I mentioned to the women that, contrary to the beliefs of most Americans, St. Patrick’s Day is NOT a wear-green-drink-beer holiday. Although this is sadly what it has become in our culture, St. Patrick was credited as being the first missionary since Paul. In fact, if it weren’t for Patrick taking Christianity beyond the bounds of the Roman Empire to what was then viewed as the ends of the earth,  WASP would stand for White Anglo-Saxon Pagans.

In actuality, Patricius (his Roman name) was kidnapped from his home in Britain at age sixteen and taken to an area of Ireland as a slave. He spent much of his time there  tending sheep and praying. (What is it about great men of God being shepherds? Hmmm.) He eventually escaped and ended up in Gaul where he spent about three years at a monastery.

Upon returning to Britain, he was led by a dream to return to the area of Ireland where he had spent his captivity. His first convert gave him access to a barn as a place of worship and base of missions (The Gospel born in a barn — hmmm) . Using his Irish name, he traveled much of the country and converted thousands to Christ. He was known for ministering to excluded people and likely used the shamrock as a visual lesson of the Trinity.

So what can we learn from this minimally educated saint?

• Prayer breaks us free of bondage
• God speaks through dreams
• It takes great courage to follow God-dreams
• Following those dreams can change history
• None of God’s people are insignificant

So whether you wear green today or take a second look at a shamrock, thank God for St. Patrick.

Information from The Encyclopedia of Saints by Rosemary Ellen Guilley 

Now it’s time to settle down and get back to the fabulous basics of celebrating life. With Valentine’s Day here, that seems like the most logical topic for the blog. In doing a bit of research, I found several ambiguous stories about the holiday.

There were at least two men named Valentine who could have been our mysterious saint. They were both sentenced to death by Claudius, killed on February 14th one year apart, and buried along the same stretch of highway. Some theories mention the possibility that the first Valentine, a priest, was later made a bishop, and that the two men were one and the same. Poor historical records could explain the discrepancy in dates.

As a romantic at heart, I prefer the story that credits the saint with secretly marrying young lovers. It seems that Claudius decided that love was ruining his soldier recruiting drive and outlawed weddings and engagements. Seeing the injustice of the ruling, Valentine secretly married lovers and possibly even gave other aid to persecuted Christians in the third century. Before he was beheaded at the order of Claudius, he sent a love letter to his jailer’s daughter and signed it “Your dear Valentine”.

Whatever the beginnings, Valentine’s Day has become a day for remembering those we love and keeping romance alive. Not a bad tradition in my book! If we want to be married “til death do us part”, we have to work on our relationship just as long. Thankfully, my husband believes this as strongly as I do.

Last year for our anniversary, he told me he was going to cook a romantic dinner for me — a miraculous feat in itself. Banned from the house until 5:00, I spent a couple of hours at the nail salon and came home to my prince. He was standing at the front door dressed in a suit and tie with rose petals scattered on the floor and the table set with our wedding china, candles and roses. He had paid attention to every detail, even preparing the salad just the way I like it. I was literally moved to tears that, after 22 years of marriage, my husband loved me enough to move beyond his comfort zone just for me.

So, lovers, write those letters to your valentine; get creative; keep that spark alive. In honor of the saint, do something secretive and mysterious for your love. After all, marriage is holy.

http://www.dance-revolution.com/ingredients/ingredients.htm

Recently I had the stinging pleasure of moving our firstborn to Texas to attend a worship dance school for the next nine months. It was a pleasure to see her walking into her destiny; but, as any nest-emptying parent can attest, it came with some tears. I’ve told many friends that moving our child into her first apartment 14.5 hours away isn’t nearly as much fun as bringing her home from the hospital 18 years ago was.

My husband Louis and I can look back and see that every step of her life seemed to lead up to this moment. I remember her amazing determination in kindergarten. By school policy, she was supposed to give Valentines to all the students in both kindergarten classes, and she WOULD NOT let me help her. She painstakingly wrote, “T…O…:…J…o…n…n…a…h ……..F…r…o…m…:…H…a…n…n…a…h…J.” on a card and then repeated the process on all the others. I remember cooking supper as she sat at the dining room table filling out the cards. “Hannah, don’t you want me to help you with a few of them?”

“No, Mom. I can do this!”

Two hours later, I offered to help again. Same response. That girl has more determination than almost anyone I know.

Yes, we saw it waver just a bit in the second grade when she took her first dance classes. Most of the other girls began taking dance in preschool. Although I wanted our daughter to be exposed to the arts and learn the physical discipline dance offers, I struggled with the idea of having my five-year-old gyrate in a skimpy costume like a rebelious teenager as I had seen at some recitals. When Kelly Norris moved to Troy and brought a worship dance school called In His Steps, I immediately enrolled Hannah. This was my answer — Hannah would learn  the values associated with dance and how to give all of her talents to God. Unfortunately, she was a bit behind. Every week, she would come out of the dance room crying. “I can’t do it! Everybody can do it but me!” Then she would turn on her heels, go right back in…and do it. That’s our Hannah.

She has been in Texas for two months now, and I still see that determination that I admire so much in her. I offered to help with a couple of things, and her kindergarten answer rang in my ears once again. “No, Mom, I can do this.” She tells us that being in this dance school is the hardest thing she’s ever done. But she keeps working, and drawing strength from God, and working harder. Truthfully, having her move out is one of the hardest things I’ve ever done, too. But it’s all worth it to know that our daughter is walking in her destiny.

“I hate to get your day off to a bad start,” she began, “but Timothy passed this morning.”

Timothy passed? Died? Are you serious? I just couldn’t wrap my brain around this. Twenty-one year old Timothy Porter, one of the finest, happiest human beings ever to grace this earth was no longer with us.

Let me tell you about Timothy. He was a big strapping boy when I met him in the seventh grade, ALWAYS smiling, even with one leg amputated and not being able to walk since about the third grade. But did that stop him? Never! Tim was manager of the football team. Every week he proudly wheeled himself into the line-up at the pep-rallies with his teammates. Often, the coach would put on music and let him dance in his wheelchair. His dancing was a self-choreographed medley of wheelies and spins that got the student body going.

In high school, he could always be found on the sideline during games wearing his orange and blue jersey, encouraging his teammates or following behind the coaches as if he were on the staff.

I found out Monday just how much Timothy knew about joy. Even when his mother tearfully came to tell me that her son had died just hours before, she talked of his happy life. “That boy had no regrets.” No regrets? What about living with Spina Bifida and diabetes? What about having to endure three surgeries for amputations — each leg and then more of one leg when infection set in? Shouldn’t he have been bitter at God? Not Timothy. I never heard him bring up his medical conditions. He focused on friends, family, football, and God. 

As my class was sharing memories of Timothy after his death, one of my ninth graders told us about when he first met Tim at a Troy University football game. Timothy usually sat along the rail behind the Sound of the South band where he greeted people as they entered the stadium. Jayson was introduced to him and talked briefly before going to the concession stand. After placing his order, he discovered that his money was gone. Just about that time, Tim wheeled up next to him and paid for his nachos. Simple kindness from a big heart, but it made a huge impact on a teenager. 

Timothy understood joy, gratitude and giving; he made this world a better place for the years we had him. I miss you already, Tim.

     What was so intriguing? I don’t know. I’m sure it was the thrill of seeing my friends (In a town of less than 1,000 people, school is about the most exciting place to be!); maybe the anticipation of learning new things; but perhaps it was the fact that there are so many things to celebrate at school.

     That first day, we were always excited to see each other. “Who’s your homeroom teacher?… When do you have P.E.?… Did you get Mr. Reeves for English?” We may have groaned and complained, but even that was a kind of ritual celebration in its own right. We were back at school. Life was as it should be.

     I guess school is so inviting because it is a place of celebrating successes and milestones. When my daughter was in kindergarten, her teacher had a bulletin board for lost teeth; every time a child lost a tooth, the teacher would put the child’s name on a giant smiling tooth on the bulletin board. I remember thinking, “What a great thing to celebrate!” Pep rallies, homecomings, proms, passed tests —  school is one celebration after another.

     Even now I love the first day of school — not the first teacher day, but the first STUDENT day! They’re all decked out in their new duds, chatting with long unseen friends, checking out the new kids. My high-schoolers may come dragging in with their scowls, but I know what is going to happen during the next 180 days. They will learn, we will celebrate every possible accomplishment, and our lives will be forever changed by each other. Life is as it should be.

     As this new school year begins, don’t forget to celebrate with your children, the local teachers, or the kids down the block. School is definitely worth celebrating.

     The next year we stayed a day or two longer; and by the third year he was officially hooked.  Now it’s a part of our most treasured family traditions. 

    So what happens when you plan and plan and have a big disappointment? Well, I can tell you:  you celebrate anyway.  For three years we have banked timeshare vacations and saved money to take our dream trip to Hawaii. I booked the room a year in advance, thinking everything would be perfect.  Well…when we arrived in Waikiki after more than 17 hours of flights and layovers, the stench of our room met us at the door while the sounds of hookers making deals on the street below completed the ambiance.  Where were the beds in this “resort”?  In the wall and under the couch cushions.  All four of us would play sardines for seven days in this lovely hideaway.

     I was horrified! I’m no spoiled princess, but this was NOT what we had scrimped and saved for.  It was supposed to be the best vacation ever to celebrate our daughter’s high school graduation. And it was…because we made it the best ever.

     After a couple of calls, we rearranged to give ourselves more space and started enjoying our week and our family.  From that disappointing room that we nickenamed Hookerview Hotel, we experienced Fourth of July canoe races on Waikiki Beach, a traditional luau, a helicopter ride that left me “sick as a dog but having the time of my life!” (to quote Gomer from The Andy Griffith Show), and even my son’s sixteenth birthday celebration at Taco Bell. Not what I would’ve chosen, but we was thrilled.

     After we got home, I was shocked to hear my son in my daughter’s room talking and hanging out. Isn’t that what we just did for 7 days? I thought they were tired of living in the same room sharing a bathroom. That’s okay as long as they don’t get tired of sharing their lives.

     Every vacation is something to celebrate because every family needs to celebrate itself. And we get to celebrate it all over again tomorrow when I get the pictures developed. Even not-s0-good memories bring a family together.

That trip changed me. I am proud of our country, and I want everyone to know it. I have made it my habit to sing the national anthem, even if no one else sings along. My heart beats a little faster when the announcer at a Troy University football game  says, “Ladies and gentlemen, please stand, men kindly remove your hats, and join us in singing as The Sound of the South plays ‘God Bless America’!” I love celebrating my country.

This July 4th, I challenge you to sing “The Star Spangled Banner” at your celebration — go ahead, I dare you! Can’t sing? Then, just make a joyful noise! You might even be a rebel and sing the last verse:

Oh! thus be it ever, when freemen shall stand
Between their loved home and the war’s desolation!
Blest with victory and peace, may the heav’n rescued land
Praise the Power that hath made and preserved us a nation.
Then conquer we must, when our cause it is just,
And this be our motto: “In God is our trust.”
And the star-spangled banner in triumph shall wave
O’er the land of the free and the home of the brave!

If singing isn’t your style, then celebrate in your own way.  At the end of the blog, I included a recipe for Cherry Crunch that I like to adapt and make into Flag Crunch.

As you plan your Independence Day celebrations, don’t forget to thank God for our country and pray for our leaders and troops.  I also invite you to post your celebration ideas in the comments so we can all celebrate together.

God bless America!

Flag Crunch

Mix 2 cups plain flour, 2 cups chopped pecans, and 2 sticks butter. Press into large rectangular baking dish. Bake slowly until brown.  Cool.

Beat 3 3/4 cups confectioner’s sugar (sifted), 8 ounces cream cheese (softened) and 8 ounces of whipped topping. Cream and spread over cooled crust. 

Create a flag using blueberry pie filling for the field of blue and cherry pie filling for the stripes.  Dot field of blue with whipped topping to make “stars”.  Refrigerate at least two hours before serving.  Serve with extra pie filling if desired.

I read a book a few years ago called Having a Mary Heart in a Martha World by Joanna Weaver that impacted my life tremendously.  I have severe Martha tendencies — there’s ALWAYS something screaming at me from the top of my To Do list.  For me, the unforgettable part of the book was her illustration of the man pulling a cart of rocks up a mountain for God.  On the way, his friends kept adding rocks and saying things like, “Since you’re going to see God anyway, you won’t mind taking my rock, will you?”  Before the man reached the top of the mountain, he was overburdened and angry at God for the heavy load — until God asked him a poignant question: “How many rocks did I put in your cart?”

I have learned that if I let people put too many rocks in my cart, I stop celebrating.  Life becomes a drudgery.  I lose my joy.  One of my regular prayers is to ask God which rocks are supposed to be in my cart and which ones I have let others add.  He regularly has to help me unload my cart, but He is always faithful to do just that.

Take a few minutes to let God help you unload your cart and celebrate something totally insignificant in your life — if there is such a thing.

Matthew 11:29-30 (New International Version)

^29″Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. ³⁰For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.”