Hold a grudge? Not me........

I've been struggling with something for a while now.  Let's see if any of you have a similar problem.  Years ago, about 24 years ago to be exact, somebody was very mean to me.  Flat-out rude.  In front of quite a few people - some of whom took up for me and tried to right the situation.  Thank goodness for those people, because I didn't end up thinking that the entire room hated me.  Twenty-four years?  How would that affect me still?  ......you might ask.

Here's the deal.  I imagine myself coming in contact with that person in the present.  (It could happen, although chances are it won't.)  Instead of imagining my gracious self saying "Oh, I remember you, hello!"  I scheme and pet my cat, a' la Dr. Evil, and dream up ways to tell the whole imaginary crowd that they were very mean to me in the past and don't deserve my attention now.

My heart knows, however, that such a reaction would be wrong, immature and against everything I teach and try to live.  I really don't think I have it in me to confront anyone in that way, no matter how I feel inside.  I could probably type it, from the comfort of my own home, constructing all the phrasing to show me in the best light, them in the worst.......oh wait, that sounds so familiar.

Maybe we all have a past incident that we would love to re-visit in today's time, just to show "I was right" or "You were wrong" or "Look where I am now!" I suppose it's human nature.  In reality though, we need to remain gracious and kind.  I have stalked the mean person from my past and seen them in family pictures, having fun, looking oh so nice.  I suppose I could change my heart and be my sweet self if ever a chance meeting happened again.  Thinking about payback is amusing, but in real life, I vote for being nice, all the time.

A Tribute to Dad 6/13/14

Dad is eighty-one.  He'll be eighty-two in November, one month and one day after I turn fifty-two.  That means he turned thirty a month after I was born.  How cool that he lived a whole life before his children started showing up - and that he left that life and embraced being a husband and a father with the vigor and single-mindedness that only he can muster.

I think Dad probably could've played college basketball somewhere.  Instead, there was a broken leg, then he joined the service, as many depression-era children ended up doing.  He spent time in Japan, which I always thought was so exotic - there was even a kimono that I could dress up in every now and then!

Dad ended up with three daughters.  I do think perhaps that God purposely meant for him to have three girls! Maybe he would have been too demanding on boys - who can tell?  Having girls was perfect.  He supported our arts efforts as well as sports.

Dad was always involved, with a capital "I".  Whether it was a softball team at work or being a deacon/Sunday School teacher/coach at church; Dad got a kick out of either running the show or helping out. His involvement spilled over to include us.  I had a speaking part in a grown-up church skit when I was seven.  Dad and his friend started a sports league for fifth through eighth graders at small private schools. Of course we played every sport. My Dad helped share church services at nursing homes on Sunday afternoons - and took my sisters and me along to sing and play piano.

If he wasn't in charge, he was supporting.  My Dad came to every ball game that work would allow.  He had a special outfit in school colors, and a jacket with our numbers embroidered on it. Each number was surrounded by a star for each year we lettered in basketball.

Dad made experiences special.  When I turned thirteen, I got to order prime rib in a restaurant. My fourteenth birthday, Dad took just me to see "Oklahoma!" at a dinner theater.  My sweet sixteenth birthday gift was a tailgating trip with friends to a Florida Gators game!

When I left for college, Dad did something very special. He wrote me one letter every week.  Dad just caught me up on the household and sports news.  In each letter was a one dollar bill.  He never missed.  My senior year, the ones turned into fives!   Four years of college - one letter a week.  That's my Dad.

Dad was the only one there with me when I took the walk down the aisle to get married.  I'll never forget how we stayed out of sight until the last bridesmaid headed toward the front. Then he looked at me with his eyes a little shiny and said "Let's give them what they're waiting for!"

Dad doesn't remember a lot these days. The processes of age have taken the clarity and replaced it with confusion. Every now and then, a joke can find its way through.  However, I remember all of the

things I've mentioned and more. I hope to tell him about recent changes.  I know that even if he doesn't understand it, that somewhere inside, he's cheering me on wholeheartedly.  He is half of the team that made me who I am; he is encouraging, involved, a bit silly and most importantly, a loving Christian father.  Thank you Dad.