Category: Inspiration

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Straight from heaven – a message from Dad

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Given the current climate of our country, and our world, anxiety seems pretty high these days. I know I am not alone. For me, I can toss in mid-life adjustments, family circumstances and an insanely busy schedule to the big bowl of life, and mixing it all together, I can attest that I am feeling a bit on-edge and hyper; simply put – anxious.

Add another ingredient of life into the mixing bowl – my dad passed away a little over two years ago. I still miss him. He was my “go-to” guy when I felt anxious. He didn’t always try to fix things; most of the time he just listened.

The father-daughter bond we shared was very strong, and even though I can’t physically see or hear him, I think of him daily, and I believe he communicates in his own special way.

For instance, a few hours before my dad passed away, we experienced an early evening, mid-summer storm. Strong winds, thunder, lightening – the works. A vibrant and a most beautiful rainbow appeared shortly after the storm… and a rainbow occurred monthly at the same time – the 23rd day of each month – for several months after his death. Anyone who has lost someone so dear marks the monthly anniversary until it becomes a yearly observation. (Oh, this was amazing, too – a rainbow appeared on the first Father’s Day we celebrated without him.)

I will be going about my day, thinking of Dad, and then, one of his favorite songs will be on the radio, or one of his favorite hymns will be listed in the church bulletin. During times of incredible stress, I have seen Dad in my dreams. He says nothing, but has the most peaceful smile and always gives me a hug.

It is all too vivid and the timing is way too perfect to be called a coincidence.

When fall rolls around, I think of him constantly. Anyone who knew my dad also knew he had an immaculate yard, and during the fall, he declared a full-on attack of leaves. Yes, this is the man who would stop mid-conversation to go outside and grab a leaf off the front lawn. And yes, this is the same man who “slid” off the roof and broke his leaf blower because, yes, he was on the roof, ridding it of leaves, so that they wouldn’t land in the yard.

During Dad’s eulogy, our pastor shared these stories to all who came to celebrate his life. There was so much laughter. Seriously, who gets on the roof and, essentially, rakes it? One year, my siblings and our spouses wanted to bring bags of leaves and dump them all over the yard as a prank, so that when Dad grabbed his morning paper, he would be greeted with 3-4 inches of leaves covering every blade of grass. We didn’t, because, well, we knew that could have caused a major health event. We didn’t want to bear that burden the rest of our lives!

When we interred Dad’s ashes in a memorial garden at church, there was a hush of quiet as our immediate family gathered. It was a pretty fall day, and the earlier rain had subsided in the nick of time. Pastor was reading some Scripture, and said a prayer, and then there was a quiet murmur, which turned to some mild snickering… because in the spot where Dad’s remains would eternally rest, in that just-opened space in the memorial wall, what does our pastor find? A leaf. He wondered if we should remove it, or leave it there to drive dad crazy for all eternity.

See what I mean? I swear he sends us messages from beyond.

Well, I have really needed my dad these past few weeks. What I wouldn’t have given to just talk to him, which I still do. I guess what I really wanted was to hear his voice.

This past Sunday, after worship, my youngest daughter and I took a stroll through another garden at church. It was a nice walk, and we had just heard our pastor’s sermon about angels. The garden, still sporting some roses in the early fall, was peaceful and pretty, with a calming fountain and lots of stones with Scripture verses along the path. Halfway through our walk, one stone stood out to me because, of all things, there was a leaf laying on it. One, lone leaf, which, of course, caught my eye. Any time I see a random leaf, I can’t help to think of dear old dad.

Oh my gosh…I had to grab my phone and snap a photo, because I honestly could not believe my eyes! Straight from heaven – a message from dad!

do not be anxious

Right under the leaf, the Scripture verse read: “Do not be anxious about anything.” Philippians 4:6.

Teary-eyed, and a little shaken, I looked up, and whispered, “Thanks, Dad.”

© Lynne Cobb – 2013>

Let me know if you have received a message from heaven!

 

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The day I lost my #FitBit

Disclosure: I am participating in the Verizon Boomer Voices program and have been provided with a wireless device and six months of service in exchange for my honest opinions about the product.

It is no secret…I am not a big fan of exercise. In fact, I have injured myself more than once trying to stay fit! However, I know that staying active – when I don’t hurt myself – is really necessary to good health, both physically and mentally. Especially as a boomer.

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While in Chicago for our Verizon training and kick-off, we #Boomers were given a FitBit One wireless activity and sleep tracker. Jokingly, I called it my fitness stalker, because it records every step you take, every move you make…

Anyhow, I took me a while to muster up the courage to activate this very small, high-speed device, because – well – I was afraid it would show me just how inactive I can be. As I writer, I am on my rump a good portion of the day. So, sometime during mid-August, after the crazy summer started to settle down (storms, power outages, daughter being very ill, etc.), it was time to get into gear and see how much I moved – or didn’t move – in a day.

Seriously, if it took ten minutes to sync the little tracker to the laptop, create an account and download the mobile app to the Motorola Droid Razr Maxx HD I am also reviewing, then I would be surprised. I clipped the tracker on, and away I went.

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Always wanting to know how close the grocery store is to my home, off I walked to grab a few groceries. Then, a little yard work, up and down the steps to do laundry and a short bike ride with my granddaughters. Quickly it was revealed to me that I didn’t move as much as I thought. I synced the tracker to see my stats throughout the day, and realized I needed to move a bit more.

As I am really competitive with myself, my goal was to break the previous day’s step record. That would’ve been ideal had I clipped it on before I walked out the door! Ugh! You can bet that the next morning, I didn’t forget!

And then, I was hooked.

I received a badge for over 5,000 steps. The next day, I walked over 6,000 steps. The day after that, I was trying get to over 8,000 steps. The tracker really did motivate me, and I walked the entire floor of two super-sized stores, ran many errands, did laundry, walked to the grocery store and then walked to my neighbor’s for a knitting group. Secretly, I wondered if my stitching would record on the FitBit.

The world will never know.

At 10:45 p.m., exhausted yet exhilarated, I grabbed my FitBit to sync up and view my amazing, awesome, physically active day.

It was gone.

Gone! I searched high and low until midnight, digging through the laundry, crawling around the yard with my awesome flashlight app. I contacted my neighbor, who didn’t see the tracker. I texted texts, posted posts and tweeted tweets.

Gone. I am still stunned, because the clip was extremely strong. A little bump wasn’t going to budge or nudge it off my pocket. I am thinking I was pick-pocketed!

Feeling deflated, I crawled into bed. I couldn’t even track my sleepless night with the FitBit because, dang it, I had lost it!

The next morning, I was again walking through the yard, down the street, up and down the steps, digging through my knitting bag, climbing under the car, moving furniture, checking dog crates, warning my son to look for it while he cut the grass. I probably tripled my activity as I re-traced my steps, trying to find my FitBit. I bet I had a better workout just trying to find the tracker than if I had been wearing it!

It took a few days to resign myself to the fact my FitBit was gone. Oh, and to add insult to injury, my FitBit stat report arrived via email, showing all the progress I had made, up until my “inactive” period. I wanted to cry! I could have had some really great numbers to post, if I hadn’t lost my tracker.

fitbit

So yes, the FitBit works. That device will motivate you to move, whether it is attached to you or laying in a parking lot somewhere, waiting to be found.

© Lynne Cobb – 2013

Do you use a fitness tracker? If so, which one? Has it motivated you to move? Share in the comments section!

Woo whoo! The folks at Verizon/ComBlu took mercy upon me and sent another FitBit One! Look what arrived today! Thank you!!!! 🙂

new fitbit

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Supporting those who support those who serve

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“No one really wants to admit they are lonely, and it is never really addressed very much between friends and family. But I have felt lonely many times in my life.” – Bill Murray

Sitting in church on Sunday, our pastor’s sermon theme reflected on friendship. Though he interjected some humor with thought-provoking questions, his message really hit home. I am sure many of us squirmed, knowing full well that we all can, should and could be better friends.

He touched on something that really resonated with me, and that was loneliness, and what it really felt like. If you have ever experienced loneliness, and I am talking gut-wrenching, deep-in-the-pit loneliness, you could relate. When you are hurting, you don’t want to be forgotten.

Most of us think of loneliness when we hear of someone passing away. Loneliness is part of the grief experience.  But it isn’t always death that makes one feel alone. Any traumatic experience – like a cancer diagnosis, a divorce, a job loss, addiction, losing a home – can lead to feelings of loss and grief.

Because I am a military spouse and mom, I know how very lonely it can be when your loved one is not home. Basic training, TDYs, far-off duty stations and deployments  can cause grief: separation anxiety, lack of communication, missing your loved one. You grieve for the life you had before they left. You grieve for normalcy. At times, people avoid service members’ families for fear of making them – or seeing them – cry. Similar to how people react to a death.

And honestly, that is isn’t too far off the mark as to how we respond, in general, when others journey through difficult times. We don’t know what to say or do, often afraid we will make things worse.

Back in the late 1960s, Elizabeth Kubler Ross introduced a hypothesis for the five stages of grief. Some pooh-poohed her idea, and others embraced it. When my dad died, I can say I went through the stages, though not in any particular order. I stumbled upon some notes regarding those stages recently, and it was like I had an “ah-ha” moment. The stages of grief are similar to the feelings many military families go through when those deployment warning orders start filtering down the chain of command:

  • Denial (Oh, this won’t happen. He is needed at his base more than over there.)
  • Anger (Mad at the command, mad at the violent world we live in, mad at the dog, mad the account won’t balance. Mad! Mad! Mad!)
  • Bargaining (God, if you keep my service member home, I will ___________ [fill in the blank].)
  • Depression (Some days, you just want to pull the covers over your head and sleep until your loved one returns.)
  • Acceptance (This really is happening, and with God’s help, I will survive it.)

I’ve been asked before how one can really help military families – you know, “to support those who support those who serve.” As a well-season military spouse and mom, I have some suggestions listed below for those who have a friend, neighbor, co-worker, church member or relative facing or living through a deployment. But really, these can be used for anyone in need:

  • Be there. When my husband left for a deployment, my sister-in-law showed up at our house within minutes of his departure. Kids, coffee, and tears. I don’t even know if I talked. But she held my hand while I cried.
  • Bring a meal. My mother is the best. She either a brought a complete meal or invited us over. What a relief to not have to worry about feeding the kids. What a relief to not have to eat alone if the kids are not home.
  • Texts are great, but there is nothing better than hearing a voice at the other end of the line.
  • Invite the spouse, parent or family for coffee, ice cream, or just for a visit. Evenings, weekends and holidays are the worst times for feeling lonely, as that’s when most families gather and interact.
  • Drop off or mail a care package to the family. Maybe a box with some movies, popcorn and candy; a cookie bouquet half-way through the deployment; a flower arrangement on an anniversary or birthday; a balloon bouquet on a child’s birthday; fresh-baked cookies…let your imagination run wild!
  • Offer to help – from childcare to errand running to household/yard chores. A military spouse is pulling double duty.
  • Don’t say,”If you need me call.” Just call – they do need you.
  • Don’t be afraid. You will see tears. I guarantee it. Consider it an honor that your friend can comfortably cry in front of you.

Certainly, we have all the technology we can handle to stay in touch, but as connected as we are, there is a huge disconnect in interpersonal relationships and human touch. We rely so heavily on texts, posts and tweets, that we feel we have done our duty to connect. And while electronics are good to get the dialogue going, I think we’re really missing out if we don’t get out of our comfort zone and help wipe some tears, hand someone a box of tissues, give them a big a hug or sit and hold their hand. Something as simple as sharing a big slice of chocolate cake, or a bowl of body-and-soul-warming soup can do wonders for someone who’s lonely and scared. They will know they aren’t alone.

From someone who supports someone who serves, I can tell you, it will be appreciated. Greatly appreciated.

“Sometimes, reaching out and taking someone’s hand is the beginning of a journey. At other times, it is allowing another to take yours.” – Vera Nazarian

Would you be interested in seeing more blog posts on how to support military families? Feel free to let me know in the comments section.

© Lynne Cobb – 2013

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Graduation thoughts – decades later…

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“Keep in mind that neither success nor failure is ever final.” – Roger Babson

So today, June 13, is the 33rd anniversary of my graduation from high school. Wow. I know, I know… I just dated myself…

Maybe I am nostalgic because my third child graduated last month, and baby number four will graduate in two years. Maybe I am nostalgic because my granddaughter graduated kindergarten on the same day of my graduation anniversary. Maybe it’s hormones. But today truly has been a day of reflection.

First, how on earth did 33 years fly by so quickly? I haven’t done half of what I had planned to accomplish on that sunny day back in 1980. My plans were to head to college and become an accountant. Fame and fortune and a corner office downtown were waiting. Those plans changed quickly when I bombed pre-calculus and realized I didn’t love accounting enough to waste the time on trying to pass the class a second time around – on my dime. (Yes, I am one of those rare breeds that paid for my schooling.) So when I saw that the accountant gig wasn’t going to pan out, I fell back on to my childhood dream of being writer, and I was going to be the next, best reporter. Ever.

But then, marriage and four kids came along, and I never finished that journalism degree. In hindsight, maybe that was good, as print journalism took a nose dive. The military life had us moving around, and by the time we finally settled back home and my brood started to enter school, I had left the world of newspaper advertising and began freelance writing for local and daily papers and magazines. It was a wonderful balance.

I married a great guy – my soldier, a true hero – and we have four great kids of our own, and two recent additions – our son-in-law and daughter-in-law. We have two beautiful granddaughters. We receive wonderful accolades on our children – better than a Pulitzer or a byline in a newspaper.

The gal with the diploma didn’t have a clue that she’d meet her husband on a blind date, become a military wife, a mom times four, a military mom or a struggling writer. She didn’t know she’d live in Hawaii or visit other areas of the world. She didn’t know the joy and pain of being a parent; how hard it would be to watch her children struggle, face disappointments or to send a son off to basic training; she also had no clue as to how it would feel to have her husband and son deployed back-to-back in a war zone. She didn’t know she’d watch her dad succumb to the ravages of the worst disease ever – Alzheimer’s.

She didn’t know that she’d realize what her faith meant to her, and that she’d echo the same sentiment as her dad – that the only thing that really mattered was that her children came to know Christ. She didn’t realize what her mother went through, until she, herself, faced similar life situations and drew on the strength of her insanely strong mom.

That very shy graduate, the one who rarely opened her mouth back in the day, couldn’t possibly have known that one day, she’d have op-eds published in two Detroit dailies. That she’d defend her babies and march right into the school on two occasions, confronting teachers that bullied her daughters. That, paid or not, she’d keep her dream of writing alive. That she could face her fears and shyness and actually perform a few skits on a stage. In front of large crowds. That above all, God, family and love would be the priorities in her life.

She couldn’t have known that her fellow graduates would also face life struggles: divorces, deaths, job losses – and that they’d find fellowship in supporting each other as they grew older. That the smaller, more intimate gatherings weren’t to see who was the most successful, but to support each other and cheer them on – during the good times and the bad.

When I think back to the 18-year-old girl grasping the diploma, I wonder – did I disappoint her? I didn’t become the bang-whiz accountant or the ace reporter – that’s for sure. But, what I didn’t achieve for her career-wise, I sure think I made up for in other ways. She has a Master’s in the school of hard-knocks, which went a long way in developing her character. You see, that young kid is pretty damned content with how it has all turned out, and she learned that true success is measured in love.

And by that measurement, she knows that she has been repeatedly and abundantly blessed.

Do you ever reflect on your high school graduation? Let me know in the comments below.

© 2013 – Lynne Cobb

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A friend in need…

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“Anytime you suffer a setback or disappointment, put your head down and plow ahead.” – Les Brown

This past Monday was a day of disappointing news.

I won’t say it was a day of bad news. But on a day that the sky was dark and  cloudy, when the wind was cold and biting; when the strain of winter’s dreariness begins to take a toll on one’s soul, it was a day ripe with hopes of  good news to brighten the gloom felt both inside and out.

That just didn’t happen.

In the early afternoon, I received a text from my youngest daughter. She didn’t make the cut for an advanced choir for which she auditioned. She studied. She practiced. She prayed. We prayed. Her name didn’t make the list, and she was crushed. I was crushed for her as well.

“Can you come get me?”

Normally I would say “no,” but I knew she needed the comfort of her mom’s embrace and a private moment to console herself. So I called and excused her from class and went to retrieve her from the school. My temptation to stop and buy for her the biggest chocolate bar I could find gave way to the mom in me trying to reinforce good habits, and I didn’t want to send the wrong message of burying disappointments in food. A good cry, a big hug and some carefully, prayerfully considered words of comfort would be given, along with the space needed to examine the disappointment and to make a plan to move ahead.

She had the biggest, saddest look in her soft, beautiful brown eyes. A look of maturity with the hurt of a toddler. It killed me to look at her. I, too, began to cry.

“You have a beautiful voice, and it is truly a gift from God,” I told her. “Don’t let this disappointment get you down. He has great plans for you, and as hard as this is, trust that He will bring you through this and place you where He needs you to be.”

We chatted a bit more, cried a bit more, and then I left her alone, though I didn’t want to leave her side. A few moments to lick her wounds and cry into her pillow would be good therapy, and I continued on with the tasks of my day, tackling the to-do list as I checked on her throughout the rest of the afternoon.

Not too long afterwards, the dogs began barking at someone who was knocking at the door. On the other side were two of my daughter’s friends, bearing bags of snacks: her favorite chips, her favorite candy and a pizza-making kit. They brought all of her favorites, plus the love and compassion of friends who knew she needed them. My eyes began to well up at the love these young ladies showed their heart-broken friend.

I heard sniffles and giggles as they prepared the pizza, and squeals of laughter as the therapy worked – much better than a chocolate bar from mom. For a few hours, my daughter’s friends kept their pal company, had her laughing, and cast a ray of sunshine on a gloomy day.

During the time the girls were visiting, I received my own share of very disappointing news; where I was praying for outcomes that were completely different and unexpected from the ones I received. It was now my turn to cry, and to reach out to one of my friends for solace and comfort. It was also my turn take the words of wisdom I gave to my daughter, and apply them to my own circumstances. That, truly, was not easy, as I asked God “Why? Can’t I catch a break?”

“For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the LORD, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.” Jeremiah 29:11 (NIV).

I believe God places friends in our lives to prop us up when we have a hard time believing that the disappointments we encounter can be used for the greater good in our lives – or for others.

We may never know why we are dealing with the disappointments that we have been given, but with faith and the love and support of our friends, we will survive – and grow stronger from the setbacks we encounter along our paths.

How have you helped your child/children through a major disappointment? Share in the comment section below.

© 2013 – Lynne Cobb

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Giving thanks and Christmas goodies

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This holiday season has been a challenge for me. Because of its ups and downs, I have incorporated into my daily routine a moment to stop and give thanks in all things. I am here to tell you, of all challenges a woman of faith faces in a day, giving thanks in all things is simply not easy. Looking adversity straight in the eye is not comfortable. And thanking God for it? Well, what doesn’t kill us makes us stronger!

Today has been a very tough day for me. The last final days of preparing for Christmas have been hard because I am missing some of those who are most dear to me. So, procrastination has set in. I have created lots to do – all that has absolutely nothing to do with my very long to-do list.

But that is okay, because my feeling of being a bit blue has led me to a distraction, which has led me to a wonderful opportunity to give thanks in all things.

While cleaning the office, when I really should be cleaning the bathroom, I found an old column of mine – my very first published column – ever! A former editor, Steve Stein, took a chance on me, and on Christmas Eve, 1998, I was published.

The memory of the excitement of seeing my byline, combined with the words I wrote 14 years ago, gives me the opportunity to thank him and so many others who have helped me along the way. I can never thank my former editors and writing colleagues enough.

“Sugar Buzz” was written when my oldest was 13 and my baby was one. This column reflects what Christmas used to be like in our home, 14 years ago. Of course, I miss those days of Christmas past, and in giving thanks in all things, I look forward to the memories of Christmas present and future.

I hope you enjoy this column! God bless you and your families as you create special moments together.

“Sugar Buzz,” written by Lynne Cobb and published in The Mirror Newspapers, December 24, 1998:

I know I read somewhere that sugar does not affect children’s behavior. Well, this experienced mother can truly dispute that statement! Any parent who has ever hosted a child’s party or helped out during classroom parties can attest to this fact as well.

But who am I to complain? Growing up, there was always “something sweet” with coffee after dinner. This tradition has carried over to my household as well as those of my siblings. I have a panic attack if we have surprise visitors and there is nothing sweet in the house.

Now, as parents, my husband and I try to keep our children’s sugar ingestion to a minimum. (I said try!) All four of them were born with a sweet tooth. Dessert is part of the food pyramid, right? And Christmas is coming, which means – more sugar and goodies.

I honor of all the parents who will try to talk their children into vegetable sticks in lieu of candy and cookies, I lift my cup of cocoa to you. And here’s a tune I penned to “Silver Bells” to get you in the mood:

Sugar Buzz

Sugar buzz, sugar buzz,

It’s Christmas time in my kitchen.

Butter rings, fudge and things,

Soon kids will be spazzing out.

City children, country children,

With their hands gooey-gross,

Keep eating the cookies and junk food.

See them laughing, see them jumping,

See them bouncing around.

And they just keep on chowing junk down!

Sugar buzz, sugar buzz,

It’s Christmas time in my kitchen.

Angel wings, sugary things

Soon kids will be spazzing out.

Grandma’s baking, candies making,

See the kids beg for more.

Mom and Dad roll their eyes – plead for mercy.

Hyper children, sticky clothing,

Today’s the year’s longest day…

And tomorrow we’ll start this again!

Sugar buzz, sugar buzz,

It’s Christmas time in my kitchen.

Red food coloring, fined everything

These kids just can’t simmer down!

Merry Christmas!

© Lynne Cobb – 2012

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Bruised bumpers and the Blues

“There is a fountain of youth: it is your mind, your talents, the creativity you bring to your life and the lives of people you love. When you learn to tap this source, you will truly have defeated age.”  – Sophia Loren

A few events over the past week brought me to this “A-ha!” moment: With age comes wisdom.

Heading to lunch with my husband, I was busy reading email on my phone when a huge thud jarred me: figuratively and literally. Some debris, either from the car in front of us – or kicked up by said car – walloped our front bumper. Talk about being shaken.

It was then I realized that my calmness, as well as my husband’s, was a sign of the times. In our younger days, we would’ve been madder than a wet hen at the young driver. She was completely oblivious to the fact that either she hit something or lost a large part of her car. With her tiny dog in her lap, I noticed the dents and dings in her car. She was completely unphased, and we couldn’t get her attention – as hard as we tried – to let her know what happened.

I didn’t even think to yell or scream at her. Maybe I envisioned one of my own children, having car trouble that could cause a major incident, and hoping that an encounter with another driver would be educational and not dangerous. Even when we reached our destination and looked at the damage, we were both surprisingly calm. Back in the day, not only would we rant and rave, we’d wring our hands and wonder how we’d pay for this mess, that was no fault of our own. Instead, we were thankful it didn’t break the light-housing or come flying through the windshield, which would surely caused injury to one or both of us.

With age comes wisdom.

Last weekend, we had the opportunity to attend an art gallery opening. The featured artist, whom we never met, is the husband of a colleague and friend of mine. She and I chat several times a week online and meet for coffee when we can. To be able to see her husband’s incredible art was a moment in our lives that we felt truly blessed to be able to share – alongside them and many others.

Exactly a week later, we had another great opportunity. Our neighbor and friend has been in the fight of her life. Diagnosed with a very aggressive, late-stage form of breast cancer, this woman has been a courageous inspiration for many. And just as it seemed that surgery, chemo and radiation had done their job, the bad news came. This fighter now had to face even more extensive surgery, just as she thought she had gotten back to her life. After six weeks of healing, doctor appointments and rest, this trooper was on back stage last night. And we were in awe. I firmly believe that The Blues were written for her to sing. Confident, smiling and blowing us away, she beat the crap out her cancer, and we were there to watch her comeback gig – completely in awe of her amazing talent. Who knew that this tiny little powerhouse could sing?!

But the most amazing thing happened after both of these events – and it was the humbled response of these artists. While we were so thankful for being invited to share in one of the most memorable moments of their lives, they thanked us for attending!

Hmmm…I think I am beginning to get it.

With age comes wisdom.

Back in the day, when I was a younger woman and desperately trying to seek fame and fortune through my writing, my focus was completely wrong. Please don’t take this as a judgement call, but in our twenties, many of us embraced our gifts as “ours.” We didn’t share – we had what I will call an arrogant talent. What will my talent get me? Some of us foolishly pitched that gift when it didn’t bring us the income or fame we thought it should.

Additionally, some of us shelved that talent when we started having families and felt pursuing a dream was a waste of time when there were kids to raise and an income to earn.

But as we got closer to or reached that half-century mark, the talent that was buried for various reasons began to sprout back to life. Maybe because we now have more time to nurture it, but maybe, I think, we have just come to realize how important that gift is.

We realize how fast time is ticking. I think, too, that we become confident in our place in life. Maybe we are a little less shy in sharing certain aspects of our lives.  Seeing that life has smacked all of us around by the time we hit this age makes us more humbled for sure, and most often, kinder to others. We have felt the sting of loss;  whether it was a job, a house, a loved one, or health. We embrace good news, and to celebrate accomplishments and talents of those around gives us time to pause from the mundane and experience joy.

We also change our attitudes when it comes to our talents. Instead of wondering what we get from it, we are more concerned about what others get from it. Our motives don’t revolve around making it big – they revolve around making a difference.

Will Doug’s gift of art inspire someone to experience the smell of paint and the feel of a brush meeting canvas? Will Annie’s gifted voice inspire someone to sing, take a dance class or play piano? Most likely, yes. But the biggest gift of all came from these artists sharing themselves – putting themselves out there for all to see. To bare their souls, not because they are awesome (which they are), but because of their choice to share their gifts with others.

God has graciously gifted everyone. Some have the gift of art, music, photography and such. Others have the gift of service; some have the gift of teaching. Still others can build and repair anything. Then there are others that can turn ordinary grocery items into the most extraordinary meals. Or grow beautiful flowers and delicious produce.

Our gifts are endless.

No one could have ever convinced me that going into decade number five would be one of the best times in my life. And, admittedly, there are days I long to be in my twenties again. (Sometimes it is because I long to see myself minus the little wrinkles forming around my eyes, or so I can wear short shorts because I’m not sporting these awesome varicose veins!) Seriously, though, revisiting my twenties is more because of my want to go back in time and smack that twenty-something me in the head, then bestow upon her all this wealth and knowledge and insight that I have today.

With age comes wisdom.

Here’s to settling down and not flying off the handle over the little things in life. Here’s to enjoying your older, wiser self. Here’s to sharing with others. And if you are burying that talent, unearth it today. I double dog-dare you to share that God-given gift of yours with others. In doing so, you will experience a joy that can’t be described.

© 2012 – Lynne Cobb

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Newsflash – Batman is a senior

Wasn’t it just yesterday that he was three-years-old, donning a costume and zipping around our house as the cutest caped-crusader ever?

Wasn’t it just yesterday that our neighborhood street was safe, all thanks to him, cruising up and down the sidewalk in his very own, battery-powered Batmobile? (Undoubtedly the very best gift Santa brought him. Ever.)

Wasn’t it just last Halloween when I asked, “What do you want to wear for trick-or-treat?”

Wasn’t it just this last birthday that he requested a special cake?

Wasn’t it just yesterday that it didn’t matter whether we were choosing a birthday theme, a gift for a friend, a Halloween costume or a Christmas gift, his answer was always the same, year after year after year:

Batman.

Wasn’t it  just yesterday that my little boy was Batman, wearing his cape everywhere? To preschool. To the grocery store. To his grandparents’ house. (But not to church. He had a polo-style shirt with a Batman logo embroidered on for those special occasions.)This little superhero had more Batman-themed clothing, toys and accessories than one could ever imagine.

Wasn’t it just yesterday, that I’d iron out the wrinkles in his overly worn cape, making sure it was perfect for the fall costume parades at school?

So how did it happen that today I was pressing a dress shirt and freshening a tie for his senior pictures? And when did he become old enough to drive off in my car, not his Batmobile?

Because somehow, some way, time flew by and Batman is now a senior in high school.

Wasn’t it just yesterday that he entered kindergarten, and his oldest sister graduated from high school?

Wasn’t it just yesterday that he played in the sandbox with his older brother, making roads and rivers and forests with mud water and tree branches?

Wasn’t it just yesterday he watched cartoons with his baby sister as they drank apple juice from sippy cups?

Oh Batman, how I miss you. But I am so proud of the young man you have become. Go forth, my son. The world is at your feet. Be respectful. Be kind to others. Be empathetic and sympathetic. Pray daily. Never take those you love for granted. Work hard, to the glory of God. Always do your best, especially when no one is looking. Give generously of yourself and of your gifts.

When the world seems harsh and knocks you down, get up, brush it off, keep going and remember that you are loved.

And if all else fails, just quietly whisper to yourself of something you’ve always known…

“I’m Batman.”

Love, Mom

© 2012 – Lynne Cobb

 

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Dressing rooms, blue jeans and a midlife crisis

I have been accused of being “too picky.” Personally, I prefer “selective.” A perfectionist? Maybe.

That could be why I detest shopping for clothes.

Especially blue jeans.

I can’t seem to find the perfect jeans, which is why when I find an acceptable pair, I wear them over and over. Honestly, I could just kick myself for not buying several pairs of the acceptable jeans, because they became my Favorite Pair – and now they are way beyond fixing. Not too long ago, and totally pushing my luck, I did indeed wear Favorite Pair to the store. Just a quick dash in and out, I told myself. But then, I ran a few more errands. And, when I got home, to my horror, I noticed that somewhere along the way, the patch that held my jeans together fell off.

Yikes! I’m not sure I want to know how many people saw the gaping hole in my jeans. I am not a teenager anymore.

But I digress.

Knowing that this search and try-on process is going to take me to where I don’t go mentally, I decided to arm myself for battle, and make things easier by wearing my awesome, comfy yoga pants instead of my back-up pair of jeans, which I don’t care much for. Plus, they were in the laundry pile, since they have been overused with the demise of Favorite Pair.

Ah, my yoga pants. I use them for exercising and as my errand-running back-ups. And, well, when I realized Favorite Pair was probably going to become further worn-out with household chores, I started wearing my comfy black yoga paints. To clean. With bleach.

Thank goodness that a black Sharpie marker covered my mistake.

Anyhow, back to the hunt.

I dug through piles of denim, like a dog digging for a bone. My favorite style of jeans has to be here, I thought to myself, as panic set in.

Nope. My favorite style is gone. History.

Which meant finding a replacement.

Great. I became overwhelmed at all the choices, but marveled at all the fashionable opportunities available. Why, with a little luck, maybe even I could look like that mannequin!

So, as with any change, I embraced a new look with an air of excitement and a bit of apprehension, plus two sizes of style of jeans, because, Lord only knows which clothing manufacturer’s styles and sizes are going to fit. I dashed off to the changing rooms, with anticipation of my new look.

After the first few attempts, I started to get worried. Nothing fit. So, accepting that I probably gained a little weight – though Favorite Pair never let me know that – I started looking at other sizes. And other brands.

No luck.

Getting frustrated, I literally wanted to cry. In a sea of clothing, I was drowning in waves of panic. Nothing fit ME. Negative thoughts started popping into my brain, like the clothing manufacturers having a “thing” against me and women my age. The dream of looking like the mannequin – gone, just like the youthful body I once had. I felt old and washed up – as if I couldn’t do anything right. Negativity was oozing out of every pore, and I started thinking of all my failures, especially my chosen career path. How could I have known that my favorite industry would change, and be replaced with a cool, new style that, no matter how hard I tried, I just had the hardest time getting a good fit? Like my faded old blue jeans, I guess I miss my “faded” old career.

Tears of frustration welled up in my eyes. So, this is midlife, huh? Well, the fighter in me came out, and had a smack down with my toxic emotions. And I got back into the ring.

Yes, I was getting older, and my body was changing – that’s life. Yes, there has been some serious grief and loss and change in the past few years, but there has also been great growth and love and joy. There are going to be frustrations – that’s life, and that’s not going to change. And it is a good life, so keep moving along.

Wiping my tears, I stepped out of the changing room and put the all of jeans that didn’t fit on the “don’t want” rack. Seriously, I had tried on at least 16 pairs of jeans. I apologized to the woman who had to restock them. She smiled and said “No problem.” I think she saw the mascara smudges from my tears.

“There is a perfect pair for you out there,” she said, and pointed me in another direction. “Just keep looking.”

She was right. Not just about finding the jeans, but by reminding me to never give up.

© 2012 – Lynne Cobb

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Reflections on July 4th

I skipped our neighboring town’s Fourth of July parade this morning. It isn’t quite the same since my children are older and aren’t real concerned about collecting the candy loot along the parade route. Instead, I enjoyed the quiet of the morning along with a cup of coffee.

The air was already humid and hot as I placed the our flag in the holder. Of course, like every minute of every day, I thought of my dad while I adjusted the flag. He was such a patriot – he put the flag out everyday. When we surprised him with an awesome flag pole one year, complete with a light so he could leave the flag up at night, you wouldn’t believe the smile. His entire face lit up, and he tended to that flag faithfully. The landscaping and lighting were always perfect. He’d have it no other way.

We used to have a blast – pun intended – on the Fourth of July. When we were young kids, we would go to my dad’s brother’s house for the day. It was great: grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, awesome food, sparklers. In the evening, we’d sit at the foot of my uncle’s driveway and watch the fireworks. The smell of barbecued burgers, fireworks and cigar smoked enveloped us.

If there was a ball game on, you can bet it was being listened to, with an adjustment to an antenna to reduce the static. And you can safely bet my dad, uncle and grandfather would gripe about what the Detroit Tigers were doing – or not doing – that particular season. Words were peppered with expletives, making us kids laugh and our mothers blush.

As time went on, the trees in the park grew, and we lost our vantage point view at my uncle’s house. We moved the event to the park, and as us kids grew older, we went our own separate ways with our own friends. Eventually, there were weddings, moves across town and across the country. The passing of time and relatives changed the face of the Fourth of July.

When my little (at the time!) family moved back “home” after our military moves, we started our own tradition of attending parades and fireworks. Our town sponsored both, and so our house became like my uncle’s: filled with relatives, kids running, barbecue and water balloons. All day long, our house had continuous movement, anticipating the fireworks at night.

With each flag I see today, I’ll think of my dad the patriot. He loved the military, for which he was not called to serve.  I often imagine that if he could have gone to basic training, he would be the guy who was super buff because he’d have done thousands of push-ups due to smart-aleck remarks made to his drill sergeant. As fiercely protective he was of his family, I bet he would have been an outstanding non-commissioned officer. His guys would come first – I know that in my heart.

Of course, he’ll be missed this evening when we toss the burgers on the grill. We’ll laugh about the year my dad ran off like a bat out of hell to correct an ignorant punk who  stupidly threw a firecracker towards my young children as we walked home from the fireworks. Boy, did that guy mess with the wrong family 🙂

Dad, enjoy viewing the fireworks tonight from your new vantage point. I bet it will be awesome.

© 2012 – Lynne Cobb

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