Jon has been the HS Physics teacher in Moore, Oklahoma for the last few years.  But today is his last day, he has taken a job with Mid America Technology Center as the Mechatronics instructor. (Robots and Drones)   Who would have ever known that all those years figuring out computers with his dad, and designing lego structures would qualify him to build robots and drones? (Of course there is the college degree he completed.)  It is a brand new program for the technology department, so he will get to build it from the ground up.  For him, I'm sure it will be like playing with toy building blocks.  He's excited.  I'm excited for him.

You never know what your kids will end up doing.  Becky started out as an Industrial Engineer (OSU) solving computer problems in industry.  Quit, and began to travel and take groups overseas with her to explore the world.  She speaks three languages fairly well, and three others--good enough to get around.  However, she now organizes estate sales in between.  With my sister.  They are exactly the same age.  Lisa was born 7 days before Becky.  (Swan Estate Sales--Lisa and I are Swans.)  Once Becky learns how to do something, she wants to explore something else.

Scott does something with computers for Phillips beyond my ability to understand.  Or Conoco.  Or Conoco-Phillips.  They keep changing their name and I can't keep up.  But I think his favorite activity is refereeing Baseball and umpiring Football.  Scott has always had a job--to support his addiction to sports.  He is a consummate jock.  Since he's over the hill to play, he gets on the field one way or another.   He says the most fun game to referee is girl's softball.  The parents don't get bent out of shape in those games.  But he loves it all.  

Pat taught school for years.  Both college and high school.  And she raises horses.  She is a sought after judge at horse shows.  She fosters dogs, raises chickens and brings me her organic eggs.  She trapped a raccoon this morning that had been killing her chickens.  She said I'm gonna kill that sucker when I catch him, but true to her nature of loving animals, she trapped him and took him to the river and tuned him loose.  She got bored when she retired, so is working for a local library.

I'm the only normal person in the family.

I've written about this incident before,  but since I've been writing about Jon this last week, I'll tell it again.  There was a group of 12 boys that Jon grew up with.  They were really close, good kids, and did everything together.  (Most of the time, good.)  They spent a lot of their time at our house.  I think because I was a little bit "loose."  I didn't get hung up on things that seemed to upset other mothers.

One day I looked out into the back yard and they were all 12 standing around with shovels in their hands.  I did not want to know what they were getting ready to do.  Turns out, they were digging a hole.  Every day, they would congregate in my back yard and dig.  The neighbors seemed upset that I didn't stop them.  But to me, it was great.  I knew where they were; I knew what they were doing, and it kept them within my sight and out of trouble.

The hole got deeper and deeper, four feet or more.  The neighbors got more and more agitated that I wasn't upset because these 12 kids were tearing up my yard.  This went on for weeks.  I finally asked one of the boys what they were doing.  "Building a dugout," he told me.  Sounded good to me.

Of course, there came a day that the "Dugout" lost it's allure.  And they all moved on to some other project.  I called a man to fill the hole back up.  He did.  I laid some sod, and my yard was all was back to it's original condition.   Nobody got hurt.  No harm was done.  Cheaper than Legos. And I knew where they all were, and what they were doing for weeks.  Seemed like a perfect deal to me.

People worry about the strangest things.  A hole in the ground!  Kinda like when Jon was three and kept flipping a light switch off and on, and one of my friends asked why I didn't stop him.  "Because, he will tire of it soon, and if I say no, I will have to get up and enforce it.  I don't want to enforce it.  I only say no over really important things--but when I say no, I enforce it absolutely."  And of course, in a few days, the "light switch" flipping was over.  Jon had figured it out.

Ken used to say: "Say "Yes" when you can.  Save your "No's" for important things."  Don't ever say "No" if you aren't going to stand behind it every single time."  If you don't stand behind every "No" you say, then "No" becomes "Maybe."  That's what is wrong with our legal system today.  We say "No. It's against the law," but we don't mean it.  You can do the same wrong thing over and over again and never suffer the consequence for what you did.  Why make a law if you don't enforce it?!!

After Jon left to go to college, our air conditioner broke.  I called the repair man and told him the unit was at the back of Jon's closet.  The man went back to fix it, then came back to where I was in the kitchen and said, "Lady, I'm not going to work in there with that snake."  I had no idea what he was talking about, so I went to Jon's room to check it out.  Sure enough, there was a six foot long snake in the closet.

Jon had kept it alive in there for months and months.  Unbeknownst to any of us.  I wouldn't let him bring the dog in the house because the dog shed.  Big mistake--I should have let the dog in.  I would much rather have had a dog shedding fur than a snake shedding skin.   I guess Jon thought the snake would be okay in the closet while he was gone.  It wasn't.

At the end of the term, Jon walked into the back door and yelled, "I'm home."  And a strange woman looked at him and said, "What are you doing in my house.  You need to leave right now."  We had forgotten to tell Jon that we had sold the house he had grown up in--and lived in for eighteen years.  He had to call his friends to find out where we were.

In our defense, he rarely called home.  And the move had been sudden.  A realtor called and said someone wanted to buy the house, and did we want to sell.  We hadn't thought about it, but she said to put a price on it if we were interested.  We did, and bought another house the next week.  And moved.  Which was not unusual for Ken and I.  We had moved a zillion times.  But Jon hadn't.  He had spent his entire life in Pryor.  Ken and I, and our other three children had moved from coast to coast and over seas as well.  I've moved 25 times.  No big deal.  It was a big deal to Jon.

"Why didn't you guys tell me you were moving!  That lady could have shot me!!  She thought I was breaking and entering!  I had to explain that I grew up in that house.  And that my parents didn't tell me they had moved.  Which I'm sure she didn't believe.  Nobody moves without telling their kids!"

"Sorry."  What more was there to say.  He was born into a strange family.

Ken and I had three girls before Scott was born.  Ken was gone most of the time, and Scott says he was raised by a bunch of women.  Which isn't entirely true.  But he did want a brother.  We explained to him that that wasn't going to happen.  We were not going to have any more children.  So when I told the family that I was pregnant, Scott whooped and said, "I've been praying for a brother for a long time.  God finally heard me."  I explained that it might be another sister, to which he replied, "God wouldn't do that to me."

When we were trying to think what we would name him or her, Scott said, "It's a him.  And you can name him what you want to, but I'm calling him Jon."  It seemed easier to agree with him than fight over a name.  Problem was, when Jon arrived, he came in a small 10 pound package.  Scott asked, "He's so little.  When will he be big enough to play baseball?"  I guess he thought Jon would come full grown.  As Jon grew up, he had no interest in baseball.  Ever.  Which Scott lived, ate and breathed.  Jon loved legos and books.  Scott saw no use for either one.

Since he was nine years older than Jon, Scott felt responsible to "toughen this little kid up," as Scott put it.  And of course, Scott was always the victor of their squabbles.  Until one summer, Scott came home from college and started wrestling with Jon.  Jon pinned him, and very quietly said, "Say uncle."  Which Scott wouldn't do.  And Jon, the quiet gentle giant that he, was kept Scott pinned.  Forever.  With Scott yelling at the top of his voice about what all he was going to do to Jon when he got loose.  Jon just quietly held him down.  I don't know how long this went on, but eventually, Scott said "uncle," and never tormented Jon again.   The little kid brother was finally toughened up.  

Scott was tall and lanky.  Jon was built like a barn.  All muscle, with a 19 inch neck.  He set weight lifting records in Pryor that were eventually taken down because they were discouraging to weight lifters, who couldn't come close to breaking them. Seven times his body weight.

Scott got his brother.  Ken and I told him to find something else to pray for.  We didn't need any more kids.  You need to be careful what you pray for.  You may get it.

  

When Jon was in the fifth grade, he finally had a teacher who understood him.  Mrs. Zimmerman.  She found that if she put the entire days assignments on the board first thing in the morning, that Jon would be motivated to finish all of it quickly.  She would then excuse him to go to the first grade rooms and help the teachers with students that were slow in reading.   Up to then, Jon wouldn't do his work in his own class--because when he finished something, he had to sit there and wait until everyone else finished before the next assignment went up on the board.  There was no motivation to finish quickly.

But brains aren't everything.  In the 7th grade, he was placed in the gifted program, and failed everything.  The principal called me and said she thought his test results were faulty, and wanted him to take the test again.  He made an even higher score the second time. Go figure.

I told them to leave him alone.  To stop pressuring him.  Everyone backed off, quit telling him was smart, and and eventually, Ken and I figured out the problem.  The school had announced that Jon was gifted over the loud speaker.  He was humiliated and embarrassed.  Perhaps he set out to prove he wasn't smart at all by making poor grades.  I have no idea.  It was a strange year for a parent.

One day, in the 8th grade, he came home and said, "I have a teacher who thinks I would be good at football."  He had never watched a football game, nor had he ever shown any interest in sports.  Legos were his main interest.  Ken said, "If that's what you want to do, then try it."  Jon was a strong kid, and he was fast.  By the time he was a senior, he was an All State fullback on offense and nose guard on defense.  I guess he finally got to prove that he was just an average one of the guys.  Smart or not, everyone liked him--he was president of his senior class.  I guess he finally figured it all out.

Being a mother is a hard job.  You almost have to be a genius yourself to do it.  Nothing I learned on the others was applicable to Jon.  As a matter of fact, nothing I learned on any of them was helpful in raising the next one.  All four of them are as different as night and day.  You wouldn't know they all came from the same family.

But they did.

Nine years after I thought that I was through with babies, when all my children were finally in school I found out that I was pregnant. Totally unexpected.  Pat was 15,  Becky 13, and Scott was 9.  Jon was born into an entirely different family than our other three children had grown up in.

Ken was no longer a pilot in the USMC.  He was a college professor.  Jon spent his entire life in Pryor.  His friends in the nursery at our church remained his friends for life.  Not so for our first three children.  They had to constantly be making new friends.  Living with constant upheaval.  They were military kids.  Totally adaptable to the unexpected, having moved multiple times.

We all tease Jon and tell him that he didn't learn to walk until he went to kindergarten because from the moment he was born some one was holding him, carrying him or toting him on their shoulders.
He was a quiet child.  Never complained.  Did what he was told to do.  Compliant.  When he started pre-school, every little boy in the class was someone he had known since he was born.  Never any conflict in his life.  I have the cutest picture of him and Becky.  She is getting ready to leave for college, Jon is getting ready to start kindergarten.

One day when I got home from a class I was enrolled in, I went to pick him up at pre-school, and he wasn't there.  The teacher panicked and started calling all of his friends to see if they knew where he was, where he had gone.  Finally, two of his closest friends confessed.  They had locked him in a cabinet that morning and forgot to let him out.  The teacher opened the cabinet and there he was.  Jon's nature was to sit there quietly until his friends came back!!  I think he must have taken a nap.  I almost had a heart attack.  So did the teacher.  But in her defense,  he was such a quiet child, never causing any trouble, that it was easy not to notice whether he was there or not.  He was a watcher.

He loved computers. Ken bought one of the first Apple 2's when Jon was in the second grade. They learned to use it, take it apart and put it back together.  The school principal called us that summer and asked if Jon (who was 8 years old) could come teach the teachers how to use one.  He did.  But when school began that fall, he wasn't allowed to use it since it was only for the teachers.  Until some teacher had a problem--then they would come and get him to help them.  He was the school tech support person from then on.  

I called the library today and told them to stop sending me books.  As long as a book is sitting around that I haven't read, I'm going to read it.  Everything else waits.  I usually read four or five books a week and the library keeps me well supplied.

I am totally undisciplined when it comes to things I don't want to do.  I always save them for last.  I've told you before, that I procrastinate by doing things in the opposite order that they need to be done.  I eventually get all of it done when the pressure is on.  In the meantime, I read.

But it is tax time.  Which I don't want to think about.  And of course, I have to.  A person has to round up all their tax stuff and get it in some sort of order.  So three weeks ago, I moved everything--all the paper that needed to be shredded, and all the paper that needed to be sorted--to the family room.  It has been sitting there ever since--while I read.  I've looked at it every now and then.

Stressing.

So, today after I called the library and told them my dilemma, (they laughed when I told them  my reason for wanting them to stop the books) they said they would renew sending me books in March.  That done, I started going through all of my paper, separating it into categories.  Trash, keep, and shred.  I threw out the trash, put all the tax stuff on a table to go through, and got my shredder out.  It didn't work.  I messed with it and poked around on it for an hour--to no avail.  The only thing I accomplished was to sprinkle bits of paper all over the floor.

Stressing.

I am going to have to buy a new shredder.  Which irritates me.  I see the work of the devil in all of this.  I bet everyone in America is going through the same thing and agrees with me.  It is the one thing we all have in common.  We have to file our taxes.  Remember the old saying came that says, "You can be for sure of two things in this world.  Death and Taxes."  Double bummer.

"Render to Caeser the things that are Caesar's, and to God the things that are God's." Matthew 20:21

I don't know how many years Publisher's Clearing House has been around, but I've been getting six to ten entry notifications from them every year since before time began.  I told one of my friends that I would be a millionaire today if I had invested the money I spent on stamps sending those entry forms back to them.

I don't do the lottery, scratch tickets or casinos or any kind of gambling, but PCH has my number.  I keep sticking stamps on their envelopes and mailing them back.

So I was surprised on Saturday when I was given a ticket at the OSU Gardening class I attended and my number was called.  Ann and I had enrolled, paid our fees and spent six hours learning how not to kill your plants.  Out of 200 people, they called my ticket.  I won a small vial of Bachelor Button seeds.  Whoopee.

I will plant them.  These are one of "Board" the approved flowers for Oklahoma.  Guaranteed to grow.  The last ones I saw in bloom were in Wilburton, Oklahoma back when I was a child.  My grandmother lived in a small four room house with a tiny yard that she had completely covered with flowers--so she didn't have to mow.  She had no grass at all.  Just Bachelor Buttons, Holly-hawks, Snapdragons, Tiger Lilies, and every other kind of flower that would reseed itself each year.

There is nothing as blue as a Bachelor Button.  And they are supposed to be impossible to kill.  We'll see.  I hope they grow.  I hope they bloom.  I hope they aren't some freak hybrid that is yellow.  I hope they are blue.

Strange how something can take you back to your childhood.  I haven't thought about Bachelor Buttons in fifty years or more.  And once I started thinking about my grandmother's yard, I started thinking about her hot rolls--I can almost smell the yeast as they rose before she put them in the oven.  And that thought sent my mind wandering to another.....Nobody bakes bread anymore except my friend Kathy   She used to bring me a pan of hot rolls when she would bake.  And I would eat the whole pan.  Well, Ken would eat some of them, but I certainly finished them off.  But Kathy lives in Pryor so I don't get them anymore.   Friends and memories are priceless.

Carolyn called and asked why I didn't post yesterday.  I told her that I did.  At least in my mind I did. Sure enough, I didn't.  I have a routine that I go through--usually writing at night and posting what I wrote the next morning.  Oops.  I went to a party the night before and got home late.

Becky had her yearly Valentine party Weds. night.  Anyone and everyone was invited.  She makes every kind of cheese cake you can imagine--from scratch, as well as 6-8 other cakes, along with pulled pork barbecue, dips, candied bacon, and every kind of fruit you can think of.   Over a hundred people usually come, and bring their friends and children.  I invited my neighbors from across the street, and the ones next door.  They came.  Both of those neighbors bring me something to eat nearly every night, so I was glad I found a way to reciprocate--even if Becky did all the work.  My neighbors are awesome.  It is such a blessing.

A number of years ago, there was a single man who lived across the street from Ken and me.  He was waiting on a heart transplant and was very weak.  When I would cook for Ken and myself, there was always enough to take a plate across the street.  Eventually I was able to pray with him about his condition and ask him if he was a Christian.  Long story short, he wasn't, but he began to read the Bible and go to church with his daughter.  He accepted Christ and was baptized.

I was so happy for him.  When I would take him a plate of food, we would talk about his life and how he had been changed.  He had a new heart in Christ Jesus.  But his earthly heart gave out before the transplant came.  I am so thankful that I know he is in heaven.  He'll probably have dinner ready for me when I get there.

Every time my neighbors bring me supper, or dessert, I think about when I was taking food to him.  He would be so thankful for it.  Now, I understand how he felt having someone bring him dinner.

For God's people, I think what goes around, comes around.  In the Marine Corps, you seldom got to repay the person who helped you move in--people always brought food, etc.  The rule was that you helped the next family.  It all works out in the end.  Once I was on the "giving" end.  Now I am on the "receiving" end.  God is good.

When Ken asked me to marry him, I was 18 years old.  And after I said yes, my mom and dad gave their approval on the condition that I start college in the following September.  But we were in Pensacola in September, and Ken only had a few more months to be stationed there before we would move to California.  It seemed foolish to start something that I couldn't finish, so I didn't enroll.

After the first of the next year, we talked about it again, and our discussion centered around whether I would start college, or we would start a family and I would go to college later.  Ken was almost 9 years older than I was, and he commented that if we waited four more years until I finished a college degree that he would be in his thirties.  To tell the truth, I had no interest in college.

So we had a family first.  Nine years and four children later, when Ken left for Viet Nam, I enrolled.  Ken and I had promised my folks that I would go to college--I just failed to promise I would go immediately after we were married.

It was important to my mother that I go.  Her mom had an 8th grade education, and her dad quit at the end of the 2nd grade to help his family on the farm.  (Late 1800's)  But because their life had been so hard, they determined that all five of their children would graduate from college.  Which all five of them did.  One, my uncle Ray, was an Oklahoma teacher of the year, and taught Physics at the US Naval Academy.  Another, Thurman, was a chemical engineer, graduated high school two years early and had a degree from OU before he was twenty.  He sank the oil well that is on the Oklahoma Capital lawn.  The three daughters all taught school.  They all worked to send each other.

So, when I enrolled at Oklahoma Military Academy, my mom was finally happy.  Everyone of the next generation--my cousins--but me,,had completed college by the time I enrolled.  I was a late bloomer?  Once I started, I enrolled in something every semester for over 25 years.  When I taught at the college, I would arrange my schedule so that my hour off coincided with some class on campus that I hadn't previously taken.  Engineering Physics, Dynamics, Statics and Strengths, etc.  Stuff most people would find boring, I thought was fun.  (So there, I've told you another story about me)

I attended Oklahoma Military Academy.  When I tell someone that, they are skeptical since the Academy was an all male Oklahoma institution.

But it is true, and probably the reason the Academy is no longer in existence.  It happened like this:  I lived in Pryor, twenty minutes from Claremore, which was the site of the Academy.  Ken had left for Viet Nam, and I needed something to do with my time, so I decided to start college.  I was 28 years old.  We had three children, all in school, and I had too much free time on my hands, thinking...trying not to worry about Ken.

The year before, some woman--I don't remember who--had protested to the state legislature that OMA was all male, being funded with our tax dollars, and there was no equitable institution for women.  So the cheapest legislative solution was to allow women in.  Which they did.

That first semester, three women--I was one of them--enrolled at OMA.  The cadets marched in, in uniform.  We three women stood out like a sore thumb.  I competed with all A's at the end of that semester, and by tradition, was offered a full scholarship.  It covered everything--except housing--there were no accommodations for women of course.  I didn't need that anyway.

The name of the institution was changed after the next semester, and OMA for cadets went by the wayside.  Sad.  It was a good thing for young men.  But indefensible with tax dollars in the middle of the 1960's when equitable treatment for men and women, blacks and whites was such an issue.

The administration asked me to organize an honor society--which I did and those who qualified elected me as their first president.  I wrote a poem for them which is still used today--sixty years later.  I didn't plan to be a part of the demise of OMA, I just happened to be there  when it happened.

Becky--my daughter--says I never write about myself, that I always tell stories about Ken's life and not my own.  So there.  You have a story about me.

Have you ever had to say goodbye to someone and know it may be the last time you see them.  We've been studying Paul's journeys and I was reminded of one of those times I said "Goodbye" to Ken.
The verse that reminded me was Acts 20: 25, 38--when Paul was leaving Ephesus to go to Jerusalem--where he knew he would be in danger.  "I know that you all shall see my face no more." Paul told them.  "Sorrowing, for the words he spoke, that they would see his face no more, they accompanied him to the ship."

I put Ken on a plane in Tulsa, to go back to California and embark for Viet Nam.  So many of our friends had been killed, and a number of other pilots we knew had been captured and were in Hanoi Hilton.  As I waited for him to board the plane, I knew that I might not see him again.  The odds were not good--doing what he was getting ready to do.  And I knew Ken's personality.  I knew that when it came time to assign missions, that if they were particularly difficult, he would assign himself.  He had already fought in a war, Korea, had over one hundred missions under fire, and been hit 7 times.  He would weigh his experience against sending some rookie, and take the mission.  Actually, I would have expected nothing less.  It's the kind of man he was.

When it was time for him to leave, told him I loved him and watched his back as he walked down the aisle to the plane.  For the next 13 months all I could do was pray.  I knew his letters would be upbeat, and not tell me anything bad--that if he shared something it would be humorous.

On one mission, he got hit and he knew I would hear about it, so he wrote, "I took a mission to hit a loud speaker that was harassing our ground troops.  It was small, I knew I could get it.  As I was coming in at 50 feet going (mock something), I leaned forward in the seat to pull back on the stick and pull out.  As I leaned forward, I took a 50 millimeter through the cockpit directly behind my head.  Destroyed the canopy--which disintegrated--I thought at first it was smoke.  If I had been sitting upright it would have cleaned the wax out of both of my ears.  I got the plane back, not knowing if the ejection seat had been damaged or was functional.  Hoping I wouldn't need it. I kept arming it in case I needed to eject, then disarming it for fear in had been damaged and would fire me accidentally.  I did that all the way back to base.  I didn't have to find out.  I landed it. (Thank God.)

The Olympics started yesterday.  North Korea seems to be getting a lot of coverage because they are joining  some of the events.  I can't help but wonder where that situation would be if the USA hadn't stopped at the 38th parallel in the 50's.  (The Korean War)  It is easier to figure out what we should have done after the fact.  When you look at the advanced culture of our democratic ally S. Korea, and the situation that exists in totalitarian N. Korea, you wonder how the people in North Korea endure the oppression.  Maybe they don't know that they are oppressed??

Maybe because they don't have anything to compare their condition with.  There is no freedom of the press, or speech.  And they don't have access to news outside their country.  It is a closed society.  They are fed a constant stream of propaganda.  They don't know about the truth.  All they know is what they are told.

The problem with freedom of the press, however, is that you can print and distribute things that aren't true.  And with the massive explosion of the media, we are bombarded with words.  True words, or false words.  It is hard sometimes to figure out.  Some people think that if it is in print, it's true.   Ha.

Those of us who are Christians have depended on the truth of the Bible for over 2000 years.  And when you examine the lives of those who have truly given their lives to Christ, the truth is evident in their changed lives.  His applied truth works, and is evident.  The truth presented in the Bible has stood the test of time.  Truth lasts.  It endures.  It doesn't change.  And God's truth endures.

I would not live the life that the non Christian lives.  There is such peace in "The Way," as the first Christians called themselves.

There is a "way" to live that brings joy.  There is a "way" to find happiness.  There is a "way" to have peace in the midst of trouble.  If you aren't a Christian, you won't get what I am talking about.  The words of Jesus are truth that have stood the ages.

You aren't a Christian??  How's that working for you?

Squig drags my houseshoes, or my socks, or gloves--any thing that I wear that hasn't been put away high enough that he can't reach it--into the family room every day.  He doesn't chew on anything.  Just repositions it.  And he always brings it into that one room where I spend most of my time and plops it down.   I don't get it.  He's trying to tell me something?  I have no idea what.

He never goes into the back of the house.  (Neither do I.)  But while Becky Bacon was here, he went back there (where she was staying).  He dragged her things into the front of the house as well.  Maybe he thinks he is helping everyone??  I'm always putting stuff back where it goes.

Trying to figure other people out is just as difficult as well as trying to figure Squig out.  My next door neighbor is a retired pastor.  He and I were talking this morning--about figuring people out--why they say and do the things they do.  He said something interesting that I will put in my mental storehouse.  He said, "The thing that makes us frustrated with people is that we have expectations.   And sometimes, what you expect, is something that person doesn't have the capacity to do."

I expect people to grow.  Get better.  Grow in wisdom.  Be kinder.  More mature.  But some people don't do that.  They are satisfied where they are.  They see what they want to see, and no more.  They think what they want to think, and no more.  They do what they want to do, and no more.  Even if it is wrong and self destructive.

So--if you stop expecting anything from people, you won't be disappointed.  Which sounds good to me because I hate to be disappointed in people.

My problem  is that I keep expecting something...which means that I am doing the same thing over and over again thinking there will be a different outcome.  Spinning my wheels.  Trying to help people who don't recognize help when it comes their way.

I guess we are not in charge of the outcome of what we do.  We are simply called to love people, and try to help them.  Some people are difficult to love.  But God doesn't excuse us from trying.

I have a friend who is going through a tough time.  She has a problem which she can't solve.  There is nothing she can personally do.  These are the toughest type of problems that we encounter.

When problems arise, we stew, and fret, and try to solve the situation.  Sometimes, we can use our wisdom to figure out what to do.   The Bible says, "Get wisdom, get understanding....Wisdom is the principal thing; therefore get wisdom: and with all your getting get understanding." Proverbs 4:5-7.

In other words, some problems we can solve.  With wisdom.  Previously acquired knowledge is critical in becoming a wise person.  Using that knowledge is an indication of maturity.  But sometimes, there is no solution within our abilities.  Sometimes it doesn't matter how wise you are.  There is no obvious solution.  Nothing you can do.

So, we pray.  Maybe you are thinking, "You should have done that in the first place."  But most of the problems in our lives, we solve with the knowledge and wisdom we possess:  Should I buy a Lincoln, or a Chevrolet?  Should I go to the grocery store this morning, this afternoon, or wait until tomorrow?    Shall I wear my yellow dress to church, or my pink one.  We weigh the possibilities, and make a decision.  You don't pray about every decision you make.  Neither do I.  Some decisions have obvious or automatic solutions.

But some decisions are beyond our wisdom.  Beyond our understanding.  They usually involve other people.  Like taking a new job.  Or picking a person to marry.  Or choosing a church, etc.  The decision will affect other people.  It will have lasting consequences.  You want to know what God wants you to do because you want to be in His will.  Not like whether you wear yellow or pink.

My prayer in such situations goes something like this:  "Father, (although I usually start with "Dear God") I am stumped.  I don't know what to do.  I don't even know if there is something that I can do.  Could you help me with this?  And if not, could you let me know so I will stop trying to figure it out."

Sometimes, doing nothing is the answer to the problem.

I love underdog stories.  When someone overcomes all obstacles and reaches their goal.  That was the Philly Eagles, Sunday night.  But most of all, it was about a quarterback that gave up, was ready to quit football altogether, came back, got an unexpected chance, and and beat a super champ.  Not that I am against Brady!!  But Foles was calm, did his job and led his team consistently.  I'm not a football fan, but watching Foles against a superman--Brady--was interesting.  It will be talked about for years to come.

Sometimes we think our adversaries will overcome us.  That Christ won't win.  That our problems are too big for God.  I think it is because we look at the problem rather than at our leader--Jesus.

You may think that I don't have problems with people because I always try to write positive things.  Wrong.  I have problems with people that sometimes seem impossible to resolve.  You can't put yourself "out there" in the world without facing problems.  And sometimes they get me down.

Then I remind myself that my problems are God's problems--and that it is not necessarily my job to solve them.  My job is to trust Him.  And some problems don't get solved.  At least like I want them to be solved.  We don't see the big plan.  We have to remember that we are just a cog in the machinery of the Big Plan.

We have been studying the Book of Acts at church, about Paul's journeys.  Mercy.  Talk about someone who had problems, Paul had them.  But he didn't let it stop him.  And we are the recipients of his steadfast journeys, as he traveled thousands of miles by foot to spread the gospel--at some points dusting off his feet when he was rejected, and moving on to another city.

But primarily, writing.  And writing, and writing.  I'm thankful he ended up in a Roman prison so he had to limit himself to writing rather than preaching--because we now have the letters he wrote.  I don't want to end up in prison--neither do you.  But who knows what God's plans are for us.  I just want to be sure that I am in tune with His plan.

I did something yesterday that I don't remember ever doing before.  I watched the Superbowl.  All my life when football was on, I left the room to Ken and Scott and Jon.  Who (all three) were All State Oklahoma athletes who went on to play for colleges and the Navy.  I am definitely not an athlete and never understood the fascination of watching people running into each other and knocking each other down.  So I left the field--so to speak--to the guys.

But through the years, I softened up, and by the time the boys had graduated, it was just Ken and me, so I would sometimes watch with him--we knew some of the players--and that made it more interesting.  NEO at Miami was #1 in in football in the nation a number of years while we were teaching there, and we had dozens of young men that had passed through our classes and gone on to four year schools to play football--and a number who went pro.  It is more interesting when you know the players personally.  I had Scott Case in algebra...for one example.

So there I was yesterday.  Alone.  Nobody to watch anything with.  Much less football.   And I watched the Superbowl.  I wonder how many times I could have watched with my three guys and didn't.   Oh, well.

There are times in life we wish we could get back and do something over again.  But it doesn't work that way.  You get one shot.   You have to remember that it's not about you.  It's always about them.  Whoever your "them" is.  I doubt the boys cared whether I watched football with them or not.  I kept the food coming while they watched.  Food and football.  They were happy.

Life is like that.  Sometimes, you miss an opportunity to do something you wish you would have done.  Let it go.  Do something now.  With the people in your life that are here now.  And it certainly doesn't have to be football.  Intersecting people's lives is the object.  We have a story to tell, and it would be sad if there wasn't anyone to tell it to.  Make friends.  Put yourself out there.  Go on the offensive.  (I learned that word watching football.)

Try to be the person God wants you to be--in other people's lives.  You might make an eternal difference.

I have another wonderful grandson who calls me every week.  Scott's youngest, Sam.  He brought his wife Tiffany, and baby daughter Olivia, to see me last Saturday.  He was a golf pro in Colombia, Missouri, but they wanted to get back to Oklahoma and family.  Tiff got a really good job offer in Tulsa, so they moved back and are living with her folks until Sam finds a job.  Sam checked with the golf courses in Tulsa, but nobody was hiring in January.

We talked for over an hour about how hard it is to make ends meet with only one of them working.  And the difficulties of living with family while Sam tries to find work.  And about what Sam was going to do--recognizing that someone had to take care of Olivia while he looked for a job, and there was no money for childcare while he looked.  Catch 22.  A real estate agency offered him a job, but that has no guarantees and it's only commission--you have to sell a house before you get the money for childcare--and in the meantime you have a baby on your hip.  Catch 22 again.

Sam recently qualified for the PGA with two back to back rounds, of 69.  (He's 24 years old and has been a golfer all his life.) He has started the process of getting a PGA card--but it costs a lot of money--and you have to be able to have the time to do it and the money to do it.  Catch 22 again.

We decided to pray about it.  He said, "Tiffany and I are tithing, but by the time we do that, there isn't any money left over.  And sometimes, I think I am tithing to see if God will give us more money--and I know that isn't right.  I want my attitude to be right.  But it's hard when money is so tight."

He called me today to say, "Grandmother!! I got a job offer at two different golf courses today.  This has to be a God thing!!!  One of them offered me a job, gave me papers to fill out, and as I left, the other place--where I really wanted to work, called me and asked me if I wanted a job--they needed me now.  I'll be able to give lessons on the side."  (Of course it's a God thing!)  He was so excited.  And I am so excited for him.  He will make enough to pay for childcare and have money left over."

God is good.  He answers our prayers.  One way or another, he is going to take care of us.  Sam and Tiff can both work, Olivia can go to a fabulous childcare center, and maybe we'll see Sam playing golf on TV someday?

Steven and I wandered around the old part of the city of York for days.  I was fascinated by the curving narrow streets that had served the people fairly well a thousand years ago.  They couldn't be made wider unless they tore down the shops--which were the "draw" to get people to wander around.  And the stone walls around the town were interesting as well. Steven loved the shops.  I think we went in every one of them.  Steven spent his money on a Cloisonne' turtle for his mom.

We missed our train one evening because we were having so much fun.  So I got a train schedule to see if there was any way we could get back to Grimsby that night.  I finally figured it out, but it would take a one hour train change at an obscure place with no station.  So we trusted the schedule and got on the first train.

It stopped to let us off.  We were the only two people who disembarked.  Onto a concrete slab.  That's it.  No town, no people, no building, no nothing.  And it was snowing.  And I knew my daughter would start to wonder what had happened to us when we didn't return on time.  I didn't own a cell phone.  I didn't have a number to call anyway.

We stood on the slab.  I prayed to God that He would send a train to pick us up.  I prayed to God that someone would tell the conductor of the train to look for us.  I prayed to God that we wouldn't freeze to death.  And like a good grandmother, I said, "Steven!!  We are on an adventure!!  This will be a great story to tell your mom when we get back."  We jumped up and down to keep warm.  And I checked my watch a million times--wondering if there was going to be a train at the scheduled time--or any time.  I even worried that the train personnel might have gone on strike.

The train came on time.  It stopped for the two of us.  We got on and arrived late at Grimsby.  And Steven had a great story to tell everyone at dinner that evening.

I love my grandson.  But my daughter Becky gets the credit for our relationship.  She purposely wanted her boys to have a relationship with me and got us tickets to go with her to Europe at least a zillion times.  She is a generous, giving person.  I am a lucky mom and grandmother.  God blessed me with two daughters, two sons, and ten grandchildren who love me.  What more could I ask for.