Pioneers: The first purpose-driven lives

I am a morning person. I meant to write a post on this topic yesterday and never got around to it. I'm so glad I didn't. I woke up this morning, started a pot of coffee (Savannah Seduction from the Paula Deen collection - you should try it), and looked out the back door. It's been mercifully cool here the past two days, and this morning the temperature was just low enough to pull a swirling mist out of the lake. The wind was blowing gently, pushing water toward our dock and causing the tall reeds on the far shore to sway. The same breeze permeated the branches of the oak trees, putting a million leaves in motion and even sending some fluttering to the ground and water beneath. Generally speaking, my backyard was on par with a scene from a Nicholas Sparks movie.

I opened up our day care yesterday morning. We open at 6:30, which means I was up at five and out the door by six. The drive into town got me thinking on this subject: As much as I love to sleep, I love a quiet, still morning that much more. There is a confounding mixture of peace and majesty right before the sun comes up that I love to be a part of. Add to it the aroma of strong coffee and I'm blissfully happy.

I have mostly fond memories of the wee morning hours. Growing up, our family vacations always commenced in the pre-dawn darkness. Likewise, our Christmas mornings have never seen the light of the sun. Even while working long summer days at the National Interagency Fire Center after my first year of college, the 6:30 a.m. clock-in time was met with laughter and in the company of one of my best friends.

There's more to it than positive associations, though. Mornings are filled with possibility. Everything is new. Those are qualities not shared by other times of the day. Historically speaking, mornings were most important – the entire day’s success pivoted on what was accomplished before the sun was even up. Failure to literally seize the day resulted in catastrophe and waste on a farm or other primitive place of commerce.

Every branch of my father's family tree made the trek from the eastern United States to the mountains of Idaho in the late 1800's. His maternal grandfather lost his first wife and three children along the way. Harsh winters can last eight months in that already rugged country, which was at that time (and now, come to think of it) sparsely populated. Nevertheless, my ancestors hacked out homes, started families, and became successful founding citizens of what would become our nation's 43rd state (1890). I consider my day's productivity to be wrecked if the Internet is running slowly.

In spite of that fault, I do hope my a.m.-adeptness is something passed down from my pioneer ancestors. On childhood camping trips I would wake in the tent or camper that was damp with dew. I would smell the fire right before recognizing its crackling sound mixed in with clanging pots and pans. My dad would already be up working on his "Mountain Man Breakfast." Stepping out into the crisp and pure mountain air of Idaho - you have no idea - you literally feel your lungs being cleansed. The rustle of pine needles underfoot, the burble of a meandering stream nearby, the call of birds, the smell of coffee percolating in a tin pot, and the sight of distant rocky peaks that tell you just how small you are. This is purely my assumption, but those have to be the small joys cherished by the hard workers I came from.

I sit back and picture a great-grandfather stepping outside a cabin of rough-hewn timber. It's early, their body is sore, but they have a hot be it meager breakfast in their stomach. They look to the east and see the faint promise of sunshine making its way up the backside of what I believe to be the most perfect landform created by God. They button another button on a coat or pull gloves onto chapped hands and then take a deep breath and start out. Inside they have a knowledge that whatever they accomplish that day, little or much, it's that much more done and it's a measure of work they can be proud of because they started early and with purpose.

The best laid plans. . .

My baby sister is looking at colleges. She knows what she wants to do with her life, she's already secured one scholarship and is actively pursuing others, and she will graduate with honors next May.

Ah, to have plans. Although I hope she doesn't, statistics support the possibility that she will change her major; I changed mine half a dozen times. The differences between the two of us are plenteous: I chose my first major to choose one, almost out of vanity, she has chosen a field she is passionate over; I viewed college as my ticket to a non-stop party, and she is actually pursuing education; when I received my acceptance letter I wasn't thinking past the first week after Sorority rush, and Rebekah is already thinking about where she wants to start her career after college graduation.

I haven't been around very long, but boy have I made some rash decisions. It's easy to sit back and let regret slip in and allow myself to be inundated with "If only. . ." statements, or the good old "If I'd known then what I know now." I say that a lot, but maybe I wasn't supposed to know then.

At lunch yesterday, a friend of mine talked about wanting to become a flight attendant, but she was too young at the time. By the time she was old enough, she had a young family, and when they were old enough for her to pursue the dream again, September 11 occurred, and her husband put his foot down.

I'm teaching vacation Bible school this week and the kids have a memory verse for each day. Monday's was a favorite of mine - Jeremiah 29:11 "I know the plans I have for you, says the Lord. Plans to prosper you and not harm you, plans to give you hope and a future."

Did God intend for me to live in debauchery for several years? No, I was out of His will. But, decisions I've made about career, schooling, geographic location - those are choices I've tried my best to turn over to Him, and I have to trust that He has me right where I'm supposed to be, doing just what I'm supposed to be doing. One of the awesome things about God is, He's in control no matter what, and even though we have a free will, He's more than capable of stepping in and cleaning up after us and getting us back on the right track when we're ready.

So, best of luck baby sister. Keep Him in the center of it and all your plans and dreams will turn out just the way they're supposed to.

New, old things

There is no new thing under the sun. King Solomon did some painstaking research to prove that point. But, isn’t it refreshing when we can look at something we’re used to with a new, fresh perspective, and gain a whole new appreciation for it?

Last week I had family visiting from Idaho – my sister, Susan; her husband, Larry; and daughter, Kristie. Larry had never seen Texas and Susan and Kristie had not visited in more than three years. We went through all the usual stops, which include a nearby antiquing town, a Cypress swamp, and of course, the amusement that is my large extended family.

While trolling through Caddo Lake, under its mysterious centuries-old Cypress trees, I listened to the tour guide, who by his own omission was not an educated man, but the wealth of knowledge he possessed about the land and water he grew up on made me proud. Additionally, I’d forgotten the beauty and uniqueness of the place that is a mere 50 minutes from my driveway. I wouldn’t have even been there if it weren’t for family visiting, and I found myself anticipating what they would find impressive, and at the same time, remembered how impressed I was with it myself. To make things more interesting, my father has become nearly an expert on the history of our region, and listening to him recount the significance of brick buildings and dirt roads along the way made me stand a little taller.

A little later, we were at a dinner attended by almost all of my mom’s family. Not one of them failed to shake my sister and brother-in-law’s hands, welcoming them and assuring them that they were family. That just doesn’t happen everywhere. Again, I beamed with pride and appreciation.

It’s easy to get wrapped up in what other places have to offer, but I’m glad I had the chance to see through another’s eyes how much I have just a few steps from my front door.

Likewise, it seems almost effortless to slip into spiritual indifference, even numbness, and forget the beauty of what God has done in my life, or any life. Anyone can get comfortable with a routine and begin to go through the motions. For me, it only takes studying a familiar passage that well illustrates the saving grace and passion of Jesus to make me fall in love all over again with renewed vigor and purpose.

Every time I put forth the effort to grow, and pull myself off that spiritual treadmill, He always gives me a 200 percent return, revealing to me something new, although it’s not new at all. It’s really a gift, a piece of wisdom, a new closeness, that’s been waiting for me the whole time.

The First Four

The grandchildren on my mom's side of the house came in groups. After two a little older, I was the third grandchild, followed closely by Krystal and David, then Allison. It was just the four of us for about eight years. Then, David and Allison had a younger brother, Krystal had a younger brother, and before too long, I had a baby sister. Somewhere in there an uncle remarried and we gained two step-cousins, and a few years ago, our family grew by three more via adoption. Despite nearly a 16-year spread between the youngest cousin and myself, we're all pretty close and get along.

My mother has three brothers and a sister - Glenn, Sherlene, Larry, and Joel. They grew up a stone's throw from their aunt and uncle's home, where there were five more children of the same age - Marion, Jan, Glenda, Evelyn, and Wayne.

When I first moved to Texas and started meeting my mom’s cousins I was so intrigued by the relationships between all of them and my mom and aunts and uncles. After so many years of geographic separation, they could still walk into a room and in a matter of minutes, be swapping old stories and rolling on the floor laughing about something that happened 30 years before. I swelled with pride over being a part of such a big laughing family and always looked forward to gatherings so I could hear the same stories and be a part of it all.

I will say, it's started to wear off a little. I still love being with my family, but the newness of it is gone. I've been in an awkward position for a few years. Krystal moved to California, David married and splits his holiday time with his wife's family, and Allison lives in Mississippi. A lot of the time I'm the only one around out of the "First Four." Despite my closeness with the second set of grandchildren, I miss my three original companions.

However, the best things are worth waiting for. I have the privilege of spending a lot of time with my family - even extended family. There aren't many days that go by that I don't share a laugh or make a memory of some kind with one of the “Second Set.” So, even though things seem a little mundane, even monotonous at times, every day my second-set of cousins and I are bankrolling memories - stories for the future.

Austin is a second set, and he’s an artist and so quick-witted, I can’t help but respect him, being a pretty witty gal myself. Dylan is a hard worker who makes friends wherever he goes – who knows what kind of characters he’ll bring home for Thanksgiving one day. Brent came right before Rebekah and is my unofficial baby brother. He’s soon to be married, and as fortune would have it, his bride is my little sister’s best friend – a very welcome addition to our family table. Nathaniel is all the way over in Mississippi and I’m sad to say I don’t know him as well as I’d like to, but I know he laughs the same way David does, and that’s worth a whole lot in my book.

In a time when brothers and sisters barely make time for one another, it’s a great comfort to know that I have a place in all these different lives, and they certainly have a place in mine.

Already, on the occasions that a few of us end up in the same room, we inevitably find something to have a good abdominal-workout laugh over. A few more years of living and some great-grandchildren thrown into the mix should prove priceless.

I would say I'd like to be a fly on the wall at Christmas in about ten years, but I think I'll have an even better seat.