Lauren's Graduation

Nothing was going to ruin my day – not the threat of rain, the traffic, or even the fact that I had brought my three-year-old granddaughter, Adeline, to a college graduation. Adeline’s mother, Lauren, had insisted her child be there to watch her graduate.

            I chose to look at all the cars moving slowly through Hammond as a good thing. Like my family, thousands of people had dedicated the morning to support their graduate. Each graduate’s story is different. For Lauren, the degree marked the end of a college education put on pause in the last semester by the birth of her daughter. My husband, Michael, never gave up on the dream that Lauren would finish college, but I thought that her job as a single mother was enough of a challenge.

When she decided to return to school, Lauren had the support of her entire family, but we were useless when it came to Calculus. Before the first class, she contacted her high school Math teacher, Mary Smith, who agreed to tutor Lauren. Miss Smith became an invaluable part of Lauren’s success.

As the graduates filed into Southeastern’s University Center that morning, somewhere among the thousands of people who filled it, my mom was crying as she always does when she hears Pomp and Circumstances. Michael was crying, too, and Adeline was watching as her Nanny ‘Lise pointed out Lauren in the crowd.

 To Lauren and to the Class of 2015, Congratulations! Your degree is the crown of years devoted to your education; however, I hope it is not the end. Keep learning and continue to keep your eyes open to knowledge.

            A survey revealed that one-third of high school graduates never read another book for the rest of their lives and 42 percent of college graduates never read another book after college. I hope the Class of 2015 does their job to improve these statistics. Be good stewards of the brain God issued to you and never stop learning. Above all, place the Word of God on your "Must Read" list of books.

Just as important as the lessons you’ve learned in the classroom are the ways you’ve grown as a person, the friendships you have formed, and the deeper understanding you have acquired of yourself and others. Remember the love of your family and friends.  Remember your own sacrifices and hard work.  And remember God really does have a special plan for your life.

God has blessed you with unique talents and abilities. Use those gifts well. Eric Liddell discovered one of his talents on the track. Running was his favorite sport and he excelled at it.  He said, "I believe God made me for a purpose, but He also made me fast. And when I run I feel His pleasure." 

Prepared to run the 100 meter race in the 1924 Olympics, he was Britain's hope for winning a gold medal. However, Liddell dropped out of the race because it was scheduled on a Sunday and he refused saying, "Sunday is for worshipping God, not sports." Instead, he qualified for the 400 meter race to be run on another day. He not only won that race, but set a world record in the process.

This graduation milestone marks another leg of your race; the end of one endeavor and the beginning of your next. May the future hold many new joys and accomplishments and be a continuation of all of the good things you have already achieved.

Traditions

            If you ask me how much Easter candy I’ve eaten from my granddaughters’ baskets, I may just look at you and lie. It’s those jelly beans and little chocolate candies, Sixlets, that I particularly fall prey to. I should have given everyone a fruit basket like the one my daughter Monique and daughter-in-law Ashley requested.

            Actually, Monique asked for a fruit basket for herself and vegetables for her husband. If I had agreed to that, she would have asked for meat and seafood baskets for her kids. I drew the line with fruit.

            Now I need to leave the candy alone and head outside to plant a few flowers, an activity I always save for after Easter. Why? First of all, it’s just easier. Every Easter Sunday there is an egg hunt at my home. The children who once ran across the lawn in search of additional candy to add to their baskets have produced little ones eager to do the same. It’s more fun for everyone if I’m not worried about new flowers getting trampled.

The second and most important reason is because it’s what my Maw Maw Jello taught me. She was the person who instilled in me a love of all things outdoors. In one of my earliest memories of her, she is kneeling next to me, showing me the difference between a weed and a flower. She taught me to throw used coffee grounds and egg shells on azaleas, to plant when the sun first begins its’ descent, and to always wait until after Easter before adding new flowers to the garden. So I do. It’s tradition.

            It’s also tradition that my daughter Elise and I plant at least one Gerber daisy, the favorite flower of my grandfather, who died four years before I was born. This week, in honor of the only person I still miss despite never meeting, I’ll plant a Gerber daisy.

            Tradition. My family is full of them and I only hope to add to our collection. I believe traditions solidify the family and provide a firm foundation for future memories. Traditions are also avenues for preserving a family’s history.

            I regret that I didn’t preserve my grandmother’s memories of her family by writing them down, and I hope that my children do not make the same mistake. I hope that they are paying close attention to the stories that they are privileged to hear. They have had access to my late father-in-law’s eye witness account of many of the battles of World War II and the childhood experiences of both sets of their grandparents. My goal is to begin a new tradition of capturing these many, many stories in print.

            J. S. Bryan said, “Many men can make a fortune, but few can build a family.”

If you visit St. Peter’s Cemetery this spring, you’ll find Gerber daisies at the grave of Louis and Mae Keller. They didn’t build a fortune, but a family rich with memories and traditions invaluable to me.

   

Christmas

           I’ve spent two Christmases away from home. The first time I was 33 years old and receiving chemotherapy in an isolation room in Houston’s M. D. Anderson hospital. My husband Michael was home with our four young children, and my dad flew to Houston, courtesy of Anne and Emile Bergeron, to spend Christmas Day with me. No one knew he didn’t have the money for a hotel, so thankfully his plan to sleep on the sofa in the hospital’s lobby worked out. We spent Christmas Day visiting through the glass window that sealed me in a sterile environment. I know, I know, so far it sounds sad, but hang on, it really wasn’t.

          We talked, laughed, prayed, and paused as I received Christmas calls from far too many people to name. While on the phone, I watched as he either read the Bible or ate from the cookie-filled shoe box that a friend had dropped off. Although we were without the comforts of home, or the company of family and friends, we had a really great day. It was so very peaceful. I wasn’t depressed, angry, or visited by self-pity. I was alive. My family was healthy and safe, and I was secure in the knowledge of God’s infinite love and His ability to perform the miraculous.

          The second time I spent Christmas outside of Louisiana was a little farther north. At the time, my daughter Elise was twelve years old and dreamed to walk the crowded streets of New York City. She had never dreamed of becoming ill. How odd that a dreaded disease would somehow give way to the fulfillment of a dream.

          After bravely enduring chemotherapy treatment for lymphoma, she was contacted by the Make A Wish Foundation which grants wishes to children diagnosed with life-threatening illnesses. When she shared her wish to visit New York, her father suggested Disney World instead. “Daddy,” she replied, “I’ve been there, and that’s a place you and Mom will take us again. I don’t think you’ll ever plan a trip to New York.” (Besides being brave, Elise was also very wise.)

          Although we tried to imagine what it would be like, none of us were prepared for the actual adventure of New York City at Christmastime. We toured the city and marveled at the sights we had only seen in pictures and on television. As we walked to view the tree at Rockefeller Center, the young man on the side of us dropped to one knee and proposed to his very excited girlfriend. We went to the top of the Empire State Building, visited Central Park, Times Square, Fifth Avenue, saw a Broadway play, and didn’t let the freezing rain stop us from running around the Statue of Liberty. We were excited and determined to do and see as much as we could, but were unprepared for the emotions we felt as we stood at Ground Zero and re-lived the September 11^th tragedy.

          On Christmas Day, we sat very near to the front of the stage at Radio City Music Hall and watched the Christmas Spectacular, a show beyond our expectations, especially the conclusion with the dramatic living Nativity scene. As we exited Radio City Music Hall, it began to snow.  Elise walked ahead of us, confidently navigating the crowd. Although I couldn’t speak, my heart exploded  as I watched my daughter experience her dream of walking the crowded streets of New York City, and I thanked God that my wish, my prayer, my daily plea for her life, had also been granted.

          This Christmas will be spent at home, with lots of people and presents and food. However, in the midst of all the activity, my heart will beat with the rhythms of peace, faith and gratitude that I learned through my two out-of-town Christmas experiences.

          No matter where we are, or who we’re with, Christmas Day and every day, may we be found utterly dependent upon, and thoroughly grateful to our God Who "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

Ronny may be reached at rmichel@rtconline.com

Christmas is Coming

           “Tree goes outside.” My granddaughter Olivia is quite confused as to why her normally sane parents would haul a large tree into their home and cover it with lights and ornaments.

            Monique, her mom, needs to tell her, “Because Christmas is coming Olivia, that’s why. It’s also why I  bring you to the store to see if there’s an Olivia-sized bicycle for your grandmother to buy since she insists on giving you one for Christmas.”

            It’s true. I want to give her a bicycle because I’m giving one to my other granddaughter, Adeline.  Monique wants me to give Olivia a 17-piece musical instrument set.

            “She loves music,” Monique said.

            “You’re having another baby in March and you want Olivia running around the house with 17 noisemakers?” I asked.

            “Well, no,” she said and continued the bicycle search.

             While scholars argue the actual birth date, I am quite content to celebrate the birth of Jesus on December 25^th. The end of the year is a wonderful time to remember the fulfillment of God’s promise, the birth of our Savior. Although trees, lights and gifts have become a part of that celebration, may we never lose sight of that first Christmas season.

             Life must have looked pretty good to Mary before the angel’s visit. Her engagement to Joseph was likely the fulfillment of her dream. Then the Holy Spirit surrounded her, the power of God overshadowed her, and Jesus, the Word in flesh, was implanted in her. Her dream was about to take on incredible new dimensions. The Word inside of her caused her to grow, but not just physically. He changed her plans and challenged the thinking of those with whom she was in contact.

            A few months later, while most of the world was sleeping, she brought forth Life when Jesus, the Light of the word, was humbly born in a stable. The One Who had already changed her was about to shake the community and eventually the world.

           Although the story of Jesus’ life on Earth begins with Christmas, it doesn’t end there. He didn’t remain in the manger. Jesus grew, led a sinless life as He taught, healed, delivered and loved. He then became the ultimate sacrifice when He willingly died on the cross for our sins.

           Every time I reflect on the first Christmas, I am challenged. Have I made room in my heart for Jesus? Will I allow Him to change me, enlarge my vision and challenge my thoughts? And do the people around me know about that first Christmas?

           Just as in the time of Mary, there are many people living good lives, dreaming good dreams and making commonsense plans. But do they know the entire Christmas story of the Greatest Gift?

           I think Olivia’s right. We should take the tree outside; take the celebration of Jesus out of the confinement of our homes and into our communities. And Olivia will lead the way with 17 instruments.

Ronny may be reached at rmichel@rtconline.com

Thirty-three years and Counting

            “I always cry at weddings,” said the twenty-six-year-old visiting our home.

            “Me, too!” his friend immediately agreed. “How can you not weep at a wedding?”

            Had she been home, my daughter Victoria could have chimed in, “I sobbed throughout Monique’s wedding and used up all of the tissues I had stuffed in my bridesmaid’s bouquet.”

            “I used to cry at weddings before I was married,” I added. “Now I just sit there, smile and pray that the couple knows what they are doing and that they remember the vows they are taking.”

            This month will mark the thirty-third year Michael and I have been married. How can it seem like we’ve been married forever and also feel as though the years have quickly flown by? But back to the wedding vows.

            Michael and I wrote our own vows which I hope to have saved somewhere. It would be interesting to see if we’ve kept those promises. The only promise I know that he broke was one he made when we discussed whether or not we would wed. I had finished college, moved back home, was anticipating my first year of teaching, and unsure about marriage. When pressed on the subject, I summarized my hesitancy with, “I don’t like to cook.”

            His response should have been my clue that his future would not be in engineering, but sales. “If you marry me, I will cook every day.” To his credit, he has been faithful to a few things we didn’t think to put into our vows.

            Michael always heard our babies cry. Each and every time they woke up during the night, he would go to get them and bring them to bed for me to nurse.

            He took care of me, too. At the time I felt very old, but I was only thirty-three. Michael navigated my 117 pound, bald body through eleven months of chemotherapy. Let’s move on.

            My husband continues to encourage my dreams for the future and helps me in the present to prepare for the family and friends I love to welcome into our home. We never dreamed of all of the precious souls God would choose to enrich our lives.

            With regards to traditional vows, we’ve had better and worse, richer and poorer. We’ve endured sickness, and we’ve enjoyed health. And, thirty-three years later, we still encounter hurdles,  continue to ask God for help, and He faithfully meets us where we are and shows us how to get to where we need to be. I pray that it will be this way until death parts us.

Ronny may be reached at rmichel@rtconline.com