For years, that was my feeling whenever I was challenged to “go on mission” with God. I was afraid of where He might send me. To be honest, I’ve been secretly grateful that He has given me opportunities to serve Him in the comforts and conveniences of suburban life.

However, in recent months I’ve sensed that God is leading me to be involved in ministry more globally. I believe that God is calling me to go…and I am willing to follow wherever He is leading, even to Africa! And when I learned of the opportunity to go to Uganda this fall to work with Village of Hope, I knew this was where He wanted me to go.

So from November 4-15 I will be traveling with a team from my church, McKinney Fellowship. We will be working with the children and adults at the orphanage and nearby refugee camps. Our daily schedule will include activities such as delivering food rations, teaching, and spending time with children whose lives have been torn apart by war and violence. We will be offering HOPE to those whose lives seem “hope-less.”

I am incredibly excited to be part of this opportunity! As I prepare for this trip, I am inviting you to partner with me, through prayer and/or financial support. My cost for this trip is $4,000…an amount that seems overwhelming, but one I am trusting God to provide. If you feel led to contribute, you may donate online by visiting our church website: www.mckinneyfellowship.org (click the Giving link under the Make a Difference tab and select Uganda November 2009). Our funding deadline is November 1. Please know that no donation is too small. I will greatly appreciate any amount you feel led to give.

In addition, I am seeking a team of supporters who will commit to pray not only for me but also my team members. The emotional and physical demands of this trip will be great, and prayer will be crucial to our daily strength. The prayer you invest on our behalf will be the lifeline of HOPE to those we minister to. Through your prayers and financial support, you will be a vital part of this outreach effort. I invite you to join me on this amazing adventure!

Today was our annual “Day of Remembering.”  No, you didn’t read your calendar wrong, and yes, it is a week late.  But with my work schedule and family being in town, we didn’t have the opportunity to celebrate last Sunday…so today became September 20 for us, regardless of what the calendar may say.

We began our day in the usual fashion: meeting at Restland for a bittersweet time of memories and reminiscing.  This, by far, is the hardest part of the day for both of us, as seeing his name etched on that marker seems to remind us of the vacancy his death left in our lives.

I am in charge of choosing the flowers each year, and it’s always an interesting task to find flowers that are just right: the right colors, the right arrangement, the right size.  Trey and Crisana both had a hand in choosing this year’s bouquet, and I must say they did a great job:

We took turns photographing each other by the gravesite, allowing us some time with our own thoughts.  Time to reflect on the life he lived, the impact he had, the man he was to each of us.  Time to remember, to grieve, to celebrate the glory he is enjoying now.

Then it was time for the annual walk.  Dad was buried in a beautiful area of the cemetery, right next to a creek that winds down to a small waterfall and fountain.  As we walked, we talked…about Dad and what we remembered, the things that made him so special to each of us.  This year’s topic: “What would you say to him right now?”  And all I could manage was simply, “I miss you.”

After a few tears, it was time for one final picture.  Right near the waterfall, just before the fountain, there’s a nice shady spot with a bench where we can set up the perfect photo op.  It’s the only way we can get a picture of the two of us together.  It’s always an adventure getting the picture, but it makes us laugh.  And after all the emotion of the day, that release was just what we needed.

We headed off to lunch at Black-Eyed Pea (one of our faves) and enjoyed great conversation and great comfort food.  I admit, I fall off the South Beach wagon as soon as I enter the restaurant.  How can I resist those warm rolls and freshly-baked cornbread?  Normally, we would head to Mom’s to work on our project, but we finished the albums last year and hadn’t had time to prepare for this year.  So we spent the afternoon preparing for next year instead.  Our next project will be to create a scrapbook of the David L. Edwards awards presentations at the Seminary, so we spent the next hour at Michaels, selecting the perfect book, papers and embellishments.  We’re thrilled with our choices and can hardly wait until next year to get started!

September 20…a day of Remembering, but also a day to create new memories.  A day to celebrate a life well lived and look forward to living our own.  A day to grieve and mourn and laugh and rejoice.  A day to preserve the past and prepare for the future.  A day that is truly special, in every way.

Just like my Dad.

Today I had the most interesting discussion with my 6-year-old daughter on the way to church.  It went something like this:

Crisana: Mom, who wrote the book of Matthew?

Me: Jesus’ disciple, Matthew.

Crisana: Wow….(pauses for a moment to collect her thoughts and do some more “research”)…Luke wrote Luke and he was a doctor!

Me: Yes, and he also wrote the book of Acts.

Crisana: (another pause as she absorbs that information and continues to do some “research”)  And John wrote John!

Me: Yes, and he also wrote the book of Revelation.

Crisana: (the sound of pages shuffling as she finds her way to the back of her Bible)  Hey!  I never knew there were 4 Johns in the Bible!

Me: What do you mean?

Crisana: It says right here, 1-2-and 3- John.  That’s 3 Johns!  Did John write ALL those books?

Me: Well, yes, now that you mention it, he did.

Crisana: Wow…he must have worked really hard to write all those books.

Me: Yes, he did work hard, but you know what?  God helped John.  He told John exactly the words to write down so we could know and learn all the things God wanted us to know about Him.

Pause.  There’s apparently some deep thinking occurring in that booster seat.

Crisana: Hey, Mom, shouldn’t we pray?

Side note: we’ve started a tradition that one of us - or more - prays in the car on the way to church.

Me: Sure!  Who wants to dial?

Crisana: I will!  Dear God, thank You for helping John to write all those books of the Bible and to do all that hard work so that we could learn about You and know You better…

I tell you, I certainly went into church with a deeper gratitude and appreciation for the holy inspiration of Scripture.

I find God in the most unusual of places.  Like in Charlotte’s Web. I began reading it to “my” second graders on the first day of school, and just finished it earlier this week.

I’m sure E.B. White did not write this book to be some sort of spiritual guide.  I’m sure he didn’t have in mind some deep theological truth when he penned the timeless story.  But it’s there.  Right there on page 164:

When he [Wilbur] recovered from his emotion, he spoke again.

“Why did you do all this for me?” he asked.  “I don’t deserve it.  I’ve never done anything for you.”

“You have been my friend,” replied Charlotte.  “That in itself is a tremendous thing.  I wove my webs for you because I liked you…”

“Well,” said Wilbur.  “I’m no good at making speeches.  I haven’t got your gift for words.  But you have saved me, Charlotte, and I would gladly give my life for you - I really would.”

And I had to take a minute to pause, to gather my thoughts.  To hide my tears of worship and adoration and, yes, shame so that the children would not notice.  You see, my God did something miraculous, something amazing, something sacrificial for me, too.

Why, Lord?  Why would you do all this - sending your only Son to die a horrible death and take the punishment that I deserved - for me?  I don’t deserve it.  I’ve never done anything for You.

And in a voice gentle and kind, He answers,

So you could be my friend.  That in itself is a tremendous thing.  I sent my Son because I love you…

And I wonder if my response would be like Wilbur’s…

Well, I’m no good at making speeches.  I haven’t got Your gift for words.  But You have saved me, God, and I would gladly give my life for you - I really would.

Or would I?

My life is busy.  I mean CRAZY busy.  I have my hands full with balancing work, volunteer activities, and family commitments.  Sometimes I wonder if I have bitten off more than I can chew.

But then I meet someone - like a boy I’ll call Sam - and I realize the impact that one person can have.

I first met Sam last Thursday evening.  I was in charge of organizing the Join Scouting Night event at McGowen.  My schedule had been incredibly tight and I was so tired and wishing for an evening at home.  But instead, I found myself in the school cafeteria, enthusiastically telling parents all the benefits and value of our scouting program.

I had finished my spiel and the parents were filling out their forms and heading home when in walked Sam and his mother.  It was late, and we were just wrapping things up.  I was looking forward to getting home early and inwardly groaned at the thought of having to wait for one more application.  And when I discovered that he would be entering as a Webelos II, I had to suppress the almost audible groan.  You see, as a Webelos II he only has until February to complete all of his requirements before he will cross over to Boy Scouts.  As a pack, we had decided to encourage these boys to think about waiting until February to join and go directly into Boy Scouts.  The task is not impossible - but nonetheless daunting - and requires an incredible level of commitment from both the scout and the parents.

But Sam was determined.  He wanted to do this. I told him it was doable but not going to be easy.  He assured me he would work hard and that yes, it was worth it to him.  They left after turning in their app and I wasn’t sure if they’d even follow through.

Sure enough, he came to the pack meeting last night…dressed in his new shirt and carrying the Webelos handbook.  I noticed that every time I looked at him last night he was in the middle of a crowd of boys, with a big smile on his face, laughing and talking with the other scouts in his patrol like they were best friends. His patrol performed a skit and he had a part along with the other boys.  He looked like he was having the time of his life.

I passed by him as his class was heading to lunch today…and he saw me and just lit up.  He rushed to tell his teacher that I was the Cub Scout leader who had signed him up.  His teacher thought he meant I was his leader and I assured her that no, I wasn’t - he had other, terrific leaders! - but I asked him how he liked it at the pack meeting. Let me tell you, he just OOZED enthusiasm.  He was so excited, his smile was so bright, and he said he had a BLAST.  Then his teacher looked at me and said, “And you know how I know he enjoyed it so much?  I have to keep telling him to put his Webelos handbook away in class.”

That, my friends, is why I do what I do.  For the joy of a young man named Sam.  For the smile on Sam’s face.  For the pride in Sam’s eyes when he saw me at the Pack Meeting and couldn’t wait to show off his uniform.  For Sam’s enthusiasm as he performed his skit and cheered the cookie raffle and laughed with his new friends.  For all the leadership qualities and character-building Sam will experience along the scouting trail over the next few months.  For the ripple effect that this will have in Sam’s life…impacting not only him but also his family and those around him as they watch his leaders welcome him into their patrol and make him an active part of their program.

There’s not enough money in the world that can hold a candle to the treasure I’ve just received.  Thank you, Sam, for being my “bonus check” today.

This past weekend we had a special treat: my Aunt Marge, my mom’s sister, had flown in from Jacksonville and we had the opportunity to visit with her for a few hours on Saturday afternoon.  The last time we saw her was at Taylor’s graduation “reunion” in May, 2008, so it had been awhile since our last visit.  Trey and Crisana are always excited to see her as she is the one who made Trey’s “blankie dinosaur” and the ultra-cute doll dresses for Crisana.

Since Crisana had a movie date with a friend, I went alone to meet Mom and Aunt Marge at the Allen Premium Outlets down the street for some good shopping.  By the time I got there, they had already been to Wilson’s Leather and bought a beautiful red leather jacket for Aunt Marge and were well on their way to filling up a dressing room for each of them.  I joined them in the search for more clothes, and we had a grand time putting outfits together and finding great deals.

We managed to each find something – or, rather somethings – to take away with us, and I was especially thrilled to find that I can now wear size Medium tops…and size 12 pants.  We headed back to our house to visit with Matt and the kids.  Trey had been out dutifully selling his Cub Scout popcorn, and Crisana returned shortly from the movie, so we had time to enjoy visiting together before dinnertime.  And, of course, we had to get at least a couple pictures.

Crisana is holding her American Girl doll Ruthie, who happens to be wearing one of the dresses that Aunt Marge made for her.

We managed to get a picture of all of us using the self-timer and Matt’s new tripod.  Not bad for the first time!

We enjoyed a nice dinner as a family at MiMi’s and then said good-bye for now.  It was a short visit for sure, but it was nice to see Aunt Marge again…and we look forward to hopefully seeing her again next summer with a possible trip to Florida.

Dear Dad,

I can’t believe it’s been 12 years since I last saw you.  Sometimes it seems like much longer ago, and other times it seems more recent.  But the heartache of missing you and sharing life with you doesn’t ever truly go away.  I’ll say it: I hate that you’re gone.  I know God has a plan, and I truly am happy for you, but that doesn’t mean I’m not a little sad for me…and for your grandchildren, most of whom never had the chance to get to know you.

Speaking of grandchildren, I wish you could see them.  You would be so proud of them.  All of them, I know, but especially the ones who live under my roof.  I’m sure they would be your favorites.  Just don’t let Dan know that.  Trey reminds me so much of you…the way he looks, in his demeanor, in his caring, sensitive, loving personality.  I think God gave me a little piece of you when He gave us Trey.  For that, I am grateful.  You’ll never guess what he’s decided he wants to be when he grows up.  A baseball player!  This from a kid who doesn’t particularly like sports, who has never played on an organized team, who has managed a few hits with a whiffle ball and bat on Cub Scout outings!  But we’ve been taking him out in the yard after dinner recently and working with him on his throwing and batting.  He shows promise but still needs lots of practice.  I wish you could be here to play catch with him.  Sometimes I see you in my minds’ eye, tossing the ball with Trey, teaching him in your gentle, reassuring manner, and telling him all the things he needs to know about baseball…like the Red Sox greats from the past.

And Crisana.  Oh, Dad, she would be your little princess.  Yep, she’s a “mini-me” and I know the two of you would have a grand time sharing tea parties.  I can imagine how she’d have you dressed to the nines, draped in jewelry and bling, sipping tea from royal plastic teacups…or how  you’d help her care for her babies, tenderly holding and rocking them as you play house.  She is all girl, but can rough and tumble with the boys any time.  She’s not afraid to go tramping around the pond on a Sunday afternoon, looking for snakes and frogs and coyote tracks.

Matt and I are doing well.  We survived quite a scare this past year but Matt is completely healthy now and has a bright future ahead.  It was a difficult year, but going through his experience with cancer made me realize how much I want to share our lives together.  I’m so grateful that our children still have their dad around, like I had you.  As hard as it was to lose you, I realize how blessed I was to have 28 years to spend with you.  You were there for all my growing-up years.  You saw me graduate from high school and college.  You taught me how to ride a bike and throw a baseball and change a tire.  You attended my piano recitals and band concerts and volleyball games.  You took me to practice, helped me with my homework, and went camping with me.  You helped me choose my very first apartment, my first car, and taught me how to drive a stick-shift.  You helped me move into my first apartment and our first house.  You walked me down the aisle and gave me away at my wedding.  So many moments you were there for…I can’t be too sad about the ones you’ve missed.

Well, I guess I’ve rambled on long enough.  I know you’ve got some new friends in heaven now that you probably want to visit with.  Just know that I love you and miss you and will always be

Your little girl,

Debbi

Culvert Speer

Born: August ??, 1995

Rescued and adopted: November 26, 1995

Died: September 19, 2009

Today we said good-bye to a faithful and loving friend.  As you may have read in an earlier post, Culvert became extremely sick during the early morning hours on Wednesday.  We were told that we could expect “marked improvement” in his coordination, appetite, and behavior within 72 hours.

As of this morning, he was still staggering and stumbling.  He was still not eating.  And in his eyes, he was just pleading for us to let him go.

So we did.

We all took turns giving him one final hug, one final rub between his ears or under his chin, one final pat on the back, one final rub on the belly…and then it was time.  Culvert walked through our front door into the front yard for the very last time.  Took his final survey of the bushes lining the driveway.  Sniffed the air for all those glorious “keeping it country” smells.  And then got into the car for the final ride of his life.

Our house seems a little empty tonight.  There’s no food or water dish just inside the back door.  There’s no giant, unused pet bed in the corner of the nook.  There’s no large bag of dog food next to the water heater in the garage.  There are no cans of dog food stacked in the pantry.

There’s no furry black mass on our living room rug.

No click-click-clacking of toenails on our wood floor.

No tail-wagging, doggie-panting, eager little face to greet us as we walk in the door.

And though our house is a little emptier and a little quieter, we are grateful for the 14 years we shared with our faithful friend.  From the day we found him, a little 3-month-old puppy abandoned on the shoulder of I-20, he has filled our life with energy, enthusiasm, and showed us the meaning of complete trust and unconditional love.

Run and play, Culvert.  Chase those rabbits.  Bark at those hot-air balloons.  Sniff the smells and hang out with the other dogs and play with those eternal squeaky toys that will never break.  Thank you for letting us have the privilege of being your owners.  We will never forget you.

Today was college spirit wear at McGowen.  Well, for the faculty anyway.  You might also have heard it referred to as “an-excuse-to-have-an-extra-jeans-day-this-week”, too.  It’s college awareness week throughout the district so we had the chance to show off our school colors today in an effort to promote higher education to our students.

And that got me to thinking about my college experience and how that has impacted my life.  I figured with today my threads of gratitude day, I’d pay homage to the old alma mater with a special post.

So here goes…

First up is Gordon College, my undergrad alma mater.  Home of the Fighting Scots.  Whose official mascot may look a lot like a modern-day William Wallace but whose unofficial mascot is a scottie dog.  I mean, how could you not love that?

Apparently, I could not love that because for as long as I can remember growing up, there were two things I was *NEVER* going to do:  I was *NEVER* going to be a teacher and I was *NEVER* going to go to Gordon College.  I think it’s safe to say I learned my lesson about when you should say *NEVER*.  For reasons too lengthy to explain, however, I knew Gordon was where I needed to go.   And it ended up being the perfect place for me, for so many reasons.  And for every one of those reasons, I’m grateful:

• for the beauty of the campus and the seasons.  Believe me, for a Florida girl, having seasons was like living in a dream.  There were days where I was just awestruck by the beauty of the fall foliage…or mesmerized by the serenity of a snowfall…or dazzled by the color of springtime.  In the four years I spent there, I couldn’t get enough of God’s creation…I soaked it in like a sponge, capturing those images and memories in my mind’s eye so that I would never lose sight of God’s glory.
• for the opportunity to live close to my grandparents.  Growing up in Florida, my visits with them were few and far between.  Being a 15-minute drive away for 4 years meant I had nearly unlimited access to a free laundromat, hot home-cooked meals, a quiet study room, and Grampa’s awesome model railroad.  It wasn’t long after my graduation that my grandmother’s health began to decline, and I will always be grateful for the special moments we shared during my time at Gordon.
• for Christian professors and a praying community.  When I suffered my accident in the summer between my sophomore and junior years, I could easily have lost a whole year due to the scheduling of my required classes.  But I had one professor in particular who went out of his way to make sure I could fulfill the class requirements on an independent study basis while I recuperated, making up portions when I returned in the spring.  He went so far as to call me once a week to discuss course material and my progress…long distance from Boston to Dallas.  And I received numerous cards and gifts and phone calls from other professors, staff, and concerned classmates offering prayers and good wishes not just at the beginning, but all the way through my recovery period.  I doubt I could have expected that outpouring of love and support from anywhere else but Gordon.
• for the challenges to my faith.  I went there to have my faith supported and strengthened, but found it challenged instead.  From my very first biology class where I had to give a defense of my belief of the origin of life, to watching difficult films presented by Amnesty International, to wading through personal and interpersonal struggles, I found myself stretched spiritually and forced to discover why I believe what I believe.  To not accept my faith for its own sake but to defend it.  To not swallow “religion” whole and blindly, but to live it - out loud.
• for helping me discover what God had been calling me all along to do.  I tried to make a different path for my life.  I tried to be something other than what God had created me to be.  But when I came face-to-face with the hard reality that I just wasn’t satisfied, wasn’t happy, with my choice, I found acceptance.  And peace.  And a welcoming group of friends who made class fun.

I’m grateful for other colleges, too.  Like Texas A&M, home of the Fightin’ Texas Aggies (WHOOP!).  It was there that my husband received his degree.  And like me, he had many life experiences there that helped to make him the man he is today…the man I fell in love with years ago.

I’m grateful for Richland Community College…and in particular a physics class in the summer of 1987.  I’m grateful for my very special lab partner, who later became my life partner, and the journey we’ve shared.

But really, I’m just grateful to have been a Fighting Thunderduck.  Does it get any more cool - or ridiculous - than that?

Originally, this post was to be titled “Debbi and the Terrible, Horrible, No-good, Very Bad Day.”  Because really, when your day starts at 2:45 A.M. to the sound of your dog tossing his…um…dog cookies all over your wood floors, you can pretty much tell what kind of day it’s going to be.

But ironically, as the dark rain clouds moved in, my mood actually lightened.  As the weather turned gloomier and gloomier outside, conditions inside my home and my life improved.

Let me back up a bit.

At 2:45, I was awakened by the sound of three things: the incessant click-click-clacking of our dog’s nails against the wood and tile floors as he walked lap after lap around the first floor of our house; followed by the sound of our dog tossing his dog cookies onto the wood floor in the living room; followed by a whine to be let out in the yard.  By now, I am fully awake - and fully not happy for having to clean up the mess…and the smell…of what awaits me.  As I walk with Culvert to let him out into the yard, I notice he is stumbling, disoriented, and completely unstable on his legs.  In the short walk to the back door, both his front and back legs give out several times and he crashes to the floor.  I am moderately alarmed by this…but it’s 2:45 A.M. and it’s not like I can just hop into the car and dash to the vet.  Hoping he’s just mildly dehydrated from…well, you know…I decide to wait until morning…well, LATER morning…and hope he improves.  So I climb back into bed…

…and lie awake for the next two hours.  Sick dog + insomnia = a pretty crappy start to my day.

Later morning does not show much improvement.  In fact, things go from bad to worse quickly.  In the span of an hour, Culvert manages to toss more dog cookies for a grand total of 4 more times.  And each time I get to deal with the smell and the mess.  And each time he becomes more disoriented, more unstable, more unable to walk or hold himself up.

Matt instructs us to tell Culvert good-bye before he heads off to take him to the vet.

With tears in our eyes, the kids and I get into the car to drive to school.  That chicken I was supposed to be marinating for dinner?  Didn’t happen.  That breakfast I was supposed to cook for Matt and I to enjoy before work?  Not done.  That to-do list I was supposed to create for my mom who was coming to clean while I was working?  Not even close.  And let’s not even get started on the Bible study assignment that I’m supposed to have prepared for tonight.

We get to school and the parking lot’s full.

I go to put my lunch in the faculty lounge refrigerator and there’s no room.

The vet thinks Culvert may have had a stroke.  Matt has already signed the forms to have Culvert euthanized if necessary.

My smart board is not working.

My pencil sharpener is broken.

The students had to have indoor recess yet again because it started to rain right before lunch.

And I’m having a bad hair day because of all that dadgum humidity!

Slowly, slowly, things begin to turn around.  No, my hair never gets quite right, but the lab results from Culvert’s blood work indicate that it may not have been a stroke.  Rather, something called “vestibular syndrome”, which presents like a stroke, but usually clears on its own.  They keep him for the day to monitor him and release him to us at the end of the day.

He’s not out of the woods yet, and he’s definitely not well, but he’s better than he was this morning.

And when I come home from work, there’s an envelope on the kitchen island waiting for us.  An envelope representing God’s provision for our family.  An enevelope containing more than we had expected, more than I had asked for…more than I had even dared to hope for.  An envelope that will relieve some of the stress and anxiety that Matt has been facing for the past few months.  An envelope that was a little hug to us from our Abba Father, reminding us that He truly does care about His children.

And though my pencil sharpener is still horrifically loud and screechy and my smart board still is on the fritz, and indoor recess was, well, indoor recess…I was reminded of the beauty of silver linings.

The joy of unexpected blessings.

The warmth of being on the receiving end of God’s goodness.

The rainbow behind the storm clouds.

And the hope that springs eternal when we believe in God’s faithfulness.