christmas, we also recall the coming of our savior.    This week we consider JOY.

          There it was again…that “joyful noise”.   It started early each day and often could be heard randomly throughout the day, EVEN when we were in public…yep, I am referring to my mom’s singing.  You see, we had the chance to host our mom and mother in law at our home last month.  It was wonderful!  Since we live far away, we considered it a real blessing to have such concentrated time with them.  During their visit I was reminded of my mom’s tendency to hum and sing.  Mom would great each day by entering the living room singing “this is the day, this is the day that the Lord has made!….” 

          Now, I have no room to judge, since CLEARLY I have inherited her singing ability, but mom’s singing definitely falls into the “joyful noise” category.   I remember being woke many mornings during my teenage years by her singing, “rise and shine and give God the glory, glory…”, as she’d uncover my feet and tell me to get up.  It was like having an out of tune alarm clock without the snooze button.  It was also not uncommon for her to sing a short bit of whatever song, usually a hymn, runs through her head.  If you are in the car, or at a mall with her, at some point you will hear humming that could eventually spill over into a few lyrics too.

          I know it sounds like I am complaining, but I am not.  Oh, sure I may roll my eyes and groan when she does it sometimes, and yes I have been known to walk a bit further behind her when she is singing/humming in a store, but this is something I dearly LOVE about my mom.  You see, when I say she is an example of a “Joyful Noise”  I place the emphasis on “Joyful”.  I know she sings because she has true joy in her heart.    

          Mom lives in constant discomfort physically.  She stubbornly deals with rheumatoid arthritis and fibromyalgia, as well as a host of other of life’s complexities that come with age.   She puts on a smile and determinedly charges through her days, but I know she endures the frustration of that not always being possible.  Her life, like all of our lives, has been full of wonderful blessings as well as great difficulty…but always, always, there is a joy in her heart.  You might say she chooses to be positive and upbeat, she chooses to be joyful….I’m not sure that is the case.

          I think she can’t help but to be joyful.   My mom remembers year-round, something others tend to forget until Christmas.  Jesus was born.  It’s that simple.  He was born, and in His birth He brought our salvation.  God sent His son, as a baby, to a broken world.  In Him we find redemption we do not deserve.  Through Him we experience grace, the unearned favor of a Holy God.   There should be a gigantic collective, “WHEW”, sighed out by the world. 

          We will face challenges in this life.   Our flesh is temporary and fails us way too often.  We may make mistakes, even big ones.  But, because of the birth, life, death and resurrection of Christ, we have forgiveness of our sins and a God Who desires to be in a relationship with us every day.    That is truly Joyful news. 

“and the angel said them, “Do not be afraid; for behold I bring you good news of great JOY which shall be for ALL people,  for today in the city of David there has been born for YOU a savior, Who is Christ the Lord.” Luke 2:10,11

May this year find each of us mindful of the Joy He puts in our hearts, no matter our circumstances, and yes….may we even be overcome with the need to make a “Joyful Noise”!

This week was the first of our celebration of the advent of the Christ.  Each week, four leading up to Christmas, we take the time to focus on the reason for all the merriment.  While we mark the weeks for the coming of Christmas, we also recall the coming of our savior.    This week we consider HOPE.

       “Uhg, stupid wise men!”  I thought to myself as, once again, I had to place them back on their feet.  Our nativity set has been a part of our family since the kids were babies.  A gift from my mother-in-law, it is a little wooden stable, a few shards of hay, and little plastic replicas of the major players in the nativity scenario.  While I know the actual timeline for events of those days places the wise men arriving to meet Jesus a few years after His birth, we still set up the traditional scene…Mary, Joseph, baby in manger, shepherds, cow, camel and yes, the wise men.  As I positioned, and repositioned, each figure in an effort to produce the perfect display, I kept knocking the wise men over.   I picked one of them up and rolled its tiny figure in my fingers.  I looked into its little painted face.  In his statuesque hands he held a small, gold colored, bottle.  I wondered if this was supposed to be the myrrh.

        Myrrh, a fragrant substance commonly used for embalming at the time of Christ’s birth.  It was, by way of its value, a gift fit only for a king…but an odd choice for a baby gift.  I like to imagine the scene as if they were presenting it at a baby shower. 

        Picture Mary, a glowing new mommy, opening gifts from friends and well wishers.  No doubt she would react with pleasure as she unwraps various offerings of handmade clothes, blankets, toys and trinkets.  Her heart may be relieved when some of the gifts were meant to aid in the family’s financial needs, such as when she unwrapped the gold a wise man brought.  I picture the house filled with laughter and giggling as everyone coos over the little one, while Mary and Joseph open the gifts….then there is a hush.  Mary and Joseph hold a bottle of Myrrh in their hands, the burlap it was wrapped in falls quietly to the floor.  Their faces ashen, they look in one another’s eyes in a way the crowd cannot understand, in a knowing kind of way.  All conversation ceases, no more giggling or cooing.    The awkward silence is broken when someone finally shouts out, “Okay, who’s the wise guy who brought the MYRRH?  Did they run out of blankets and rattles at Bagdad Babies R Us?”

        What would happen if someone brought a gift like that to a baby shower these days?  A wedding gown for a new baby girl?  A pair of size 10 men’s shoes for the baby boy?  The deed to a burial plot?  In this context it seems highly unacceptable as a gift, but as I looked at the painted bottle in my tiny wise man’s hands I found myself thinking of HOPE.

        The gift of myrrh is said to be symbolic of the eventual death of Christ, but it is important to remember that His death was/is our HOPE, because in dying, He set us free from our sins.   At Christmas we do not just celebrate the birth of Christ, if that were so, His birth would be no greater than any other.  This season we celebrate that His birth was God’s gift of HOPE to us.  He would be born, live, die and conquer death.  In Him we have hope for forgiveness of our sins, “for while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us”.   

        That hastily painted bottle, sculpted against the plastic wise man in my hand, will always remind me that in the birth of His son, by the grace of God, I find forgiveness and hope in all things. 

The Myrrh reminds us, that while some welcomed a new baby,

the world welcomed so much more….the world welcomed HOPE, unshakable, saving HOPE.

“My soul waits in silence for God only, for my hope is from Him.  He only is my rock and my salvation, my stronghold; I shall not be shaken.”  Psalm 63:5,6

     Mailboxes in our neighborhood are located in cluster at the end of our street. I was inspired when I noticed many neighbors taking their dogs to get the mail.  I set out with my porky Yorkie for what should have been a two minute walk…it turned into a twenty minute adventure!  There were several contributing factors.  First, he is challenged with short legs which he moves with very little enthusiasm.  Second, he feels compelled to stop and sniff every single place he detects another dog has piddled…please refer to the aforementioned inspiration for our mailbox walk, there are LOTS of interesting piddle places along the route!

     I have determined to endure our daily mailbox adventure, even though the pace drives me nuts.  I know it is good for him, and I am finding it is even good for me.  His slow pace forces me to relax, if that is possible.  I allow myself to enjoy the stroll.  Since we are en route so long, I have ample time to encounter new neighbors.  I get to greet numerous folks with a smile and a wave as they return to our street following a day’s work.  I think some of them have actually began to look for me on the street each afternoon.

     Since our new home is on the Chesapeake, I have tried to make a habit of taking Hughie, A.K.A. WORLD”S SLOWEST DOG, on a walk along the beach each morning.  I am secretly jealous of the other dog owners on the beach, the ones whose dogs chase sticks into the surf, run up and down the shoreline and come when called.  But, alas, that is not to be my life…my life with Hughie is different.

     Surprisingly, Hughie likes the beach.   Unlike the other pooches, Hughie is content to meander down the shoreline, one clump of seaweed at a time.  Each morning a new deposit of sea life can be found on the sand.  Clumps of seaweed, detached sea anemones, horseshoe crabs, and clams dot the shoreline.  Hughie moves with slow determined steps to each and every one.  Carefully he takes in the aroma, savoring it as if it were a good book or fine wine.  Then he MUST piddle just a tad on it before moving on to his next clump of seaweed.  While he makes his way SLLLOOOOOOOWWWLY along the water’s edge, I am forced, once again, to slow down.  I wait for him. (I choose to do this because I know no matter the speed, the walk is good for us both).  It is in this waiting that I am taught.

     Because I must walk slowly, I see shells I would have otherwise trampled.  As I stand waiting on my porky Yorkie, I see the sky pinking up as the sun ascends.  I get to see every inch of the rising.  First it is a glow, then a bright sliver of light, quickly it is a half cup of brilliance before it seems to literally bonce into a bright orb hovering just above the water and scattering all kinds of pastel colors into the clouds. Yep, would have missed that if not for the world’s slowest dog.

     Today, I am thinking about the people I get to greet, the things I experience, all because Hughie stops to sniff and piddle.  I am thinking that this week and weekend I am going to try to live my life in a “sniff and piddle” pace….taking in all there is, enjoying the very thing that might have frustrated me before, looking around when I get made to stop or slow down, and thanking our God for EVERYTHING He puts in my life. 

My prayer for each of us and our friends and loved ones…Ephsians 3:14-19

“For this reason, I bow my knees before the Father, from Whom every family in heaven and on earth derives its name, that He would grant you, according to His riches of His glory, to be strengthened with the power through His Spirit in the inner man; so that Christ may dwell in your hearts through faith; and that you, being rooted and grounded in love, may be able to comprehend with all the saints what is the breadth and length and height and depth, and to know the love of Christ which surpasses knowledge, that you may be filled up to all the fullness of God.”

          I was on the way to a family wedding in Florida.  As I settled into the very last seat in the back of the small plane, I thought of how wonderful it was going to be to celebrate with everyone.  I was looking forward to the quick trip, but I was also missing my husband.  Scott had been traveling a lot lately and was unable to accompany me.  I like traveling with him.  For some reason whether by car, boat or plane, there is just something comfy about being together on a journey.   

          In the quiet of the early morning flight, I found myself thinking of all the times my hubby, a very seasoned traveler, attempted to teach me his savvy ways.  I smiled to myself while recalling all the ways I challenged his methods.  I touched hand rails.  “They carry germs” he’d warn.  I often ended up in security lines behind families with small children.  “Look ahead, choose wisely, poor line choices slow you down” he’d say.   I engaged with strangers.  “Just bring a book to read.  Whatever you do, don’t make eye contact” he’d tease.   Well, I had my book, and was trying to be a good traveler, but I was lonely.  I was also cold.  My feet and arms were just chilly enough to make me ache, but not enough to keep me from drifting off to sleep.

          When I woke, I discovered why sleep came so easily.  Our flight attendant had pulled down the shade of my window and had placed a warm blanket over me.   The quiet, kind gesture blessed me.   I was not in crisis.  I had no great need.  I was not dealing with any emotional burden or suffering a loss.  I did not deserve his kindness, but his extra effort on my behalf moved me. 

          When I woke, I felt cared for and watched over…the way I always feel when I travel with my husband.  Sure, this was not a life changing event but it was a day changing one.  My trip was made easier, my day better and my heart happier.

          Soooooo, since my hubby was NOT there to discourage my engagement of strangers, I decided to write a thank you note to the kind attendant.  I wanted him to know he was appreciated.  I passed it to him as we deplaned and walked out into the chaos of the Atlanta airport.

         I was about to hurry off to my connecting flight, when I heard a voice behind me.  It was the flight attendant.  He had come all the way off the plane to return my thanks.  He pressed a tiny set of wings into my palm and we hugged before going our separate ways.

        Sometimes in the midst of a regular day, while doing nothing monumental, God shouts His love for us through the actions of others.  There in the middle of a busy airport God reminded me how impactful He allows us to be when we take the time to touch lives…even if it is nothing greater than pulling a shade or writing a note.

       This week let us be challenged to look for the ordinary ways we can show others his care.  Let us also be encouraged to recognize His touch on our lives through the gestures of those he places in our path.

Let us consider how we can spur one another on toward love and good deed.  Hebrews 10:24 (NIV)

        I went for a jog on the beach.  The beach here is usually packed and flat near the waterline and good for running and walking.  But this day was different.  Maybe it was because I was getting a late start, but the water was further up the shoreline than usual.  The normally wet, packed sand area was minimal and the incoming tide threatened my steps.  I found myself navigating the natural curves created by the ebb and flow along the shore. 

       I desperately wanted to avoid running in the soft, fluffy sand further from the water’s edge.  Even though it is layered atop sand packed into rock, it is like trudging through snow.  I carefully choose each foot fall, jogging along a very narrow divide between the dry and the wet sand.  I was also trying to avoid a unique problem I call “Jello sand”.  

       The sand nearest the water actually looks firm, smooth and packed.  It is not.  It is actually saturated with water from below.  When stepped on, it wiggles below your feet and jiggles like Jello.  Not only is this unstable, but if you do not step quick enough, you will sink into it.  Jello sand coats your shoes making the tread useless and your feet extra heavy with chunks of sand. 

       By the time I trudged my way back where I started, I found myself laughing at my previous foot prints.  Each imprint was lined perfectly along the divide between dry sand and Jello sand.  Instead of a neat and shorter path, straight from point to point, my steps had taken me in a zigzag pattern all along the beach.  I had obviously gone out of my way to avoid doing what was difficult.

       This could be a good representation of my daily walk in life.  Jello sand is much like the sinful temptations the world offers us each day.  It looks solid and trust worthy, but it is not.  Walking in it leads to destruction and robs us of joy.  It binds to our feet, weighs us down and ultimately can grip and ensnare us.  How often do I let myself walk as close to this line in life because it is easier than choosing what is right?  I know what is right, pure and pleasing to my God.  I know from His Word His desire for me and His call for my obedience, yet I walk just on the edge of righteousness….teetering at times.  I do this because, like trying to trudge through the dry fluffy sand, doing what is right is not always easy.  As one of my friends once noted on a Facebook post, “Right decisions hurt bad sometimes.”  We are called to be obedient to His Word, but it is much easier at times to ignore it. 

In Matthew 7:24-26 Jesus told a parable that reminded us of the importance of avoiding “Jello sand”.

“Therefore everyone who hears these words of Mine, and ACTS UPON THEM, shall be like the wise man who builds his house upon the rock.  And the rain descended, and the floods came, and the winds blew, and burst against that house; and yet it did not fall, for it had been founded on solid rock.  And everyone who hears these Words of Mine, and DOES NOT ACT UPON THEM, will be like a foolish man, who built his house upon the sand.  And when the rain descended, and the floods came, and the winds blew, and burst against the house; it fell, and great was its fall.”

       Obedience to the Word of God does not mean we will not have storms in life, it means that we will come through the storm.  Not obeying His Word sets us up for failure when the storms hit our lives.  Jesus not only said it would lead to failure, He said “great was its fall”!  We will find our steps bound up in Jello sand, stuck, sinking and unable to move forward.

Unlike my jog along the water’s edge, I don’t want to allow myself to step so close to disobedience.  I do not wish to follow along the trail of Jello sand in life.  

I want to choose to do what is right, even when it is difficult.

Lord, help us to see the steps You desire for us.  Help us to be diligently reading Your Word and seeking to be obedient.  Lord, we pray You will continue to keep our feet from sinking sand, even if it demands we walk through difficult times. Amen

          There is a tunnel which connects Hampton, Virginia with Virginia Beach.  I am not certain how long it is, but I know it runs below the Chesapeake waters.  It is known for being the source of traffic backups for those who must utilize it regularly.  This last weekend we were surprised to have passed through it without any trouble, especially since it was a holiday weekend.  I heard my husband and his friend, a Virginia Beach resident, discussing the tunnel phenomenon.  One of the reasons for traffic backups in and around the tunnel is the result of unnecessary braking.   People tend to tap their brakes when entering the tunnel.  This creates a chain reaction of slowed traffic and ultimately leads to backups down the road. 

          This got me thinking.  Why do we tap the brakes before entering the tunnel?  Are we fearful for what may be inside the tunnel?  What if there was a leak and the tunnel is full of water?  What if there is an accident or stopped car inside the tunnel?   If drivers could enter the tunnel with confidence and keep their pace, the impact on their commute and that of many others would be positive.  Keeping pace is important.

          We had traveled to Virginia Beach so I could participate in a half marathon.  Keeping pace is part of my training.  I am a novice/slowish runner.  I know the pace I must keep if I am to finish my race.  If I let myself get caught up with the faster runners, I will run too fast and tucker out long before the finish.  If I let myself get discouraged, slow down too much, or fail to push myself when I feel like stopping, I would not finish the race.  I have to keep my pace. 

          Do we tap our brakes unnecessarily, when God has called us forward?  Do we hesitate to follow Him out of fear?  What would be the impact if we kept going at the pace He has set, instead of following with trepidation?

          Do we allow ourselves to get caught up with the crowd, doing too much when it is not what God has called us to do?  Many of us have experienced the discouragement or burn out from doing too much at one time.  Likewise, it is just as easy to settle into life and not see the need to push ourselves past a challenge.  Finding the pace God has set for us, and keeping it, would make a difference in our lives and those around us as well.

          In Colossians 3:16-17 we find 4 things that are helpful “pace setters”.

     1. Be comfortable with God’s Word.

      2. Be careful with your words, teach and guide one another.

     3.   Be thankful to God always.

     4.    Remember that everything you do is for God.  He is your audience.

“Let the Word of Christ richly dwell within you, with all wisdom, teaching and admonishing one another with psalms and hymns and spiritual songs, singing with faithfulness in your hearts to God.  And whatever you do in word or deed, do all in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks through Him to God the Father.”  Colossians 3: 16-17

       It’s that time of year again.  It is a season of “firsts” for many moms.  Maybe for you it is a first year of preschool, first year of kindergarten, first day of middle school, first bus ride, first day of high school, first day of college or first day of new job…but for each of you, I am sure the thoughts are similar.  “Are they prepared for all they will encounter?”, “Have I done a good enough job?”, “Will they remember what we taught them?”, “Will they get along with others?”,“Will they be happy?” these are questions moms across the country will ponder on the night before their child’s “first” day.

       It seems like only yesterday I too asked myself these questions on the eve of my son’s numerous “firsts”.  I remember the excitement mingled with anxiety as he entered each new doorway. 

       There was the dreaded preschool doorway, where I pried his tiny fingers from mine and cried all the way to work.  He had a great time and met me with a smile at the end of the day.  The kindergarten doorway was less traumatic since, at the time, I worked in the same school and knew his teacher well.  I recall slipping down the hallway to sneak a peek at how he was doing, his smile relieved my nerves. By the time he experienced his first day of middle school I was made aware of how much he had grown.  He towered above me as we walked through that school door.  The day he entered the doorway to his first day of high school, I had already spent hours in prayer.  His first day of college was filled with numerous doorways, some would lead to success, others to lessons more difficultly learned.  On the first day of his first real job(one in his desire profession) I was beyond proud of him, but praying it would be all he expected. 

       At each of these doorways I always wondered, “Is he prepared for all he will encounter?”,  “Have we done a good enough job?”,  “Will he remember what we taught him?”, “Will he get along with others?”, “Will he be happy?”.   This week I am preparing to see my son enter yet another doorway. 

        This Saturday my son is getting married! I am struggling to find the adequate words to express how happy this makes me.  He has found a wonderful young woman who is beautiful inside and out, but best of all, he has found someone who loves him.  She loves who he is and how he is…and I love her for that.  I remember the day my son took me to lunch and shared his heart with me.  His love for her was undeniable and he knew he would love her forever and was ready to commit that to her.  I knew in that moment I stood at another doorway with my son.

       Suddenly I found myself filled with the familiar excitement mingled with anxiety which accompanied all the other doorways in his life.  “Is he prepared for all he will encounter?”, “Have we done a good enough job?”, “Will he remember what we taught him?”, “Will he get along with others?”, “will he be happy?”….For the first time I stand at a doorway with my son and I know the answer to these questions.  I know, because I have had the absolute privilege of walking him through many other doorways in life. 

       I know that he will meet all that he encounters with all of his best effort, energy, care and compassion.  I know we have done a good enough job, because it was the best we could do and that has to be good enough.  I know he will remember what we have taught him, because it has all been reinforced throughout his life and he seems infinitely more attentive to these things.  I know he will get along with others, because we have watched him grow and establish great relationships.  We have tried hard to present a good example for him as husband and wife.  He is kind and compassionate and he is exceedingly genuine in all he does.  I know he will be happy, because he has chosen Crystal to be his partner in all that life holds for them.  He knows that to be happy does not require things to be perfect or easy.  He knows that being happy is the result of loving, being loved and knowing there is nothing God cannot handle when it comes to your life.

       Saturday I will watch my son stand at an amazing doorway in life, only this time, for the FIRST time, I will not be the one who walks with him through it….this time he will walk through the doorway with his sweet young bride.  Don’t let the tears I will no doubt shed fool you….my heart will be filled and overflowing with joy! 

       It started about 5 summers ago I think.  A sweet, and VERY pregnant, member of a young couples Sunday school class my husband and I taught asked if she could visit me during the week and spend some time in our pool.  This was the start of what would become known as Tuesday With Teri (The event from which this blog gets its name) .  With her encouragement I invited others from the class to visit our home and pool each Tuesday, 10am-2pm. 

       Every Monday evening Scott would clean the pool and treat the water in preparation for our Tuesday guests.  Each Tuesday morning I would sweep the back deck, put up the umbrellas and clear away any spider webs built in the night.  In addition to the pool, we would set up a small kiddie pool with a tent over it for shade.  Swim rings would be inspected for leaks and inflated as needed, extra towels and sunscreen would be set aside and I would place a small step stool in the powder room so tiny hands could reach the faucet.  The prep for each Tuesday was always easy.  I would look forward to my visitors as I enjoyed my morning coffee.

       Each family would bring their own lunches and snacks.  The only food I provided was in the form of perhaps the most inexpensive summer treat of all time, POP ICES!  Yep, long tubes of frozen goodness in unnatural fruit colors and flavors were a HUGE hit.  After most of the kids had taken a break from the pool to eat some lunch, I would bring out a tray filled with POP ICES.  I loved letting them pick their favorite color and marveled at how well behaved they were when trying to wait their turn.  It must have been hard.    I watched as they learned to share, be patient and make choices on their own.  For nothing more than a pop ice, they honored me with their companionship, sat with me on our stairs and often shared sweet conversation. 

       I loved seeing the moms care for one another’s kids and their needs throughout the day.  They were always supportive and encouraging.  I have felt much admiration watching these moms navigate motherhood with such grace and love.  Throughout my summers of Tuesdays with Teri, I saw young families grow and moms becoming confident parents.  I am thankful to my friends who came to lend helping hands to the moms and to give us another set of eyes keeping watch over the kids in the pool.

       I had the privilege of holding babies, visiting with moms and playing with their kids in the pool.  I was able to get to know each family better and met new friends each season.  I spent uncountable hours gladly responding to shouts of “watch me Miss Teri!” and being amazed at the courage of these kids as they discovered new capabilities and tried new things.  I adored the way little ones would cling to me until they felt confident in their life vest or arm floats.  These days will always be precious to me.

       Some days there were only a couple of families, many days there were too many to count, always there was just enough.  Some days were rainy and we’d put on a movie while the moms sipped coffee.  Some days it felt as if the pool would explode under the chaotic commotion.  Some days there would be a time when a burden could be shared, a tear shed, a heart encouraged or a concern eased.  All days there was laughter, giggles and pop ices. 

       No amount of splashing, shouting or laughing was too much!   After every Tuesday, the house and back deck would literally sigh and slide into an eerie quiet.  As I gathered up pool toys, deflated rings and floats, Hughie, my porky little Yorkie, would scour the crevices of the deck boards for remnants of goldfish crackers and cookies. 

       I am forever changed because of these Tuesdays which God brought into my life.  I count myself beyond blessed to have felt the joy of hearing little ones squeal my name, smile at me, hold my hand, and love me with a love only a child can bestow.   I can never thank these sweet moms sufficiently.  They have shared their families with me and allowed me to be a part of their children’s summertime memories. 

       This is the final “Tuesday with Teri” at our pool.   We are moving this month.  My heart is aching at the thought of quiet Tuesdays and still waters, but I am comforted in knowing that God has more than blessed me.   

       To all my moms and your sweet kiddos, those present and those who have moved far away….thank you is not enough….I have every splash, squeal and giggle ingrained in my heart.  As your little ones continue to grow into the amazing young adults I know they will be, may you continue to treasure them and remember, whether they actually ever say it out loud or not, they are always thinking “watch me….!” 

I am confident that the God who brought me to this day, and filled my Tuesdays with so much joy, will continue to care for the families I have grown to love.   I will continue to always pray for you all that you may….

 “…..grow in the Grace and knowledge of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ.  To Him be the glory, both now and in the day of eternity. Amen” 2Peter 3:18

         Years ago, when the kids were still little, we were having dinner with some dear friends.   When our young families would get together the usual method of serving dinner was buffet style.  All the food would be placed on the table and everyone would grab a plate and serve themselves.  This particular evening I noticed something for the first time.  As we were heading toward the buffet, plates in hand, one of our friends would “lead” us in prayer of thanksgiving. 

         “Let’s bless our food”, they said.  Then they began…”Dear heavenly Father, we thank You for this food we are about to eat, Amen!”  I just happened to look up quick enough following the “amen” to see it….I wish I had a snap shot of the scene before me at that moment. 

          My entire family stood in the center of the room, frozen like plate carrying statues, while their family was already half way down the buffet with plates partially filled.  Hmmmmm.  That’s when it hit me.  Our charismatic Christian friends have always lived their faith in an active way, never relegating time with God to quiet moments alone.  For them, praying while walking to the table was a very normal way of interacting with God.  For my family the mere start of the phrase, “Dear heavenly Father” was enough to make us stop, close our eyes and bow our heads, like some kind of spiritual freeze tag!  I would jokingly accuse them of using this difference to beat us to the food.

      Eventually, God placed even more examples in my life which would influence how I pray. 

* A sister-in-law who was always quick to encourage prayer when I shared my worries, her sincerity and tender heart always palpable in her words.

* A coworker, who fond me sobbing in the break room, simply stopping to place a hand on my shoulder as she spoke a prayer into my ear for my comfort and courage.

* A school teacher who showed me how to pray for my students, before I even met them.  Each year I would stand by each desk in the empty morning hours of the first day of classes, and quietly pray out loud for the young person who would inhabit it that year.

* Friends who not only said they would be praying for me, but actually called me to pray with me in a crisis.

* Friends who decided to pray for me nightly when I was facing surgery, and felt lead to call and share with me the prayer they would say each evening.  This odd phone call would be impactful in ways they could never have foreseen.  You see, while others prayed for my health and healing, their entire scripted prayer was for my peace.  At the time I did not realize my lack of peace about the impending procedure.  That night I prayed differently, and I can testify throughout that time in my life, I knew the “peace that surpasses all comprehension” spoken of in Philippians 4:6 & 7.

           I realize that when I pray, I am praying to a Holy God.   He deserves reverence and honor.  Sometimes I feel I cannot bow low enough.  I have been to that place in my life when I agonized about my sin nature, felt out of control of life’s circumstances, and desperately needing God, yet feeling unworthy to approach Him in prayer.  On that occasion I did not just bow my head, I bowed my heart, my head, my knees, my toes and fell on the floor as I called out to Him, My Comforter. 

          There is nothing wrong with quiet, reverent, knee bent, head bowed prayer.  We are told in Matthew 6, that we are not to pray for publicity sake,….but there is something wrong with feeling unworthy.  You see, we all are saved by GRACE.  I can come before God in prayer, not because I deserve to, but because He forgives me and sees me through the love of His son Jesus.  God sees me as forgiven. 

He makes us worthy, and in this we find freedom from being imperfect.  We can come before Him in prayer, to praise Him, seek Him, request of Him and worship Him…out loud or quietly, in church or in our home, in a hospital, over the phone, at the side of someone hurting, when sharing burdens with friends, and Yes, even while walking up to the buffet table!