Recovering Youth – The Exuberance of the Young

“Hello, my name is Jan Verhoeff and I’m recovering from youth.” My attendance at the Senior Center had been recognized and I was forced to join the twelve step program for the prevention of exuberance. No where in all my youth had I prepared for this experience. I had no clue from the many times I’d visited the Senior Center with my friends and family that there were so many rules about the Senior Center. Nor had I cared.

I mean… I read the signs that said no skateboarding. Those signs made sense and were understood. After all, someone might break a bone, but did you see the look on that lady’s face when I laughed at the knock knock jokes on the back of their daily program? Is humor not allowable in her either?

Later, I was caught playing with a toy on the counter and given a resounding slap to the fingers by a matronly woman of 55 as she walked past. I won’t forget her hand print in the near future. But the ultimate shame came when I was passing out the fliers for a speaking engagement I was supposed to do in the dining hall after lunch and an elderly woman gave me a “true looking over” when my fingers inadvertently touched her husband’s fingers. If I ever do that again, I’ll probably sprout horns and die the wretched death  of a frog on the highway. SPLAT!!

These  daring young adults dare to laugh and have a good time on a nearby lawn, enjoying the pleasant summer afternoon, long before the onset of winter, where snow days outnumber sunny afternoons and the grasses grow weathered and brown.

Dare we entertain exuberant youth in our communities, as the aging among us slip off toward the winters of life, when our youthful exuberance risks notification of a local senior authority? We must risk it all for the fun of a little good times in the sun, youth or the aging, take a risk. Have some fun!

Collision Course with Futility

Looking back, I know there could have been a different outcome, but finality comes with the shadow of death. There’s no turning back, only looking back, and trying from this point forward to hear the sound of grace as human kindness take hold and bring about the changes of progress for the future. I’m sorry, probably doesn’t cut it, when the right thing can’t be done because it’s too late.

But, the wrong thing… nobody knew.

We can’t see the future. If we could, there would be many actions taken that would make a difference. That difference would sing, raising choruses to heaven, but we’re not designed for forward vision. We can only see what is now, and what is past.

Today’s lesson in living is to take that chance, on the outside opportunity that the relationship you may save will be your own, and tell the other side (that person who has appeared to be in conflict with you) that you’d like to know them better. The worst that can happen, if you reach out and make the attempt, is that you’ll get burned a bit by the temper of a person who isn’t willing to let you get to know them better. But, alternatively, the best that can happen is that you make a new friend.

Without intending to do so… I judged someone unfairly. I accepted a version of the truth and without intending to make judgment, allowed it to happen, accepting ‘defeat’ before I made the effort to make a friend. The cost is greater than any cost I’ve known before in my life, and  yet, I understand that God allows these lessons in life for a reason. I know the best of God’s love is yet to come, and I understand that He gives more knowledge to those He believes are ready.

Wisdom often comes from bad choices.

I pray I’m worthy of the wisdom I’ve received today…

I just thank God for bringing me a new friend and a different perspective. Life isn’t always the way we see it, sometimes there’s a different view. I must remember that and speak out when I question a seeming reality.

Each time I learn a lesson I realize I’ve been on a collision course with futility. The reality of God’s love is a tender wisdom that comes from the lessons we learn, a knowing that brings understanding to the hills we die upon. If we’d never known a failure, or lost a battle, we’d never know the value of success, the power to win, or the consequences of not listening to the still small voice of God. The perspective we view often gives us a vision that is less than perfect, only through listening to God’s still small voice can we hear the sound of grace or know the life of loving that brings with it the grateful glory of a God who sees all things and is all knowing.

As futile as this may be in this moment of time, I look back and know — I’ve heard God’s voice, and often ignored it. I pray in earnest, Lord… Speak louder next time. Amen

Rain drops on roses…

These are a few of my favorite things…

Brown paper packages tied up with string – come to mind when I hear rain drops falling on the roof of my home. Nothing says autumn like the sweet aroma of autumn rain wafting through the windows as a cinnamon candle warms our morning. The maudlin combination of cloudy gray days, rain and baking aromas have long been standard in southeastern Colorado, since the days of pioneers gathering harvests. But with fewer and fewer of us taking time out to bake piles and stacks of yummy goodies in the face of high calorie counts and fat added to our backsides, the aroma of candles is a necessary evil.

I found one several years ago from Prairie Candles that smells just like Gramma’s apple pie baking in the oven. I’ve since added the sweet aroma of sugar cookies, pumpkin pie and any berry you may have found in the forest, my favorite being the mulberry. The point being more than decorator savvy or the gentle glow of candle light, I want the warmth of spicy goodness coming from my oven to encourage my senses. The aroma of spicy yummies was always enough to convince me to hurry through chores for dinner, now I know that delicate aroma isn’t dinner, but it reminds me of “getting things done” in time.

So, while you’re out dancing in the rain today, come up with a list of your favorite things to share over a piece of yummy apple pie aroma candle.

A Still Small Voice says “I love you, so much”

There’s the sweet aroma of apples and cinnamon in the air and we’re dancing around the opportunity to grow a family on the autumn memories that traditionally bring us all closer to the heart of home. As summer passes away and we begin to look at the future, there’s an option of saving grace on the crisp cool winds. Family…

When a still small voice whispers back, “I love you, so much.” Life becomes more worthy, your efforts more gratifying and the joy you feel suddenly takes on a new meaning. My granddaughter was two years old in June and her voice often peels out with laughter and the screams of joy only a two year old can express. But there’s more… When she drops her screams of joy to a whisper and says, “I want to go to Grandma’s house.” You know without a doubt that she’s content to just be a loving child, filled to the brim with the existence she’s living.

She understands the value of love.

No matter how many toys and gifts she receives, no matter how much she’s given, she’s got a firm grasp on the reality of love and she knows where to go when she needs to feel that love. Her Mommy’s arms are always open, ready and waiting. She understands that home means Mommy’s love. And she knows that Gramma’s house means Mommy (and her) feel safe.

As autumn threatens to overtake the greens of summer and life becomes peaceful and serene on the home fronts once again, the joy of family takes center screen. We know our loved ones need us every day, every hour, but in the winter when the cold winds blow, there’s a comforting source of existence that brings us more – the power to live each day in the comfort of loving arms, committed to making each day better than the day before, simply because we’re able to love more.

Lizzie, I love you so much! (Thanks for the reminder.)

That Moment of Sincere Pain

Everybody has one, a moment when the pain becomes too much. No, we’re not talking about physical pain, or life’s little aches and injuries, we’re talking about a different kind of pain. This is the kind that settles deep into your heart and holds you captive for the rest of your life.

Over the years, I’ve known of parents who shun their children. They boot them out and tell them they never want to see them again. I’m not that parent. I struggle when I don’t hear from my kids for a day or a week, even knowing they’re okay and nothing is really wrong in their lives.

When I watch my children grow up and know that one day they’ll move out, move on in life and eventually have children of their own, I know my job is finished – in the sense of parenting. I realize I’m not a necessary part of their lives and they can grow and live without me. I’ve done my job well. All those tomorrows come rushing back and yesterday fills the air, and I know that life will go on. Then I think of the times I promised to take a child to the park, or swimming, or to play ball, and I wonder how many of those times they’ll remember. Will they know that I missed that moment too.

The work comes and stays. Too much for too long, and I realize how often I put aside that which is important to get the work done. The work needed doing too. But my babies needed loving more.

One day leads to another and the babies grow up all too fast.

The work? It’s still there. It still needs doing, and although most got done on time, and more came in to be done. I still think that I should have done more with my babies, and left the work lay.

Time passes and I know the moment of sincere pain, doesn’t mean the job isn’t finished… It means another baby, took another step away, and Mom is feeling the tug of little apron strings soon to come untied. Just one more little tug and off they’ll fly, each one moving one step closer to goodbye.

Bad Hair Days – The Dire Necessity of Overcoming

It’s always the bad hair day that gets the blame, no matter what you accomplish in life, if you’ve had a mishap and failed at some stark necessity of living… You can blame it on a bad hair day.

Such was yesterday.

Dressed for success means fixing my hair – a bit more than just sweeping it off my face, behind my ear or into a ponytail (if it was long enough – which it isn’t right now). So, I showered and dried my hair in the usual way, upside down looking at my knee caps under the towel I wear wrapped and tucked for modesty in an empty bathroom. Okay, perhaps it’s because seeing myself in the miror might be shocking, but the mirror only comes to just below my shoulders, I think I’m safe. But, what if someone walks in?

It’s the weather. I’m certain of it, there must have been a storm coming in that cause my usually well behaved hair to go limp as a biscuit on Sunday afternoon. Seriously, who needs hair anyway? It’s just the covering for the top of your head and looks a bit disheveled unless you’re one of those fortunate few who have all the time perfectly behaving hair. Wait! I don’t know anyone like that.

So, the reality is… my hair misbehaves.

My son suggested I blame the wind. My mother, bless her heart, asked if I’d combed my hair - she’s one of those with perfectly behaving hair all the time women – sports a tube of VO5 and claims it works miracles. UGH! Greasy hair day — oh, definitely I’d rather have a bad hair day.

So, I ask myself, is having a bad hair day enough of an excuse to skip the day all together? Perhaps… I’m thinking I might. Then I realize… Life is going on without me. I can either stay home and bemoan a bad hair day, wishing I could be perfect like… ummm… someone else. Or, I can get out there and play the hand I’ve drawn, for better or worse and make the best of my day.

In the course of the bad hair day, I managed to attend a funeral and comfort friends, experienced the love of friends who said nothing at all about my hair, and inspired another friend with what may possibly be the funniest story he’s ever written. I can’t wait to see the publication.

And today, the wind has come up and is blowing off the shingles, so my hair won’t matter a bit.

Overcoming a bad hair day just simply means you got up and went at it again. Let me part my bangs so I can see where I’m headed today!

The Write One – Jan Verhoeff Writes

Early in those formative years as I started learning about life, I knew I wanted to write. There was only one solution to my desire to write. It had to be the foundational moment of conception. I’d have to write the real content of my heart.

Words appeal to me.

From the beginning the shape of words, the actual writing of the words meant something. I wasn’t sure what, but I spent hours writing words, one at a time until I got them down just right. I knew I needed to put the words on paper in perfect script. There were times I’d write one word for hours, just working the penmanship and writing that one word until it looked perfect between the lines.

Stringing words together.

After one word became perfect, I’d find another and string them together to formulate a thought. On rare occasions when the words became rhymes or poetic, I’d share them. But more often, I’d simply write them in my journal. I’d write one word at a time in perfect script into my journal, acknowledging the whole value of each stroke of my pen. The words adjoined to make a perfect thought, a sentence with value unto themselves.

Poetic license was born.

During a particularly long winter, I began arranging words around formative thoughts that described my favorite time of year. I’d write one word after another until I’d described the picture in my mind. During this time, words developed function and form, beyond the perfect script of the pen. They became poetic pictures of my life.

Plots thicken and jel.

Once I’d begun to write one scene, the rest of the plots began to jel and thicken in my mind. Delightful events escaped my pen, flying across the paper in words mingled with penmanship, guided by the write one, me. The story became real, living and vivid in words kept in check only by the time to place value between sentences and edged into focus, chiseled by the write one.

Characters were born.

Beyond the scenes, deep in the emotional connection of description, characters breathed life into the story. The write one expanded into creation and gleaned introduction to the spirit of inspiration, allowing the characters to flow, exist and live. The write one knew them. They were born of desire and need. Characters developed where none had lived before.

Daunting danger and mystery arose.

Out of the depths, I wrote the write one with daunting danger. Mystery arose and existed in havens of gilded pleasure and escape. Did the story line appear before the character or is the character living the storyline. Only the write one knows. Only, the write one knows…

Okay – so, I know this is literary prose at its very worst, but… The words escaped my finger tips, drilled into the white screen and appeared before me. I could hit delete… But, the words have a life of their own – and the write one knows.

Encourage me…

Those words have some heavy, life changing impact on me.

During my teen years, like many teenagers, I slipped deep into depression. I didn’t want to be in school forever. I didn’t want a career. I didn’t want what other kids wanted from life. I wanted to be a wife and a mom. I wasn’t set too firmly on the whose wife I wanted to be concept, but I did want the white dress and babies following not to far behind. It wasn’t happening. I suffered through school getting straight A’s on tests and messing up on the homework and other requirements, because (quite honestly) I didn’t care. I managed to get into college and found the man of my dreams, I thought… And settled for college. The man of my dreams had other dreams.

I drifted through college, work, and those next few years suffering every obstacle known to woman for messing up my dreams, then I met my first husband. My parents loved him. My sister thought he had possibilities. My friends adored him. I married him. Less than seven weeks into the marriage I knew why he hadn’t impressed me. I was pregnant. The divorce took five years and a toll on my life. The abuse of that first seven weeks lives on in me almost daily. I feel it every time I take a step. I see the damage, each time I look in the mirror.

My daughter is magnificent. She’s been a treasure for her whole life.

“Encourage Me” was the title of a book I was given way back in those early days after I left. While my tummy grew with the life inside, I needed encouragement. I needed to lean on my faith. My church tossed me out. I was pregnant, divorcing, and alone. My family had other issues. They were there for me, but not like I needed. How could they be, they weren’t the father of my child.

Encourage me… became my vivid plea to God. I knew He was there, looking down on me, listening. I knew He was. I had faith. I needed encouragement. I went back to college, worked full time, raised my baby girl alone. Life was okay, not good, but I survived.

I met a local man who appeared to love me and my daughter. I was beaten down, but he said he loved me, and I believed him. I tried to make the marriage that followed work. But, again, I’d failed. Whether it was God’s voice I wasn’t listening to or something else, regardless of the cause of failure, I failed. Three kids and several years later, my marriage was over. When he walked out of my life, abandonment was complete. He didn’t see me or the kids for several months, then years. Life crept on…

Again, I prayed for encouragement.

Through the years, I’d begun to see God’s encouragement as something different than I’d expected back there in high school. I began to recognize His encouragement in different ways. One of those ways was when I wrote, I’d see understanding, comprehension and peace in my writing. I recognized God’s hand in my work. The Source was feeding my soul and I knew it came from God. I knew God provided my gift of words.

Encouragement came in forms I didn’t fully understand to begin with, but as I lived life, I began to understand where His encouragement was coming from, and more importantly, where it was taking me. I gave God the lead in my life and allowed Him to take me down the paths that I’d dared not tread. A career, happiness, my children, and ultimately a home in the town I loved came together and I knew God had guided me there.

Encourage me… God’s courage works miracles!

Better Days are Coming

Autumn has always been my favorite time of year. There’s something about the smell of autumn that attracts me like nothing else. It could be the sweet aroma of cinnamon and apples, baking. Or perhaps it’s the pungent smell of leaves piled high and candles in pumpkins. I can’t imagine a year without autumn, and when autumn starts early and lasts a long time, it’s even better.

As the days grow shorter and life slowly struggles to fall in line with the closing of the year, I take a glimpse back at all that has gone on before. So much of life has to do with beginnings, we don’t often think about pleasant closings. But for me, the end of the year is about pleasant closings.

The closing out of the garden in harvest —

Fresh fruit and vegetables displayed on tables as we prepare to can them into our pantry become a big part of the end of summer. The closing door. I remember years ago, when Grandma and Mom set up the kitchen for canning in mid September and it stayed set up for canning for nearly a month. There was always a pot of stew on the back of the stove for meals, but other pots and spaces were prepared for canning bins and big heavy pots that held the glass jars and lids for canning, after the food was stored inside.

The closing out of the sewing room —

This is a bit different. All through the summer, sewing and crafts projects include outdoor stuff that we can carry with us. But in the fall, I reorganize and open up the sewing room so we can find supplies for Quilts, sewing projects, coats, sweaters, etc. The best part is all the surprises I find along the way. Unfinished projects left from the spring when summer gardening started, and the fun projects we collected for this fall.

Each year I fall in love a little bit more with the tradition of stitching around the warm hearth.

The closing out of last years files.

This is my favorite. Yet another year of flies gets locked away in the cabinet for safe keeping until I’m ready to start on taxes again in the spring. This year, the melodrama was a bit two fold. Not only am I locking away all the files, but I’m locking away memories as this is my last year to file taxes as a tax professional. There’s just something about the knowledge that the year is done that gives me a thrill and a tear at the same time.

Yes, there are better days a coming… And it’s nice to see them come – and other days go by.

Ice Cream Socials – Friends & Neighbors

Hometowns offer events you’ll never find in a big city. Not that big cities can’t have them, they just don’t. But that’s the fun of living in a small town.

Tonight was the end of summer, Ice Cream Social and Free Swim, put on by the Lamar Chamber of Commerce. KVAY hosted a hamburger and hotdog grill to help a local boy with high medical bills, and the Chamber served up some incredibly delicious ice cream. But the best part was running into friends.

Kevin Estes, a friend from high school was there with his daughter Becky, enjoying time with family and friends. Kirk Carpenter stopped by with his wife and daughter. Andy Curry stopped by to visit with his wife.  New City Administrator Ron Stock and wife Tatiana took a moment to visit with City Counselman, Roger Stagner and wife Leslie. Cindy and Rick Akers held down a picnic table for a while, enjoying the laughter and chatter, while visiting with Mrs. Monroe and daughter Polly.

The Class of 77 from Lamar High School is thinking seriously about setting up a monthly “Meet for chats” date. Several classmates are available in our hometown and it just makes sense to set an evening once a month or so, and do the dinner thing… The question is where?

I sat with a neighbor I’ve known since before I can remember and visited about the short period of time she lived in Washington state. We talked about her summer. She spent time with her kids in the mountains. We discussed family, friends, events, and life. She’s the mother of the little boy I got caught kissing behind the blackboard in Kindergarten, and still a very good friend.

Political wanna-bees had a time visiting, drumming up votes and scaring up new support. Their efforts in a small town event were successful, because they asked the right questions, used the right tone, and smiled a lot. It’s a good town.

I recommend the Ice Cream Socials. They’re fun and full of friends and neighbors.