Father,

Thank You. I do not say it often enough.

Thank You.

For things too abundant to count. For people too numerous in my life. For experiences both good and bad that cause me to reflect and grow.

Thank You.

Father, today, I say thank You for country music. I know, very much out of my comfort zone. But then I heard this, saw this, and I think You are all over and in this, and I cannot help but cry and kind of wish I could have a do-over in the raising of children:

Thank You for friends who enrich our lives and for the ability and the desire to step out of our comfort zone and reach out to them rather than waiting for them to reach out to us.

Thank You for our Dads and the time we still have with them.

Thank You for allowing us, in our middle to late afternoon years, to recognize how important family really is and how quickly time passes.

Thank You for the blessing of Sam’s family and for the sweet and tender moments of hymn singing and tears flowing, your Holy Spirit’s presence felt in the room.

Thank You for our church.

Thank You for a late Sunday afternoon walk followed by dinner in front of the computer to watch our service back in Kansas City.

Thank You for a husband who holds my hand during prayer.

Thank You for tears when we hear music that speaks to our souls.

Thank You for opening our eyes to new experiences and new friends.

Thank You for giving us the desire to step out of our comfort zone and live life rather than watch it go by on a computer screen.

Thank You for great authors who write the best books, and thank You for giving me a partner who lets me read out loud and who wants to discuss this paragraph or that paragraph and appreciates others’ opinions and thoughts, even though he might not share the same beliefs or philosophy.

Thank You for giving us the opportunity to love someone else’s daughters when we miss ours being in our lives and the pain is almost more than we can bear.

Thank You for music that has always been a part of our world – playing the piano and french horn, singing, directing, teaching children in musicals, blaring it loud on the radio as we go down the road, attending concerts, appreciating the art if not the style…

Thank You for Ephesians 4:29-32, again.

Thank You for three cinnamon rolls this weekend, made by three different bakers, all three, incredibly good – both cinnamon rolls…and bakers.

Thank You for a clean window on a sunny Monday morning.

Thank you for an absence of guns in my world, for an absence of revenge in my world, for an absence of hate and pride and cup-half-empty in my world.

Thank You for sore muscles, evidence of a little more movement and a return to activity which can only help in removing the cinnamon roll weight.

Thank You for the reminder that the absence of words can cut just as deeply. Please help me to always be cognizant of my words, spoken, inferred, or bottled and silenced.

Thank You for giving me a family who loves me, no matter what. Thank You for my family who has accepted Sam with open arms and given him another family to love.

Thank You, Father, for being right here with me, for allowing me to feel You near, to know You are carrying me when I am too weak to walk on my own, for showing me in the every day that You exist. I am Yours, and You are mine. Thank You. I will do my best to live life well and stay humble and kind.

Today is just one of those days.

This is our front yard here in small town USA, and I sit at the window 2nd story and work and watch the snow coming down, John Mayer playing in the background.

I feel like I am in the most beautiful snow globe.

And I feel very blessed that God chooses to shower me with good things.

On this Friday, I am grateful for:

• pretty snowflakes
• good music by really great musicians
• a warm house
• being told “I love you” many times a day
• plenty of work to keep me busy
• Mariah – today is her 17th birthday
• snow globes
• a hoodie to wear
• the sound of a saw downstairs
• French fries that aren’t called french fries so that technically, I can eat them

I am grateful for this today:

“I was in the fifth grade when a family friend told me that the church I attended didn’t worship correctly. For one, we read a translation of the Bible other than the King James. Secondly, it was unacceptable to God that we use musical instruments in worship. This was the first time that I ever knew that there were different ways to worship God and that there might be a right and wrong way to worship, or at least a better or worse way.

I carried this right/wrong/better/worse view with me for a long time. I attended services where I thought that more people should be raising their hands and others where the hand-raising/clapping/dancing was a bit much for me. I heard prayers that seemed inauthentic in the way in which they were precisely scripted and others that felt chaotic where the person rambled on and on and on and on. I heard music that I thought could use more life, more passion, more drums! Then I heard music and thought, “They should lose the drummer, or at least find one who could stay in rhythm.” I critiqued every worship experience – too boring, too out there, too loud, too unorganized, too, too, too, too… It’s exhausting being a worship judge (and frankly the pay stinks).

I came to a point where I reflected on the most moving worship experiences I’ve experienced. I realized that they had very little to do with style and content, and more to do with purpose and outcome.

For me, at the very root of worship is the fact that I adore Jesus. I do. From a very tender place in my soul springs a strong current that longs to connect to my Savior. He’s where I find peace, wholeness, life, and joy. I’ve discovered that my ability to connect with Jesus is not bound by style, biblical translation, pastor, music, or anything else. When I put on my judge’s hat and get caught up in these things, I lose sight of why, and sometimes even who I worship. What a shame and wasted opportunity. When we put those distractions aside, we realize that worship can be found in multiple ways. Worship is simply adoring Jesus. No matter the style or setting, our truest moments of worship either spring up from or lead us to this adoration.”  – Written by Janelle Gregory, Human Resource Specialist at The United Methodist Church of the Resurrection; emphasis by Rhonda

That’s right. Fried chicken. All-you-can-eat fried chicken, which in my case, will be two pieces max.

But I DID it. I ate the big ugly toad today and I am on to funner more fun things.

I am grateful for projects completed, or at least started.

I am grateful for memories of Katrina swallowing a live goldfish without hesitation at her 13-year-old birthday party, following the frog-eating 2nd rule of not looking at it for very long.

I am grateful for the sound of howling dogs when the town siren goes off.

I am grateful for squeaky clean anything.

I am grateful for the sounds of “Thank you, Ama!” when I answer the phone.

I am grateful for early spring bulbs beginning to awaken.

I am grateful for evidence of new grass in our lawn.

I am grateful for thoughts of my Dad this morning as we walked past the Standard sign downtown.

I am grateful for an email from Linda the author today that made me laugh out loud. I pledged to laugh at least once a day…SCORE.

I am grateful for memories of bunnies all over the front yard of Uncle Tommy and Aunt Arlene’s house when Jane surprised all of the kids (and their parents) with Easter bunnies.

I am grateful for sounds of children playing in the park across the street this late afternoon as I work.

I am grateful to see Orion and his belt every night which reminds me to be grateful for Jeanine and memories of our early morning walks that were so therapeutic.

I am grateful that the Dollar Store has a freezer with ice cream inside, just waiting for me. Geri, no haters. It’s a weakness.

I am grateful that even though I have not played the piano for awhile, I still know how and can sit down and soothe with a hymn, talk to God through my fingers, and count my gratefuls without words.

I am grateful to see progress every day when I go downstairs and walk into the construction zone. This remodeling thing is a piece of cake.

I am grateful for a restaurant out here that has all-you-can-eat fried chicken on Wednesday nights.

And I am grateful for a good broom.

Now, time to finish up the day and load up on chicken and jayhawks. More chicken, less jayhawks.

I am grateful for quiet streets at 6 am while we walk.

I am grateful for sore muscles that tell me it’s working.

I am grateful for a warm sun and a breeze that blew during my lunch on the front porch today.

I am grateful for that breeze that blew some of my potato chips right off my plate. I imagine God was saying, “Uh, Rhonda, you don’t need THAT many chips on your plate.”

I am grateful for the unmistakable feeling of God’s presence that just makes me all warm inside.

I am grateful for my Tony Evans book, “Detours.”

I have a writing assignment for work that is THE. LAST. THING. I. WANT. TO. DO. I love writing. I do not love writing about things I know nothing about. I am fighting to focus. I am staring at the computer, unsure of a direction to take. My mind wanders. I tell myself I can’t do it. I jump at any other task, just to avoid this big frog I need to swallow. I am STUCK.

I am grateful for the correlation I am seeing in reading Detours and in not swallowing the big ugly frog. I am misaligned.

“When you live with your mind and thoughts focused in the wrong direction, you will have a difficult time finding your destiny. You will go on detour after detour after detour. But when you allow the Great Physician to turn you around – to bow your head down, even though the process may feel painful, you become ready to walk with a purpose.” – Tony Evans, Detours

I am grateful that tomorrow I will swallow the ugly frog and I won’t do anything else until it’s DONE. Well, not true. I will early morning walk. I will eat my egg. I will read my devotions. But when I park myself in front of the computer, I will serve up a big ‘ol plate of cuisses de grenouille and eat.

Sam surprised me on my return trip to small town USA by arranging for one of our friends to come over today to clean the house.

I am here. In the house.

I have never in the history of Rhonda had someone else to clean my house for pay, let alone when I am HOME and can sense their horrid realization of our dirtiness.

Mind you, our friend speaks no English other than “Okay,” and “Si.”

I wanted to clean the whole house before Maria arrived. I want to get up from the computer and help Maria clean our dirtiness. It’s not really OUR dirtiness, although it is. It’s the sheetrocker’s dirt, a thick coating of whitish gray dust covering every square inch of everything, which is why Sam insisted on hiring Maria for my benefit.

I took a break before she arrived to clean out the Dollar Store of every can of Pledge. I bought the four cans they had, to go with the one full can here in the cupboard.

It is now the end of the day, hours after I was so nervous. I am still so nervous, and I am fairly certain Maria has used all four cans and is now on #5. I am not exaggerating. Through translation, I told her not to be stingy because there was plenty. She took me serious.

I am grateful for the Dollar Store and plenty of Pledge.

I am grateful for Maria – she has cleaned pretty much every square inch of the house this afternoon, including door frames and window blinds. And 6 ½ hours later, she is still cleaning.

I am grateful that even though we do not speak the same language, she could point to a ladder in the construction zone to tell me she needed a ladder.

I am grateful for Esmerelda, another friend, who has translated back and forth between us today via text messages. What a wonderful world this is with technology that even Rhonda can understand.

I am grateful for my husband who was so kind to me and wanted our home to be clean…for me, and he was so kind to think of Maria, our friend who needs some extra income right now and gave her the opportunity to be kind to Rhonda all at the same time.

I am grateful for my husband who, on a whim, invited a dinner guest tonight because he loves to have company, and so last minute preparation is in progress.

I am grateful for beautiful new dishes from my bosses that are helping entertain our guest this evening, complete with paper towel napkins, red Solo cups and a mishmash of flatware and plasticware, since we are really only set up for Sam and Rhonda at this stage of the transition.

I am grateful for laughter at the table, laughter so good it brings tears, over the sharing of bloated cow stories, pet goats, and a flowered couch for $20 that someone might just need so it becomes a “must buy,” and words tossed around, words like catawampus and hankerin’.

I am grateful to have just heard Sam’s buddy who lives in the city come inside and remark about the incredible starry sky out here in small town USA.

I pledge to be grateful each day. I pledge to laugh at least once, every day. I pledge to take advantage of looking at the brilliance of the night sky in small town USA every night when I am here. I pledge to put these new dishes to work and make my Mama proud. I pledge to not let my nerves get the better of me and keep me from befriending someone who does not speak the same language.

I am grateful for the end of a long day and grateful that I am no longer nervous. I’m pledged out.

It’s already done. Thanks, Maria!

The full moon was receding into its next phase, yet still bright enough to show up in the predawn sky. There, just a short distance visually from it, shone a star or perhaps a planet.   The star/planet and moon the only thing visible in the sky. The moon was shining filling the sky with its light, the star/planet twinkling less brilliant than the moon. I can relate to star/planet. My light shines but compared to others it doesn’t shine as brightly. Does that make my light less significant?

That evening the moon still stood out as the brightest object in the sky. With a billion stars in the night sky it was hard to discern the bright star/planet I’d seen that morning from all the other glimmering objects in the sky. And that was okay because the billion sparking orbs were a magnificent sight. Twinkling, not in unison, but randomly erratic. I realized that one single light shining alone is beautiful and it stands out.  But a billion lights glowing together are an awesome spectacle. 

Our lights might not shine as bright as our friends or neighbors. Some of our lights might twinkle more than others. If, however, we all shine our lights of love, positivity, encouragement, and hope at the same time the results are blinding and an awesome display.

As for the moon, I see God. God shines His light brighter than ours, but not so bright as to dull ours. God wants us to shine with Him. When we shine with His love,  no one’s light is better or more significant, just each a little different from the other.

This little light of mine, I’m going to let it shine!

Written by my friend, Linda Francis, up-and-coming author

Last weekend, my good friend Geri met me for two days of fun.

We did this last year, a reunion of sorts after several years apart. She wanted to introduce me to the world of craft fairs on steroids, and it was such a success for the craft fair and such a fail for my bank account, we decided to do it again this year.

Before we ever got inside the massive first building with 800 booths, FIRST building mind you, with 800 booths, I told her we needed a code word for Rhonda, so that when I was SUCKED in to the sales pitch, Geri’s job was to Danger Danger Will Robinson! me with the code word.

Code word: LOLLIPOP

It started out as code word SUCKER, since I have it stamped on my forehead. But that didn’t sound code-wordy enough, so we thought it would be more apropos to say something like, “I wish I had a LOLLIPOP right now!”

Fast forward to the end of the day:

Craft Fair = winner winner chicken fried steak dinner

Rhonda’s bank about = loser loser glad she’s not a boozer

Geri’s code word success = whale of a fail. dead on arrival.

Among the salt scrubs and scarves that ended up in bags to carry out to the car, we also carried out surf boards for the mature ladies who do not go in the ocean. I KNOW.

We saw these surf boards LAST year at the craft fair on steroids, and we were strong. We resisted.  But something happened in a year’s time. We got soft. Well, softer. Literally.

So, we are accountability suckers. 15 pounds by August. That’s our goal. Well, that’s MY goal.  I have no clue what Geri’s goal is other than to make Rhonda feel a little less lonely loser-ish. She is going to twist in solidarity, or at least make me THINK she is, since she is 6+ hours away from revealing her true motives.

We both love to eat. We are NOT dieting. We love our food. So we decided to lose by moving more. This oughta do it.

I had seen this surfboard on Shark Tank and it’s a piece of cake! It’s fun! It’s so simple! Just step on the thing and stand still – all you gotta do is the Chubby Checkers twist! I’ve got Chubby down. Check ’er off. I didn’t need no DVD to watch how to do this thing. Nooooo, twisting is easy.

Geri sent me an email after she began her dance. Apparently, she wasn’t as limber and nimble as Rhonda:

Subject: I’m a klutz!

“…What have I gotten myself into?…”

So, Monday night, I unwrapped that board, closed the door so that my Dad wouldn’t accidentally have something to laugh about, and I got on.

Fast forward to the end of the 10 minutes. I KNOW, 10 minutes:

I was sweating.
My calves were a little sensitive.
I was embarrassed.
Natia the dog was appalled.
I had managed to twist myself all around the bedroom while attempting to watch an episode of “This is Us.”
But I didn’t fall off!
And I thought, “What have I gotten myself into? I NEED A LOLLIPOP RIGHT NOW.”

The next morning, I decided I oughta watch that instructional DVD just to make sure I’m not missing anything – besides, there are OTHER things you can do to exercise with this surfboard.

What I learned:

1. Reading the instruction manual is never a bad thing.
2. Our little surfboard, as it turns out, is supposed to stay in one spot. If you are surfing and twisting all around the bedroom while attempting to watch an episode of your favorite show, this is not a good thing. It means you’re doing it WRONG, SUCKER.
3. Deep-down Quakers were never meant to dance.
4. This is going to be a hard 15 pounds to lose, so I better lay off a few more potato chips and help my twister out.
5. I am grateful for closed doors and the best number in the world: 11. That 11^th minute is from heaven.
6. I NEED A LOLLIPOP RIGHT NOW.

My snacks for today. (I’m not taking a picture of the crackers and the chocolate.)

I am a CASA, a Court Appointed Special Advocate. For almost two years now, I have been on my first case. In training, we were instructed to keep our information about our “child” very private. We were not to put our child’s picture on our refrigerator or have their file open so that others might see. We were not to friend them on Facebook for the world to observe, we were not allowed to transport them. Our job was to be their voice in court, to become their friend and mentor, to represent them and their needs/desires in the process of foster care and state custody. We were to visit our child on a weekly basis, talk to their therapists and counselors and foster parents and teachers and physicians – you know, get to know their whole world. It was a commitment not to be taken lightly. It was a commitment not to be sporadic but consistent. These children need to know that there is at least ONE person who will be there no matter what, through the hell of trauma and back again.

As of Valentine’s Day 2017, I am a CASA, a Court Appointed Special Advocate…without a case.

With her mom’s permission and since I am officially off the case,

I would like to introduce you to my friend, my “adopted granddaughter,” my FORMER CASA child:

Mariah Gabrielli

Yesterday, she became a permanent member of the incredible Gabrielli family and found her way to her FOREVER HOME. It has been a very long journey of ups and downs, through the hell of trauma and back again. Before I ever met this beautiful young lady, with only her case description and three others in my inbox, I knew she was the case for me. God planted a tiny seed in my heart for this precious kid from the moment I read about her, and we have been on the journey together since June 2015.

Everyone in her support group, from her attorney to her therapists to her caseworkers to her new family and close friends of the family, EVERYONE LOVES THIS CHILD. She is a magnet. She is a sparkplug. She is something quite special, and as the judge expressed yesterday so eloquently for all of us,

“It is an honor and a privilege to have been invited to this Hearing of Adoption for Mariah into this beautiful family.”

Last summer, I took Mariah to see “Finding Dory.” I had received special permission from the Judge to be able to transport her since she was then living outside of the city. We went to see the movie in the middle of Mariah’s renaissance. She had struggled and had taken a detour in her journey, and she was at the beginning of her way back to being on the right road.

After the movie, I was to take her for her first overnight stay with the Gabrielli’s, to see if it might be a good “fit.” As we were driving, Mariah shared, “I feel like I am just like Dory. I am trying to find my way back to my parents, my way back home.”

If you haven’t seen the movie, Dory got lost because she had an issue with short-term memory loss and was trying to find her way back to her parents. Her parents were aware of her issue, and so they laid a path of seashells for her to always follow, all the way back home.

Mariah started following seashells last summer. She followed Dory’s advice:

Mariah kept swimming.

And she kept swimming.

The world/ocean is her playground in this life, and I will be on the shore watching her swim and flip and dive…and LIVE.

She followed the seashells.
And she found her family.  And what an amazing family…

She is finally HOME.

I notice you, Mr. Never-Tuck-In-My-Shirtsy-Because-I’m-Too-Cool-for-School, when you carry a newspaper into the men’s room at 1:37 pm and do not exit the men’s room until 2:03 pm.

I notice you, cute and very tiny office mates from down the hall, as you walk back and forth in the first floor hall, giggling and gossiping away your lunch hour. You both need to eat more, talk less.

I notice you, building complex maintenance crew member, as you saunter and meander without a care in the world, not in a hurry to get anything productive done.

I notice you, shiny shoes and three-piece suitster, when you exit the men’s room and THEN zip.

I notice you, more mature professional administrative assistant lady with gray hair who never washes your hands in the lady’s room, as you touch every door handle in the hallway, which is why I am always gripping a paper towel outside this office.

I notice you, window washer guys, plant waterer girl, cleaning crew people who are called during the day for emergency yuckiness outside of your evening schedule, as you work as hard if not harder than the rest of the building world but are treated as invisibles.

I notice you, parents and your issue-laden teenagers, as you try very hard to act civil with each other and put on a happy face on your way to counseling and therapy a few floors above.

I notice you, millennials and 50-something-silver-fox-who-should-know-better, as you bury your heads in your phones while you walk to the elevators, oblivious to the fact that you are being noticed and are completely unaware of the elderly couple who just struggled to open the heavy glass entry doors on their way to meet with their financial planner.

I notice you, elderly couple, scarf tied to protect her fixed hair and red ball-capped Chiefs fan, as you leave your financial planner’s office, holding hands.

I notice you, overweight man who should be a character straight outa’ The Office who cannot keep his white shirt tucked in which is just as bad as middle-aged Mr. Never-Tuck-In-My-Shirtsy across the hall who thinks he’s too cool for school,  as you take your break from your perch upstairs to come to the first floor to stand right outside MY perch to handle your personal phone calls and cellular arguments so that I don’t miss out on the entertainment otherwise known as your drama. I notice that you do NOT notice that glass does not mean soundproof.

I notice you, chain of smokers all going down the long hallway on your way out the door to take your afternoon smoke break, relegated to the chilly air outside in order to quell the inner itch of addiction.

I notice you, fancy restaurant caterer and Jimmy Johns racer and Chinese delivery employee and FedEx blue and UPS brown people, bearers of all things fun and eagerly awaited…okay, MOSTLY all things fun and eagerly awaited. I am not sure you realize how many times a day I secretly wish you were coming to THIS side of the glass with your surprises in those boxes and sacks.

I notice you, ear-budded-tennis-shoe-wearing professionals who are smart enough to go outside and walk the beautiful trails during your breaks. I notice you and feel guilty that I am not doing the very same thing. I notice you and I am jealous of your motivation. I just need some earbuds and a little instruction manual on how a 50+ year old woman can learn how to listen to podcasts on her fancy schmancy phone. Yeah, that would give me motivation to introduce myself to a trail and 20 minutes of This American Life.

*****

I notice you, 50+ year old woman sitting at a computer all the day long, observing everyone else, quaintly calling it observation while forgetting the lesson you had once mastered of being grateful and paying attention only to the log in your own eye. Remember that saying you once used quite often?

I notice you, Mr. Never-Tuck-In-My-Shirtsy, and how kind you are to everyone in the hallway.

 I notice you, cute and tiny office mates from down the hall. I am glad you have each other at work. Friends at work are a bonus.

I notice you, building complex maintenance crew member. I don’t know if you are slow because you hurt, so I will try harder to remember that I do not walk in your shoes.

I notice you, shiny shoes and three-piece suitster. I shouldn’t notice you. I should let you zip in the privacy of your space.

I notice you, more mature professional administrative assistant lady with gray hair who never washes your hands in the lady’s room. You have made me more aware of the need to wash my own hands and be vigilant about germ-spreading. Thank you.

I notice you, invisibles. I will try harder to notice you with much gratitude for making the windows sparkle, the plants grow, and the bathrooms a welcome space for those of us who “live” here each day.

I notice you, parents and your issue-laden teenagers. I understand the anxiety of pre-therapy moments, the fragile self-esteem, the uncertainty of dealing. May you find answers as you deal and heal.

I notice you, millennials and 50-something-silver-fox, buried in your phones and oblivious to your surroundings, and I hope that whatever captures your attention is good news and not bad.

I notice you, elderly couple, and I am grateful that you give the rest of us hope for love and devotion in the later years.

I notice you, overweight man with the partially tucked shirt who needed a private conference room to discuss personal issues. I am grateful for the opportunity and reminder to ignore and mind my own business.

I notice you, chain of smokers. I do not know the humiliation of being ostracized because of a habit/addiction, but I can only imagine if eating potato chips were banned in the building and I had to stand along the wall just outside the door in order to indulge with other potato chip eating addicts. It wouldn’t be pleasant, and I would feel judged. I am sorry. I’m being serious and funny at the same time. Potato chip eating is my struggle.

I notice you, delivery people. Sometimes I envy you for the fun job you have of giving gifts every day, but I also understand the pressure you are under and appreciate your urgency.

I notice you, ear-budded-tennis-shoe-wearing professionals who inspire me to bring my tennis shoes back to work and inspire me to ask a millennial how to download a podcast.

And finally, I notice you, 50+ year old woman sitting at a computer all the day long. Do better. Be better. Give grace. And remember your saying about miles and shoes.