Who knows where the time goes...

A young mom in India, one whom I have become extremely close to, has three little girls, ages 5, 3, and 1, and she is expecting her fourth child in October; we communicate frequently via WhatsApp, sharing joys and sorrows. We chat about faith, motherhood, friendships, our lives, and of course, raising children. She asked me, “What did you do with kids when they were small, for activities?”, referring to Mandy and Becky. I had to pause for a few moments to think about how to answer that—I am sure she was at her wits’ end with three little girls and being four months pregnant in one of the hottest places on earth. I did not want to give her some frivolous or abstract answer. Going back nearly years is quite a journey, and memories from those days are not easily retrieved from the memory bank—too many cobwebs.

Hitting the rapid rewind button…I was on active duty in the military from the time Mandy, the oldest, was conceived, up until they both had graduated from high school…pause tape at 1984-1986, when the girls would have been under the age of 5. Both Mandy and Becky were born in England while I was stationed there with the USAF until they were 2 ½ and 6 months, respectively. While there we had a cute little house with a fenced yard, and Mandy loved to kick this little blue ball around. She loved feeding her goldfish (sometimes pouring her cereal milk into the fish bowl—not good for Goldy), playing with blocks and stuffed animals, and riding her battery-powered bike around the living room. Remember the part about how Mandy loved kicking balls. Not our best moment as parents, we bought one of those “hamster balls” that you put the hamster in so he can run around the house and have exercise without pooping all over or getting away. Well, Mandy was not even 3 years old (we were not very smart parents, ok?) and we thought she would like a hamster and watching it in the ball instead of trying to squeeze the guts out of it by holding it too tightly.  Right.  She sees the hamster in the ball, giggles, and then screams BALL! and kicks it across the living room.  Poor little hamster never had a chance. His brain was all scrambled I think. Rocking horse, books, bath toys, and rocks were also favorites, as well as anything within reach in the kitchen cupboards. When Becky came along Mandy loved “reading” to her baby sister, sharing her toys, hugging her, and dragging her across the floor by her head—also not a great thing for the baby. (Luckily Mandy outgrew this play behavior before she had her three girls).

Our next duty station was Minot, North Dakota; we arrived in June, 1984 and were blessed to be assigned to a cute duplex on base. Like I said earlier, I was active duty, so their dad watched them during the day; however, I would go home at lunchtime and rush home as soon as I could when I got off work to maximize my time with them. Becky loved getting all the potatoes out of the cupboard and scattering baking pans and cookpots all over the kitchen floor, while Mandy played with her books and sang songs on her karaoke microphone. I read to them every night, and we would invent magical stories using stuffed animals as characters in the fantasies. They loved “helping” wash dishes, putting clean laundry into the toilet, and swimming in a baby pool we had in the backyard. In winter (in North Dakota, from September until late May, with temperatures dropping to 30 degrees below zero), outside time was limited to prevent loss of fingertips and noses; I would spend 30 minutes bundling them up in snowsuits, sweaters, multiple pairs of socks, boots, gloves, etc., for about 5 minutes of outdoor snow fun, during which time they would inevitably lose a mitten, step in a snowdrift and lose their boots, and pee in their snowsuit. Understandably, winter time was indoor time, and they would create elaborate pretend circuses, zoos, magic shows, and plays, even charging us to attend their zoo of caged stuffies under chairs and wash baskets. Puzzles, many times made of cut up old magazines and Christmas cards, were great fun, as were the science experiments we conducted using food coloring and milk, baking soda and vinegar, and balloons.

There were so many moments, precious moments, that were some of the best times in my life...

Reaching Out

Note: I sent this letter in February 2026 to a select group of friends who I could trust, as an update to what had been going on in our lives--it was easier than reaching out to each individual. 

So much has happened over the past year I felt it was best to send an update letter—I know a typed letter seems impersonal, but we have so much going on that it is the best I can do!  Some of you know our situation, but if you do not, I will briefly recap the past two years. 

There we were, living the dream of a retired couple, planning getaways  in a new-to-us fifth wheel RV, hanging out with our two dogs, gardening, going to church, and enjoying visits from and to our kids and grandkids—well my two daughters, anyway. Alex’s daughter, Nicole, is shunning us again, and has ceased all communication with us since July 2023. Nothing really new there, as she has done this before, one time for 10 years, so we really have no good relationship with her or with Alex’s grandchildren, as we did not even meet them until they were 9 and 8. Regardless, we focus our grandparent attention on Mandy’s three lovely girls (Lydia, 16, Molly, 13, and Isabella almost 12), and Becky’s miracle daughter, Sophie, now 10. My brother David, age 74, is intellectually and developmentally disabled; with me as his guardian since 2018, finally has a almost permanent home in North Carolina.

Like I said, there we were, with Mandy and her family serving as missionaries in SE Asia, Becky and Sophie in Gulfport, MS, while Ben was on a remote assignment in eastern Oregon (no base—in the eastern forest of Oregon), and us, well, loving life. House paid for, nice little cars, enjoying our savings from years of work and military service. Thought we had it all together, all planned out, until we didn’t. Mandy and family had to move for the third time in 3 years, and Ben, well, he was only 16 months away retirement eligibility when he did something I can only characterize as stupid, and he got caught, court-martialed and sentenced to a year in the brig, loss of rank, and a huge fine. There went their income, their pension, health care, everything, and their marriage, not in great shape before he went to Oregon, is teetering on the precipice. Becky was in shock, dismayed, angry, and every other emotion, but she still had to raise Sophie and pretend everything was hunky dory. 

So, we did what a lot of other grandparents do—we bought a small house five minutes from Becky, and pitched in financially, emotionally, spiritually, with Alex doing all those things dads do: car repair, tires, fixing bikes, home maintenance, walking dogs, etc. Me? At first I tried to control the situation, but of course we never have control…only God controls it all, so I gave it all to Him…again and again and again. We went to the court-martial last May, then found the house in Gulfport, and have been bouncing back and forth like ping pong balls since then—heck I never know what time zone I am in! But through it all we are learning even more to depend on God’s free grace, and to cherish the time we have with Becky and Sophie, and soon the time we will have with Ben. We enrolled Sophie in a private school, help out with their bills and expenses and errands, and provide both of them a sense of constancy and stability that only family led by God can provide. 

No, I am not bragging about how great we have handled it all, because it has been a mess…a blessed mess, but a mess still the same. I have meltdowns occasionally now, whereas initially my meltdowns and “why me???” episodes were almost daily. We spent Christmas in North Carolina with both daughters and their families (minus Ben, of course)—Brian and Mandy surprised us all by returning stateside for a short sabbatical in late November; they return to Asia on April 1 (there has to be some sort of humor there…) Ben just got released three months early from the brig, and is currently stationed in Jacksonville, Florida, at the Naval Air Station there, pending appellate review and service characterization board. 

Alex has become quite addicted to pickleball, making me a pickleball widow. I am waiting for my right knee replacement to heal completely before I attempt to join him. (Knee replacement was in August 2025). We have made this cute little house a home, with Becky’s and a new friend’s help, and have found a temporary church home while here. Most critical, for me anyway, was being able to find a place to conduct dyslexia tutoring like I had been doing up in North Carolina. Oh how I missed it! For months I contacted everyone I could think of here on the gulf coast of Mississippi, but could not make any headway. Finally, heartbroken and fed up I posted my feelings and frustration on social media; the result was over 200 comments and replies, including over 20 who wanted my help! Without the foundation Wendi Adair and Rosman Elementary provided me three years ago, I would not have been able to do what I am doing now: tutoring four emerging readers, all ages 7-8, twice a week at our local library. 

My heart is full. Right now my husband and granddaughter are in the living room watching Pink Panther cartoons. My dogs are asleep next to me, and we have more than we could ever have hoped for. Becky is a lot less angry, Mandy and her family are going to be here in MS to visit tomorrow, and we are amazed by God’s goodness and how HIS timing is always perfect. Many have asked what our plans are, if we will move to MS permanently, or sell our home in NC, or move back to the log home…there is no answer to that, at least none I have heard. We really miss Destiny Church and watch Pastor Dema online quite often, but it is not the same as being there. 

Please pray for:

• the Stock family’s safe return to Asia and for their girls to be accepted at the International School there
• Ben and Becky to heal their spirits and their marriage, and to be yoked together in Christ 
• Sophie to have less anxiety and to not worry about losing her dad
• Alex and me to be quiet and open to God’s guidance
• My brother David to continue to be happy and at home where we placed him last April
• For the wisdom and knowledge to help the kids I tutor
• For all of us to glorify God in all we do
• For my sanity and for patience—not something I have a lot of

I would love to hear from you, either a note, a letter, a text, a quick phone call. It would make my day and give me a lift. I will, Lord willing, be in North Carolina for our 10th annual Strikeout Childhood Cancer bowling tournament, which is scheduled for May 28 in Hendersonville, NC. 

New wine in an old wine skin

I never fully grasped the concept of becoming a new creation in Christ until just now. Seriously. Here I am in bed, lying next to Alex with one dog on my feet and the other on my hips; I stripped off my clothes after an early morning gardening frenzy so I’m butt naked. Probably too much information, but then, that's me.

Looking around the room, hearing the snores of my bed companions I spot the photo of me with my two girls, a photo I had taken at J.C. Penney’s back in 1987 after I’d made up my mind to divorce Wayne; funny how I clearly remember getting into my Honda civic and driving to the mall with that one objective. To memorialize the singular point in time I realized I had to start a new life. Just a few weeks earlier I’d finally won the battle to have both girls baptized in the Christian faith, something that was a bone of contention between me and Wayne; he only relented when I agreed to his demands that I have my tubes tied—he wanted no more children. That was the final straw. 

All of those thoughts, emotions,  the  resentment, and clarity of purpose are visible to me in that photo;, I belonged to God and could now teach my daughters about love and life and Christ. Emboldened by taking a photo minus my husband, I drove back home and announced my decision to him. He wasn’t shocked or angry; he was surprised however that I had the nerve to tell him what I wanted. But then my baby sister Karen died two months later. It would be 18 months before I could get up the nerve to go through with the divorce.

Looking at that photo I see the same person I am now; well, not exactly the same. I’ve grown closer to God, flourished in his ever loving grace, and put behind me the old me. I am a new creation. From that moment when I chose Jesus.  And I’m older, a bit wiser, a lot fluffier and wrinkly, but that wine, oh the wine of sanctification becomes sweeter with every passing year. Thirty nine years ago I became a new creation, full of new wine in a new wine skin; only now, the wine has aged along with the wine skin, and both are the better for it.

And no one puts new wine into old wineskins. If he does the wine is old and, the wine will burst the skins—and the wine is destroyed, and so are the skins. But new wine is for fresh wineskins.” (Mark 2:22, ESV)

Taming the Tongue

James, brother of Jesus, may have only written one short book in the Bible, but oh what words of wisdom and truth he shares under the guidance of the Holy Spirt.  Words about words, our words, and how humans are incapable of controlling their words. Yes, humans, the most intelligent beings in the world, can do so many things. Man can control the flow of water by building dams, control animals with leashes and reins, control the temperature in our homes through technology, yet cannot control his own tongue.  James warns his fellow followers of his brother, Jesus Christ, about the danger that resides in our own bodies, and advises us, "Not many of you should become teachers, my brothers, for you know that we who teach will be judged with greater strictness." (James 3:1)

Gulp. I think he means me...not only do I spend a lot of time tutoring elementary school children, every moment in my life is a teaching moment, and lately, I am embarrassed to say, those moments have not always been controlled or even kind. Though I grew up surrounded by sarcasm and passive aggressiveness, I have waged a lifelong battle trying to rid myself of any shred of evidence of it, or at least subdue it into submission; sadly, it still rears its ugly head when I am tired, overwhelmed, or under stress. That damn sin of pride, of thinking I am oh so clever, shows itself and shows off. And I hate it. And for a brief moment, I excuse it, because, as James wrote, "For we all stumble in many ways. And if anyone does not stumble in what he says, he is a perfect man, able also to bridle his whole body." (James 3:2)

I can put a leash on my dogs, a choke collar,  or an e-collar, and make them obey me, yet I cannot control my tongue. I've mastered the skill of driving a 2,000 pound vehicle on four wheels by using my hands to steer through heavy traffic and my feet to control speed and stopping, yet I am incapable of controlling my tongue. Such a tiny part of my body can say words of love or spew hurt; and words, once said, cannot be sucked back in as if I never uttered them. 

And why this sudden interest in my tongue? Why do I beat myself up for my lack of self-control? Have I been counseled by a friend to be more careful above what I say? Chided by my spouse for being sarcastic? Misunderstood by someone for a careless remark? No. I am being schooled by a 10 year old little girl who also happens to be my granddaughter. She, too, is wise and witty and sensitive like her grandmother. We have been spending quite a lot of time together over the past 18 months, so she sees (and hears) me at all hours of the day. When I am tired, in pain, hungry, irritated, preoccupied, startled, asleep, engrossed in phone notifications, playing a game, doing laundry, talking on the phone, interacting with my husband, washing my face, brushing my teeth, going to church...yes, everyday life. Like any parent with a 10 year old and a life. 

But I have grown lazy and prideful and comfortable with my dry humor, smart-ass remarks and witticisms. Our children are grown with their own kids now. I assume that because I am a parent and a grandparent, I can get away with it all, you know, with "just being me."  They will "get" it, right? The sighs and off hand remarks will go unnoticed, right?

Wrong. That little 10 year old is smart as a whip, reads well above her grade level, does not miss a beat, adores me, and knows how much I adore her. Dangerous combination.  And a perfect opportunity for me to be taken to task for being obtuse, and schooled on how to be present when caring for and guiding a fragile, malleable child, especially one who has complete trust in me and believes everything I say. 

"For every kind of beast and bird, of reptile and sea creature, can be tamed and has been tamed by mankind, but no human being can tame the tongue. (James 3:8)

Well, no human being with the exception, perhaps, of one little girl lovingly reminding her grandma she should try.

Funny how the Lord employs those we think we are teaching to teach us!

Not how I thought it'd be

When I was in my 20s, 30s, and 40s, I figured that when I got old, I would have it all figured out, that I would always know what to do, and that people would ask me for advice. I thought my children would put me on a pedestal and honor me for what a great job I did. I thought I would have girlfriends my age and we would go on annual girls' trips, write each other letters, and meet every so often to drink wine. I figured I would know how to dress classy, and look all put together. I would know exactly what to say no matter what the situation, I would always be in control of my emotions, my children and grandchildren would adore me, and my husband would still think I was sexy. I would spend my days visiting friends, taking cookies to nursing homes, sewing clothes, making quilts, and gardening, and at night I would relax and read, knit, and watch old movies. I swore I would never be one of those old people who had to plan things around doctor's appointments, that I would have more interesting things to talk about than my aches and pains and the weather. I definitely would not gain weight, well, not more than five pounds, and I would fit into my wedding dress 40 years later. I would achieve my dream of riding on the Orient Express, and attending at least three operas at the Met in NYC. I would drink wine, eat cheeses and gourmet chocolates, and would never, ever have acid reflux or pass gas in public. I would be tastefully dressed at all times, and would even look gorgeous in a kaftan or house dress. 

Well, life at 70 is a lot different than what I pictured it would be. 

I do not always know what to do. Hell, half the time I do not even know where I am (thank goodness for GPS, right?). Sage advice giver I am not; I could be, but no one seems to want to take me up on all this hard earned wisdom I've gleaned over the past seven decades, especially not my children. They are convinced (like I was when I was a young mom) they have it all figured out and will not repeat the same mistakes I made. My girlfriends are few and far between due to 30 plus years working in and for the military--hard to make lasting friends when you are part of the 11% of female military members, and in the top two enlisted ranks. Hard to make friends with someone you evaluate who is also 20 years your junior. So, wine and cheese trips to Turks and Caicos are out, as is that dream of knowing how to dress classy--wearing a khaki uniform and jungle boots for 20 plus years tends to dull your fashion sense. The rest?  I cry at the drop of a hat, hate nursing homes, have very little patience for sewing lately, my wedding dress is long gone, the Orient Express train service closed in 2009, NYC has been postponed the last five years, and dairy, chocolate, and red wine give me acid reflux. 

Where did the time go? All of the sudden, it seems, I am 70...I don't feel like I am 70, or at least I do not feel like I thought I would feel at 70. Lately I feel like I have so much more to do, so much to share, so much to see, but the sands keep trickling (sometimes gushing) through that damn lifetime hourglass. Not complaining. Not at all. I love my life. I love all the bruises and scars and rewards and accomplishments and failures. But damn it, time, slow down already! Seems like just a few years ago when I was donning my uniform to go to work, dropping off my girls at the bus stop in Ruthville, ND, celebrating my 5th and 10th and 20th annivesaries with the love of my life. I have so many things I want to know, books to read, kids to help, scripture to understand, friends to share time with, but the minutes, no, the days and weeks, are rushing by me too fast, so fast I feel like I cannot catch my breath, like my heart is beating so fast, and I tell it to slow down, slowwwwww way down, don't waste any of those heartbeats, because God only gives us so many to start with. I cannot sleep sometimes because I have so much to say and see and write. There are people who I have hurt that I have to hug. People who have hurt me that I need to forgive. I want to share so much with my kids, my granddaughters. Most of all, I want to focus on reflecting Christ in all I do, to do what God put me on this earth to accomplish.

On the bright side, my husband and my granddaughters adore me.