cosmolovely's Xanga

missing my dad

Sat, 24 May 2008 21:48:14 GMT

Cheerios, graham crackers, milk, graphite pencils, gum erasers, smudged fingers, perfect handwriting, cardinals, mockingbirds, copenhagen, overalls, chamois soft bandanas, nightshirts, rabbits, calloused hands, a bald spot, baseball, popcorn, caramels, apples, a tractor, dogeared bibles, worn poetry books, old barns, wild flowers, a cat, the smell of a newspaper, an old rowboat, soup and a sandwich, swollen fingers, stargazing, fireflies, lava soap, calligraphy, dogs, clean windows, a hundred colored pens, hankies, good binoculars, index cards, notebooks filled with deep thoughts, letters to the editor, jets overhead - anything that flies, big rocks, turpentine, obituaries, smooth gravel driveways, dirty rags, chalky mints, 'gimme' caps, a slide rule, worn out moccasins, nightly news, baby deer, a drafting table, jolly ranchers, bird houses, boot brushes, seeds, rainbow buntings, sunrises, maps everywhere, a proud array of sores and bites and cuts, checkerboards, a worn pocket knife, toenail clippings, whistling, stroking my head, the smell of coffee and leather work boots, nonsensical songs, car talk, garrison keilor, a straw cowboy hat, chambray shirts, rulers, colored sticky notes stuck in books, fresca, peanut butter and mayonnaise, bananas, mechanical pencils, the sound of his voice as he belted out hymns...

This and a million things more I miss about him.

"It's in our blood"

Mon, 10 Mar 2008 07:26:40 GMT

When I was a little girl – probably 6 or 7, I spent a lot of time with my grandparents. They were both terrific people in their own way, although my grandfather was not a Christian. But my grandmother, my mother’s mother, was a Free Methodist and the one of the two most amazing women I’ve ever known (my mother is the other one).

I learned many things from gram: how to bake bread, how to quilt, how to be a self-sufficient woman, how to play the piano, how to sew, how to sit still in church, how to win at Scrabble, and loyalty of family…but the most important lesson I learned from her was the power of service.

I suffered from depression sometimes as a child. My grandmother called it “the blues”. I’d lay awake at night at her house sometimes, listening to the myriad of clocks they had in their house and I can remember, like yesterday, hearing the chimes ding dong as hours ticked away, and I tossed and turned. Finally I'd paddle into her room and wake her up. My grandmother would say, “You have the blues…and you know what we do when we have the blues, don’t you?”

I knew then we were always in for an adventure if I could wait until morning.

We would get in her little orange Fiat and go on Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride – for with grandma, stop lights were optional. We’d screech into to the neighborhood Value Village, and start scouting the toy department for old dolls that, as grandma said, “had potential.”

My grandmother was all about potential.

We picked up some real prizes – ragged, dirty dolls, perhaps with holes poked in them, and teeth colored by crayons. We’d finally stick the best in our cart. Then we would scout the clothing aisles for something that had a “pretty pattern” in it – I can hear her saying it now – “Oh that has a pretty pattern, don’t you think?”

When we were satisfied we’d gotten the cream of the crop, we’d check out and return to her house where our real jobs would start.

My job was to fill up the kitchen sink with soap and water and bathe those dolls down. I’d use a little Comet and some flesh colored wood putty grandpa would provide, if needed. I’d scrub those dolls while listening to my grandma’s sewing machine whirling away in the basement, then pat them dry, inspect my work, and 9 times out of 10, we had a winner. I would set the doll’s hair, combing it with my grandpa’s comb that he'd dip in Brill Cream – “a little dab would do ya’” and make pin curls with hair pins.

While the dolls dried, I’d join grandma at the sewing machine, following her instructions precisely. She’d have me look for buttons she’d cut off discarded shirts, cut up an old lace tablecloth to make a bonnet, perhaps pin up a hem. I watched her many, many times transform an old shirt into a pinafore, sundress or gown. And we always made pajamas out of flannel.

We’d dress the dolls, set them out and call grandpa in to admire them. Then off we’d go to the children’s hospital. I will never, ever, ever forget the excitement of knowing what was ahead.

We’d sing all the way there...me with clinched teeth for I’d grip the hand rails as my grandma skidded around corners, swung around other cars, and parked… wherever she wanted, usually in a doctor’s parking spot, and off we’d march, hand in hand into that hospital. She’d walk right past the nursing station, like she belonged there and you know, I never once remember anybody stopping us.

She had that “look” that said, “I have a right to be here.”

We’d walk down the halls, peeking in rooms, until we’d see a little girl alone. I don’t remember what criteria grandma used or how she’d sniff out those children who needed cheering the most, but she said that Jesus showed her which children.

Here’s what I remember…going into the room, she always had me go in first, and greeting the little girl and telling her that we had a present for her from God. We’d pull out this pristine, beautifully dressed, perfectly coiffed doll (or at least that’s how I saw it) that we named before we got there. We’d tell the little girl that she was not alone and this doll was her friend, made especially for her.

I invariably blubbered.

Oh the euphoria! The joy, the deep down itch that got scratched in me. That feeling of service – that feeling of making a difference, the feeling that you have made someone’s way easier, given them hope. She instilled in me this appetite that never is totally sated. I always want more.

The truth is this: you cannot buy that feeling.

She showed me the joy that comes from service…creative service. Service that requires effort.

On the way home, we’d recount everything that was said, every expression, every tear… we’d laugh and laugh…then she’d say, “You don’t have the blues anymore do you ? “ I’d say, of course, “No – but I don’t know why.” She’d say, “It’s because it’s impossible to have the blues and be of service to others at the same time. “

“Why?” I’d ask.

“Because we have Jesus in our hearts – the things that make Him happy make us happy. It’s in our blood.”

I became reacquainted with this principle in my adulthood as I battled demons of depression, addiction, broken marriage, and the heartaches of life. When I gave my life to God again (at 41) and got sober, I heard it again and again in AA – service to our fellows will cheer us when all else fails us. When I heard that, the stories of my grandmother and lessons I learned came flooding back to me. True contentment, true happiness comes from serving others.

Why? Because it’s in our blood.

You know, I don't think anyone would do this kind of thing today. Give a little child a used doll in a children's hospital? No way. I don't know why it was wonderful then and wouldn't be now - I guess it was different times and abundance wasn't what it is today. But regardless, I love this gift of service we get from God. I love that it's not a one time gift, but he allows us to open again and again. I love the deep peace and satisfaction we get to taste, touch and feel as we see lives changed…sometimes slightly and sometimes dramatically, as a result of our service.

My pastor, Michael, said a couple Sundays ago, "it’s the power of the towel." (Referencing Jesus washing the disciples' feet)

I think of the many things we try to give our children: stable homes, well rounded educations, opportunities to travel the world, sports, music lessons…the list could go on and on. But I am persuaded that one of the top values/skills/perks we can give our kids is modeling the power there is in service.

Lulled into a false sense of security

Tue, 26 Feb 2008 09:06:09 GMT

Friends -

Some of my faithful readers may remember my blogs from summer of '06 regarding the escapades of my dog, Sidda Lee. It has been that long since I have had any trouble with my pup. One is left to wonder, after a day like yesterday, if that's because she has been laying low for the last couple of years or if she continued her antics ... just learned how to hide them better. Her tag says, "I am not supposed to be out. I live at _____. My owners cell is _________"

2 years -all is well...I thought.

Mondays are crazy days - I am in meetings pretty much all day. My family knows that I don't answer my phone on Monday - in fact, unlike some of my co-workers, I leave my phone in my office during these marathons. Consequently, I did not get messages until a short break at noon. I went home to eat, looked at my phone, and was astonished to see 32 cell phone messages.

Beep

"Ummm - I'm not sure this is recording, but if it is, I just uh wanted you to know that your dog is standing in the middle of your street and won't move for anyone. Cars have to slow down and go around her and one car sort of slid into a ditch. Just letting you know...I mean, she will not move, man."

Beep

"Hello I hope this is the right number - I don't have my glasses on so I couldn't read her tag very well, but if you have a black dog named Sidda, she is walking with the mailman from one house to another. I just don't want her to get lost."

Beep

"Hi - Juan here. I'm working on the house over on Arlington street and your perro is eating lunch with us over here. Heh Heh - she loves my wife's chicken. She's really funny. Just thought you should know she's hanging with us."

Beep

"Hello - I am very frustrated at your dog. I have taken her home 4 times this afternoon and put her in your backyard...but she continues to come back TO MY backdoor and whine. I am making chicken soup and she will not shut up until I feed her. There is hardly any chicken left in my soup. Please come get her."

Beep.

"Hey Jill? This is Julia down the street. I just saw the strangest thing - or at least I think I did? I think Sidda Lee is riding around with the mailman in his truck."

Beep

"Your dog just threw up chicken in my front yard. Just thought you should know."

I go home - there she is sitting on the front porch...look a little "puny", as my dad would say.

Here we go again.

Check the backyard fence - nothing

Check the windows - all closed

Check , check, check, check -

Closed the doggie door so she is sealed in the house. Came home at 5:30...she's on the front porch.

Monday, January 07, 2008

Mon, 07 Jan 2008 21:24:43 GMT

Judson Richard Lively (photo taken in October)

July 9, 1929 - January 7, 2008

Friend, husband, pastor, teacher, hymnologist, Bible scholar, astronomer, runner, engineer, aviator, artist, carpenter, ornithologist, poet, singer, farmer, and tender hearted father.

"Did e're such love and sorrow meet?"

This quote made me laugh out loud and coffee came out of my nose

Mon, 03 Dec 2007 09:17:27 GMT

"Despite the fact the Idaho Statesman has decided to pursue its own agenda and print these falsehoods without any facts to back them up, I won't let this paper's attempt to malign my name stop me from continuing my work to serve the people of Idaho."

You know, why doesn't this guy just buck up?

How about this? "I am a liar, a hypocrite, and an adulterer. I lied about my encounters, my private life doesn't reflect my public life, and I have insulted, embarrassed and hurt my wife deeply. I am conflicted about my sexuality and have used that confusion to propel me to try to judge others - and that has hurt many people deeply. I am 'double-minded' in all my ways.' I am the hypocrite Jesus talked about again and again and again. I think I'm going to go away for a while and decide who I am and what I want. Good-bye."

Wouldn't that be refreshing?

Clearance

Sat, 10 Nov 2007 11:00:09 GMT

Friends,

I have finally received clearance to once again communicate through civilian channels and I, for one, find it refreshing.

It is so good to be able to write freely without having to remember a 35 digit code, scan all 10 fingerprints, and extract exactly 6 drops of blood...then wait one hour for all to pass through about 15 security checkpoints all the way to the White House.

Even though my recent assignment has been right here in Houston at a certain famous cancer hospital, the work I have been doing has international implications.

Obviously it has been a resounding success or I wouldn't be here at my desk with a hot cup of Joe sharing with you all.

To make a long story short, I received word that a revolutionary cancer treatment discovered last year in Paraguay (many of you may remember my horse Trixie and I leading an expedition down the river with a group of world renowned scientists) was being "compromised" by terrorists posing as technicians in a certain research lab.

My job? IAID. Infiltrate, assimilate, illuminate, and desecrate their ruse.

Normally this would be "all in a day's work" for Trixie and I, however I was given strict orders to continue my cover at a certain church, a certain school, and a certain AA meetings where my ongoing investigations are making great progress and are a critical points.

In short, because of my success rate, "they" want me to keep my day to day operations static while taking on more and more and more. I am exhausted, but determined to serve until I no longer can put one foot in front of the other.

To accomplish this high priority mission and authenticate my cover, (for the fate of thousands of cancer patients hangs in the balance), I had to enlist the help from a trusted family member. Anyone who is familiar with my family knows there is only one man for the job.

Friends, we should applaud this gentleman's dedication to his daughter's work and his country, for he has had to leave the friendly acres of his beloved farm outside Fort Worth filled with invigorating clean air, alfalfa, llamas, baby goats, fresh eggs, and full moon lit nights of stargazing through his high powered telescope, and endure a four day journey on the back of Trixie (off the main roads to avoid detection) only to arrive in Houston and submit to countless blood tests, drink foul concoctions of barium, hours of CAT scans and MRIs, and subject himself to chemicals that induce vomiting and diarrhea (which he calls the "runs" and "upchucking")...all for the sake of this vital assignment.

I do not feel worthy to tie his sandals.

Over the last few months, we have infiltrated the labyrinth of this hospital's treatments, progressing carefully and meticulously, altering charts and records so that we move through cancer trials deeper and deeper, more and more experimental...until finally friends, we reached the coveted Phase One trials.

For those of you that do not know, Phase One trials are not yet approved by the FDA and have received tentative approval from our "government" to experiment on humans with certain types of cancer.

At last we had reached our destination.

Once you are this deep in a covert operation, it becomes easier to maneuver, for all assume that your intense interest, probing questions and insistence upon reading the latest research is born from your desire to see your loved one cured. Our work was flawless.

We made the perfect team: he with the researchers asking those questions in his unique way that exposes the motives of the wicked, me with my full arsenal (beauty and disarming charm) that allows me to access chambers of men's hearts filled deceit (SOP for me), and Trixie with her admirable, intuitive ability to be at the right window at the right time - always, always anticipating our escape route.

I'm sure I don't have to inform all of you of what transpired - you undoubtedly have read about it and seen it on the news - but in short, the culprits were apprehended without incident by quick thinking on the part of my partner, my award winning roping skills, and Trixie's bravery to outrun the light rail.

Now, after the dust has settled, we are left with nursing this brave man back to health. Pray for his full recovery and restoration.

I want to hug her again and again

Wed, 29 Aug 2007 07:40:32 GMT

While Emily was here, we scanned lots of photos for my to send home with her. When I go through photo albums, I always wonder...did I hug them enough?

My parent's farm where they used to raise Nigerian dwarf goats

They danced 24/7 in a variety of clothes

Above right summarizes Lauren's childhood...sassy, daring, and absolutely darling.

Can anyone see her doing this now?????

Here it is again...sassy, daring, and darling.

Tuesday, August 28, 2007

Tue, 28 Aug 2007 07:27:42 GMT

School days, school days, dear old golden rule days...my grandmother used to sing that to me.

Looking at a friend's post made me remember vividly these days

My friend Megan Breed

Mon, 06 Aug 2007 09:36:38 GMT

I have an amazing friend (embracing_extraordinary) - even though I am old enough to be her mother...maybe her grandmother.

Here are a few things I love about her:

She has a grateful, satisfied heartI - I've never heard her complain

She loves Jesus and his people

She has virtuous impulses - the first thing out of her mouth is usually, "How can I help?"

She loves old hymns

She's always smiling

She's not afraid to put herself "out there" for God...even if it means she might get embarrassed

She is a wonderful mentor to hundreds of young people

She never talks mean about anyone

She doesn't ever talk about how poor she is

She is always up for trying new things...always.

She has beautiful, curly hair and rhymes everything with "station"

She is devoted to Latino people in language and culture. She is determined to master this language and is doing a wonderful job

She loves ministry

I love her - I consider it a privilege to be her friend.

She makes me happy when I'm around her. You should try it.

She needs support monthly at Center for Student Missions. Why? Cause she NEVER asks for it, and she's always behind in her monthly support.

So I'm asking for her!

I just got online and agreed to donate each month to her. If everyone she knows donates $10 a month, she'll never be behind again and won't have to hang her head in shame when she is at CSM gatherings. Shame is a terrible game.

Humiliation Station.

It's so easy - I just got on PAYPAL and where it said to "send money", I sent to paycsm@csm.org and in the "notes" section, I put in her name!

Most of us would just have to go without Onion Creek twice a month to send $10.00 a month.

She's worth it.

Jill and the Dog

Sun, 13 May 2007 22:32:59 GMT

This photo was taken at the Denver Airport...right before Dog asked me to star in a new show...

Houston Hound Hunters

"Bringing runaway hounds to justice..."

really.