Lifesong

A Thankful Thanksgiving

Oh, Thanksgiving! I love your food, your family time, and your nearness to Christmas.

To be honest, I love Thanksgiving food, but I really love pulling out the Christmas decorations. It's just so nostalgic and fun and full of joy.

We had a wonderful Thanksgiving as a family, with Mimi, of course. John smoked a turkey, I made a lot of sides, Mimi brought a few sides, and I made a pumpkin pie.

Mimi came over in the morning and we cooked while watching the Thanksgiving Day Parade. The kids played the Wii, and John put out fires, so Mimi and I chatted and laughed. And I meant that literally - John's smoker caught on fire Thanksgiving morning. Fortunately, all Toms were saved, and only some arm hair was lost. Avery and Mimi have a special relationship. Avery is the one and only grandchild who has been able to enjoy Mimi living right down the street. Almost every day, at some point in the day, Avery will ask "Is Mimi coming over?" and usually, the answer is "Yes!" She knew when she picked out her shirt that morning that it was "Mimi's color" and enjoyed helping Mimi with this princess puzzle.

I really love this one. Avery is so proud she connected them!

The food was getting close to being ready, so everyone helped set the table. The kids even made placecards (with Mimi's help).

Lots of food!

And we finished it off with Pumpkin Pie Spectacular. It was....spectacular, just like you'd imagine.

Then we all gathered around for a tradition I started last year - turkey decorating. Each person gets an apple, toothpicks and various candies to make the best turkey, and we all vote for different awards - most creative, best looking, funniest, etc.

Here are the finished turkeys. This is really such a fun activity - the kids (and adults!) love it. They really get into it, and are so creative. From left to right: Mimi, John, Megan, Ansley, Christian, Avery. The overall winners were Mimi and John. They are very creative in their turkey making. We all enjoyed lots of laughs, though, and thought they turned out so cute!

At the end of the day we all jotted down a quick list of what we are thankful for, and put them all in a ceramic turkey that my Grandma made. Next year, we will pull the turkey out and read what we were thankful for, and add new blessings as well.

We are very thankful for all that God has blessed us with - our family, days spent being together, being funny and silly.

We hope you all had a wonderful Thanksgiving! What are your traditions? I'm always looking to add some new ones.

A Winner!

Sorry for the delay. I've been so busy doing nothing I neglected to announce the winner.

I could have used one of those fancy rafflecopters that I see everywhere, but I have no idea how to do that. So, I threw all the names in a cute little box (actually, the Thing Finder if you keep up with Project 365) and shook 'em up real good and had Christian draw out a name. Which probably isn't the same as using a rafflecopter. But it worked. And here is the first name that he drew:

Congrats, Suzy! I'm almost positive I have another picture of Christian drawing your name in another giveaway, which is totally bizarre! Especially since there's no way I could rig tossing in names and randomly drawing one.

Suzy, email me your address at meganjgreiner@gmail.com and I will let New Growth Press know, and you will get A Better December!

And a big thanks to everyone who left a comment. I enjoyed reading all the suggestions, and we will definitely be implementing some this year. So thank you!

A Better December {Review and Giveaway}

It's mid-November, and I can already feel the stress rising as December approaches. There is so much to do - shopping, decorating, baking, Christmas cards, parties.....

Do you long for a better December?

The past several years, I have really struggled with Christmas. Not what it means - I'm very clear on that. But I struggle with the overcommercialization of Christmas. We have taken this sacred holy day and turned it into an over spending, list making, stress filled month of chaos. And, honestly, I'm rather weary of it. I want our celebration of Christmas to be different. I don't want it to be about making lists, I want it to be about remembering why it's one of the most meaningful days of the year to begin with. I don't want to get caught up in all the "extras" - I want to focus on Jesus.

But is it too late? My older kids have already experienced many Christmases where, I am really embarrassed to say, we went overboard. So now they have come to expect something that I don't want to continue doing. I don't want my kids to remember things at Christmas; I want them to remember Jesus.

I received this book in the mail last week.

A Better December by Steven Estes is a gem. I know I'm going to like a book when I chuckle on the first page. It says "The longer I live, the more I like short books. Here's one."

This is a cute little square book (I'm such a sucker for cuteness!) and it is an easy read. Once I started reading it, I had trouble putting it down. The author goes through the book of Proverbs as it relates to the Christmas season, and dissects what each verse means a bit more. It is funny, honest, and downright convicting. It made me laugh, cry, and ponder new traditions for our Christmas season. I especially loved the section entitled "January" at the end that gives ideas and recommendations for the month after Christmas. Perfect.

This book would make a perfect gift for a neighbor, family member, or friend that is longing to have a better December, or maybe you know someone who doesn't even know what Christmas is all about. It would be wonderful for them.

You can see more about it and read reviews here:

A Better December

Also, New Growth Press has graciously offered to give a FREE COPY to one of my readers! If you would like a chance to win a copy, please just leave your name and email by Friday, November 22. I will post the winner here and contact you. (Offer is only valid for US and Canada residents.)

I think your December will be really blessed by this book.

I would love to hear your thoughts on how your family is focusing on Jesus this Christmas!

Six Years

My Dad died six years ago today. SIX years! I can hardly believe it. My kids have gotten older. I've had another baby. My Mom has moved to Knoxville. Plus a thousand little things that I'd like to tell him.

It's still a tough day. It's still sad. But even through the tears and the pain and the sadness, I can say HE IS GOOD. I can't praise Him in the good times and then blame Him in the bad. He is good, all the time.

(Yes, I usually want to break out in song when I'm praising Him.)

I would encourage you today to remember that life is fleeting. Hold fast to your family, be in the moment. Put your phone down, turn your computer off. Leave the dishes in the sink. Be engaged with the people that are here right now, loving life and laughing. Soak them in.

So be blessed, be encouraged, and take heart! He has overcome the world.

--

(from November 2007)

Soon you will read in the newspaper that I am dead. Don't believe it for a moment. I will be more alive than ever before....Earth recedes....Heaven opens before me!   DL Moody, on his deathbed

My Dad went to the doctor on October 21 to get the results of his CAT Scan. I knew he wasn't doing well, but I just figured it was the chemo, or that they could switch to a new chemo if this one was no longer effective. When my Mom told me the oncologist had given him 4-6 weeks, I was floored. Was I in denial? Perhaps. In the very beginning, I remember reading that the average pancreatic cancer patient lives 6-8 months from diagnosis. But they weren't my Dad! This would be different, I thought. And then I put statistics out of my mind, because who needs statistics when you have an All Powerful God? (For the record, my Dad lived 5 months from his initial diagnosis.) Certainly not me. But then I heard four to six weeks, and I thought that's not enough time! That's not even to Christmas! But the doctor was wrong; my Dad lived two weeks and two days past that doctor's appointment.

Who told us we'd be rescued? What has changed and why should we be saved from our nightmares? We're asking why this happens to us who have died to live? It's unfair.

He faded fast. We found this out on Monday; John and I went to visit him that Friday, and he was already confused, tired, quickly fading. And I thought that was how he would die, just like that. But I was wrong. It got worse. Cancer is a monster that robs the body of its life quickly. I had no idea how devastating it would be. He could still talk to us that weekend, when he wasn't sleeping. We left on Sunday and returned on Wednesday. By Wednesday, he was sleeping most of the time, and we had to wake him to try and talk to him. But talking to him wasn't a good thing, because he was easily agitated and restless. He kept trying to get out of bed, but he was too weak to stand, so we were constantly on guard. He was increasingly restless; we increased his medication. He slipped into a coma on Sunday.

This hand is bitterness. We want to taste it, let the hatred numb our sorrow. The wise hand opens slowly to lilies of the valley and tomorrow.

By Monday, we knew it would be soon. We constantly poured over the book from hospice on the signs of death. He had all the signs that said death was 1-2 days away, or hours. He was pale; his body was robbed of nutrition and muscle. It appeared not much different than a skeleton, every bone protruding from the skin, his face sunken in. On Wednesday, his hands and feet were starting to turn purple. His breaths became very shallow, like he was struggling for a breath, but the hospice nurse told us that he was not struggling. We knew it was coming, but I didn't even like to be in the room because it was so painful to see my Dad...this man lying in the bed who hardly resembled my Dad anymore. My Dad's heartrate increased, because his heart was trying so hard to compensate, trying to bring oxygen, working overtime. His hands became cold. My Mom and I were sitting in the family room. John came out and told us he was gone. I ran into the bedroom, and saw my Dad take his last two shallow breaths, and then no more. No pulse. I sobbed. I cried out to God, in pain and in joy. My Mom hugged me, and she prayed. It was the most heartbreaking moment of my life, and yet the most joyful, all merged into one. How is this possible? Jonathan held a picture of my Dad that was taken one year ago; you would not have guessed that it was the same person lying there on that bed. The funeral home came and took him away. I knew that he was no longer there, that his spirit was already home, but yet this body, that's who I have known for 32 years. I followed him out to the porch, crying while he was wheeled into the hearse and taken away.

This is what it means to be held. How it feels when the sacred is torn from your life and you survive. This is what it is to be loved. And to know the promise was when everything fell, we'd be held.

This post is perhaps more for me than anyone else. I told myself I didn't really want to remember these last moments, but then a part of me doesn't want to forget. I thought all I would be able to remember of my Dad is the frail image of him as he died, but I find that image is replaced by a thousand other images, when he was healthy, laughing, joking, singing. But part of me still needs to remember the image of him dying, because that is what brings me to the Cross, draws me closer and closer to my Savior, holding me through my pain, knowing I can't do it on my own, trading my sorrow for joy, drawing me to Him. And that's where I want to be.

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My Dad died six years ago today. SIX years! I can hardly believe it. My kids have gotten older. I've had another baby. My Mom has moved to Knoxville. Plus a thousand little things that I'd like to tell him.

It's still a tough day. It's still sad. But even through the tears and the pain and the sadness, I can say HE IS GOOD. I can't praise Him in the good times and then blame Him in the bad. He is good, all the time.

(Yes, I usually want to break out in song when I'm praising Him.)

I would encourage you today to remember that life is fleeting. Hold fast to your family, be in the moment. Put your phone down, turn your computer off. Leave the dishes in the sink. Be engaged with the people that are here right now, loving life and laughing. Soak them in.

So be blessed, be encouraged, and take heart! He has overcome the world.

--

(from November 2007)

Soon you will read in the newspaper that I am dead. Don't believe it for a moment. I will be more alive than ever before....Earth recedes....Heaven opens before me!   DL Moody, on his deathbed

My Dad went to the doctor on October 21 to get the results of his CAT Scan. I knew he wasn't doing well, but I just figured it was the chemo, or that they could switch to a new chemo if this one was no longer effective. When my Mom told me the oncologist had given him 4-6 weeks, I was floored. Was I in denial? Perhaps. In the very beginning, I remember reading that the average pancreatic cancer patient lives 6-8 months from diagnosis. But they weren't my Dad! This would be different, I thought. And then I put statistics out of my mind, because who needs statistics when you have an All Powerful God? (For the record, my Dad lived 5 months from his initial diagnosis.) Certainly not me. But then I heard four to six weeks, and I thought that's not enough time! That's not even to Christmas! But the doctor was wrong; my Dad lived two weeks and two days past that doctor's appointment.

Who told us we'd be rescued? What has changed and why should we be saved from our nightmares? We're asking why this happens to us who have died to live? It's unfair.

He faded fast. We found this out on Monday; John and I went to visit him that Friday, and he was already confused, tired, quickly fading. And I thought that was how he would die, just like that. But I was wrong. It got worse. Cancer is a monster that robs the body of its life quickly. I had no idea how devastating it would be. He could still talk to us that weekend, when he wasn't sleeping. We left on Sunday and returned on Wednesday. By Wednesday, he was sleeping most of the time, and we had to wake him to try and talk to him. But talking to him wasn't a good thing, because he was easily agitated and restless. He kept trying to get out of bed, but he was too weak to stand, so we were constantly on guard. He was increasingly restless; we increased his medication. He slipped into a coma on Sunday.

This hand is bitterness. We want to taste it, let the hatred numb our sorrow. The wise hand opens slowly to lilies of the valley and tomorrow.

By Monday, we knew it would be soon. We constantly poured over the book from hospice on the signs of death. He had all the signs that said death was 1-2 days away, or hours. He was pale; his body was robbed of nutrition and muscle. It appeared not much different than a skeleton, every bone protruding from the skin, his face sunken in. On Wednesday, his hands and feet were starting to turn purple. His breaths became very shallow, like he was struggling for a breath, but the hospice nurse told us that he was not struggling. We knew it was coming, but I didn't even like to be in the room because it was so painful to see my Dad...this man lying in the bed who hardly resembled my Dad anymore. My Dad's heartrate increased, because his heart was trying so hard to compensate, trying to bring oxygen, working overtime. His hands became cold. My Mom and I were sitting in the family room. John came out and told us he was gone. I ran into the bedroom, and saw my Dad take his last two shallow breaths, and then no more. No pulse. I sobbed. I cried out to God, in pain and in joy. My Mom hugged me, and she prayed. It was the most heartbreaking moment of my life, and yet the most joyful, all merged into one. How is this possible? Jonathan held a picture of my Dad that was taken one year ago; you would not have guessed that it was the same person lying there on that bed. The funeral home came and took him away. I knew that he was no longer there, that his spirit was already home, but yet this body, that's who I have known for 32 years. I followed him out to the porch, crying while he was wheeled into the hearse and taken away.

This is what it means to be held. How it feels when the sacred is torn from your life and you survive. This is what it is to be loved. And to know the promise was when everything fell, we'd be held.

This post is perhaps more for me than anyone else. I told myself I didn't really want to remember these last moments, but then a part of me doesn't want to forget. I thought all I would be able to remember of my Dad is the frail image of him as he died, but I find that image is replaced by a thousand other images, when he was healthy, laughing, joking, singing. But part of me still needs to remember the image of him dying, because that is what brings me to the Cross, draws me closer and closer to my Savior, holding me through my pain, knowing I can't do it on my own, trading my sorrow for joy, drawing me to Him. And that's where I want to be.

Afternoon Jumping

This morning Mimi picked Avery up and took her to pick out a princess item. Avery has an obsession with princess things. She picked out the dress she is wearing in these pictures, and a crown. She has worn them all day.

This afternoon, Mimi picked Christian up and took him to karate, so it was just me and the girls. I think I've mentioned that Avery has given up her naps (already!) so it was the perfect afternoon to enjoy some outdoor time. As my kids get older, I find that they most often play together so well that I don't generally join in. But today, I did, and grabbed my camera, too.

Avery was very silly and giggly this afternoon in her princess dress, mismatched socks and hairbrush. Every few minutes, she would say that she needed to "bwush her hay-er." I guess a princess must always look her best.

She loves to jump!

And she loves to fall down.

Ansley loves to do flips on the trampoline. Of course, Avery tries to imitate her.

In some ways, I can hardly believe that almost three years have come and gone since she entered our lives. In other ways, I can't recall what life was like before her. Less exhausting, I'm sure. But she is the Baby, and she makes us laugh and keeps us on our toes. We sure do love that silly little girl.

Even if she does give up naps way before she should.

A Mystery, Part Two (The One Where It's Solved)

Ya'll. I have seriously been entertained today with all of the comments on here and on Facebook, as well as all the texts I've been getting! The advice and tips and what in the hecks have seriously made me smile today. I really appreciate everyone taking the time to give their input! And I had no idea this was such a problem! Here I was, thinking I was the only one.

I have the answer as to where the holes are coming from.

So, back to the story from last night. John said it absolutely in no way, shape or form could be the washing machine, because there is no way a washing machine would ONLY snag my shirts, and in the SAME PLACE every time. I must admit, I was convinced my washing machine was out to get me.

But it was not. So, no washing machine.

We ruled out any type of bug, because there would be no reason that they wouldn't be getting John's shirts as well. Plus, no bug is that accurate, to hit my shirt in the same spot every single time. Plus, a few tank tops I would keep in my dresser drawers, and they would have the holes, too.

So no bugs.

John thought it looked like something was getting to the shirt, so he thought it was some kind of chemical eating my shirt. But, after discussion, I don't use chemicals in my kitchen, so we ruled that one out too.

Then we studied my shirt and where it hit me. The hem of my shirt hits right at the button on my jeans. But a shirt couldn't just rub against a button while I'm walking - it had to get friction somewhere. So what is the same height as my waist? Well, the kitchen counter. If I stood against the counter,  it hit me at exactly the spot of the holes. So, I turned my (already holey) shirt around backwards, and went in the kitchen and leaned against the counters for a minute, tops. That's it. I just leaned over the counter to grab something, put a plate away, pretended like I was baking.

And guess what?

HOLES! Immediately!! I mean, that was fast.

(Several of you said this was the reason!)

So there's the mystery. I am in the kitchen a lot anyway, just fixing meals for my family and cleaning. On top of that, I bake a LOT, so that's more time in the kitchen. It explains why John doesn't have this problem because he isn't in the kitchen as much, but also his waist is a lot higher and it wouldn't matter anyway.

I found this so interesting. All these maddening days comes down to this: I'm wearing an apron every time I'm in the kitchen, and I'm also tucking my shirt in my jeans when I'm cooking or baking. Problem solved!

Now, there is another mystery that I'm not going to spend too long thinking about. But, I do find it odd that I have worn jeans my whole life, and I've never had this problem before. So why would that be? I don't know, but I'm not going to spend a whole lot of time here. At least I know how to get rid of the holes - I don't guess the why is as important.

I'm sure there are lots of other reasons for holes in clothing, but if you are around 5'4" tall and spend a lot of time in the kitchen, my guess is this is your problem, too.

I just got a brand new shirt a few weeks ago, and this morning I thought, wait, why doesn't it have holes in it? Upon closer inspection, I realized it does, but they are tiny and just starting to form. It's over time that they get larger and larger.

Now, where's my apron??

A Mystery, Part One

So, for the better part of a year, at least, I've been dealing with this problem. It sounds silly, I know, but it has been driving me crazy. CRAZY. Which I think is what makes me randomly capitalize certain words.

Anywhere from six months to two years ago (sometimes the days run together, ya know?) but I'm pretty sure closer to the six month mark, I started noticing these tiny holes in EVERY ONE of my shirts. EVERY ONE. I wasn't sure if I made that clear enough. EVERY STINKIN' LAST ONE. And I would get so frustrated. I have literally thrown away over a dozen shirts because they would get these holes at the bottom of them and that just looks tacky, so in the trash can they'd go. Always, always in the same place, near the bottom front of my shirt, near my belly button. Always tiny holes. The pattern would repeat itself - buy a cute new shirt (almost always from The Loft), wear it a few times (sometimes more, sometimes less), notice tiny holes, throw shirt away. I would have to hang on to a few holey shirts so I'd have something to wear.

So I started hypothesizing. My shirts are always hung up in my closet, but so are John's, and none of his clothes have holes in them, so I didn't think it was any kind of bug. The only thing I could figure was the washing machine. It had to be our washing machine. I campaigned for a new washing machine, but that never came to fruition, so I purchased those mesh bags that I think are meant for lingerie and started washing all my shirts in those. It's kind of a pain because shirts don't really wash well in them and they don't dry evenly, but if that's what it takes to have non-holey shirts, then that's what I was going to do.

And guess what? STILL HOLES. In the same exact place. Every time.

Inexplicable.

Some shirts would get holes right away. Mysteriously, others could go for awhile without getting any. But inevitably, every shirt I owned would come to have these holes on it.

Like this.

It's very obvious. It completely ruins the shirt.

Maddening! And for the life of me I could not figure it out. I felt like some shirt ghost was haunting me. Maybe someone was cutting holes in my shirts just to drive me mad.

AND THEN.

I wore the shirt in the picture above this evening because it is about all I have left and we were going over to my Mom's for dinner and I didn't think she'd mind a holey shirt. And she made a comment that started an experiment to try to figure out the Mystery of the Holey Shirt.

Does anyone else have this problem? Am I the only one with holey shirts?

to be continued.....