The Turtle

She stared at me with her great big eyes, and then it stared at me, too.  With a rope between them, I wondered who had hold of whom?   All these years I had seen only an angel dragging a turtle along, but today... well, today I saw something different:  the angel isn't the patient one.  It is the turtle that is the patient one, and he's the one with the rope around his neck.  He's roped to that cute little lady, and he patiently goes along with "whatever".  Oh, my!  What he has to put up with would astound you and crack the shell on your back:   if you had one!

So today, I am pondering what I do to others, the ones that are tied to me.  I'm not so sure it's a pretty picture, but what is beautiful is their patience.  Blessed... I am so blessed.

Patience: the will or ability to wait or endure without complaint.
                a spiritual gift,  fruit of The Spirit

^"But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, forbearance, kindness, goodness, faithfulness,  gentleness and self-control. Against such things there is no law."
                                  ~  Holy Bible, Galatians 5:22-23, New International Version

Walking, Standing Together

@Copyright 2011, 2012 Cindy Lou Hodges All Rights Reserved.

Thanksgiving Again

The following story I originally posted three years ago, but it still stands true this Thanksgiving Season.  When I wrote it, my life was simpler.  It was easy to take my own advice.  But now that I am a worn-out care-giver for an elderly parent, and a giddy grandmother of a gorgeous two year-old grand daughter, my stretched emotions blur the "urgent" and the "important".  My confusion bothers me, and this tug-of-war is constant.  How does one balance the two extremes?

It was good for me to read this today.  Perhaps it will help you, too...
Cindy Lou, November 20, 2013


Today is Wednesday, the day before Thanksgiving, and as I awakened food was on my mind:  ham, turkey & dressing, gravy, vegetables, cranberry sauce, pies, and desserts.  As I dressed for the morning, I kept thinking about all the food that would be here at the house tomorrow, wondering if we had enough, but I knew I had to turn my thoughts elsewhere.  I had to quit thinking about food and focus on my job, but even as I drove past the local Walgreen's Drug Store, their electronic sign flashed "Krispy Kreme donuts available here!"   More food to think about, but it had to be tabled and pushed to the back of my thoughts until after the 11:00 o'clock funeral service.

Friends and family were gathering at the church to celebrate a loved one's life, and I was to be there early to play the piano for the service.  The dear departed soul was unknown to me.  We had not been friends;  but after hearing about him, I wish we had been.  Mr. J (that's what I'll call him) was a World War II Veteran who had been stationed in Guam.  Pictures were shown of him and his sweetheart as they held each other closely, and pictures of their following sixty-two years together flashed onscreen before us.  We saw weddings, new babies, anniversaries, and more new babies, dinners, parties, and then even more new babies.  It was a love story for sure, and the pictures revealed a vibrant personality plus strong dedication to family, friends, and of all things... chickens.

Mr. J liked chickens.  Now, I have to admit, that I, too, like chickens.  Some of my fondest memories as a child are with my neighbor, Mr. Beal and his chickens.  He would let me fill the water bottle and turn it upside down (that's what you do with chicken's watering systems), and sometimes he allowed me to feed the chickens.  And, as baby chicks hatched, I could watch the miracle happen, and then when the chicks were all fluffy, he would let me love on them and squeeze them... but, not too tightly for fear of crushing them.

Some of the grand kids at today's service told their stories of helping their Grandad with his chickens, feeding and watering them, and I certainly identified with them and their love for the man that introduced them to a new, feathery world.  They lovingly and admirably told of experiences they had shared with their Grandad, and it was obvious to me, an outsider, that Mr. J had left a big part of himself inside each grandchild, and that what he believed in will be carried on and will be lived through his children and their following generations.

Already touched by this man's legacy, I knew that this memorial service would stand out in my mind as one of those special ones.  As a musician, I play for many funeral services, and they all are dear.  However, some are much more memorable than others, and this one definitely fits into that category.  This one was sweet, tender and loving, and one I hope I will always remember.  In my heart I thanked the Lord that I could be there and be a part of this circle of family and friends, and I thought the best had already been shared, until the last grandchild spoke and told this simple story, one that centers around, you got it... food.

When she was a small girl, and a  member of the Brownie troop, she sang the Brownie song to her Grandad.  He asked her if she knew the last verse to the song, and she didn't, so with a twinkle in his eye, he sang it to her.  She shared it with her troop leader who also had never heard that verse and taught the last verse to all the girls.  They all loved it, but somehow throughout the years, the memory has faded, and now, years later, the granddaughter can't remember the tune or the words to the Brownie song.  That memory is gone, but  she can still remember the main thing about that verse, the last line that her Grandaddy taught her. 

It's a profound statement; very plain and simple, and I thought about it all the way back home as I drove past the post office, the school, and the Walgreen's with its "Krispy Kreme" sign still flashing.  I thought about my life, and what I'm doing with it, and what I'm not doing with it.  It made me wonder about my priorities, and what really is important to me, and with it being the Thanksgiving season, it caused me to consider my gratitude.  Am I really aware of my amazing, abundant, incredible blessings?  Do I have a clue as to how blessed I really am?  And, then... am I thankful for them?  Truly thankful?  Or, have I slidden into the trench of  ingratitude and dug my ruts so deeply that I'll never see more than my own selfishness, my own greediness?  I pray that's not the case, not my future.  Heavens, I pray not so.

I tell you, friends, even though I was at a funeral today, today was a good day for me.  I enjoyed remembering my childhood friend, and I was blessed to find new ones.  My eyes were opened as a new friend's closed eyes helped me see something about myself.  It's not a pretty picture, the glimpse I saw of me, and it isn't one I'm proud of.  But, it is one that can be changed.  Starting right now, I will pay more attention to, I will be more aware of, and I will be more grateful for all that I have and for what God has given me.  I will focus more on what I have, and focus less on what I don't have... or as she told us today, just as her grandaddy, Mr. J once told her, his precious little granddaughter, and as I am now telling you...
"focus on the donut, not the hole."

Sincerely looking for ways to express my gratitude,
and ways to stay focused,

Cindy Lou

p.s.  Thanksgiving is more than just a day, isn't it?




@ Copyright 2010, Cindy Lou Hodges
All Rights Reserved.

@Copyright 2011, 2012, 2013 Cindy Lou Hodges All Rights Reserved.

The Turtle

She stared at me with her great big eyes, and then it stared at me, too.  With a rope between them, I wondered who had hold of whom?   All these years I had seen only an angel dragging a turtle along, but today... well, today I saw something different:  the angel isn't the patient one.  It is the turtle that is the patient one, and he's the one with the rope around his neck.  He's roped to that cute little lady, and he patiently goes along with "whatever".  Oh, my!  What he has to put up with would astound you and crack the shell on your back:   if you had one!

So today, I am pondering what I do to others, the ones that are tied to me.  I'm not so sure it's a pretty picture, but what is beautiful is their patience.  Blessed... I am so blessed.

Patience: the will or ability to wait or endure without complaint.
                a spiritual gift,  fruit of The Spirit

^"But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, forbearance, kindness, goodness, faithfulness,  gentleness and self-control. Against such things there is no law."
                                  ~  Holy Bible, Galatians 5:22-23, New International Version

Walking, Standing Together

@Copyright 2011, 2012 Cindy Lou Hodges All Rights Reserved.

Biscuits & Ice Cream

At our favorite fast-food dive, we finished our morning biscuits, then began to talk about ice cream... real, satisfying ice cream.  We're both under stress as caregivers for loved ones who live with us:  a husband with Alzheimer's and a mother who is wheel-chair bound.  So, food, comfort food, is an important conversation topic.

"I don't cook much anymore, because he's satisfied with just a sandwich, even peanut butter & jelly."

"Me, either.  But, I did open two cans of black-eyed peas last night.  Threw some sliced ham in the skillet, and they thought I had cooked a feast.  They're still talking about it this morning!"

"Did you ever find Blue Bell's Christmas Cookie that I told you about?"

"No, I gave up looking for it once I tried their Strawberry Pie flavor.  Oh, girl.... you were right.  It's to die for!"

"Well, I've got a half-gallon of it in the bottom of my chest freezer.  It's there for my son-in-law when he comes up to visit, and it's his favorite.  It will keep for up to six months.  I'll just let him get it himself, since he's so much taller than I am.  He will love me forever!"

"And, if he doesn't happen to come in the next few months, then you will just have to eat it.  Right?"

"Of course!"

We fiddled with our jelly wrappers then rolled our napkins placing them on the plastic tray.

"But I do have another carton in the freezer that I've saved just for emergencies, and last night I really needed it:  Chocolate Mint with the biggest chocolate chunks you've ever seen."

"Hmmmmm."

"But I couldn't reach it.  You know how far down the bottom of the ice chest is?  I thought I was going to fall in... really, I couldn't reach it.  So, I thought about that long-arm, grabber thingy (pinching fingers together), and I was ready to go get it, but I wasn't sure where it was.  So, I gave it one last try, and by golly, I did it... I got my finger nails under the rim of that lid and managed to get it out.  It was heaven."

"Hmmmm..."
"Hmmmm..."

After that, silence surrounded our little dining booth, and we sat there with goofy grins on our faces.  We sat there satisfied with the simple comforts of ice cream, morning breakfast biscuits and conversation with a good friend... a friend who really understood.  Life did not seem so difficult after all. 

Thank you, my friend...
Love,
Cindy



@Copyright  2012 Cindy Lou Hodges All Rights Reserved.

He Signed His Valentine... "Rocky"

That was his name,
and he was my flame,
My tender 4th grade flame.
We never kissed.
Wonder what I missed.
Or did we, and I just forgot?

Oh, he was cute, and so mature, much more so than the others.
Maturity, you know, is important at that age,
Thoughtfulness,
Tenderness, too.

He moved away, far too soon,
but left two things behind:  
a heart on a chain, left in my box,
my shoebox covered with hearts,
with a slit on the top
and a place in my heart.
He signed his Valentine... "Rocky."

Ah... the sweet memory of young love.  He was ahead of his times, and I wonder where he is these days.  He didn't stay long in my life, but his legacy lives on, and sometimes I allow my heart to go back to those "once upon a time" days.

The heart he gave me was black.  It was a faceted black heart-shaped pendant that swung beautifully on a silver-toned chain.  Striking it was in appearance and most unusual for a 4th grader of the 1960's to possess.  Wish I had it now.  Wish I could hold it in my hand, but its memory will have to do.  Perhaps that's even better than a heart made of plastic... or... one made of stone.

Rocky, where are you?  I really liked you, you know.

And now... now that you are a memory of those innocent days gone by, I realize what a treasure you were. You see, you gave me more than a heart of stone... you gave me sweet memories to hold in my heart... and THAT, my old flame...  is the real treasure!
 

Silly me, but I love the memory...


Cindy...
the girl from Plato Elementary School



(Note from the author:  Saying, "I like you." or "I love you." is more important than we realize.  Say it.  Mean it.  Live it.  And do it today.  Everyday should be Valentine's Day!)



@Copyright 2012, Cindy Lou Hodges All Rights Reserved.

The Massage

Originally posted January, 2012...

I sort of staggered out of the spa.  My legs were jello, and my mind like mush. But, wow... what a massage!

It was a gift to myself.  Premeditated.  Deliberate.  Cleansing.  I've only had three in my entire life, and I assure you, that is not enough.  I will go back.  I will return.  But, not today.

No, today I am recovering from that massage.  Nobody had told me to drink lots of water afterwards.  The therapist handed me a cup of cold water after the treatment, but I thought it was just a gracious gesture.  I poured it out in the bathroom.  (Which, by the way, I had wondered halfway through the massage, if I could make it through the hour WITHOUT going to the bathroom.)

Then I drove, (yes, I operated  heavy machinery), to Starbuck's and ordered "something dreamy-creamy", as I told the kid. "I just had a massage and I need 'something' ".  He suggested green tea, strong green tea, but I opted for coffee, decaf, and decided on the pumpkin spice, no whipped cream.  He looked at me rather funny.  Or, was it the other way around?  Don't know, and I really don't remember walking back to the car.  But, I must have because I ended up at a friend's house, and she and I chatted about... about... hmmm, well... I really don't remember that either.

I did tell her that my experience was "wonderful", and she should try it.  She looked at me rather funny.  Or, was it the other way around?  Don't know, but, we both chuckled, well, sort of.  I did my best to calm her qualms about half-stripping, crawling under the covers, and allowing someone "experienced" to rub their oily hands all over her body.  I reassured her that the dim lights, and the soft, mood music just made it that much easier to relax.

Not so sure that I had convinced her, but convinced I had given it my all, I swigged my last drop of coffee and asked to use her bathroom.  It had only been thirty minutes ago that I staggered into the spa's bathroom, but never mind.  When a bathroom is handy, take advantage of it.  Right?  That's what Mama always said.

Now feeling good about myself, and so glad that I had finally done something for "me", I reached for the soap and glanced in the mirror.  Oh, my GOSH!  Double... double.. GOOD GOSH!  What in the world had happened to me? 

I stared at mascara and eye shadow streaks all down my face, rubbed off makeup exposing my naked face, smushed-crushed bangs sticking to my forehead, and my "Come-here" coral lipstick smeared all over my chin.  I looked like... well... I looked like.. well... I looked like crap!

No wonder that kid at Starbucks looked at me so funny!  No wonder my friend looked at me questioningly!  No wonder I couldn't talk her into a massage!!!  No wonder, indeed!!!

The mirror didn't lie.  It never does.  "Well, what do you do now, Cindy Lou, you fool?"

Nothing... nothing at all, but laugh and crawl out of the bathroom and beg for mercy and a make-over!  Thank goodness this was a long-time, dear, understanding friend who loves me and accepts me for who I am, regardless of what I look like.  We laughed and laughed, and laughed until we cried.  And then, I went home, and I laughed some more.

Now, that I look back at that afternoon of surprises, I can see that I've learned quite a lot about life and massages.  I whole-heartily recommend message therapy by a trained professional. It's a healing experience for body and soul.  Just be prepared, better than I was:

Wear minimal make-up. I had forgotten that you lay face-down which is hard on a made-up face. 

Be aware that you may cry.  I did:  big tears that I couldn't stop.

Afterwards, drink lots of water.   Yes, it makes you go "potty", but that's a good thing.

Then, go straight home.  Do not go into any  Starbuck's.  Do not pass "Go".  Do not go visit a friend.  Go straight home!

And, finally... this is very important... for heaven's sake, before you leave the spa, before you say "good-bye", before you face the world... look in the mirror!!!

Now... go book yourself a massage, and call me afterwards.  I want to hear ALL about it!

Sincerely me,  always me, and re-discovering me...
Cindy Lou

p.s.  
Laugh, laugh, laugh... and, allow others to join in!  It's so much more fun with a buddy! 



@Copyright 2012, Cindy Lou Hodges All Rights Reserved.

The Prayer Meeting

He stared at her as if he could "eat her up", and they were in church!  Scandalous, I tell you... but, oh what a nice compliment!  She hadn't felt that special in a long, long time, and there was something in his eyes that made her long to look back at him... made her long to link gazes.  But, she didn't dare.

The prayer meeting crowd was smaller than usual, probably due to the summer heat and summer vacations, but those attending were somehow refreshed just by gathering together.  High numbers of people aren't required for the Spirit of God's presence:  humble hearts are.

She had never seen him before at church, so "he must be a visitor", she thought.  Most likely he was a relative of Matthew's, since they were sitting together.  He could even be Matthew's father.  They did resemble each other, and the age difference was fitting.  But, his stare made her uneasy.

She wondered if he thought he knew her.  She wondered if she had met him once before, but had somehow forgotten their friendship;  no, relationship... for this stare was more than just a glance. Many questions raced through her mind before he spoke, but none as persistent as the question, "Why is he so focused on me?"  

When they were introduced, his intensity continued as he asked her name.  He smiled and repeated her name, twice:  frontwards & backwards... then he commented on her matching silver jewelry.  She agreed that everything was silver except her wedding ring.  Nervously she held up her left hand showing the gold band, while giggling to cover up her discomfort.  Why had she offered this information?  Obviously he was fishing and she fell for it. "What a nitwit", she thought, disappointed in herself, not that she was married, but that she had not recognized a come on.

Gaining her composure, she changed the direction of their conversation by asking questions about him.  He was indeed Matthew's dad, and the more he spoke, the more she liked him.  Handsome looking in his khaki's and "tucked in" shirt, there was something captivating about his manner.  He spoke eloquently of his current life, lovingly about his Italian heritage,  and passionately about his war history.  He was a World War II veteran, and proud of it, as he should be.  "Navy?"  she asked.  "Yes, how did you know?" 

Then...  they were interrupted.  Their conversation was over.  A member of the congregation greeted him and thanked him for coming, while someone pulled her aside chatting about nothing important and certainly nothing memorable.  Sadly, she turned away from him, but out of the corner of her eye, she saw him glancing back... at her.

She still thinks about him.  He had a certain way about him that made her feel special, and... well, important... just by paying attention to her.  "It isn't forbidden, is it," she wonders,  "to enjoy feeling special?"

His gaze, his body language, his intensity... oh, they were powerful.  Probably four to five minutes is all they had together, but compared to a lifetime, that is such a brief moment.  World wars, cultural differences, twenty-five years of age, and her marriage separated them, but somehow, at that time and place...none of that  mattered.  For that four to five minutes, that one Wednesday night, they belonged to each other... and it made for a very, very interesting prayer meeting.




@Copyright 2011, Cindy Lou Hodges All Rights Reserved.

Heart Attack! Chapter 2...

Chapter Two - The Journey

"Husband... heart attack... Two hours away... take a deep breath, Cindy."  "I can't..."

Logic took over my actions as emotions quivered my thinking.  Throwing belongings into my suitcase, I dialed my brother's phone number, praying he would answer his phone.  He did, but even big brother's voice could not abate the fear that arose in my throat.  He said he would call his wife and see if she were available to drive the 3 hour trip to stay with Mama until he could get there the next day.  Of course, and thankfully... she agreed and told me not to worry about Mama:  she would get there as fast as she could.  God bless her.  God bless him.

Telling Mama that I had to go without her and leave her behind, broke her heart:  mine, too... but there was no way I could take care of her and be at the hospital also.  She cried more than I, but I could not take the time to console her.  Nor could I break down:  too much to do and too many miles to travel.

The highways between here and there were all too familiar, and the expected speed traps were no where in sight.  Truckers moved aside for me as if someone had gone ahead and prepared my pathway, and my gas tank I had filled just the day before.  It all seemed like deja vu, only this time I was driving in the opposite direction of the previous emergencies, and this time.... well, this time was different.

I was worried about our son.  He would be there at the hospital by himself, shouldering this burden alone; and with his one month old baby, he was already on emotional overload.   Asking family friends to sit and wait with Steve was the one thing I as a mother could do.  I feared the worse, hoped for the best, but still knew anything could happen, and I didn't want our son to face it alone.  He needed someone to lean on... just in case.  Gratefully, the friends I called dropped what they were doing and rushed to the hospital.  They hurried, then had to wait.  But they did.  God bless them.

As I entered the city, one of my ministers from church called to tell me he was almost at the hospital and would see me there.  I fought back the fear.. and the tears.  God bless him, too.

"Oh, God... please don't forsake us.  Please watch over Richard, and his medical team.  Have mercy on him, Lord.  He's such a good man.  Please take care of Steve.  Please watch over Mama.  Thank you God for friends, for family, for medical professionals.  Oh, God... please help... please.  Help me be strong, once again... Oh, God..."

The folks at the information desk were helpful, but very slow talkers.  They didn't realize I was in panic mode.  I just wanted them to point and give me simple directions to CCU:  I walked away from them as they were still talking.  Rounding the corner  I saw a volunteer I knew, but I didn't dare slow down because my son was standing waiting for me, and there by his side was his lovely little wife. 

With strained voice he said, "Do you want the facts or the chronological order of happenings?"  He's an engineer, just like his dad.  I replied, "The facts."  "He's stable.  The cardiac team found nothing else of concern on their second look at Dad's arteries."  He proceeded to tell about the heart attack, the one stent, the shocking, the CPR, Code Blue, and his dad's stubbornness.  That I already knew about!

"He's stable." pounded in my heart... I could see him.  I could hold him.  I could kiss him.  I could scold him for not telling me or anyone else that he was in trouble.  But this last one should wait.  My husband was alive, and he was "stable".  For this I rejoiced!

I hugged my kids.  I hugged my friends who so lovingly supported us and thanked them for being there with Steve, for Steve, and for Richard and me.  I wiped off my tears, but they kept rolling.  And then I took off for the CCU. 

"I don't know which room he's in," but my feet kept walking anyway.  As the automatic doors opened, a surge of strength kept me upright, but fear and anger chiseled away at my very core.  Without introducing myself, or even speaking to them, the nurses pointed to his room.  They had been watching for me... "the missing wife," and they continued watching me as I entered his room.

(to be continued...)



@Copyright 2010, Cindy Lou Hodges All Rights Reserved.

Fire, Fire... Hair on Fire!

It was the month of December in a quiet neighborhood in central Texas.  It was your typical Sunday morning worship service in this Southern Baptist Church.  Traditional Christmas carols and festive decorations filled the room, but there was nothing typical about things when her hair caught on fire!  I guess you could say, "That's when all hell broke loose!"

I was the pianist, and she, Miss M, was the keyboardist.  We were just about four feet apart from each other.  What separated us was a short banister wall, about "hip high", and of course, the votive candles were lit for the morning's service.  All was well, and the congregation seemed to be singing better than usual.  They actually were in tune with our choir, and our minister of music was giving it his all as he lead the joyful sounds of praise and worship.  Our pastor was deep in thought, or prayer, or something, but by the look on his face one could tell that he, too, was enjoying the service.  It was a packed house and joy filled the sanctuary.  Everyone was in their proper place, and as they say, there was peace in the valley.

Then, it happened.  We were in the middle of one of our favorite Christmas carols:  congregation singing, piano playing, keyboard roaring.  And then, she leaned forward with her head tilted down somewhat... ka-whooooosh!  The top of her hair caught on fire! 

Out of my peripheral vision I saw this instant flash of bright, white light.  There seemed to be some very pale yellow, kind of lemon yellow, and a very delicate shade of lavender mixed with some blue in it, too.  I thought it was very pretty, until I realized what it really was!  "Oh, my gosh... it's a fire!  Dear, God... her hair's on fire!!!" 

Now, you have to understand, that at this exact time in space, everything was in slow motion:  very, very slow motion... even though we're talking about just a matter of seconds.  As my fingers kept playing the Christmas call to worship, my eyes saw three or four deacons rushing towards the piano and keyboard.  They looked like linebackers from a football team, but they had this horrid look of fear on their faces.  They seemed to do some sort of shuffle run, then they would halfway halt, then start moving forward again.  It was a strange sight, I tell you.  Frightening, too, because they were running straight towards us...  Miss M and me. 

I don't know what finally clicked in my mind, but thank goodness it did.  I jumped up and started hitting Miss M on the head, patting out the fire.  Wisps of singed hair floated all around us, kind of like tiny dark feathers sifting through the air.  It was as if we were on film, and that the film's shutter speed was slowly clicking from frame to frame.., or in this case, from "flame to flame".  The very distinguishable odor of singed hair overpowered everything:  the scented cinnamon spice candles, the holiday fragrance of the evergreens, and even my gently applied Channel #5.

It all happened unbelievably fast, and then, in a flash, it was over.  Done.  Gone.  Fire out.  Oh, the candles kept burning, and the congregation kept singing. Well, mostly.  The singing did sort of die down, but I'm not sure the folks on the back rows ever knew why or that a ruckus had occurred right there on Sunday morning, in their peaceful little church. 

Our minister of music recounts that everything in that service was going great until he looked over and saw his pianist beating the keyboardist on the head.  Guess he missed the vision of the flames, but he sure as heck saw his two musicians decking it out with each other, and that's what he remembers to this day!

As for the deacons, the men that rushed to the front, they weren't needed after all.  My speed and position allowed me to take care of the "situation", and so, they fumbled back to their pews, shaking their heads wondering what on earth had happened. 

Musically, the song survived.  Only a few measures were without accompaniment, and once the flames were smothered, I went back to the piano bench and started playing again.  Miraculously my hands were not burned.  Miraculously, Miss M was not injured.  Her pride was somewhat assaulted, and her hair needed a few weeks to recover, but she had no burns whatsoever, and what could have been a catastrophe became a miracle and a marvelous, unforgettable memory.

I have to tell you, that this was a highlight of my career.  I have played for church services off and on for decades now, and many stories can be told.  But, this one is tops.  Whoever said being a church pianist is boring, has never sat where I sit, and they have never seen things from my perspective.  I love what I do, and it is never, ever boring... at least not for this gal, and certainly not here in Texas!  I truly consider it a privilege, and I count it all joy to be a "bench warmer".  And just for the record, the Christmas season is definitely my favorite time of the year!

So, here I sit.  I'm watching and waiting for more miracles...  pardon the pun, but they do warm the heart!

Joyfully serving... and, joyfully playing,
this church pianist,

Cindy Lou


@Copyright 2010, Cindy Lou Hodges
All Rights Reserved.

Boot Camp

Today he leaves for boot camp.  Yesterday he played the acoustic bass in church.  Tomorrow... who knows?  That's yet to be revealed.

I've known him for just about two years now.  Our paths crossed at church where we both play in the orchestra, and for most of that time he has been the only string player in the band.  He has been faithful to be there Wednesday nights for rehearsals and Sunday mornings for worship services.  What surprises me about his steadiness is that he is a single young man who could find many other ways to spend his time and many other places to be.  However, he chooses to be at church.

But now, he won't be, and we will miss him.  Will miss his smile, his music, his gentle presence, and his testimony.  We shall continue to think about him and lift him up in prayer, his mama, too.  It must be hard seeing your child choose to walk away from the security of home, family, and friends into the vices of the military.  I don't know first hand what that's like, but I do remember how hard it was just to leave my son on his own at college.  It is so hard turning loose.  We moms & dads tend to panic and ask ourselves, "Did we do our jobs as parents?  Did we do it right, and did we do it well?  Did we love them enough, and did we teach them all that they need to know to survive out there?"

I personally don't know his parents & family very well, but just by association with this young man, I'd say they did a fine job raising their son, and he will make a fine soldier.  It seems to me his feet are firmly planted on the Solid Rock, and that's exactly what it takes to make it out there.  A firm foundation can weather the storm: be it military, civil, or private.

We will miss him: our light-haired, soft-spoken young friend.  While there will be a gap in the flow of music, there will be new steps in the marching corps.  When there will be murmurs in the congregational prayers for his safety, there will be shouts of command in the corporal ranks.  Where there is war, there will be prayers for peace.  He, our friend the soldier, is doing his part to make men free.  It is now our turn as a church and community to voice our petitions to heaven.  Pray for others.  Pray for our leaders.  Pray for peace, and pray for William.   

Blessings to you, my friend Private William... may God protect and keep you. Thank you for serving our country!  We will miss you until you come back and join us once again in the band.  You can wear your military uniform or your civilian clothes as you play... doesn't matter to us.  We just want you to hurry back home, today, tomorrow or several tomorrows from now.  Yes, hurry home, please... your music and your chair await you.

Sincerely your friend,
Cindy Lou



"Therefore everyone who hears these words of mine and puts them into practice is like a wise man who built his house on the rock.  The rain came down, the streams rose, and the winds blew and beat against that house; yet it did not fall, because it had its foundation on the rock.  But eveyone who hears these words of mine and does not put them into practice is like a foolish man who built his house on sand.  The rain came down, the streams rose, and the winds blew and beat against that house, and it fell with a great crash."
                  ---Matthew 7:24-27   Holy Bible, New International Version

"For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life."
                              ---John 3:16  Holy Bible, New International Version


@Copyright 2010, Cindy Lou Hodges
All Rights Reserved

Naptime

"Today I made the bed up before the clock said ten.
But now it's so inviting, I think I'll crawl back in!"   ...Cindy Lou
                                       --posted on Facebook, 9-24-2010

Ah, yes, on this dreary day the sound of rain lullabies me to sleep.  Even with two cups of coffee downed and a good night's rest, I feel the urge to curl up and take a nap.  "Who cares if you do?" you might ask, and my reply would be, "no one, but me, I guess."

It would be easy to take that nap, but hard to deal with myself if I do.  You see, I feel like Rip Van Winkle.  I feel as if I just woke up from a long, deep sleep, and the world has changed around me; and I, too, have changed without my knowledge or my permission.  I see myself in the mirror, and I think "that can't be me", and I see my house and think "what on earth happened?', and I look at the calendar and I protest "it's already the end of September, 2010?  What happened to 2009?"  What happened, indeed?

Life happened, and we as a family dealt with it as best we could.  We united around my mother as she battled a broken hip and life threatening complications that followed... for eleven months now.  Mother is better and is back at her house learning how to live without a hip joint and with a leg that is three inches shorter than it used to be. The staff infection is currently suppressed, and we all are adjusting to her new, challenging lifestyle.

Dimple is her name, and she is my hero, and so is my family.  So is God.  I know without a doubt that God carried us through this long-distant, long agonizing journey, and that my Mama is still with us because of God's mercy and the strong support teams he sent our way:  medical professionals, friends, and prayer warriors.  Thank you all for all you've done for us:  we would not be where we are today without you.  Your love made an incredible difference!  Your prayers we depended upon when we were too weary to whisper our own, and your patience with our absence (mental & physical) made us feel welcomed & accepted even though we were not 100% involved.

We never asked for this accident to happen, we only asked for it to pass.  What has passed is "time", and what is revealed is "life".  Put those two words together, and you have a "lifetime".  It's up to us to decide what we fill that lifetime with, and I'm grateful that I've filled the last eleven months with family & friends.  The messy house can wait, as it has.  The stress lines on my face and the extra pounds I've gained can be dealt with, one way or another.  And, as for the calendar, I will try to believe that it is what it says.

As for that snooze I wanted to take, the desire has passed without my realizing it.  What a parallel to the last eleven months.  They too, have passed without my being aware of it... almost a year now.  When I look back, I see that the impossible was made possible.  I see that some good things have developed from bad things.  And, I see that I was not alone, nor did I sleep the entire time like Rip Van Winkle.  I just put one foot in front of the other and did the best I could.  I lived life, and I hung on, as we all did:  as we all do.

So, there will be no nap for me today, and no scoops of ice cream, either.  I believe I will play the piano and maybe even clean my kitchen.  I will reflect upon God's goodness to me, and humbly say, "Thank you, Lord for your mercies and grace, and thank you for carrying me through this last year."   I may even say, "Thank you, Lord, that I can smile again, even on a rainy day.  It feels so good!"

Isn't it all amazing?  Amazing grace, yes... indeed!
Thank you, God... and thank you, friends.

Sincerely,
Cindy Lou


@Copyright 2010, Cindy Lou Hodges
All Rights Reserved

"Izzy" Was Her Name

 "Met the cutest new friend at dinner last night!  She stopped at our table & just had to tell us a joke, but when the punchline came... it didn't!   She couldn't remember it!  lol  She is 88 years old and just darling..."         --posted on Facebook, 9-23-2010

Her red top splashed with pink & purple jewelry first caught my eye, but her radiant glow is what captured... and held my attention!  "I just have to tell you a joke, " she announced to my friends at the end of the table.  As I leaned forward to listen, assuming she knew someone seated there with me, she proceeded telling her joke about race horses.  I couldn't hear her words, but I could hear & see her enthusiasm.  It was contagious.

My girlfriends were laughing & responding with great delight, as was I, and then we waited for the punchline.  Well, good golly Miss Molly, it didn't happen!  Our delightful visitor could not remember it, and that was funnier than any well thought out punchline could have possibly been!  I think we laughed for five minutes.  It was hysterically funny!

I wish you could have seen her, our lady in red, and I wish you could have been there with us.  It was one of those rare magical moments that makes everything "all right", and everyone, everywhere needs those "all right" moments.  How sweet it was to laugh with friends.  How sweet it was to be together.  And how sweet it was to see that life can sparkle at the rich young age of 88.  That's her age, Izzybelle from Roswell, my new friend... our new friend.  Life's her stage, and she plays it very, very well.

I'm grateful to have been her audience.  I'm grateful she stopped and shared:  grateful for her life and for those priceless, precious moments she gave us.   What a joy and what a treasure she is just by being herself. I witnessed beauty, style & grace in action, and that, my friends is exactly what I want to be when I grow up.  Bravo, Izzy!  Bravo, my darling... Bravo!  Please, do it again.  Encore, encore... please!

Applause, love & admiration to you, Izzybelle from Roswell!

Sincerely,
Cindy Lou 



@Copyright 2010, Cindy Lou Hodges
All Rights Reserved

The Shoestrings

This was my fifth try... "I'm looking for those elastic, curly shoestring things... the ones that stretch and then spring back into place?  Do you have any here in your store?" 

A look of recognition brightened his face as he announced, "No, not yet, but I'm getting some in soon. I've had many customers asking about those, and for the longest time I couldn't find them.  But, just this week I found them in a new catalogue, and I couldn't believe it!"  With added exuberance he continued, "I've been searching & searching for them, and there they were advertised in a Christmas catalogue, of all places!  So, I ordered me a bunch of them, and they should be here by the end of this week."

Then he eagerly volunteered this information which really surprised me, "Someone said that Sports Academy has them in stock, and that they are on the front counter by the checkout register.  But, if you can't make it there, or if you don't find them there, I should have them here this Thursday or Friday."  Then he flashed that gregarious smile once again and said, "I just couldn't believe that I found them in a Christmas catalogue!"

So, I left the small store heading to its big competitor because I needed those specific shoestrings, and I needed them that day.  I didn't leave with my mission accomplished.  Nor did I leave with a purchase in a paper sack or a plastic bag.  But, I did leave with something new, and it wasn't even purchased.  It was something given to me, and I'm still enjoying it.  I hadn't even asked for it.

Oh, I definitely will go back to that store, and I will buy some of his stretchy shoestrings even if I don't need anymore of the twisty things.  That may sound silly, but it seems right to me.  I want to pay him back for his kindness, and I want to see him prosper.  A purchase of shoestrings won't make much difference on the books, but it's the principle of the thing.  I want him to know that his generosity of shared information, even if it meant losing a sale, was great customer service.  I want him to know that he made a friend even if he didn't make a sale.  I want him to know that someone noticed his zest for life, and I want him to know he made a big difference in my attitude and in my day.

He's good at what he does.  He is a shoe cobbler.  He is a business man.  He is a salesman, and he is an encourager.  I want to be like him with my exuberance for life, and I want to live unabashedly and be myself whether I'm with new friends or whether I'm with friends that are not so new.   He reminded me to be genuine, sincere, and unselfish with others, and that's a great lesson.  It's one that can't be purchased, bartered or even traded.  It's something that must be given, and it should be gently placed in my bag of memories and taken home with me.  That I shall do.

Let's not tell him that I wrote about him.  Shall we?  Let's just keep that our little secret.  But, if you happen to need some of those cute curly, twisty shoestring things... now you know where to find them, but be sure to wait until this Thursday or Friday.  And oh, yes... tell him "hello" for me!



@Copyright 2010, Cindy Lou Hodges
All rights reserved.

Sit by Me...

"Cindy, I haven't seen you in such a long time," she said.  I replied, "I feel the same about you!  Where have you been?"  So there we stood talking, trying to catch up on each other's news, that is until the lights dimmed.  It was time for the concert to begin, and time to be seated.  If it had not been for my friend's encounter,  I probably would have left before the program began.  I would have left without hearing the music, and I would have left with a heart heavier than it was when I arrived.

For many reasons, it was hard to be there and even harder to stay; but since protocol requested my presence, there I stood.  Then, as the room grew silent, my friend and I looked at each other.  To my surprise out from my mouth came these words, "Where are you going to sit?"  She motioned "over there", and we both started walking in that direction.  Then some of the sweetest words I have ever heard were spoken just at the right time, from her to me, just for me, in a room that was so hushed I could hear every word... "Sit by me, won't you?"  So, I did, for the entire concert.  I enjoyed the evening... immensely, and I'm so glad I stayed.

Thinking back on the evening, I'm reminded of the scripture that tells us that God goes before us and prepares a place for us.  I believe that.  I believe because I saw that.  I saw it happen to me, just tonight, through a dear friend, in a mighty big way, in a mighty little sentence.

And, I also believe, that when I close the world around me, and all becomes hushed... I will hear it once again, this time spoken by another friend, my friend Jesus... "Cindy, I have much to tell you.  Come, sit by me, won't you?"  I hope I do.  I hope I will sit still, very, very still... and I hope I will listen.

Thank you, Lord, for your mercies, for your love, and for the friends you send my way.

Love,
Cindy

p.s.  Thank you for saving me a seat!



@Copyright, 2010 Cindy Lou Hodges, All rights reserved.