Empty Nesting

We've had the pleasure of enjoying life in this particular peaceful corner of our world for nearly fourteen years. 

Our home-sweet-home rests in a quaint little town in the heart of North Carolina. 

A place where the skies are 'carolina' blue.

A place where random passers-by smile and wave like you're their best-ever friend.

A place where preachin', teachin', believin' and redeemin' churches sit beautifully on nearly every street corner.  No exaggeration!

And, a place where young and old alike enjoy passing the sunny days on front porch rocking chairs while sippin' nothing-could-be-sweeter southern tea . . . y'all.

Now that Spring has sprung, and Summer is just 'round the bend, there's right much more smilin', wavin', rockin', and sweet tea sippin' goin' on 'round these parts.

My personal favorite?  None of the above.

Personally, I get the biggest kick out of all the bird nests that in an eye's blink appear on and around our front porch while I contentedly take part in all the smilin', wavin', rockin' and sippin' going on in our little neck of the woods.

You might even catch me carrying a tune in my bucket while Joe - my husband of thirty-four years strums a guitar tune in his rocking chair, positioned close to my own.

I know what you're thinking.  Sounds a little too Mayberry-like, and Andy and Opie-like.  True, nonetheless.  And I love every cotton-pickin', guitar-pickin', chair-rockin' minute of it.

Back to the bird nest part of this story . . . I'm not at all annoyed that momma birds find great pleasure in building their perfect little nests smack dab in the middle of my hanging flower baskets.  Not in the least.

If I were a momma bird, it's guaranteed I'd prefer a home-site such as this for my own offspring.

In what seems like no time at all, these adorable joy-bundles spread their wings and take flight in an all-out attempt to discover the excitement of the world on their own, make their own decisions, and eventually build nests of their own.

And though her eyes are ever-watchful, the momma bird lovingly allows them to do so, while her heart swells with pride.  After all, this is what she's spent so much of her time preparing them for.

It's quite apparent she has no desire to have them hanging around the nest 'til they're middle-aged.

And though she's keenly aware that there'll be bumps in the road (or, 'sky' in their case), momma bird exudes an air confidence that her child-rearing days have equipped her offspring to ride life's storms with perseverance, critical thinking, and above all . . . grace.

Joe and I are officially empty nesters now.

To tell the truth, we've actually been empty nesters for the past four years.  Our youngest daughter, Shelby, graduated from high school in 2008.  And in an eye's blink, her freshman year of college came and went.

Fast forward . . . Shelby graduates from college next weekend.  Double major:  Health Sciences and Sports Medicine.  While continuing her education in order to realize her dream of becoming 'Shelby Bowser, Orthopedic Physician's Assistant', she'll be employed as an Emergency Medical Technician, as well as an intern at the office of an Orthopedic Trauma Physician.

My heart?  Yep.  It's feeling a bit heavy at this time.

Could it be that my heart's swollen?

Indeed!  With pride.

I'm proud of Shelby's accomplishments.  She's an intelligent young lady, and her future is bright. 

Like the momma bird who resides on my front porch with her five children, my hopes and dreams for Shelby include only life's best.

I've got to hand it to the momma bird who calls my front porch her home.  Like her nest-building skills, she's got impeccable upbringing skills.

I must admit, I've had my share of errors in judgement over the years raising my own three children.  I'm guessing most parents feel that way.  The learning curves of life, I suppose.

Even so, my heart's swollen pride persists.  Likely, due to the admiration I have for all three of our children - Dan, Shannon, and Shelby. 

The heart-swelling has even increased considerably since I've become the very proud Grandma of Lindsey, Audrey, Samuel, and Anderson.  9, 4, 3, and 3 years old, respectively.  Two sweet little girls, and two 'all-boy' twin boys.  All of whom I absolutely adore.

My thirty-five years of nest-building and nest-emptying have been some of the best years of my life.

Now, two of our three children (Dan and Shannon) and their spouses have been in the business of nest-building for a number of years. 

Their particular nests aren't mirror images of the nest they grew up in, but they do bear some striking resemblances.

The resemblances are fascinating.  The differences are captivating.

While reminiscing about the good old days at our own 'nest' is fun . . . watching the days and years ahead unfold is even more so.
The empy nest syndrome?  Good grief.  Sounds like an affliction.
I'm not afflicted.  Not in the least.
Rather, I'm comforted by the fine young adults my children have become.
I thank God for my children.

And thank God my children and Grandchildren find pleasure in visiting our 'nest' often.  It does this Gramma's heart good.

Proverbs 17: 6

Children's children are a crown to the aged.

And, parents are the pride of their children.

Some Time ... Sometime

One step at a time.  Moment by precious moment.

They say, 'time flies.' 

Understatement!

Not only does time fly, but it often leaves without warning, and without advising of it's future whereabouts.

I've never been a fan of uncertainty.  For that reason (among others) I resist rendering flight to my personal time.

They also say, 'time is precious.' 

Indeed!

Recognizing time's precious nature, it's worthy of being cherished, respected and cared for accordingly.

How much time do we have?  Not a clue!

Time can be spent, wasted, and even killed.

Sometimes time is on our side.  Sometimes it's not. 

Sometimes time is our friend.  Sometimes it's our enemy.

Time changes things.

It's been said it can heal wounds, too.

Sometimes we have all the time in the world.  Other times, we have no time at all.

Lost time never returns.

Ecclesiastes 3: 1-8

To everything there is a season.  A time to every purpose under Heaven.

A time to be born.  And a time to die.

A time to plant.  And a time to pluck what is planted.

A time to kill.  And a time to heal.

A time to break down.  And a time to build up.

A time to weep.  And a time to laugh.

A time to mourn.  And a time to dance.

A time to cast away stones.  And a time to gather stones.

A time to embrace.  And a time to refrain from embracing.

A time to gain.  And a time to lose.

A time to keep.  And a time to throw away.

A time to tear.  And a time to sew.

A time to keep silence.  And a time to speak.

A time to love.  And a time to hate.

A time of war.  And a time of peace.

• Bad news:  Time flies.
• Good news:  You're the pilot. 

Dreaming

'Be strong and do not give up,
for your work will be rewarded.'
2nd Chronicles 15:7

I love this time of year.  When the hustle and bustle of the holidays are simply sweet memories.  When the quiet darkness of the evening falls early.  And, when new hopes and expectations for the future are dreamed.

With all my heart, I enjoy setting new goals and expecting great things.

Though I'm 54 years old (and unashamed to announce it), I still have what it takes to jump for joy when my goals are reached and my expectations realized.  And pretty high, I might add.

With sweet anticipation, I long for my dreams to come true. 

Some dreams are small, some a bit larger, and even others seem out of reach.  Way out!

Its those out-of-reach dreams though, that drive me to hang tough, hold fast, and leave no stone unturned until the light at the end of my dream-tunnel shines with brilliant intensity.

In my lifetime, I pray that my all-time-favorite dream comes true ... if it takes my entire lifetime.

It's my perpetual dream.  The dream in which the lives of all unborn children are cherished, respected, and valued by all of mankind - you know, the 'born-kind.'  The kind whose mothers were intent on finishing what they started ...

Life.

Psalm 139:13
'For you (God) formed my inward parts;
You (God) covered me in my Mother's womb.
I will praise you (God),
for I am fearfully and wonderfully made;
Marvelous are Your works, and that my soul knows very well.
My frame was not hidden from You (God),
When I was made in secret, and skillfully wrought in the lowest parts of the Earth.
Your (God's) eyes saw my subsance, being yet unformed.
And in your book they all were written,
The days fashioned for me,
When as yet there were not of them.'


You may say that I'm a dreamer, but I'm not the only one.


Madhouse Mall Maniacs

Okay.  After all that hullibaloo about Black Friday being my all-time-favorite shopping day of the year ...

Black Friday more than wore me out.  Too tired to get frazzled.  Shopped from 11:40 p.m. until nearly 9:00 a.m. 

The top-of-our-list department store we plotted to attack had advertised it's doors would open at 3:00 a.m., a.k.a. 'wee-hour.'  Accordingly, we snatched our place in line, very near the store's entrance, at precisely 2:30 a.m.  Hardly the first customers, but we were close.

3:00 a.m. came and went, while the store's doors remained closed.  I have a hunch it was a conspiracy.

3:05 a.m.:  No change.  Except that now we were nose-to-nose with store employees - or, make that nose to pane of glass - the only thing separating us (the ready-to-rumblers) from them (the we'll-let-you-in-when-we-feel-like-its).  No words.  Just stares.  No!  Make that glares.  No words necessary.  Each 'side' knew what the other 'side' was thinking.

3:10 a.m.:  Still no change.  The 'rumblers' were still ready, but the 'when-we-feel-like-its' weren't budging.

3:20 a.m.:  At long last, open doors. 

Like cattle being called, every shop-'til-you-dropper stampeded directly to the boot department. 

That's our take on it, anyway.

My youngest daughter, Shelby (a Senior in college), decided she'd lead the pack of boot-hungry madhouse mall maniacs by incorporating her cross-country running skills to get a step or two ahead of everybody else.

Indeed, she met with success until ...

She made an all-out attempt at a sharp turn right, dropping her cell phone on the freshly waxed floor, causing it to gain tremendous speed on its journey from one end of the store to the other, in two different directions, no less. 

Her phone had split upon impact.

Now, what?  Recover the phone, or beat the crowd?

Shelby's a quick-decision-maker.  Her phone was recovered first.  The crowd-beating followed immediately thereafter, without missing a beat.

Mad-dashing took on an entirely new meaning.

I haven't quite pin-pointed exactly what it is that draws so much of humankind to the boot department at the local shopping mall, especially at this time of year, but they were drawn there alright - by the gazillions - and, we were amongst them.

What were we thinking?

Boot box tops flinging in frisbee-like fashion, while those of the male persuasion were merely passers-by with their deer-in-headlights stares.  Shelby routinely reminded us during our long-awaited shopping extravaganza, 'They should've stayed home.  They're just taking up space.'

After all, is it not a known fact that women (not men) are shoppers-extraordinaire?

As far as savings go, we did in fact save a bundle (or two).  For the most part, we simply purchased items on our lists, successfully avoiding other never-before-offered temptations.

We had a plan.  We were focused.  We didn't waver.  Well ... most of us didn't.  There's one in every crowd, right?

It was worth every bit of the exhaustion my feet (and every other body part) endured.

Loss of sleep?  Eh, what's one night's sleep loss, when compared with making great memories?

I'll never forget the night, and I'll always cherish the fun and non-stop laughter that was shared between myself, my two sweet daughters - Shannon & Shelby - and our good friend, Emily.

Great company.  Great laughs.  Great memories.  Great 'gift' for me.

But, next year I think ...

I'll probably do it all over again.

'Every good and perfect gift is from above,

And comes down from the Father of lights,

With whom there is no variation or shadow of turning.'

James 1:17 (The Bible - New King James version)

Black Fridays

Traditions!  Love 'em.

Traditionally-speaking, the six-hour-long shopping extravaganza, beginning precisely at one minute after midnight, the day after Thanksgiving, is my all time favorite shop-'til-I-drop event of the year.

Funny thing is ... Traditionally, I don't like shopping.  Not in the least.

Loss of sleep?  Eh, I can always catch some zzz's later on in the day.

Just how many bangs for my bucks can I get this year?  Go ahead.  Ask me.  Quite a few, actually.  I've already scoured the websties.

They call it 'Black Friday.'

Good news!  There's more than one Black Friday per year.  There's a grand total of fifty-two every year. These Fridays belong to the Pro-Lifers. 

Yes.  Even Pro-Lifers have their own Black Friday mission:  Abortion Blackout.

Abortion Blackout occurs every Friday of the year.  On Fridays, many Pro-Lifers wear black clothing to mourn the precious lives lost to abortion.

Scour the Abortion Blackout website:  www.abortionblackout.com

Abortion Blackout is a simple way to show others what you believe.

That's it!  I'm a Black Friday Missionary.

Wanna Know A Secret?

I'm a pretty good secret-keeper.

Share a secret with me, and it stays with me.  Only me.

Well, at least most of the time.  I'll admit I have my occasional slip-ups.

But, I've got a friend who never slips.  Never reveals a secret.  At least not until the time is right.  Perfect, actually.

Until then, His lips are sealed.

If He chose to slip up at least once in a while, I believe I'd be okay with that.

Maybe!

Indeed, He reveals what He determines I need to know. 

When He determines I need to know it is another story entirely.

On the one hand, His secret-keeping determination can potentially drive me bananas.  So much so, that I've found myself dropping to my knees, praying - begging, even - 'Dear Jesus', for Heaven's sake, please share the secret.'  And, 'Why must I wait for an answer?'

On the other hand, perhaps that's His 'divine plan.'  His 'angle.'  The 'big picture.'

He wants me on my knees.  He wants me in sweet communion with Him.  And, He wants me to recognize that He's my Heavenly Father who is there for me all the time, anytime, and every time.

I'm certain He won't keep me in the dark forever.

His will is perfect.  His plan is perfect.  And, His timing is perfect.

I trust Him.

In His time.

In His time.

He makes all things beautiful, in His time.

Lord, please show me everyday.

As you're teaching me your way.

That you do just what you say.

In your time.

* Credit:  Music & Lyrics by Diana Ball

• I am trusting that God will meet all my needs.  see Philippians 4:19
• I am trusting that God did not give me a fearful spirit.  see 2 Timothy 1:7
• I am trusting God with all my heart, and not leaning on my own understanding.  see Proverbs 3:5

Captain Donald L. Ghiata

I've known him for nearly fifty-four of his eighty-four years.

Born on March 1, 1927, he was the first of four sons born to Donald and Gunda Ghiata.

He's my Dad, and I am his 'little papoochnick.'

I never tire of hearing his 'growing-up-on-the-farm' stories.  Matter-of-fact, whenever we're together I encourage him to repeat those stories over and over again.

Ghiata Farm - Spruce, Michigan

The farm life, I'm told, was a hard life back then.  Nothing came easy, and everything came hard.  So different from my own growing-up memories.

He really did go to one of those one-room schoolhouses.  And apparently, he walked to and from school every day - miles upon miles - even on wintry, snowy days - in snowdrifts up to his hips - uphill - both ways.

I'm fairly certain his school teacher was more interested in making sure the students actually learned something, rather than stressing whether spirits might be crushed.

Whenever hyperactivity made an ugly appearance in the classroom ... they had a 'switch' for that.

No telephone, no automobile, no refrigerator, no air-conditioning, no central heating, and no television.

No problem. 

Simply say what needs to be said before departing.  Walk to your destination.  Keep a block of ice in the icebox.  Open the windows when its hot.  Fire up the wood stove when its cold.  And, build relationships with family and friends (even if there really is only a stick and a stone to play with).

Being lazy on the farm was never an option.  Not even a passing thought.  There was no time for that foolishness.

My dad worked hard, long hours.  Day after day.  Still does.

My Dad, Donald L. Ghiata - in uniform, on the farm in Spruce, Michigan
with his brothers ...
Norman, Philip, and Raymond

I'm so proud of him.  Though he quit school at 16 years of age, he never stopped learning.  He served in the armed forces, worked hard for a living, and got an education which eventually earned him the title of 'Captain' on the cement freighters which travel the Great Lakes.

Apparently, there's a lot of truth to the 'early to bed, early to rise ...' thing.

My Dad is also my 'Bible-Answer-Man' ... my 'go-to' guy whenever I have a Bible-related question.  Though he's taught me so much, I have so much more yet to learn.

He's always said, 'It takes a lifetime of living to learn how to live.'

Dad and Mom - Donald and Thais (Kamiske) Ghiata

I'm still learning.