One of our favorite family pastimes is to play cards. I have so many memories as a child playing cards with my family. My dad was quite the card player. He could tell you any card that had been picked up and was certain to let you know if you weren’t paying attention and played into someone’s hand. We had the most laughs at the expense of my sister. She would pick up any face card whether it went with her hand or not. She just couldn’t let one pass by.
As a child, intense conversations focused around not paying attention or not playing smart, however, as a mother, my family found different points to argue. It usually centered around who was cheating. For some reason, my kids believed if you were winning, you had to be cheating. I will say with 98% honesty that I never cheated. Now, if you were not aware enough to hold your cards where they couldn’t be seen, that was your own fault and fair game. Other than that, I always played by the rules.
Playing by the rules is something I have done all of my life. I don’t know if I am just afraid to break the rules or if following rules provides order to my life, but I am a rule follower through and through. I even make up rules to follow such donuts are only allowed on Friday.
The problem is, I somehow began to put my trust in following the rules instead of in God’s grace. I think I got confused along the way and really believed if I followed all of the rules, nothing bad would happen or if I followed all of the rules, I would find favor with God. For the most part, the rules were biblical rules, but some were institutional rules. No matter, I followed them – all of them. Now don’t get me wrong, following the rules set forth in the Bible is the way to go. John 14:15, “If you love me, keep my commands.” I would do it all over again. In his letter to the Thessalonians, Paul writes, “As for other matters, brothers and sisters, we instructed you how to live in order to please God,” However, following the rules did not protect me from life.
I was extremely fortunate to live in the perfect “Polly Anna” world most of my life. Then my kids became teenagers and what do you know, they weren’t perfect. I began to ask questions and doubt my actions. How could this happen? We went to church every time the doors were open. We had family devotions every morning…. What rule had I missed that would cause this imperfection? After that, the unexplainable happened and cancer hit our family head on. I first wanted to ask why? or how? I had done my part, I had followed the rules. What I was soon to learn, was following the rules couldn’t protect me, but there was a God that could. Maybe you have been treated unfairly at work, been hurt by a spouse, or faced financial hardships. God might not keep any number of painful events from happening, but he would walk beside you all of the way. Psalm 55:22, “Cast your burden on the Lord, and He shall sustain you.”
I had to learn it was really about my relationship with Him. It was about His love for me. It wasn’t about how many rules I had kept or broken.
Now, don’t get me wrong, there are blessings and rewards for those that keep God’s commands. I James 20:25 confirms that if you are a doer of the word (follow the rules) you will be blessed in what you do. The problem is we can’t follow the rules just to receive blessings or just to be protected from the ugly part of life. We follow the rules because of our relationship with God and because of how much we love Him.
Maybe I should make up a rule about following rules. All I know is that we can never do enough to earn what God freely gives us.

nights I’m home and to pack a lunch for Scott and I Monday thru Thursday. Last Tuesday, I roasted a chicken in the Instant Pot for dinner and then for our lunches, I took the chicken we didn’t eat to make chicken salad sandwiches. I have done this successfully in the past. I simply put the leftover pieces of chicken in the Ninja, grind them up, add some pecans, grapes and dressing – voila, chicken salad. I’m telling you, the sandwiches looked devine as I packed them in our lunch bags for the next day. However looks can be deceiving.
away 30 some years ago. I visited my mom and dad on a somewhat regular basis, but during the two years Scott and I were dating, I headed down highway 270 at least once a month. One of the interesting sites along the road is this pasture with multiple cars parked out by the highway. For some reason, I always notice these cars as they mark the spot where I am about 7 miles from home. These cars have been parked here for years. Really, I’ve glanced at these cars as I drove by for as long as I can remember. I’ve never seen anyone stop and look at them as if they might want to purchase them. I’ve never seen a sign marking the price or a price reduction. They are just sitting there waiting to be purchased.
Last week there was the rare event where Scott and I had a quiet night at home. As we were sitting in the living room watching some basketball game, I began quizzing Scott with questions from a FB quiz. After finding out what annoys him most and what makes him proud, we began talking about our “love languages.” This is a conversation we had several times when dating and many times with our children as they were going through their marriage counseling. Our Love Languages are almost in direct conflict with each other. Scott enjoys quality time together while I enjoy acts of service. In other words, I want us to be doing something (working on my “to do” list) and Scott likes to just sit and visit. Scott is great about helping me and doing things for me. I’m still working on sitting still and just spending time together.
Every three months Scott and I make the trek to the El Reno Cemetery to change the flowers on Jeff’s grave. It is a routine we have down to an art. When we were there the first week in September changing the summer flowers out for the fall flowers, we noticed several new graves in the area. We were back again the first week in December changing out the fall flowers for the winter flowers. As part of our normal routine, we were checking out the new neighbors as many of them had headstones up by now. Anyway, the whole time we were there, an elderly man was puttering around at one of the newer graves. He was making the motions of rearranging the flowers on the grave, but really never moving anything. I couldn’t stand it any longer and had to go over and talk to him. It was clear as I approached and looked at the new headstone, he was standing at his wife’s grave. I began the conversation by asking if this was his first Christmas without her. I learned he celebrated their 49th anniversary in November with out her and many other first that
happen during the infamous year of first that happens after the death of a loved one. After we talked for several minutes, he asked me what I’m sure appeared to be the obvious questions, “is this your parent’s grave?” He was surprised to hear that it was my husband’s, but I pointed out Scott, who had been standing there the whole time. I said, “Look, God gave me a new one.” That created quite a laugh and then we were able to talk about living life after the loss of a loved one.
Last Tuesday was just one of those days. It started out in typical fashion. I was headed to work, thinking through my day when I noticed the display panel on my car read “no phone connected.” At the same time, I saw the perfect place to turn around. With breaks squealing, I whirled my car around and headed back home. I called Scott on my watch and began telling him all the places to start looking for my phone. The whole time I was giving him directions, I distinctly remembered putting my phone in my purse before I left. As Scott looked in all my usual phone forgetting spots, I then and only then thought to look in my purse. I was almost back to the house by now when what do you know? I had my phone with me the whole time. If I would have only stopped to think before I reacted and whipped my car around, I could have saved myself 15-20 minutes that morning.
Christmas letters and stuff them in the envelopes. There is a little more involved than it sounds. You have to adjust the print to match the outline of the stationery. As I thought I had everything lined up perfectly, I noticed one line began with “I went to Denver.” I couldn’t imagine why I would have typed such a statement. I did’t go to Denver by myself. I quickly, without thinking or reading the statement in context, changed the I to We and printed 87 copies of our Christmas letter. As I was stuffing envelopes, Scott picked up the letter and began reading it. He got a puzzled look on his face and read out loud. “Scott and we went to Denver???” See, the words Scott and were on the line above and I didn’t notice them. The sentence originally read Scott and I went to Denver, but I changed the I to we. I now faced the decision of whether to send out the letter with the terribly ugly mistake or head off to Hobby Lobby. Well, we ended up going to three Hobby Lobby’s that night to find enough of the right stationery that matched the cards. Again, if I would have taken only a brief second to read the entire sentence before I hastily made the change, I could have saved myself a couple of hours of grief.
The last two weeks have been a little crazy in my head. There have been times I wondered who was living up there because it couldn’t be me. I’m normally very rational and level headed. Strangely the week started out with a full out fit of self-pity. As I prayed one night, I literally made out a list of all the favors, sacrifices and jobs I was doing for others and asked God when someone was going to do something for me. Now, as I type this, it seems utterly ridiculous. But at that time, that night, it was real. I was spent and emotionally exhausted. First, I want to say, I am so thankful for a loving Lord who doesn’t mock the nonsense of such complaints, but instead wraps his arms around me and provides comfort.
It is the worst feeling ever. You are driving along, minding your own business, solving all the problems of the world, when all of a sudden you pass the deviously hidden black & white car. It is too late to slam on the brakes, you have already flown passed it. I always just try to play it cool as I watch in the mirror to see if the officer is going to pull out and follow me or let me continue on my journey. On this particular day, I was taking a different route home from work because I had been to a meeting in a nearby school district. I was fresh off the highway and didn’t realize how quickly the speed limit had decreased until I saw the lights flipping on as I passed by. There wasn’t even time to wonder if I was going to get to keep on driving. Now the question was what the damage was going to be. It is a whole new level of dread. I usually just take the approach of saying as little as possible and admitting my guilt with full apologizes as I await the news of ticket or warning. Today for some reason, I just started in with the excuses mixed in with apologizes: I don’t usually drive this road, I didn’t realize the speed limit had changed, I’m so sorry for not paying attention. After about a five minute chat that digressed from the number of children that lived close by to the fact I needed to go to Wal-Mart to get groceries for supper, I finally received the much anticipated news that I would only receive a warning.
A couple of weeks ago I made a comment to my mom that I thought I should go to the doctor to find out why I was so tired all of the time. In the wisdom that only moms have, she commented, “you could be tired because you never rest.” With that in mind, I decided to keep a log of what I did each day and how often I was able to sit down and let my mind and body just rest. Today is the first day I have sat down in our living room in three weeks. Don’t get me wrong. I’m not working myself to death. Half of what I am doing is fun and includes time spent with friends, but it isn’t restful. It isn’t quiet time.