Tugging at my heartstrings

So I grew up in this church culture that gave money to Annie Armstrong at Easter and Lottie Moon at Christmas.  We had pictures of missionaries that we prayed for on their birthdays and thought wonderful thoughts about.  Missionaries were these far off people that we gave money to and prayed for...on their birthdays.  Missionaries were "celebrities" that "gave their lives to God" and did His work and we were all so grateful for their sacrifices.  Then we went downstairs to have our potluck. 

For me today, this is so not the case and I am SOOOOO grateful.  Because how pompous and ignorant are those thoughts?!  Only missionaries "give their lives to God?"  NO!  Um...God gave us OUR lives, so why wouldn't we um...I don't know...give Him to others?  Zaia was talking about missionaries the other day and I asked her "What is a missionary?"  Her reply?  "We all are Mama."  AHHHHH!!! Amazing!!  YES!!!  Yes.  We all are.  But that isn't just lip service.  We all must be...we must be missionaries in our homes AND in our workplace AND in our schools AND in the neighborhood that we think is scary AND in Mexico AND in Africa AND in Canada AND in Washington D.C.  AND, AND, AND.  Not OR, OR, OR. 

I have always heard of being "called" and how that means things for different people.  And I agree...to a point.  I have read Radical by David Platt and he talks about this very thing.  We are waiting for our calling or say I haven't been called to go there or do that.  Time out, wait a minute.  BS flag thrown. 

JESUS said " All authority in heaven and on earth has been given to me. Therefore go and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit,and teaching them to obey everything I have commanded you." (Matt 28:18b-20a) 

THERE IS OUR CALLING!!!  "Therefore go!"  I like to think that this was a butt burning fire for those disciples because they just saw Jesus die.  A horrific death mind you, and then he arose!  He conquered death, which makes you pretty awesome in my book, and then tells them to "Go and make disciples of all nations."  What if we could imagine our Jesus after dying and coming back to life looking at us and saying "Go!"  I think our church pews would be ashes because our butts would be flaming.

So...with all this, I have been feeling the Holy Spirit trying to burn my butt.  He has been pulling and tugging at my heartstrings and pouring lighter fluid on and throwing matches at my bum.  He has placed a desire and longing to help in my heart.  To help get clean water to people.  Water....simple water.  I have been pulled back to a website of an organization countless times over the past few weeks.  The organization is Living Water International.  They are: "Living Water International exists to demonstrate the love of God by helping communities acquire desperately needed clean water, and to experience "living water"—the gospel of Jesus Christ—which alone satisfies the deepest thirst."  They have teams that they send to dig wells and teach the importance of hygiene and clean water.  Most importantly they connect with the people who live there and teach them of Jesus. 

I WANT TO GO!!!!

I need to go.  God is yelling at me...YOU MUST GO.  Now...I undoubtedly will hem haw and try to get as many other people in on this and make it a big awesome trip.  But I am starting to think....maybe God is calling you, Anessa.  Just perhaps he is calling others to join you, but why in the world would you wait on them?  He has said "GO!"  Make it happen.  GO!  So I am thinking...maybe I will.  My butt is burning and I've got a feeling that this is going to be awesome.

Dad

So I have wanted to blog about my dad, but I just couldn't ever bring myself to it.  It is emotional and hard.  But I have been looking into family history and last night got a bunch of pictures from Mom to scan.  So I am going to blog about him now.  His memory isn't sneaking up on me and I have been looking at old pictures of him all day so I think I can make it through.  No promises though...;)

To preface this, I think you must know, I am a Daddy's girl.  Always have been.  I perfected that Daddy look at an early age.  I am an only daughter, granddaughter, and great-daughter on one side, so you can only imagine how far this took me. 

What I remember most about my dad is how laid back he was.  Things happened and you dealt with it.  End of story.  There was no need for planning and fretting.  Here is the problem, here is the solution; Just do it.  That is how he approached leukemia.  I remember going with my brothers and parents to Barnes Jewish Hospital in St. Louis to meet with his oncologist.  He laid it out straight.  He had a complicated cancer.  They found 2 strains of leukemia on top of the LCH disease he had initially been diagnosed with.  The way they treated strain 1 made strain 2 worse and vice versa.  The doctor and his team had come up with a plan, but there were no guarantees.  Not even any percentages.  One of the options included a bone marrow transplant.  Typically people over 60 aren't considered great candidates for one, but my dad was just 60.  He was completely healthy besides the cancer and he was willing to fight.  I think the doctor expected Dad to take the information he was given and go home and think about it.  My brothers and mom and I had questions for the Dr and we asked them, but Dad didn't really ask much.  He looked at the Dr and said "Well then let's do it."  It was pretty much, I don't need any of the explanation or reasons or percentages or timelines.  In his mind he was sick and he was going to do everything he could to get better. 

My Dad loved being a grandpa.  He loved HIS grandpa and had a great relationship with him so I think it was just natural for him to do the same.  He spent a lot of time on the floor with his grandkids.  Wrestling around or just letting them crawl all over him.  

My Dad was a fisherman.  He loved it.  Loved everything to do with it except for eating the fish.  He hated fish!  Wouldn't eat anything he caught.  My great grandparents had a pond in their back yard.  Grandpa Douglas kept it stocked.  When we would go to visit them this is what happened.  We pulled into the drive and Grandma and Grandpa would usually meet us outside.  Dad would quickly get the suitcases out of the car and take them inside.  Then he would go to the carport and get a fishing pole, get some bait out of the refridgerator on the "back porch" (which wasn't a porch but more like a mud room) and go to the pond.  After a 7 or 8 hour drive, he would go fishing.  Immediately.  After he died we were looking at pictures to give to the funeral home for a slide show they put together.  75% of them had him holding a fish, holding a fishing pole or fishing.  It was part of who he was. 

There is probably a ton more that I could say, but...yeah...He was my dad and I miss him daily.  I am so greatful for the memories I have of him.  I am greatful for the memories my kids have of him.  It sucks that we won't have more. 

Weird new passion...

Maybe "passion" is a bit overkill, but at least a new interest. 

So yesterday my mom called and let me know that she occasionally scours the newspaper where my grandma used to live.  She happened upon the obituary of my grandma's cousin who passed away in January.  We had no idea that she had died.  It was hurtful at first.  You know....how come no one called us?  But this is just the sort of thing that I was fearful? concerned? for after Mommo (my grandma <3) died.  Dad (who passed in October of 2009) was an only child.  (Well...in our mind.  He does have some half siblings, but whatever...I don't count them as he didn't know any of them until he was 50.) Mommo (who passed in October of 2010) was also an only child.  So not only are there no aunts, uncles or cousins, there are also no great aunts, uncles, or cousins.  Just Mommo's cousins and their families.  So anyhoo....

I got to digging.  Because I am nosy.  (Either I get this trait from my mother or she gets it from me...we can't decide.)  There is a man who has spent YEARS researching one line of my family.  He has traced back lineage to my 5th great grandfather who was a Captain in the REVOLUTIONARY WAR.  That's right.  REVOLUTIONARY.  As is bye bye England...no taxation without representation...we don't want no redcoats...REVOLUTIONARY WAR.  Pretty stinking cool.  In this same line, my 3rd great grandfather was a Captain with the Home Guard for the Union forces.  This story is unbelievable.  While he was called out, his house was burned down by Rebel forces.  His wife, who was blind, was allowed to be led safely from the house.  The family spent that winter in a CAVE!  Yes a cave and survived by eating "snow birds."  WHAT?!  That is some story.  I couldn't spend the winter in a cabin let alone a cave.  Amazing. 

So now I am interested in how far I can trace things.  I am not a researcher by any means, but it seems like there are some researchers who have done alot of work on this and I want to find out what they know.  I'll keep you updated.

My little writer...

Rhianna had a tough evening.  She hit her head pretty hard on the concrete wall in the gym at church.  She instantly had a goose egg the size of...well a goose egg.  It was large.  Needless to say her head hurt her.  So I, who hates to give medicine just to give it, gave her some children's Motrin.  (Generic, but ya know!)  This morning when she got up, she complained of a headache again.  So I gave her another dose.  Then she called home from school around lunch needed it again.  Bless her heart.  :(  So the last thing I would be doing if I were in her situation is making up a story just because.  I would be in bed nursing my wounds.  ;)  But, alas, not Rhianna.  She opened up a Word document and wrote a story.  I did help her because our Word isn't the same as it is at school.  This is her story.

Puppy Dogs!

by Rhianna Wilcoxon

        Lots of puppies like to lick people’s faces off.  Sometimes puppies break their legs and they have to go to the vet.  Sometimes people adopt them from the pet store or animal shelters.  They love to take naps.  A lot of puppy dogs love peanut butter.  I love how puppies swim.  I love the name Boston for my puppy dog.  I love watching my dog beat up my brother.  I love how puppy dogs are so cute!

I love Puppy Dogs!

   I *heart* that girl.

Roses....

I decided to play around with my blog look and found roses.  *Sigh* I love roses.  I always have.  I used to save rose petals in a basket.  It sat on my floor in my room and I had this book about roses.  It wasn't a "how to grow" book, but a nice poetic book.  There were quotes about roses, exerpts of stories about roses, pictures and even recipies.  Yes, recipies.  Did you know you could candy roses?  My mom is an excellent gardner and had roses for a while and I would always cut them off and pluck the petals.  Any anytime my mom or I would get roses, I would rescue the petals before they were thrown away.  They were actually only nice for a little bit and then they would dry and that basket would get dumped very often and I would have crunchy rose petal pieces on my floor.  But I just scooped them back into the basket anyway. 

My rose petals were always red.  I didn't mix colors much and I am not sure why but I didn't.  However, yellow roses have always been my favorite.  Rose "history," or what have you,  will say that yellow roses mean friendship.  I don't care.  I would much rather get one yellow one than a dozen red ones from my sweetie. 

Sometimes I wish I could grow plants and such so I could have roses.  But, I have a black thumb.  I kill all plants.  And roses are very high maintenance.  Which makes me pause to think....maybe that is why I love them so much.  Because I am so very much like a rose....;)