A Lovely Bunch of Coconuts

I love my husband.

He often has a way of being so tender with me. Like last night while laying in bed (this is G rated, I promise). I was exhausted from a previous rough night's sleep because of a bad dream, combined with an early morning which merged together with a long drive to town and back. We were facing each other in bed and he held my hand that rested somewhere up near my head. I apparently flinched involuntarily as I drifted off to sleep.

"Wanna arm wrestle?"  Les laughed.

"Huh?" I drooled.

"You flinched like you were going to pin my arm in an arm wrestling move." Les laughed more.

"Well I must've done it in my sleep before you rudely woke me up loudly asking if I wanted to arm wrestle." I reasoned sarcastically.

"We've only been laying here for about 1 minute." Les was rather amused. We both laughed and he continued to hold my hand until I drifted off to la-la land.

Even though he was teasing me, I found comfort in knowing he wanted to hold on to me until I fell asleep.

I should back up a bit. Earlier in the evening he had bathed Evie, his bassett hound. Emphasis on his. After she was dry and settled down he was holding her and said, "You smell good. You smell like Marita." He quickly defended himself when I gave him a quizzical look. "I used that coconut shampoo down in the other bathroom. It smells like your new lotion. You know, the one I love?"

This morning he tenderly cuddled me as I woke up, assuring me he was there. (The dream the night before really did bother me and he knew it.) After I showered and got ready for the day, I leaned over the back of the couch and gave him a little kiss.

"Mmm, you smell good." He said it so lovingly.

"Hmph," I backed away. "Just don't tell me I smell like Evie."

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Seek Joy

Easter Sunday is the longest day of the year...for a pastor and his wife. My responsibilities varied greatly and seemed to last forever. It started with rising early and joining the bird's song by leading hymns at a sunrise service. (And we actually SAW the sunrise this year. *A-MA-zing*,) then moved on to making breakfast for those who braved the early hour. On to worship practice which blended into leading worship and blurred into singing a special.

I don't mean to seem non-spiritual, but the highlight of Easter (other than the nap) had to be the egg hunt after church. My three-year-old granddaughter, Celina, ran past wrapped candy and several plastic eggs as she selected only the blue and purple eggs, then moved on to pink. She momentarily became distracted when she found an egg that had spilled on the ground and discovered what was inside the eggs.

"Wook-it, Ga'ma," she held an individual M&M in amazement. "Candy!"

Whoddathunk?

Then there were the two-year-old twin grandsons. Anthony thought the object of this tradition was to step on the eggs and Afton appeared more interested in picking up the spillage of said stepped on eggs than the bigger prizes that awaited him.

The adults had to play a much more active role than they expected and outnumbered the children. I even caught the kids' favorite "church Grandpa" doing his own hunt. I should add that he gave them to Anthony but I was tempted to pat down his pockets before he left.

My favorite picture I took is of the youngest in the nursery, Sammy. He had enough of the hunt and wanted to get to the goods. He plopped his diapered tushy in the wet grass and dumped his basket and proceeded to feast on the anticipated sugary treats. Poor Becky. I wonder how HER afternoon went.

Aside from rejoicing and celebrating our Savior's resurrection, the egg hunt brought such joy in my long stressful day.

God Bless the little ones!

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Heart Travels

Ahh…Memory Lane. Sometimes when you turn onto the lane you aren’t quite sure where it will take you.

Recently I reconnected with a blast-from-the-past childhood friend via facebook. We turned onto Memory Lane and brushed spider webs out of the way along the not-so-beaten path.

As I traipsed along, memories stirred in me of my call to ministry. Not so much the actual “call” but the people that helped mentor me when they recognized a hunger for God in my life. It was a nice stroll for me.

A couple years ago I took a different trip down Memory Lane. More of a tromp than a traipse. I’m forever thankful for the friend God gave me to hold my hand down that scary path.

It seems we all have a past. Good, bad or ugly…we have a past. I am reminded of something Les always says: “Your past is only good for one thing, to see where you have come from so you can praise God for what He has brought you through.”

It reminds me of the movie Lion King (Celina calls it the big kitty movie). Here is a brief conversation between Rafika and Simba:

Simba: I know what I have to do. But going back will mean facing my past. I've been running from it for so long.
[Rafiki hits Simba on the head with his stick]
Simba: Ow! What was that for?
Rafiki: It doesn't matter. It's in the past.
Simba: Yeah, but it still hurts.
Rafiki: Oh yes, the past can hurt. But the way I see it, you can either run from it, or learn from it.

One of my favorite scripture passage is Isaiah 43:17-19:

"Forget the former things; do not dwell on the past. See, I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up; do you not perceive it? I am making a way in the desert and streams in the wasteland.”

Sometimes it is impossible to really forget our past but we need to be careful that our past doesn’t hold us back from the new thing God has planned for us.

I have another friend that has found her way on Memory Lane. She isn’t traipsing or tromping. Hers is more like tip-toeing over debris, watching carefully not to trip.

I’m not really a poet, but once in awhile when I’m in a melancholy mood the inspiration will hit me in a poetic way. Here is a poem I wrote a couple years ago when I had tromped down Memory Lane:

DEBRIS

Battered and beaten

Wind blown and worn.

Soaked from the rain

My branches are torn.

Parts of me falling

Laying on the ground.

Debris piled high

A reason I found.

When debris rots

Seedlings move in.

Amazing, I know,

New growth begins.

Hard to imagine

In the midst of it all.

Good things can grow

When parts of me fall.

Clear all the damage?

Impossible you see.

Some must remain

It just has to be.
© Mari LaVell 2008

When you turn your heart down Memory Lane, do you tend to traipse, tromp, tip-toe, or trip?

I think I've experienced all of the above, but today I will choose to travel Memory Lane with a Mari Heart, knowing God has a plan and a purpose for everything.

I hope and pray your heart travels light.

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