Thank You Momma....

It is Mother's Day. And for me, it was much like any other day. Maggie flooded the kitchen floor before we left for church. Will argued with me over the shirt I picked for him, I performed a “splinter removal operation” on Maggie’s foot, did three loads of laundry, washed the dishes, and cleaned the bathroom. In the mostly normal routine of this special Sunday, I thought continuously of my own mother. Her selflessness. Her sacrifice. The few times I actually remember her enjoying a meal while sitting down. And as those pictures of her danced in my head, I felt that overwhelming gratitude I always feel for her each and every day.

Of course, that gratitude wasn’t always as visceral as it is now. She would probably even insist that Chrissy and I love Daddy more. As girls, we have always shown him favor. Of course I love him. I even paid tribute to him on Father’s Day a few years ago (A Tribute to My Dad). And for his part, he was thrilled that he got to “read the eulogy while still alive.”  But as I’ve walked and stumbled and even crawled my way down the road of motherhood, the love, admiration, and downright awe I feel for my mother has swelled so significantly over time that I can barely put it into words.

Momma and I are different and we are the same. I am more patient. Easy-natured. Probably a little too

laid back. My emotions are often more raw. A soul with a bleeding heart. Momma is fiery, quick tempered, and does not mince words. She’s always meant business and she was never going to repeat herself. As a military brat who moved too often to forge many lasting friendships as a child, she learned to pour her loyalty into her family. She’s always willing to sacrifice her own happiness for someone else’s. Like me, she is a perfectionist. She has high standards for herself and those around her. She prays as much as anyone I know.

Smart and capable, she skipped the 11^th grade so she could graduate early. She married her high school sweetheart at 18 and has gone along with Daddy’s crazy dream and lifetime commitment to farming ever since. In the early years, and for many years throughout their life together, they didn’t have much money. Everything they had they turned back into the dirt. A mother at 21 and 23, she was no stranger to hard work. Daddy’s hours at the farm were long. In the off season, he turned his attention to hunting. She did all of the housework, all of the cooking, and most of the rearing of her children. In tough years, she did what she could to help ends meet—kept other people’s children in her home, drove the bus at our school. In the summer months, she always helped at the farm---working 20 hour days by emptying tomato buckets in the field during the day and running the packing shed well into the night. She did the payroll, paid the bills, and did all the shopping. When Chrissy and I were both in college, she went to work in retail to help pay our tuition. And at the end of each exhausting day, I am certain no one ever thanked her for her efforts.

Many nights she walked the floor with sick, screaming children. She never panicked. Not when the metal sliding board cut my ankle so deep that it exposed the bone, or when I dislocated my shoulders or tore the ligaments in my knee, or when Chrissy put the pitch fork through my foot. Even when my hand got stuck in the belt on the tomato grading machine, she acted fast to cut the power so I wouldn’t lose my hand, even though she broke her own toes in the process. She weathered the storm of having an accident-prone, clumsy child and managed to keep a smile on her face.

She has that sixth sense, like all mothers do. I was always amazed that she knew which one of us was standing in the dark at her bedside in the middle of the night without ever seeing our face. Now that I am a mother, I know that what seemed like magic was actually that she knows me so well that she can identify me by the sound of my footsteps. She also always instinctively knew when we were lying, when we were trying to play she and Dad against each other, and when we said we cleaned our rooms but really didn’t. She could be stern and strict, did not tolerate sass or disrespect, and believed wholeheartedly that a spared rod led to a spoiled child. Though Chrissy and I loathed her “unfair rules,” we managed to walk the moral high ground in our teenage years without the need for cell phones or GPS tracking because we dared not cross the door (or our mother) after curfew. 

While she never aimed to be my friend, she certainly became my most trusted ally. She taught me to stand up for myself in the “nobody likes me, everybody hates me” mean girl stages, drilling in me that self-worth found in faith would travel with me much longer than most friends. We struggled through those teen years when I was always right and demanded to have the last word. Daddy had to step in a time or two, common ground was hard to come by, and I am pretty sure she found it hard to like me at times, but she never stopped loving me--Unconditional love is always proven on the battlefield of adolescence. She consoled me over my first broken heart. And the second. And then the third. She listened through hours of me talking myself into love and then talking myself out of it. She taught me early that a boy that didn’t value my brain didn’t value the rest of me. She made sure I knew that I didn’t have to compromise myself to be loved and that if a man’s touch was ever anything but tender, it should be met with an equalizer--either a shotgun or a frying pan--whichever I could get my hand on the fastest. She was my counselor, coach & cheerleader—and later my most trusted advisor. No life decision large or small is made without her.

And though her work was always hard and thankless and no doubt exhausting, she did the one thing I sometimes find hard to believe. She kept showing up. And in a big way. She never missed anything. She went on every field trip, she planned every class party, served faithfully as the chairman of the Sally Foster Fundraiser every year without fail.  She traveled near and far to football games to watch me cheer in the rain, kept the book for at least a thousand volleyball and basketball games, hauled us and all of our friends around faithfully in her minivan for practices and tournaments. When they operated on her to remove the large (thankfully benign) lump from her left breast, still bruised from shoulder to hip two days later, she rode two very long and painful hours to watch me play a basketball game. And then rode two hours back home without complaint. When I told her before the trip that it was obvious that she needed to stay home to heal, she insisted that life must go on and there was nothing I could do to talk her out of going. She is stubborn like that.

When money was tight, she never denied us opportunities to go to camp in the summer or on trips to see the world. New York. Hawaii. South Africa. She not only paid for those trips with money she probably couldn't afford to spare, she let me go without her. She entrusted me with independence. While she was certainly giving us the best life possible, she wasn’t trying to live through us. She gave me space and time to figure it out for myself. To think on my feet. To be creative. To survive on my own. And to give me those opportunities, a 13 year private school education, a bachelor’s and master’s degree,  she sacrificed and did without. She always put our needs above her own. She ate last, ate the leftovers, wore underwear with holes in them, whatever it took to make sure we had what we needed and most of what we wanted. 

And not least of all, she taught me to rely on my faith and to follow my heart. I know at times, to her own initial disappointment. When I called home to tell her I wasn’t going to law school and after 3 years of college that I didn’t know what I wanted to do with my life. When I told her I met a guy that was already a father and that I felt certain that he was the one. I know she questioned my judgement. She probably even questioned if she went wrong somewhere. But she just kept praying and loving me through to follow my own dreams. And then she gave me her blessing when I became a wife to Josh and a mother to Ian. She was there when Will and Maggie were born. She gave me the confidence to stay at home with my children when they were babies even though I was certain we would starve. She believes in me when I  don’t believe in myself. She encourages me to use my spiritual gifts. She makes the time to talk to me every single morning and is never too busy to be there when I need her.

Although this has been long, in short, she is everything that a mother should be. And what I know now

that I am a mother myself is that she loved me--the whole me, the future me--so much that she didn't always give in to the emotions of the 4 year old, 8 year old, 16 year old me. She molded me in that moment for a life that was coming down the road. She was always raising two Kimberlys. The one she lived with and the one that would one day live on her own. And because of her, I've had a truly incredible life. I'm a better wife, a better mother, a better person because of every sacrifice she made for me. And words can never say how truly grateful I am for her. I've never thanked her enough for all of it. No better time to do it than on Mother's Day. I love you, Momma. Thank you.

The Greastest Hunt of My Life

I have been pretty neglectful about the blog because I have been SO busy.... but I wanted to share a story that was written by Ian about killing his first deer. It was fantastically written and tells the story far greater than I ever could...

 The Greatest Hunt of My Life

By: Ian Burgess

Hunting is my biggest hobby. I started hunting with my Poppa Louie when I was three years old. After years of just watching and training, my Poppa said I was finally ready to try shooting a deer for myself. Even though I was ready, I knew killing a deer wasn't easy and takes a lot of patience. After weeks and weeks of sitting in a deer stand with no luck, September 7th, my time had finally come.

Picture credit: Cordray's

From the beginning, this hunt almost became a disaster. We woke up really early and were in our spot before the rooster even woke up. Our "tree stand" was actually three tomato bin boxes stacked on each other. When I tried to climb to the top, my boot kept banging into the side of the box making lots of noise. This is bad because you are supposed to be quiet. When I finally got settled, Poppa climbed up to sit in his chair at the top of the boxes. As soon as he sat down, "Flump!" The chair collapsed underneath him. Poppa was so upset he threw the chair down into the dirt road.

We finally settled in our spot as the sun came up. We began to watch a black coyote chase a rat. It would pounce up and down in the tall grass. Out of the corner of my Poppa's eye, he saw a nice 8 point buck walk across the clearing and into a canal. We thought be might come back so we waited for him. 

Picture Credit:  Cordray's

Suddenly, out of no where, this huge 9 point bucks begins barreling down the road straight for us. Poppa told me to slowly raise my rifle and get ready to shoot. As I did, I knocked my rifle on the side of the box. Hearing me, the deer slammed on brakes and stopped to look right at me. Poppa asked me if I could see his head. I shook my head yes. He told me to put the cross heirs on the deer's neck. "Can you.." and before Poppa could even tell me, I pulled the trigger. To both of our surprise, the buck dropped dead in it's tracks. I was so excited that I nearly fell off the box stand. Poppa and I traded high fives and then called my Hana and parents to tell them I killed my first deer. 

I shot the deer from 45 yards away. He was a nice 9 point buck that weighed 178 pounds and had a 19 inch spread. After taking lots of pictures, we took it to Cordray's processor so they can get meat for us to eat. They will also mount the head. My Mom said she is so proud of me that she will let me hang the mount on the living room wall. I also took part in the traditional blood ceremony where they wipe the deer blood all over my face. I got it twice. Once by Poppa. He was nice and just did my face. Then once by my Aunt Munkey. She wasn't as nice and poured the bucket over my entire head. It was very intense but I took it like a man. My Poppa and Aunt Munkey were excited to welcome me into the deer killer club.

Killing my first deer is probably the coolest thing I've ever done. I know I will remember it all of my life. And for me, because Poppa Louie is my best friend, it means even more that he was with me on this special day.

Lessons for Kindergarten (and Life)

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Remembering My Granny

Will brought me a book to read last night. It's back cover was yellow and blue and without even reading the cover, a thousands memories washed over me. My Granny read "Blueberries for Sal" to me a thousand times when I was young. As a blueberry farmer for more than 40 years, it was an obvious favorite for her. Interestingly enough, I didn't even know we owned it. But somehow, it arrived here recently because it was still in it's cellophane wrapping. Maybe a gift from Heaven?

I think about her every day. The grief I feel for her loss kind of hits me in waves. Lots of things remind me of her and when that memory comes calling, tears find themselves stinging the corners of my eyes. She had an incredible impact on my life---some of which I couldn't completely embrace until she was gone. And as often as I have thought of her in the months since she left us, I haven't been able to find the right words to write about her. Or to write at all. I've started and put it away many times. But somehow, reading "Sal" helped me find my voice.

Legacies are essential and each of us will leave one.  My Granny, I think, has a lot of them. And probably, her legacy is different according to who you talk to. She wasn't perfect. Sometimes, especially in grief, it is easy to think that she might have been. But she wasn't. She could be cold and distant. She was tough and sometimes hard. Either by personality or because life made her that way. Probably both. She was stubborn and set in her ways. But she was inspirational to me. She was independent and strong. Despite much suffering, she was a fighter and a survivor. She was kind and generous and because she was my grandmother, I feel a deep sense of love and honor for her that erases all of the negative traits and helps me cling to the good ones. And I was lucky enough to know her. Not just as my grandmother but as Sarah. For more than a decade, I had the distinct privilege to "interview" her. To learn her story and to know her in a time before she was a grandmother. I am not sure exactly how it happened. I think I was just curious nosey enough to start asking her questions. Sometimes she answered me, sometimes she didn't. Sometimes she chose the topics, sometimes we let pictures take us down memory lane. Sometimes I asked her questions and she told me flat out she didn't want to talk about my topic. If you knew her at all, you knew she was the one that was to going to dictate the conversation. Straightforward. Direct. Honest, to a fault. And yes, stubborn. It was her way, or no way.

Me, Mom, Granny & Aunt Nancy at Christmas

Losing her, although in many ways anticipated because of her age and the decline of her health in recent years, has been an enormous loss. She has been a bedrock to me for all of my life. She lived across the street. She pulled my first tooth--I think she pretty much pulled all of the grand children's first tooth whether you wanted her to or not--although she didn't "jerk" mine out like she did poor Andrew! She gave me my first paying job. In fact, if your last name is Newton, Newton's Blueberries likely deserves the coveted "first job" spot on your resume. She diagnosed every ear infection or ailment I ever had. She cheered me on at two college graduations, never forgot my birthday, and welcomed each of my children with open arms. She never failed to notice (or mention) if I gained a few pounds but she never seemed to notice (or mention) when I lost them. She was just always there and in some ways, I know now that I took it for granted that she would always be sitting on the back porch waiting for me to stop by.

While I always knew her as my Granny, my hours of time with her enlightened me to the fact that she once lived a life as a woman named Sarah. She was stubborn---to the core. She was deeply intelligent. Fiercely independent. Well read. An honor student. She had a deep love for God, history, Clemson football and Braves baseball. She was no fair weather fan. She believed in the pursuit of education. Not only did she provide that pathway for herself, she gave the opportunity to each of her children and in turn, ensured that avenue for each of her grandchildren. She believed that opportunities not taken were in fact, blessings wasted.

She was a wife but spent many years more as a widow. She was a mother to six children, five of whom were boys. She endured the unspeakable loss of a child. It was a pain she never outlived. She was a nurse who gave lovingly and tenderly to each of the children in her care for the school district. She was a farmer who made sure that each June came with the promise of sweet blueberries for jams, pies, and her famous dump cake.  While I don't think she would ever want her church to be defined by her, her presence certainly defined her church. Through committees and the choir, VBS and Sunday School. As a lay leader and a member, she showed up each time the doors opened and her presence there and everything she did was meant to glorify God, never herself.

Donnie and I fishing with Granny

When I was a young girl, her house was my house each Sunday afternoon. Same dinner each week--Cube steak, mashed potatoes with gravy, English peas, rolls and salad. We fought over the coveted corner spot at the back porch table. It became such a popular spot with the grandchildren that she eventually created a rotation chart and whoever sat upon it, had to say grace. If you missed your turn, tough luck. Sunday afternoons were spent playing softball and kickball in the front yard, long walks around the blueberry field, and if you were sneaky enough, maybe a little fishing. Because for Granny, there was no fishing on Sunday.

Easter brought egg hunts and the race to find the "golden egg" stuffed with money that was hidden somewhere in the maze of azaleas and oak trees out front of the house. Christmas meant supper at Granny's and a living room overflowing with family who exchanged presents every single year. In fact, this year Ian was sick on Christmas and I didn't want to go to Granny's to share our germs. She called me at 4pm on Christmas day and said, "I'll see you at 6pm." And I told her we weren't going to come because Ian was sick. She repeated, "I will see you at 6pm" And we were all there. And I sure am grateful we were. I would have never forgiven myself for missing her last Christmas.

As Newtons, we cling to traditions and we aren't fond of change. At all. We don't make decisions well and our spouses often accuse of being "lost in the weeds" or "incapable of making a decision about anything." Uncle Stan has informed me that rather than a character flaw, it is actually a well developed talent.  And I thought all of my life, that because we are sarcastic and direct and not overly affectionate that we were, as a family, kind of dysfunctional. Granny, by her nature and her musings, told each of us at different times in our lives when things didn't go our way to, "Suck it up. Get over it. Move on." It seemed harsh. Unemotional. Certainly not motherly or grandmotherly advice. But in hindsight, it now makes perfect sense. Don't waste life that you have holding on to things you can't change. Accept it as a part of God's plan, trust that He knows best, and move on. Wise counsel. It is something she sort of forced us all to believe and to accept as fact. I even hear myself saying it to my own children.

What became perfectly clear to me as we sat vigil at the hospital when we knew that her time with us was coming to an end was that she had done a remarkable job raising a family that loved and respected one another deeply, even though I am not sure that until that moment that we even knew it. When we got the call, we all came home. For the 5 hours at the end, we prayed, we sang, we laughed. And yes, we cried. Together. As a family. Such strange things for us to do in general. Even more surreal that we did it all together. We relied on our faith, which was the faith that she had instilled in each of us. We trusted that He was in control and because of her relentless teachings, we know with full confidence that we will see her again in Glory.

We made decisions. Actual decisions. Quickly. Together. As a family. We created a beautiful tribute to her life. Together. Everyone had a chance to contribute. Everyone had a part. And we did it all without a cross word or argument. For a family as large as ours, full of as many opinionated know-it-alls as you can fit in one room, we managed to create something beautiful. Together. For a family that hasn't always been touchy-feely and isn't into self help, but rather suck-it-up---for all of our individual dysfunctions (and there are plenty), we somehow turned out just fine. And for all of her distant, cold, and sometimes tough love, we turned out to be none of those things. We love unconditionally, we are all loyal (and honest) to a fault. We are full of stubbornness but also overflow with willing hearts who serve our communities. She insisted on it and for fear to cross her, even now in Heaven, you better believe we will live out the legacy she would expect us to.

I think she would be very proud of us for how we have managed to come together in the weeks since she passed. She certainly wouldn't be proud of these tears I have to keep wiping from my face or that I took up this much space going on and on about her, but otherwise, I know she was proud of me. Why? Because at Christmas, we had what would be my final interview. I got to sit with her for several hours and talk. Just the two of us. We talked about subjects we had shared before, Uncle Don's death, the births of her children, her own life. But this time, she was far more introspective. No longer distant but very real. Maybe she knew her time was coming short. Maybe she was just feeling particularly chatty. Whatever the case, I cherish that final conversation most of all because she told me how proud she was of the mother I had become. She loved that I was tender and affectionate toward my kids, that I openly loved them. It was something she admitted had been hard for her to do. She was proud that I had breastfed my kids and given up my career for them---things she hadn't done herself. From her, my tough and stubborn grandmother who paid very little compliment, I received one of the most incredible affirmations of my life. And she went further. She told me how lucky she was to have the children that she did, who cared for her so deeply and tolerated her stubbornness. She told me how lucky she was to have 10 grandchildren who grew up to be good people (Andrew & Aaron, I think she was giving you far more credit than you deserved...but...just kidding...She really said it!). She told me how lucky she was to survive all the things she had to see so many great grandchildren be born. She told me she was lucky that God had blessed her with a wonderful life that wasn't always easy but that she really tried to do her best to make a difference in her little part of the world. And she did. As a mother, as a grandmother, nurse, farmer, teacher and believer.

Newton Family at Granny's Funeral

She wasn't perfect. But she was amazing. She was blessed and we were lucky to have her. She left us many legacies but I think she taught us  that God first, family next, and then everything else matters most. She expected us to suck it up on the bad stuff and to keep on, keeping on toward the good stuff. We will certainly do that. We will miss her every day and we will never forget the lessons she taught us. She was so worthy of our respect and our love. And the greatest gift she gave us, as dysfunctional as we often are, is each other. And we will keep marching forward. Together.

Coming to a Mailbox Near You...

It's Christmas time! Thank goodness for something happy to look forward to. After 3 weeks of me recovering from surgery and all of us battling flu, stomach bug & even pink eye....it is nice to set our sights on family, our faith, and spending time enjoying time together. After all, there is no time during the year that is more wonderful that celebrating the birth of Jesus!

Now keep in mind that not everything around here is gingerbread and hot cocoa. In fact, my house looks mostly like a tornado went through it. The tree is decorated but wrapping paper and crafting supplies have swallowed the dining room table. Our refrigerator, after weeks of being stuffed to the brim with the kindness of friends and family that filled us up with food, is now down to milk, orange juice, cheese and condiments. My number one goal this week is making a major trip to the grocery store...which should be interesting since I still can't lift anything heavier than a bag of sugar. But honestly, it is all small stuff because we are finally well and we are ready for Christmas!

Now for me, the fist thing I wanted to kick start Christmas season was to take the kids to see Santa. Elfie (our Elf), has been at the house for 2 weeks. He has many antics up his sleeve and Will & Ian adore him. Maggie on the other hand, can't stand him. I think they got off on the wrong foot because the very first night he was there, he got into the the cheese balls--a violation of which she has yet to forgive him. And honestly, Maggie does not like the idea of Elfie telling Santa about her behavior. Every time I remind her that Elfie is watching she will say, "No he not. He not gonna tell Santa about me cause I gonna get presents." In other words, she is who she is and not even an Elf is going to change that!

So off we go to the mall on Saturday to see Santa. While we were standing in line she said, "Can I tell him what I want and NOT touch him? He's creepy!" But Will told her that she would be on the naughty list without a picture so when the time came, she crawled bravely into his lap and talked 90miles an hour telling him everything on her list (stickers, Cinderella, a piano, a doggie and an iPad) and would not let the boys talk at all. Ian, in fact, was so worried that Santa didn't get his list that he wrote a note and asked Elfie to take it to him last night. You know, just in case. As for Mags--for someone who thought he was creepy, she did very well. She still thought he was creepy but she was excited that she told him her whole list. Now Santa must scramble to get a doggie (not sure if she meant a real one but I am going to go out of a limb and say it was just a pretend one!) and a piano!

Today, the boys had their Christmas programs at church. Ian was one of the Wise men and he did a wonderful job!Will sang "Oh Come All Ye Faithful" at the top of his lungs! He really got into it and was excited to perform for a church full of people! Which of course is not surprising since he always likes to be the center of attention. Before we left for church though, I wanted to take the picture for our Christmas card. It is always a job but this year, the Bunch made it extra tough on me. Of the nearly 100 pictures I took, there were only a few that I liked. Some I love but could never send on our Christmas card. I mean Will sticking his tongue out is cute but not card worthy. Or is it? It took me an hour to select the pics (I ended up choosing 5 for a card!). Some are cute, 2 are typical of my children but not exactly typical for a Christmas card. But you know, what is a card if it is fake and forced. So for many of you, in your mailbox very soon, will arrive our card...the good, the bad, and the typical (at least for us!). But because the pics were so cute, I made a slide show that you can find here Christmas slideshow

Have fun guessing which one's  might appear on our card! And if I don't have a chance to post before Christmas please know this:

While we love Santa and Elfie too, we look forward to this Christmas season most because we celebrate the birth of our Savior, Jesus Christ! There is no gift we could ever receive that will matter as much as eternal salvation. Jesus was born to die for our sins and in this season of fun and family, we rejoice the most in the blessings of our faith. That is the true reason of this season! Merry Christmas!

Celebrating Aunt Gayle

From L to R: Grandma Ruby, Wanda & Aunt Gayle

Josh's Aunt Gayle was a special woman. Strong. Independent. Stubborn. Loyal. Loving. When she was diagnosed with Stage 4 Lung Cancer, doctors didn't give her a lot of positive hope. But she dug in her heels and fought a long, courageous battle. She lived longer than most anticipated, leaving us to joke that Jesus had a few things to get in order in Heaven before he could deal with her! I was so blessed to know Gayle. From day one, she treated me a like a daughter. She and Ronnie made the long drive to Charlotte with us many times when we were seeking custody of Ian and rejoiced with a celebration when we finally got to bring him home. Every time Ian went down to her house to go fishing with Ronnie, she would buy all of his favorite treats. She put her own good name on the line to help Josh get the job at Blue Eagle when the company he was working for closed. She believed in him and every step he has taken in his career and the success he enjoys, he owes to her. She loved to hear stories about Will's antics--his adventurous spirit and his stubborn streak. She could appreciate his desire to be tough and strong because those were things she valued in herself. And when Mags was born, she was thrilled! Especially since her Maggie Kate got her middle name from Gayle's mother, Katie.  She really meant the world to us and life just won't be the same without her.

I was truly honored when Wanda asked me to give the family remarks at Gayle's funeral. And because several people have asked for me to post, I have included my remarks here:

Gayle will be missed by all of us—because she was simply an extraordinary woman who was an exceptional wife, mother, sister, aunt, colleague and friend.  I was fortunate enough to marry into Gayle’s family. My Mother in law was Gayle’s niece and it is through Wanda’s eyes that I tell you Gayle’s story. 

Gayle was born in Jonesville to Claude and Katie Petty. She was the baby in her family. In fact, because she was only 12 years older than Wanda, she was much more like a sister than an aunt. She always called Wanda the daughter she never had. From the time Wanda was born, Gayle was there, helping with her, and helping to keep her sister Ruby company while Truman worked nights. Ruby was afraid to be alone at night—but not Gayle.  She wasn’t afraid of anyone or anything, except maybe spiders. Gayle went along on family vacations and her constant presence made a formative impact on Wanda. She always admired Gayle’s beauty—her gorgeous red hair and perfectly done makeup. She often propped Wanda up on her vanity and did her face up with make-up—fake eyelashes and all—often to the dismay of her sister Ruby! Ruby would always tell Wanda that she was going to grow up to be just like Gayle and Wanda simply couldn’t imagine growing up to be any other way. And Why not? Who wouldn’t want to grow up to be a strong, vibrant and independent woman like Gayle?

Gayle was a professional woman, serving as a purchasing agent for Roebuck Builders for more than 25 years. She was beloved by everyone who worked with her because she prided herself in doing her job well and doing it right. She wasn’t afraid to speak her mind and everyone appreciated her honesty and her integrity. But where Gayle flourished most was in the home. From Gayle, Wanda learned about all about fine food and decorating. She could make a meal that was as down home as Paula Dean and as gourmet as Julia Child. None of us will ever forget the Christmas she had us all down to her house for dinner. She prepared the most gorgeous prime rib that we had ever seen. But as she was taking it from the oven, the meat promptly fell on the floor. Every single one of us devoured that prime rib like it was the last meal we were ever going to get---because her cooking was THAT good! 

The only skill that Wanda had that Gayle did not was a green thumb. And over the years, Wanda tried to teach her a few things about gardening. When Gayle got sick, her friend Margie gave her a beautiful orchid. Gayle gave the orchid love and attention and it thrived—or so she thought—everyone who came to visit would comment on how beautiful the orchid was and Gayle was so very proud that she had managed to help this beautiful flower grow. Weeks later, Margie came to visit Ronnie in the hospital and Gayle simply couldn’t wait to tell her the success story of the orchid—a vibrant beauty that adorned the window sill, soaking up the sun and love from Gayle. After going on and on, Margie got a twinkle in her eye and broke the news to Gayle that the orchid was fake! Gayle really got a good laugh from that, especially when she needed it most.

Gayle has many legacies. She means something special to each of us. But her greatest legacy is that as a devoted wife and mother.  Married to Ronnie for 51 years, he was truly the love of her life and she always prided herself in her ability to care for him. Her son Todd, already with her in Heaven, was her entire life, the very breath that she breathed. Because of the love given to Todd by Ronnie and Gayle, Todd lived a tremendously impactful life, devoting himself to work at the Deaf and Blind School and touching the lives of every single person that he met.  His life was a testament to the lives of his parents and while we find solace in knowing that they are reunited in Heaven, we know that we will miss them both so very much.

For Wanda, Ronnie and Gayle have always been such an integral part of who she is—from her wedding and marriage to Kevin, the births of Josh and Heather, each milestone they accomplished, their weddings,  and the births of their children. Gayle always said that Wanda’s children were her children and the grandchildren were her grandchildren. In fact, when Gayle was sick, she would ask Wanda to tell her all about the grandchildren—the funny things the Jackson boys were saying or have Wanda read the latest adventure from the Burgess Bunch. Their happiness brought her peace and comfort because she loved those babies so much and they truly loved her. She was such an important part of who we are as a family and the  void left by her absence can never be filled. 

And while we know Gayle would appreciate this outpouring of love for her life, she would want to thank the many people who cared for she and Ronnie while she was sick. Her best friend Billie, her cousins Ruth, Perry & Pat, her favorite nephew Danny, her friends Sandra, Mary Ruth, Mike, Hazel & Steve. Her devoted sister Ruby. The people of Hospice took such good care of her and we cannot thank them enough for the love they gave her in her final days. 

You know, for many, death feels like a very final stage. An ending. The final chapter in a book of life. But Gayle knew differently. She knew that when her journey on Earth was finished, it was really just a beginning--The time when she got to reunite with her parents, Todd, and her risen Savior, Jesus. 

The Bible tells us that to be absent in the body is to be present with the Lord. And while we are deeply saddened by her passing, we find comfort in the memories we hold dear and in knowing that Gayle is exactly where she wanted to be—in the arms of Jesus. Thank you to each of you for coming today and celebrating Gayle’s life with us.

In Awe...

Art by Will

Sometimes, I am just in awe of my children. Okay. I am always in awe of my children. But sometimes, they truly amaze me. Not the times when they throw a tantrum on the floor, or roll their eyes at me. Not the times when they huff and puff and slam their bedroom doors. Not in those times when they are screaming at one another, or pulling each others' hair, or when they land a punch on their sibling's arm. And unfortunately, we have a lot of times like that.

But often, they display an extraordinary kindness or reveal a new ability that I didn't know they had or they say the most profound thing and I am in awe.

This past  weekend, I was trying very hard to get things around the house organized. On Friday afternoon, I decided to cut the grass. Josh has been outsourcing this responsibility (that belongs to him) and honestly, the grass wasn't really growing enough to pay someone to do it, and I knew he wasn't going to volunteer to do it himself. We were outside enjoying the beautiful weather and Mags was a total whine box. I was tired of listening to her (a moment when I was not in awe of her at all) so I went and got the push mower and started to mow the yard. I was getting the yard cleaned up and in return, I didn't have to listen to her whine! That is the kind of multi-tasking that is good for you! I had been working for about 5 minutes when I look over to see Will way up ahead of me, picking up sticks and getting them out of the way of my mower. When that task was over, he pulled weeds from my flower beds, and helped me cut back a rose bush--and never once did I have to ask him. He just saw me working and stopped what he was doing to lend me a hand.

The next afternoon, I decided to tackle the outside building. It wasn't really something I planned but it is a complete disaster. So I backed one of Josh's many trucks up to the door and just started tossing. No more than 5 minutes in and here comes both boys helping me sort and pile. I was in charge of trash, they were in charge of the pile to Goodwill. All afternoon, they worked beside me without a single complaint and never once did I ask them to help. They just did it.

That evening when we finally came inside, I reached for my wallet and handed them each $5 for all the help they gave me. We don't give them allowance. As my Mom always told me, you sit down at the dinner table three times a day and sleep in a warm, clean bed at night. I am not paying them to do things that are expected--like cleaning  their room and picking up their toys. However, whenever they go above and beyond what is expected, I am happy to reward them for their hard work. In doing so, I hope they learn that you are rewarded for working hard, not for simply showing up.

Ian immediately put his money in his bank stash and asked me to deposit it in his savings account on Monday. The child has the first dollar he ever got. He is always OK with spending my money and never OK with spending his own. (He gets that from his Mom, Hana & Poppa! We save, save, save!)  Will put his money in his wallet and asked me to take him to the store the next day after church so that he could spend his money. (He gets that from his MeeMaw and his Aunt Munkey! Chrissy always says, "You never see a hearse pulling a U-Haul. You aren't gonna take it with you!"). The best part of them earning the money? Ian asking on the way home from church how much 10% of $5.00 was. Once we did the math together, they each took $.50 from their earnings and put it in our "Mission Bucket." All of our spare change goes in the mission bucket and each quarter, we empty the bucket and donate the money to our Church's fund that supports missions throughout the world. They tossed their money in the bucket without a reminder from us. Awe.

And the amazing thing is that they do things that leave me in awe every single day. Like Will telling Maggie that she was beautiful when she tried on her Bumble Bee Halloween costume or how my boys always hold the door open for me. I am so glad their Dad has taught them that. Or that Ian made all A's and 2 B's on his report card and when I hugged him, he smiled and said, "I work hard in school to make you proud!" Will made lunch for him and Mags today, without any help from me. And on Sunday afternoon, I had a migraine and Ian vacuumed my bedroom. He told me to go to the kitchen so the noise wouldn't bother me and when I got there, he had made me a peanut butter sandwich and poured me  glass of milk. When I went back to bed, Will was there waiting with some books so he could read me a bedtime story.

Every day in our family isn't perfect. Sometimes we are grumpy, sometimes we yell at each other. Sometimes, we just aren't at our very best. But many times, my children surprise me with their kindness to me and to others. They make me proud because they work hard, they use their manners, and they choose to do the right thing. Every day, I am in awe of them. For who they are as little people, and for the big people they are growing up to be.