The repair shop was closed and locked up tight. The lights were on, but no one was home. I went back to my car and called Triple-A. What did we do before cell phones? I guess, I changed the tire myself. Triple-A said a driver could arrive within a two-hour window. I called my patient’s family to tell them I would be delayed and where I was located. The patient’s daughter pointed out there should be a tire shop close by. I looked down the road and saw it a few doors down. “I see it,” I told her. She suggested they should still be open as they didn’t close before seven. It was now only a dark 6:30 p.m., so I cautiously walked down to the shop. I passed a firework’s stand with lots of people standing in line and felt a bit safer. Though walking through the parked cars and old vans felt risky.

The inside lights to the tire shop were on and the gated metal-bar door was open.  I peered in the window, no one, I tried the main door and it opened. A warm coffee cup with cream sat on the counter. The register was still on as was a calculator. Expensive wheels hung on the wall and new tire smell filled the room.  No way they left this open to the public. Something must be wrong.

“Hello?” I called out. No answer. “Hello,” I tried again.” Still no answer. The bathroom door was shut so I waited, thinking the salesperson was in the bathroom. Taking a business card from the counter, I called the number to the shop while standing in their show room. I could hear the phone ring, but no answer. I noticed an office door ajar and prayed as I rounded the back side of the counter, I wouldn’t find a dead body on the floor. I looked. No dead body. I approached the office door and called out.

“Hello? Is anyone there?” I inhaled a deep breath and nearly tasted rubber. I held my breath as I creaked the office door open, fearful I’d find a robber on the other side of the door and an employee slumped over the desk or on the floor. Neither was the case. Just the usual small business office with stacks of loose paper, a dusty computer and scribbled up desk calendar. I eased back and shut the door. I went toward the bathroom, calling again for anyone to answer. No one in the bathroom, and I thought to myself. Hey, at least it’s clean and has a lock on the door. I thanked the Lord for the opportunity since I didn’t know when the next chance would be,and I made use of it. 

When I came out drying my hands, still no one had come inside. I stood for another minute trying to decide if I should call the police when a cute little pregnant girl came waddling in the front door. She was as shocked as I was. Relieved to see someone, I explained my tire blow out and how I’d found her shop open and unattended. She acknowledged my concern then said her husband and some friends from the auto repair shop were out back cooking and celebrating the New year. She offered to go ask one of them to come change my tire and would meet me at my car. I expressed my gratitude to her and walked back to my car feeling much safer and cared for. While I waited, I began taking out the load of patient supplies I carry in the trunk. Soon the young lady showed up alone and apologized, but the men had said they were closed and couldn’t help me. Great. What happened to chivalry?

I checked my watch. It would still be another hour or so before Triple-A could get there, and I couldn’t imagine waiting for them. I’d changed a flat before. I knew how. What was my problem? Just because I’m over 65 doesn’t mean I’m helpless. I proceeded to take my donut spare out of the car, when patient’s daughter called me back and said her husband and brother were on their way to assist me. I was embarrassed, but so grateful. They were there in minutes and I called Triple-A to cancel.

When you feel like people are self-centered, someone shows up to remind you there are still good people in the world. These men were going through their own personal problems with a dying father yet took the time change a flat. I got the impression even if they didn’t know me, they would have helped, even on a holiday. They were disappointed in the men at the shop for leaving me stranded, but they changed the flat and refused a tip. When we arrived at their father’s home, they were grilling New Year’s Eve dinner for their families and offered me a plate which I declined. However, the patient’s wife and daughter brought me a smooth, rich hot chocolate drink called Champurrado which I didn’t decline. And was glad I didn’t. It was delicious and just what I needed to warm me up. The family were delightful, and what started out as a disastrous, almost dangerous, evening became a great finale to my New Year’s Eve. God really blessed me. He’s always watching over me.

Since then, their father has passed away, and I will not likely see them again, but I will not soon forget their gracious treatment. I pray blessings for them and am glad they had a father who taught them to be chivalrous.

How about you? Have you ever found yourself in a nearly dangerous situation? Or how about being chivalrous or needing a bit of chivalry? I’m thankful my parents taught me to appreciate a good host and hostess. I pray I, too, will always be willing to help a person in need.

Remember, wherever you are you are at the right place when you visit my website and read my blog. Come on back and share a slice of life with me.

The post THANKFUL CHIVALRY IS STILL ALIVE appeared first on Shelia Shook.

Here we are in the middle of January and I’ve yet to even start my new routine or work toward goals for 2020. How about you? Are you still recovering from Christmas and the whirlwind of 2019?

I have been pondering 2019 and considering what I am most thankful for in my life. I have a comfortable home, a loving family, too much food to eat, friends and a strong faith life. And though I want to complain, I have a rewarding job. I am thankful for all of these things but find myself grumbling at times when I really should be appreciative.

I have been working overtime since New Years’ eve. Between working, sleeping and keeping up with documentation, I’ve had little time or energy for much else. This is exactly why I start my year in February instead of January. I think we all need January to recoup and regroup from end of the year activities and the Holidays before we can jump into new routines and plans. And for me, working extra hours only makes it more difficult.

As a child, whenever I would complain about trouble with anything, my mom would say, “Count your blessings. See what is good about it. Be thankful.” Then she would quote this scripture from Philippians 4:8—”Whatsoever is .  .  .  pure and lovely, think on these things.” Though she usually left off the part that says whatever is “true, noble, and just,” and though she didn’t always apply these instructions to herself, she taught me to look on the bright side, to adjust my attitude. I sometimes felt she put her head in the sand and didn’t want to look at the news or anything negative. But I guess she’d had enough of that in her life.

In her late seventies Mom began to say she was most thankful for running water. She repeated that every so often as though it was the chorus of a song. She tells of the years when she and her older sister, Grace carried five-gallon buckets of water up the hill from the pond below their one room house. I can see the two young girls struggling to balance the big heavy bucket between them as they slipped and sloshed up the hill, emptying nearly half of the bucket on the way up, meaning even more grueling trips back to the pond for more. The red muddy water was used to wash, bathe and clean with. They had to haul drinking and cooking water from town in large, metal milk cans that Poppa tied to the back of the Ford Model T truck. They filled those old cans at Gerber’s Filling Station (called a gas station now) using a water hose. Today, we don’t allow our children to drink from the water hose. The little ten and thirteen-year-old girls worked hard in their young years as many of our parents and grandparents did.

Grace twisted the clothes as she pulled them out of the red soapy water and dropped them over into the rinse bucket. Little Lottie sloshed the underwear and socks in the cloudy water and pulled out one of her socks. She wrung it out and held it up to the sun and frowned.

“What’s wrong with my new bobby socks?” she asked. She stared and then she cried, “Oh no, my new white bobby socks are ruined,” The red muddy water had stained them. Everything she had tended to be that same rusty-peach color. And now her new white socks looked like everything else. In the winter, the red color even stained her knees, elbows, and ankles. It didn’t help to take a bath if your water was going to make your skin look dirty.

Growing up with that red water touched her in a way that made her appreciate fresh clean water, and having to haul water by the buckets several times a day made her appreciate indoor plumbing, for more reasons than no longer having to use an outhouse. She remembers feeling unloved and neglected because her momma died when she was nine and other little girls had clean, white bobby socks and ruffles, and someone to braid their hair. She felt her red ankles and unruly hair made her an outcast, and she didn’t have a momma to help her. Jealous of her friends with momma’s and white bobby socks her altered her self-image and friendships. As she grew older and a mother herself, she wanted her kids to have better than she had. We still drank out of the water hose, but we had hand-made clothes, fresh rolled hair, perms (ugh) and frills we wouldn’t have had without her. Our bath water was clean, but we only used a quarter of the tub. I didn’t know what a full bathtub was like until I was married.   

We often take things like running water for granted. Plumbing, electricity and air conditioning are the most basic household needs, but the least appreciated until we don’t have them available. I know when the electricity is out due to a storm (or rain here in the country of Kenefick, Texas) it means my water use is limited. Since my water well needs electricity, I can’t run as much water. And of course, no AC. Otherwise, I find myself allowing the water to run while I brush my teeth, and I always fill up the tub when I want a bath versus a shower. People leave their doors open while the AC works to keep the house cool and just stand staring with the refrigerator door open. We leave appliances plugged in when not being used (which still draws electricity) and we leave lights on all night. I’m really not a “Green” person, but I know I take for granted and waste what my mother and father had to work hard to have. You have to admit, we are a spoiled bunch of Americans. Good parenting includes teaching our children to look for things they can be thankful for in all situations. Let’s be truly appreciative ourselves by preserving our resources for our children.

What are you thankful for? When you consider your life, what has made the most improvement over the years? What could you do to pass your appreciation on to the next generation?

I’d like to start having a “Thankful Thursday” blog post every week. Please send me things you are thankful for and why.

Remember, where ever you are, you are at the right place when you come to my website and read my blog. Come on back and share a slice of life with me.

The post BEING THANKFUL appeared first on Shelia Shook.

Maybe you recently registered your child for next year’s kindergarten class or college. Or you see their June wedding invitations and can’t believe your baby is growing up so fast. Oh, then they move out of state. They have their own children. Suddenly, they’re having an over-the-hill party, and you’re like “What?” I’m not even over the hill yet! Am I? Reality hits and you have flashbacks of your own first day at school, graduation, leaving your parents’ home. And now you know how they felt.

“Hold on,” you say. “I’m just now registering my Kindergartener.” Snap the picture and get the hugs. Enjoy this time while you can. Because you are already asking, “Where did the time go?”

We’ve looked at the problems of helping our children too much. (See Butterfly Wings)—how too much help cripples them. We don’t want to enable our children. We want to nurture them and encourage independence at various stages in their lives. We parents tend to like our children dependent on us more than we realize. It hurts to let go. It hurts both them and us. When our kids turn into teens, we struggle with their independence. When they are off to college and out of our sight, we are not in control any more. (What made us think we ever were?) We lost control years before, only now it does no good to wait up for them. They aren’t coming home late; they aren’t coming home at all. We worry about their safety, their drinking habits, if they eat right, what kind of friends they have. Will they drive while intoxicated or drive wild?

Will they take off to Mexico—like mine did—traveling twenty-three hours into the interior on a bus with armed guards? Maybe sleep outside in a hammock on a tiny Costa Rica island where a boat dropped them off and left them? Let me share a story.

One summer, when he was a teenager, my son worked in the maintenance department of a nursing home. He met an adventurous elderly man in a wheel chair named Skippy. Skippy and Micheal became friends and Skippy shared some of his adventures with Micheal. Real or imagined we don’t know. But Micheal says he realized then, that if at the end of life, he found himself in a wheel chair in an old folks’ home, he wanted lots of memories to share that would sustain him through his last days.

Micheal has been the most adventuresome guy I have ever known. In college he spent many summer vacations and weekends climbing and jumping off cliff’s, spelunking (exploring caves), Scooba diving, and underwater cave exploration. As I said earlier, he traveled on a bus into Mexico with friends—him being the only Spanish speaking one among them. They wanted to experience the real culture, not the tourist areas. So, they took a bus twenty-three hours from the US border into the interior and enjoyed the local markets and cuisine. This was only a taste of international travel for Micheal. For college graduation, he and a friend, flew to Panama City, Panama and hiked through the jungle to Costa Rica. There, they hired a boat to take them to a small island where they were left overnight with an old fisherman. The self-sufficient old man lived on the island alone. He cooked turtle soup on an open fire for them and they slept outside in hammocks. The boat returned for them the next day.

Of course, it was much later when I found out about these excursions, but even hearing about it after the fact, my heart stopped. What else would this crazy son of mine do? Torn between being happy and proud of him, to being worried sick, I had to let him go. Let him be an adult and trust he knew how.

Since then, Micheal has logged many experiences. His goal was to fill his Passport before he turned forty, and he has. He’s fished for salmon in Alaska, and been to many countries, including on African safari twice, and hiking and Ice fishing in Iceland. His friends jokingly call him “The most interesting man in the world”.

No matter how old he is, I still worry. Once our kids leave home, we can’t hold their hand as they cross the street anymore. I have friends who panicked when their children turned eighteen and headed off to college. We must prepare them to be adults before they are grown. If we haven’t taught them to look both ways before they reach eighteen, we are too late. If we teach them what we know about being safe and making good judgments while they are young, then when they leave home, all there is to do is pray for them as we release them into God’s hands. Remember, He can see them when we can’t. He sees Mexico, Costa Rica, Africa, and down the street. He not only sees them; He’s with them. He can intervene when we can’t.

At some point, our children grow up and leave home. Leave us. Okay, there are advantages to the empty nest. Less laundry, more food and it’s quieter. The quiet. Is that really an advantage? Having an empty nest can be devastating. Look now at your time. How do you spend it away from your children? Are you investing in yourself? In your own future? What will you do without them? Go back to school? Change careers? Start or expand a new hobby? Get involved in the community? Don’t neglect to look at your future with anticipation. Find excitement in planning for new activities. Grant it, not all children leave home at eighteen. Some stay through their twenties. Which could be even worse.  An empty nest can find you in a depressing slump. That is why we need not only to be sure our children are prepared for the day they move out, but that we are prepared as well.

Are you prepared? Do you have a story to share? Remember, where ever you are in life, you are at the right place when you visit my website and read my blog. Come on back and share a slice of life with me.

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Struggle is part of our growth; our maturity comes from what we’ve been through and what we learned going through it. Let me tell you an incredible, but true story. The names have been changed to protect my friend’s privacy.

BUTTERFLY WINGS

As a newlywed, Patsy struggled. Her single-mother, Suzie Homemaker, also known as Wonder Woman, worked forty hours a week in a law office, came home and baked, cleaned, sewed Patsy’s clothes, and did everything needed to create the perfect home. Patsy was a privileged only child, her mother made her bed for her every day, washed and ironed her clothes, cleaned her room, and picked up after her. When she did ask Patsy to help, Patsy didn’t understand what to do. So, her mother just did it for her. She never took the time to teach Patsy to do anything around the house. Patsy was free to play, watch television, spend time with friends, join every sport, and go to every party (all to which her mother taxied her). Patsy excelled in sports, school, piano and social media. She felt no motivation to attend college and didn’t imagine herself with a job or a career. When she married Charles, he treated her like the Princess she thought she was. He worked hard as a construction engineer, took on extra jobs so Patsy didn’t have to work outside the home. Then he came home to cook, clean house, and do laundry. Soon his job moved them to another state. When Charles began to complain he needed help, Patsy was clueless. She’d never even learned to buy groceries and cook.

Far away from her mother and old friends, she reached out to her new friends at the weekly Bible Study group she attended. “I don’t know what else to do,” Patsy cried. “Nothing I do is good enough.”

“What on earth are you talking about?” Lana asked.

“Chuck. He doesn’t seem happy with anything I do.” Patsy put her head in her hands and sobbed.

Lana shook her head. “Trouble in paradise already? You’ve only been married a few months?”

“Over a year,” Patsy corrected.

“How can we help?” Mary asked.

Patsy brightened. “Help? Will you help me?”

“Well, of course,” Mary assured her.

“Thank you, thank you.”

“What can we do for you?” Lana asked.

Her new friends knew she was spoiled but had no idea what they were offering to do.

 “Chuck refuses to do anything at the house anymore. He said for me to start buying groceries and cooking. I’ve never cooked.”

“We can teach you,” Mary suggested.

Patsy made a face.

“I always have leftovers. Plenty for two,” Lana offered. “And my daughter loves to help with housework. She’s only six but can run the vacuum and dust.”

Patsy grinned. “I’d gladly pay her.”

“You should take Chuck’s clothes to the dry cleaner’s,” Lana added. “They will starch and iron them for you.”

Mary frowned and Lana leaned forward. “What’s wrong, Mary? Surely you don’t want to do Chuck’s laundry for her.”

“Of course not. The dry cleaner’s is a good idea for now, but how long will Chelsea want to help her with the housework? And when will you tire of cooking for her? What happens then?”

Lana made a face and leaned back in her chair. “By then she’ll catch on and be able to do it herself.”

“Will she?” Mary turned to Patsy. “Will you?”

Patsy sighed and slumped like a deflated balloon.

Mary repeated her offer. “We can teach you, but only if you are willing to learn—learn to help yourself.”

Patsy cried again. “I’m ashamed.”

“No need to be ashamed. You just weren’t taught. The shame would come if you never try to learn.”

Lana offered her a tissue. Patsy blew her nose and sniffed. “Okay. But where do I start? There’s so much to do.”

Mary stood. “Let’s start with lunch and a meal planning lesson. Then we can go shopping—grocery shopping.”

Lana stood and took Patsy’s hand, pulling her to her feet. “Sounds like fun. We can then have a cooking lesson, and Chuck will be pleased with your first home-cooked casserole.”

“While the casserole is in the oven,” Mary said, “I’ll show you how to multitask. Together, we can throw some towels in the wash and pick up around the house before he gets home.”

Patsy clapped her hands and hugged her new friends. The gift of help they offered was more than just helping for the day or the week. They were going to teach her to help herself.

Like the fisherman who taught his friend to fish instead of just giving him a fish, they gave Patsy a lasting gift.

Patsy’s learning didn’t stop with homemaking. Instead of turning to her mother the next year when her son was born, she turned to her two friends. Not so much for help, but to learn.

Are you teaching your children to become adults? Will they be ready when they are eighteen? We all want our children to have better than we had growing up. We don’t want them to struggle or have to work hard, but in today’s culture, there is a generation of children who are grown and yet not prepared for life as an adult. Recognizing a need in your adult child’s life and not knowing how to help them is a painful time for parents. Thankfully, unlike the butterfly, we can still grow wings.

No matter how old your children are, you are still their parent. You can still teach them. Stop doing for your children and start working with them. Stand alongside them, as they troubleshoot their problems. Be there for them. Be a good listener. Reassure them. But don’t bail them out. Allow them to struggle a bit to overcome obstacles and strengthen their wings. Remember it’s not sink or swim—don’t let your children drown! Offer them a lifeline, but don’t do everything, and don’t pay for everything. Teach them it’s okay to struggle, and as they struggle to find freedom from their troubles, they will fly.

Do you know someone who needs friends and mentors like Mary and Lana? Can you be that friend, that mentor. Maybe you are struggling to find your own wings. Let this blog community be your friend, and let’s mentor one another. Have questions? GO to my Banter. Have a story to share? Send me an Email.

Remember, wherever you are in life, you are at the right place when you visit my website and read my blog. Come on back and share a slice of life with me.

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The post Butterfly Wings appeared first on Shelia Shook.

Remember times when you thought life wasn’t sweet enough, but, once you’d gotten past the difficulty, the times were sweeter in hindsight?

When I was fourteen, my parents bought acreage in the backwoods of East Texas near the Big Thicket. We cleared briars and underbrush to build our home and make it into a little farm.

I hated the hot, physical labor of cutting, dragging and burning the tangled, prickly scrub. We wore jeans and long sleeves in the summer heat to protect our arms and legs, yet still the thorns and dead branches scratched and scrapped our skin. Not to mention the poison ivy and mosquitos that found their way around our protective gear. Well, you get the picture. And just so you know, clearing scrub is an ongoing chore. (When I graduated high school, our place looked like a park.) 

We built our own home and since Dad was a carpenter—like the plumber whose faucets always leak, and the mechanic whose car doesn’t run well—our house was never completed. I thought life was hard. We always had work to do. My older sister, Wanda, and I carried shingles up the ladder to the roof where Dad took them off our shoulders and laid them on the black tar. Wanda and I soon tired of trekking up and down the ladder and made a game of how many we each could carry. It turned our work into fun. By the time we hoisted the last of the shingles, we were each proud to proclaim we had carried a full bundle up the ladder. We had learned to turn work into fun.

When our only milk cow, Granny, started producing bitter milk, Dad said it was the “bitter weeds” she ate. What he called bitterweed were scattered across five acres and had to be pulled up by the roots, which meant by hand—our hand. My siblings and I spent many a Saturday afternoon racing each other across our designated area to the finish line and the one who was able to pull the most won. Won what, you ask. Bragging rights. But more than that. With each chore we completed, came the prize of perseverance, teamwork, and pride in a job well done. I wonder if Dad knew that.

More than once in those four years of living on the farm, Dad sat on the front porch drinking coffee and smoking his hand rolled Bugler cigarette while I changed a flat tire on his truck. It infuriated me. How dare he sit and watch me without offering any help. Oh, he helped, alright. He yelled across the yard, “Be sure that jack is level before you start jacking it up.” And, “Put your back into it.” Or “Don’t carry it, roll it.” The audacity of his sitting there telling me what to do instead of doing it himself, made me so angry it gave me strength to pop the lug nuts and jack up the old blue ‘57 with a bumper jack. I might have struggled with the heavy tire, but soon lifted it and slammed it onto the wheel. It was years later, when I was stranded on the side of the road with a car full of groceries and a two-year old, that I understood the value of what my Daddy had done for me. He had taught me to be self-sufficient and determined. I thanked him.

My last summer at home, the county cleaned out the ditches up and down our road and Dad saw it as free fill dirt. He received truckloads of clay dirt filled with roots and dead limbs, chunks of glass and aluminum cans. By this time, my older sister had graduated, and left home. While Dad was at work, and my younger sisters helped in the house and watched our baby brother, Mom and I tackled piles of hard clay and rubbish with a pick axe and shovel. Not a teenager’s idea of a fun summer. It was hard work but became a great time of bonding for me and my mother. As we dug up gnarled roots and long crooked tree limbs that resembled legs and arms, I showed her how my siblings and I had learned to turn work into a game. Together we named the “body” Old Tom Walker. We found Old Tom’s pirate treasure of broken glass “jewels” and fine aluminum “silver” buried along with his body parts. Of course, he had more than four limbs, but we didn’t care. We laughed and nudged each other on as we looked for something akin to a head. I don’t think we ever did find Old Tom Walker’s head, but by the time we separated “jewels” and “silver,” from “limbs” and dirt, we had become more than mother and daughter, we had become friends.

Today, my Daddy has gone on to be with the Lord and my Momma has Alzheimer’s. But if I bring up Old Tom Walker, Mom knows the whole story. My childhood was fraught with hard lessons, some of which I used in parenting my own children. Try to find fun and laughter. They are sweet nuggets that will help you make it through.

Life is hard, but hang in there, it’s worth it. Click on my Banter and ask any questions you have. Let’s start a discussion.

Wherever you are in life, you are at the right place when you visit my website and read my blog. Come on back and share a slice of life with me. 1

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