Sometimes the Most Horrible People are the Most Wonderful Ministers

It's funny how something that once gave me such joy and fulfillment became a chore and burden.  It's been almost three years since I last wrote.  I felt that what was going on in my life with the tragedies that surrounded my family were sucking any creative juices out of me.  I was stalled.  Plus, "It's a Golden Day" is supposed to be golden, right? I wasn't golden.  I was tarnished.   And this year has been no better.  My husband was hospitalized for almost six weeks for a ruptured gallbladder and intense infection that would not go away.What with his Freidriechs Ataxia, the recuperation has been hard. And just who wanted to read about that anyway?

I guess some people do.

I just returned from my annual beach trip with 14 college friends. (Actually, my third post five years ago was about these phenomenal women.)  Some of whom - although we weren't the closest in college - have now become my dearest friends and confidants. We spent the weekend eating, laughing, crying and spending the evenings playing that game "Cards Against Humanity: the game for horrible people".  If you've never played it, it REALLY is horrible.  So horrible that we took out all the cards about God and stuck to the cards with words we had to look up on the internet.  But we laughed so hard and learned so much!  And I love those horrible people!

Over the course of the weekend, a few mentioned that they missed reading my blog. They mentioned specific posts that spoke to them.  They told me how some stories still resonate - and mentioned them by name. One told me that it ministered to her.  Others agreed that my blog was a ministry.

Whoa now.  Ministry? This was supposed to be a silly "Mom Blog".  Pictures of my children. Family events. Recipes. And even a little frivolous, self-absorbed, materialistic "interest pieces" thrown in for good measure. I don't write those women's ministry blogs.  I minister to others through my blog? I don't know about that. I feel very unworthy about it.  If you complimented me on a party I threw or a great lesson I taught or the colors and patterns I have in my living room, I could accept that very easily.  But if you compliment me on how I've handled a situation or that you think I've done something with grace or selflessness, I find that hard to swallow.  Because I don't feel I've done anything at all. I don't feel worthy of such words. Because I can be very unlovable at times.  I can be sullen.  I can be tired.  I can be irritable. And someone who is selfless or graceful doesn't act that way.  But I am a broken, sinful and prideful person. I just think I'm human, doing what anyone would do if God gave them the same situation.

And it was ME who was ministered to this past weekend. These women inspire me to grow closer to Christ and to strengthen my relationship with Him. Never take my eyes off of Him. They don't know it, but they are not only my friends, but my mentors. They are wise counsel and they know exactly what to say.  God gives them the words - exactly what I need. And I love them so much for it.

So it seems we all have a ministry to use for each other.  In this crazy world we call our life.  We all have a gift to share. We all have something to offer.  Even when we feel so unworthy and imperfect. We all minister to each other with the richness that others see. And I guess I'll start back with mine...

A Low Country Boat Ride

I am in the midst of packing for week two on the South Carolina coast.  Last week was spent at my parents' home at Pawley's Island.  This week will be at our home at Edisto Beach, 45 minutes south of Charleston.  Yes, I know we are extremely blessed to have two homes...

Last Wednesday, I shared our boat ride down the river.  And... I promised that I would share some of the historic things we saw.  This fabulous home is Dirleton Plantation on a finger off of the Pee Dee River.

Owned by the Sparkman family, Union soldiers hung Dr. James Ritchie Sparkman TWICE during the Civil War on this tree.  He was saved both times by the same male slave who continued to work for him after the War was over.

Did you ever wonder about the little "trap door" on the keyhole?  It was so that the servants/slaves (whether in the north or south) couldn't look in when the doors were closed.

 

Along the river and on the fingers, you can still see these "trunks" or  tidegates.  These trunks allowed the rice planters to flood and drain their fields with water from the rivers.  Even today, these simple wooden structures do a better job of controlling tidal flooding in Low Country rice fields than more modern technology.

Although both my boys are almost as big a history nerds as I am, this got their attention more than anything:  An awesome rope swing from a three hundred year old oak tree!

They had a ball... Jackson was a little very sad we had to leave!

Tomorrow IS Another Day

Philippians 1:3 sums it up:  "I thank my God every time I think of you."  And I do mean all of you! 

Yesterday afternoon and evening, I laughed and laughed at all of your supportive comments after my rant.  I even shared them with my mother (Mimi) who doubled over a few times!  It's so nice to know you have all been there... And it did make me feel better to write it out.  Travelbugmom, thanks for mentioning that.  Aundrea suggested that I close my eyes, put my fingers in my ears and say "La-la-la-la!"  Entertaining Mom gave me the rundown of her psycho children (and I say that will all love and affection!) afternoon.  And Mama Henley kindly reminded my that "tomorrow is another day".

Well, guess what?  I didn't have to wait for tomorrow!  Actually, that afternoon turned out to be lovely!  Daddy calmed down after the SUV catastrope and hitched the boat up to Mimi's SUV for a lovely outing on the Wacamaw and Pee Dee rivers.  It was just fabulous with all children getting along, listening to adults, and having a marvelous time.  We stayed out for about three hours and were able to share all sorts of treats and historical places with Sumter's friend:  plantations on the banks of the rivers, Sandy Island, where descendants of southern slaves still live and call home...  and this 10 foot gator swimming in one of the fingers of the river!

Stay turned for more tales and pictures from yesterday's historic adventure... It did turn out to be slightly Golden after all!

Tuesday's Kitchen Inspirations

This is all I've got.  And yes, it is a lovely view from our front porch.  And yes, I am at Pawley's Island for four days.  But I am s-p-e-n-t spent.  I am done.  I need a cosmo cocktail drip. 

Why do you say that, Miss "It's a Golden Day" Bevy?  You tend to be so positive and glass half-full even in hard times.

Because I have reached my limit.  Read on...

• My children, who are very well-behaved around others, have shown they are also possessed little buttheads.  (Now remember, I have REACHED MY LIMIT as I am writing this post!!!)
• Sumter has a friend down here and Jackson doesn't. 
• Because of previous reason, Jackson is spending every moment of his waking moments bothering his older brother and friend.
• Because of previous reason, Sumter is yelling and whining at younger brother and ME (yes, I don't handle THAT very well at all).
• One fist fight ensues at 10:00 pm. over a portable DVD player.
• DVD player is confiscated until we get back home, as well as Sumter's pre-paid only cell phone.  (post about that later)
• The floor is being repaired in the kitchen and they found rotten wood underneath.  The entire contents of the kitchen are on the dining table in the sunroom.
• The refridgerator is in the hall, the dishwasher and stove are on the front porch and will be until Wednesday afternoon.
• We can not cook ANYTHING.
• On the beach, Sumter is being an obnoxious 11-yr-old, not listening and showing off his skim boarding tricks.
• Jackson tells me I am a bad mom for not letting him wear $50.00 Brooks Brothers emboidered lobster seersucker shorts to go crabbing in.
• I spend one hour in a surf shop while Sumter and friend pick out shell bracelets for their girlfriends.  OMW... they are only 11!
• Jackson is whining to his G-dad over the PFD (life preserver) he has to have for the planned boat ride today.
• G-dad yells he HAS HAD IT!
• After packing for planned boat ride in the river, G-dad's old Explorer will not start after boat has been packed for planned boat ride.
• More whining.
• Not one vegetable has been eaten by any child.
• My poor parents are having to deal with this.
• I miss my husband.
• I am NOT inspired today. 

Tuesday's Pawley's Inspiration

This past weekend was one of the best I have had in a long time.  My mother (Mimi to those who are regular readers!), sister and I spent the weekend at my parents' home at Pawley's Island.  Pawley's  is a small but well-established beach community located in coastal South Carolina, about 70 miles north of Charleston and 20 or so miles south of Myrtle Beach. This relaxed resort area is often described - with great pride - as "arrogantly shabby" and is known to be one of the oldest and most popular summer resorts on the East Coast.  The quaint community is surrounded by salt marshes on one side and the Atlantic Ocean on the other.  Historically, plantation owners flocked to the area seeking a retreat from the balmy air of the Waccamaw River in search of the cool sea breezes. Pawley's Island preserves its commitment to its roots, having only 600 homes on the entire island and no stores or restaurants  Not bad for a small, non-commercial island that is only four miles long and a quarter of a mile wide!

My father's parents built their home in the 1940s.  Not antebellum... but "arrogantly shabby" none-the-less!  We have been summering there all my life.  And this past weekend lived up to all I imagined it would with the two women closest to me.

All Mama wanted for Mother's Day this year was for the three of us to spend a weekend at Pawley's.  When I arrived late Friday afternoon, AS (my sister) and mother greeted me with a glass of white wine and an invite to "cocktail hour" on the dock.  We must have laughed for hours...

The next day was spent buying treasures at the shops on the mainland and a pedicure for our tired feet.  AS and I love our Jack Rogers...

But that night was what we were really looking forward to: supper at the divine Frank's Outback where we solved problems of the world over numerous cosmos and scrumptious food.  Again, we laughed and laughed, flirted (as only happily married women can do and get away with it!) with the waiter, and dined on some of the best food on the east coast.  We had so much fun that a family of three decided that we were perhaps too much fun to sit next to... so they moved tables!  The mother "humphed" a bit at this sixty-five year old lady and her two daughters. What a coup that was!  It made the evening that much better.

 

Yes, AS and I made it down to the beach the next day.  Sorry, no pictures of the sun goddesses... on purpose.  However, two discoveries were made:  A) When beach bags are concerned, great minds (or sisters) think alike!

and B) Who knew Perrier came in beach friendly bottles (plastic)?  They rock!

 

It was a Golden weekend... and one we plan on doing year after year!

Channeling Your Inner L.L.

A few months ago, Beth AKA Social Climbers asked some fellow bloggers when they realized they were of the WASP heritage and when the ultimate awareness of their preppiness surfaced.   Here is my epiphany.

Most of the people I grew up with were the same as me.  Therefore, I didn't have many different kinds of people to compare myself to.  Oh, I did go to a public high school.  However, I still tended to stay with the friends I had grown up with, gone to the same Episcopal church with, and spent the summers at Pawley's Island with.  (Excuse the poor grammar with all the prepositions at the end of clauses and sentences!  I am shivering at the sight!)

However, that was about to change the summer after graduation and before I packed my bags for Converse College (bastion of WASP and prep - as most girls schools were in the 80s).  My father was friends with one of the big-wigs at the South Carolina Tax Commission and had arranged a summer job for me.  That's fine, I thought.  I would be home with all my friends for one last summer - and I would have a few weeks off for time at our house at Pawley's and up in the mountains of N.C.  But my father had another idea.

That idea was that I was going to build character that summer.  What?!?!  I had plenty of character!  No, my father stressed, I was going to see how the other half worked:  I spent the summer of 1987 working in the mammoth file room, filing tax returns for the fine people of the state of South Carolina. 

And did I ever build character.  I won't go into all the backgrounds, style preferences in clothing and hairstyles, and propensity for gum-smacking I encountered.  And I definitely stuck out with my pearls and Laura Ashley dresses.  However, one event clearly sticks in my brain from that summer - the monumental event that opened my eyes that I was different:

I was filing tax returns in the rear of the building and came across a group of about 3-4 other employees.  They were obviously having a very heated discussion about something I had no idea.  Enter Bevy.

• Bevy:  Hey y'all!  What's going on?
• Group:  Just talking 'bout L.L.
• Bevy:  L.L.???
• Group:  Yeah, you know:  L.L. Cool J. 
  
• Bevy (puzzled look on her face):  L.L. Cool J.?  The only L.L. I know is L.L. Bean!
• Leader of Group:   What do he sing?

Obviously, character won that summer...

Point to ponder:  Do you think L.L. Cool J. wears L.L. Bean?