I really liked Tom Lewis.

The other day, we went to Tom’s funeral. He was 55.

When Jon joined American Family Insurance over 25 years ago, we became part of District 57.

When we went to our first company event, Jon was far more comfortable than me. I’d been raised a city girl but deep in my heart I’m all country. I’d only seen table settings with this many forks on TV. The women in the District seemed snazzy compared to my simple and were far more experienced at these events. In spite of my concerns and insecurities, I liked them all. I still do.

For years I watched one guy in particular. Big, burly, and full of life, Tom was the for real deal. There was no “putting on the ritz” and he had no desire to impress company presidents or anyone else. He won my respect.

I thought he was brave. He was. If the President of the United States stopped by to see him, I think Tom would have made him welcome by handing him a fishing pole or a golf club (depnding on the president) and later cooking him some cajun salmon. Tom would have seen a man not a political giant to be held apart. I can think of several presidents who would have liked Tom!

Jon and I might not get a chance to talk to him at a function…but he always gave us a nod that said, “Glad you’re here.” He was and he meant it. Although our times with Tom were brief…they were genuine and that won him my trust.

One of the things I will always remember about him is that he was so comfortable in his own skin. Take him or leave him he was Tom. His friends say he couldn’t bluff even in a poker game with a pile of quarters at stake. He was gut-level honest. There’s integrity in that.

That might be the best of Tom – the inability to be a fake in a world full of falseness. His honesty was startling at times…because it was so unexpected.

It was also refreshing and safe.

Tom lived a full and rewarding life. He knew what it meant to love his wife like he loved no one else. He knew what it meant to be a dad to his daughters – in his eyes, they were the best kids in the whole world. Period.

I learned something from his death. Everyone that spoke at his funeral had different words for it but it boils down to this: Tom understood community.

Tom didn’t need anyone to tell him the importance of being involved with people. Sharing his life with people was natural to him. He turned the things he loved into people-focused events. Hunting and fishing trips were opportunities to cook for the friends and acquaintances who would most likely soon be friends.

Tom seemed bigger than he was because he understood that living big isn’t about wealth or fame. It’s about living life to the fullest where you are in the moment you are in.

Tom didn’t die alone. His son-in-law Shaun was with him. I looked into Shaun’s eyes and saw the depth of sadness this brings a young man’s heart. In Tom’s last breath, Shaun lost a father-in-law he cherished and a friend he loved. Somehow in this moment is a gift from God…to be there is a privilege – a gift shrouded in the mystery of death itself. I can’t explain it but I pray Shaun knows.

There is one thing I regret.

I didn’t know Tom as well as I could have. Seems like we realize that when it’s too late.

I refuse to focus on that right now…Tom wouldn’t want me to waste the time unless it benefited someone in someway. I believe he’d want me to think about the good in today and find a person to encourage and enjoy. There’s a mighty big gift in that.

This is my way of thanking Tom for his friendship…and to share thought that crosses my mind as I pray for Kathy, Jessica, and Alicia…

…I’m glad I knew Tom Lewis.

I’m taking a few quiet moments to watch the squirrels who live in our old oak tree. There are two families…a red family and a gray family. They live in holes on opposite sides of the tree. The tree itself is over 150 years old (we cut down a smaller one in the yard and counted 120 rings) and we built our deck around it. So my view of these critters is up close and personal.

The red squirrel is sassy. The gray squirrel was here first.

Last spring they seemed to work out a schedule. I put out shelled walnuts twice a day. (If I miss I’ll hear a scratching on the deck door!) One shift the gray squirrel gets her fill and the next shift it’s the red squirrel’s turn.

This agreement came when they both had babies. They even brought their little ones out to play (which for them is training) at different times. So, I had the privilege of watching these two mothers raise their young. For awhile both mothers disappeared and didn’t return home until their adult offspring had ventured off on their own.

The young red squirrels were off quickly. This year, I thought the two gray youngsters were going to stay. One of them was such a cry-baby. The bigger one would leave to explore the front yard and the little one would sit on a deck post and cry – loud – until the sibling returned. I worried about the smaller one…especially when the larger one didn’t come back for two days. That little bugger kept up that crying all day the first day and far into the morning of the second. I wondered if the little one would accept me as a surrogate sibling. Instead the other came back…and what a reunion that was. Chasing and tumbling all over they seemed to forget to keep an eye out for the local hawk. They rabble-roused and then climbed the tree to take a nap on a branch. They straddled the branch and slept on their tummies.

One quiet morning they were both in the yard doing squirrel things.

A few days later, I had the 2 full-grown and worldly-wise adults back. They still don’t scrap with each other and the schedule is still in place. The only chasing they do is when another squirrel comes looking for a walnut treat…and sometimes I wonder if they are chasing off their own young…they might still be in the neighborhood. Their own young or not…this is their turf and they aren’t sharing it anymore than they have to.

There are squirrels at the other house…I saw one although he looked ill and moved funny. I will enjoy them there too.

I won’t miss living in town…I love the country and can hardly wait to live there. But there are a few things I will miss…well, two for sure. A red squirrel I was tempted to name Lucy and a gray one I considered calling Ethel.

Yes…these two I will miss.

When I was a little girl, I thought my mother was the most beautiful woman in the whole wide world. I loved to watch her brush her hair, put on make-up, or wash dishes. The sound of her voice could calm my storms. Her touch gentled my spirit.

I wanted to be just like her.

I’d marry a man just like my dad – just like Mom did. I’d have a girl and a boy – just like Mom did. I’d bake sugar cookies at Christmas with colored sugar and goulash for my daughter when she was hungry for it. Just like Mom did. I’d cook homemade meals, clean house, do laundry, and hold hands with my husband. Just like Mom did. I’d be a room-mother and maybe a crossing guard. I’d be beautiful…just like Mom.

I married a wonderful man…and we hold hands every chance we get. I clean house and do laundry. And sometimes I make goulash…it’s still one of my favorites.

I didn’t get to be a mom…and I didn’t apply for a crossing guard job.

My Mom is still beautiful (she’ll deny this vehemently but she is!!!). She’s 71…battling heart disease and other attacks on her body.

We’re having Thanksgiving at her house. She’s cleaning the house in preparation for all of us to come home. Her girl and boy have added two spouses, 5 grandchildren, a spouse or three, and three great-grandchildren with one on the way. It will be a full-house. She’s got 2 turkeys ready to thaw, stuff, and bake. She’ll make most of the trimmings except some veggie casseroles I’ll bake in my oven and take along.

We’ll pray as a family and thank God that we’re all believers.

We’ll eat until we’re full then we’ll eat some more…because it will all just be so good. We’ll clear the table wishing for a nap…and some of us will sneak in a 10-minute snooze. Turkey makes us so tired! To say nothing of the array of other tasty tid-bits we will have devoured.

The part I love best is the way her voice will calm my storms (no one else will notice but she know will KNOW) and her touch will gentle my spirit. I’ll set the table. We’ll chatter and remember other Thanksgivings. We’ll laugh – out loud. Then she and my dad will hold hands and all will feel right in my world.

I’m not as much like her as I’d like to be. I am the one thing she raised me to be. I’m me. She loves that about me.

When I love the kids in my life just the way they are…that’s when I’m the most like my mom. I love that about her.

I think pine cones and acorns are beautiful. I like them so much that when I found lights for our other house (the one we hope to move to in March or April) with pine cones and acorns…we bought them.

The hallway lights are big…bigger than any hallway lights I’ve ever had. It was tempting to send these bigger lights back because someone might think they are too big and not approve. I’m not sure who this someone might be…just “someone.” They might even seem out of proportion to “someone”…like I’m trying to make this house something it’s not.

The house is not splashy…although I like splashy houses when they belong to other people. In fact, I revel and rejoice in the beauty other people chose.

This house will be nice – that’s how Jon does things. Lots of wood inside…so you can see how the pine cone and acorn lights are a natural fit! In fact, I think this house will be splendid for us. Not a show place … but it will be our place.

For awhile today I had my heart in a bunch because it was possible “someone” wouldn’t like my lights. Like we all have to like my lights?

I get that way about my faith sometimes. What if someone doesn’t like my Jesus?

Not everyone will. That hurts my heart but I’m not in control. If you believe, it’s up to you. If you don’t, it’s up to you.

It’s not up to the church or me if someone doesn’t believe. Some might blame the church or people…but that’s a cop out. The truth is, if a person says no to God…they said it. Each person gets a chance to accept or reject the gift that is Jesus.

That’s the freedom God gives us. He made us…He loves us…He gave us the crucified and resurrected Jesus…and He waits for us to say yes or no. He lovingly woes us but never shoves.

Everyday Jesus gives me the gift of choice. I get to choose His way or my way. He lets me decide. This freedom comes from the generous heart of God.

Still…the light thing today threw me for awhile.

Sheesh.

My friend Rosie tenderly and joyously reminded me I get to pick the lights for my home and I can chose lights that please me. (she picked a combination of elegant, artistic, and whimsical to create a beautiful light atmosphere that is totally her…no wonder I love her lights!)

I also get to pick how I love Jesus today…how I reflect Him to the world around me…and how I will praise Him. I get to pick the songs my heart sings…even when it’s the blues with no rhythm. I can see the beauty in His creation or miss it…I can listen to His still small voice…or ignore it. I can shine, simmer, or sin and still be loved by Him.

That’s freedom.

I tend to equate love with acceptance – if you like my lights you like me. (I’m tempted to trash this sentence…but here’s the truth of my light crisis in a nutshell – pun intended – so I’ll keep it)

That’s captivity.

I pick freedom…and lights with pine cones and acorns.

I woke up at 4:30 this morning ready to get my day going. I had a lot of reasons for staying in bed (it was dark…the house felt cold…and I’d wake Jon up) so I did – until I couldn’t stand it anymore at 6. I made the bed and took a shower…I just didn’t feel like staying in my pjs although that’s my usual “start the morning comfy, slow, and easy by 7 at the earliest” habit. No…today I headed straight for the shower.

I couldn’t wait to start my day.

When I started the coffee maker, the house across the street was still in the darkness of sleep. Usually I’m getting the coffee going when they’re leaving for work.

You should have seen Jon’s face when he joined me in the kitchen…his eyebrows were up and his smile was huge. It seemed I looked very good to him in the early morning light…dressed for a day of study and writing.

When I told him I really didn’t know if this would last or if I really wanted to become an early riser, he held me and tried to offer me sincere sympathy. Instead a chuckle tumbled out and his voice held something so precious I can hardly stand it – he sounded hopeful. I love the sound of hope in my husband’s voice…it’s the most beautiful sound in the world.

Could this new energy be the result of two nights on a cpap machine?

After years of feeling tired all the time even after 9 hours of sleep I was …well tired of it and nearly sick as well. All my blood, heart, and other tests came back with good results. No heart problems. No diabetes. Other than another warning to lose weight everything came back good…except for one test my doctor decided to run “just in case.”

I’d been given a machine to bring home that would record many things while I slept. It clipped onto one of my finger and other than the need to be careful of the wires, it was an easy sleep. The results encouraged more investigation so last week after a sleep consultation, I spent a night at the sleep clinic.

A technician put wires on my head, face, chin, chest, and legs. There were two bands with wires around my torso. I slept the first half of the night with a little thingy in my nose. Part-way through the night another tech came in and helped me into a face mask connected to a cpap machine. In spite of all the wires, tubing, and interrupted sleep, I was tired…so I slept. Somewhere someone measured my internal and external impulses as they also watched me via a video.

If I think about this part too long I get nervous in my stomach. Very few people know what I look like in sleep or in the first waking moments of each day. It’s not something I feel comfortable inviting just anyone into. It’s just not pretty. So…knowing total strangers observed me this way is the most unsettling part of the experience. Vain I know…but my goodness.

Anyway, Monday I picked out my cpap machine, received training, and brought a new chapter of my life home in a blue bag.

It’s only been two nights…so maybe this rested sort of energetic morning thing will pass. Oh – I hope not!

Jon asked me, “If this is your new ‘norm’ what are you going to do with the extra hours?”
I answered, “Write.”

The man I love grinned at me. He knew the answer he just wanted to hear me say it.

So…could this be my new normal…or is it just those pesky endorphin things that make you feel so good when you try something new…like a diet or a vitamin that’s supposed to make a real difference but doesn’t? What if the newness of another new thing wears off and that’s all this new energy thing is?

I want my cpap machine to be the reason for this infusion of energy.

I’m in a holding pattern with weight loss. I want it and I want to do what it takes to accomplish health. But when it comes to exercise…I have no energy or strength to accomplish enough to make a difference. Maybe now it will different.

I also want to study the Word of God and write more…but that takes incredible amounts of energy – at least the kind of study and writing I want to do. I desire to know the Word of God personally, passionately, deeply, and rightly. I’m driven to write with authenticity, energy, and knowledge.

I love the people in my life so much – but I long for the energy to show that love in creative ways. I want the energy to really listen…and pray more for them.

I have a lot of hope riding on this experiment with breathing all night.

If today is more than endorphins…this machine might be an answer to the prayers of my man…my mom…and lots of others who love me and have watched me struggle to “just do it.” Some days there’s not any “just” to it.

I really am hoping that sleek little machine on my nightstand is the “yes” to my heart cries to feel better and live the life I was born to live. It seems like a lot to ask from a bit of plastic, tubing, water, and a computer chip…but hear the cry of my heart…

“Please God – let it be!”

She did it again. Author Lisa Samson got me where I live. Wrapped up in the characters of Straight Up she revealed some of my questions, doubts, fears, hopes, and faith.

I’d like to gush and discuss Straight Up with you…but I don’t want to give away a word. I want you to buy it, read it, and let me know what you think.

Lisa is an honest author…she refuses to white-wash her beliefs and never hides her hearts desire for a deeper relationship with Jesus. In everything she wants more of Him.

Straight Up might not entertain you the way you think a novel should. It will challenge you and at times rip into your surface living. You will come face to face with real Truth in pretend characters so real I find myself looking for them at my local coffee shop.

Go ahead…put Straight Up on your Christimas list. Buy it for your friends. Discuss it. Let it move you to a new place in your walk with Jesus.

God is in the process of stripping off my old fake finish to reveal the real Him to my little corner of the world. Lisa Samson is part of His refinishing process in my life. Like any renovation project, it’s messy and at times painful…and always worth it.

I’m glad…oh I’m not there yet…but it’s good to be worked on by the One who loves me most. At times He uses fiction to surprise me with His truth. I’ve never read a book by Lisa Samson that didn’t make me feel and peel. Somehow that’s God’s call on her life. I thank Him for her and her obedience to His voice in her stories. I think it costs her too. I hope someday she will know how worth it her efforts on His behalf are!