Mr. Simpson

I was in the band in high school. We had a championship marching band, but I was never a very good clarinet player. And I felt like the director picked on me. I felt like he lowered my musical self-esteem so much, that I could never be a good musician. I respected him, but I really didn't like him. And deep in my heart, I have blamed him for my lack of musical ability all through the years.
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A couple of years ago he joined Facebook. A number of my band friends "friended" him and suggested I do the same. I asked myself why I would want to friend someone who I never liked. But as I thought about it, I realized that most of my feelings toward him were based on my own teenage immaturity. So I decided to let bygones be bygones. And I friended him. And I stopped blaming him for things.
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Less than a month ago he was diagnosed with lung cancer. I was genuinely sorry, and have been praying for him and his family. I even left a couple of notes on his Caringbridge site.
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This morning, he died. And I am sad. Though my contact with him since high school has been limited, it is sad knowing he isn't there anymore. I'm sad for his family, but I'm glad for his sake that he didn't have to suffer long. And I sincerely hope he knew Jesus.
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He actually taught me a lot, including a lesson in forgiveness.
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Goodbye, Mr. Simpson. I'll miss you.

A Friendly Dilemma

Having a baby at age 44 put me in a unique position with regard to my friendships. Before he was born, many of my friends, like me, had never had children. I could relate to them for obvious reasons. Most of the others had grown or nearly grown children. Some were already grandparents.

Now I am experiencing sleepless nights, changing diapers and trying to decide whether store-bought or homemade baby food is the best option. Naturally, these are not issues my friends can relate to. I still enjoy their company, and many of them have joyfully accepted Cooper into our friendly circle, but we just don’t have a lot in common anymore. I can no longer stay out late at night or spend the whole day at a craft fair. Cooper’s needs have to come first.

I’ve met a few new friends who have young children like I do. I can talk to them about which brand of car seat is the safest or what is the normal age for crawling to begin. But most of them are twenty-something. Half my age. And for some reason I get funny looks when I talk about my growing need for bifocals, the best treatment for arthritis, whether to color my gray hair or go natural, and my high school and college days . . . in the eighties.

I’m struggling to find my place in this new parenting world that I have suddenly found myself thrust into. I am thankful to be here and wouldn’t trade it for anything. For now I will just enjoy the friendships I have, both old and new. Hopefully time will work out the rest.

Eight Months Old

Whew! It's been a while since I've updated. You might say I've been a little busy. Just having an 8-month-old (especially when you're 44) is a handful, but we've had a lot of other things going on too.
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Here's a picture of "Cyclone Cooper" in action.Doesn't he look proud of himself?

Don's parents came from Iowa for a visit in early June.While they were here, we had Cooper baptized (or dedicated, in my way of thinking, but that's a blog for a less-busy day). Here he is with Pastor Mike.

This past week we had VBS at our church. It was a little rough trying to get up and out the door to church by 8:30 every morning, but we made it (well, mostly). Anyway, it was a good week. Cooper is shown here with "Aunt Lissa," my sister-in-law who helped make it all happen.This weekened we celebrated Father's Day, Don's first. Happy (belated) Father's Day to him, to my dad, Don's dad, and to all the other dads who are a part of our lives!