I have a confession. Ash Wednesday is just the sort of day to make confessions. Remember back in January when I was taking down my Christmas decorations and putting them in the boxes? Everything is in a box or tub. Has been for about 6 weeks.
The boxes aren't all put away yet.
I can give you 458 excuses and reasons why...but the ugly fact remains that it is Ash Wednesday and my Christmas decorations are still in boxes and storage tubs stacked in my family room. It is just shameful. I am really embarassed by this.
I might a well get the rest of it off my chest. My house is a mess, too. A no-fooling, get the gossips talking, tongue wagging, dirty mess.
Now, by this time tomorrow, most of that will be taken care of. We are hitting the 'to do' list with a vengance tonight. I'm taking a vacation day tomorrow to clean and get things in order. (My parents are coming tomorrow...so you can see that I am quite motivated!)
I even mentioned in that previous post that Easter was just around the corner. I blinked my eyes, woke up this morning and it is Lent! Today! Its Ash Wednesday.
I played the piano for the faithful few who attend our 7:00 am Ash Wednesday service. I spent the day with ashes on my forehead. I have been reminded in more than one way today that from dust I was created and to dust I will return.
I have a verse from the Psalms that I pray daily. To me, it just about covers it all. Ash Wednesday is a day that Psalm 51 is read as part of the Liturgy. The Psalm of confession and repentence, The verse I say as a prayer is Psalm 51:10 Create in me a clean heart, O God and renew a right spirit within me.
Oh, how I need a clean heart and a right spirit. If my heart is clean and I am in a right relationship with God...nothing else really matters.
My house, on the other hand, I'll have to do myself. But this evening and tomorrow, I will offer the cleaning of my house to God in an act of worship and praise. I will be thankful for its solid structure and for the bounty we enjoy. For the mud on the carpet that was tracked in by boys who were joyful because they had been out in the melting snow. For the laundry to be done for a husband who is home after extended travel. For the arranging of things to make our guest room comfortable for beloved and most welcome guests. All of these things I will offer with joy and thanksgiving.
Create in me a clean heart, O God.
The rest, I suppose, is up to me!
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
Grandma Lucille
Last Thursday would have been our Grandma's birthday. She would have been 102. I really meant to write something about her on the day, but I was pre-occupied. I think she would have understood. You see, my husband was very sick and I spent the day caring for him. As I tell you a bit about the extraordiany woman Grandma was, I hope you will understand why I think she'd understand that I failed in my goal to write about her on her birthday.
Grandma was a formidable woman. I always had a very healthy respect for her. Not only because I had a justified true belief that she would have jerked a knot in my tail had that been necessary, but also because she seemed like a no-nonsense sort of woman to me.
Going to Grandma's house always meant that we could have all the Pepsi we wanted. Literally. When we walked in the door, she would proclaim that we knew where we were and to help ourselves. She meant that the kitchen was open for business and she was always stocked up for us. I don't recall being at her house as a child that there wasn't a tin of Rice Krispies candy on the table. There were bottles and bottles of Pepsi Cola in the refrigerator. There were oranges and bananas that we could eat to our hearts content. Pringles potato chips, once they were invented...but always some sort of potato chip and M&Ms. If we were there at Christmas, you could add fudge and divinity to that mix...made by her own hand. And better than any I've ever had since.
Grandma saved the Funny Papers for us. When we got to her house, we would run out to the back porch and dig in. Her paper had different funnies than did ours, and we would catch up on Beetle Baily and Blondie. She would save her powder compacts for me. I think she thought I was a little prissy, in fact, I'm sure she did. She would have been right, too. But once she had used almost every speck of powder in a compact, she would put it away and when I came, she would give it to me to play with. She gave me books for Christmas when I was little. Several of them are tucked away in my Hope Chest, as precious treasures of my childhood.
As I grew older, I began to respect her a great deal. I was named for her mother, and she would tell me about Grandma Mollie. Seems I had a lot to live up to, as Grandma Mollie was a longsuffering, kind and very decent person. What I learned from Grandma as she told me about her mother was a sort of reverence for the ties of family that hold us together. And perhaps why my Daddy wanted to name me for his grandmother.
Grandma worked. She worked hard, not only in her home but also outside of it. I wasn't very old when she and Grandpa moved off of their farm in Eugene into the nearby town of Jefferson City, Missouri. Grandma donned a uniform and went to work at St. Mary's Hospital. I'm not certain the exact title of her position, but I believe that she was a nurse's aid of some sort. She began that job when she was older than I am now. Imagine that! I sit at a desk, occasionally counting the days until I can retire. Not my Grandma! She begin a new career when she was older than I am.
I recall her working the 3pm to 11pm shift. I can see her in my mind's eye, like it just happened, sitting in her chair with that blue jumper uniform on, gathering up her things and putting them into her pocket to take to work. I can't even imagine how many people she cared for, but it was always obvious to me that her work was important to her. She might have complained about it, but I don't remember ever hearing that.
She must have been remarkably good at her work, too. Because when she reached the mandatory retirement age at the hospital, which by then had become a Medical Center, she kept on working. She continued to get a waiver to work, until finally they just told her to let them know when she was ready to retire.
Grandma loved her children, Maxine, Bobbie and Ronnie. She loved their spouses, Dick, Charlotte and Sharon. She loved her sisters and brothers. She loved her grandchidren. She was always ready to brag on any of us, if we had done something worthy of bragging. I think she was happiest when all of her children were home and everyone was fussing and teasing.
She was a wonderful correspondant. When I lived in Germany in the late 70's, we wrote letters back and forth. She enjoyed my letters and was faithful to write back to me. The most precious letter I ever got from her, however, was about the time of my divorce. My Daddy had told her that my marraige had come to an end. She wrote to me and said, in short that I was strong enough to make it through this disappointing experience. She told me to stay busy and find meaningful work. Then, she said something that still makes me smile. You have to understand that Grandma's language could occasionally be colorful. She told me that she hoped 'that SOB has to pay you for the rest of his life.'
She certainly was willing to say what she thought.
Her cast iron will combined with her loving care of others are the things that I remember most about her. I try not to carry many regrets with me, but one of the things I regret most in my life is that I didn't take the time to know her more personally. Not just as Grandma, but to know Lucille in a deeper way. I find myself hoping that I'm the sort of person that she would have respected and wanted to spend time with. I wish I had been able to care for her when she reached the end of her life.
I wish I had told her that I respect her and hope against hope that I am more like her than I think.
Maybe...just maybe...I knew how to care for Ed last week when he was sick because there is a little bit of Lucille in me. And, maybe she would find me to have become more than just Miss Priss, as she called me. I do hope so.
Happy Birthday, Grandma!
Thank you for being the example of a good, caring woman of character.
I love you!
Grandma was a formidable woman. I always had a very healthy respect for her. Not only because I had a justified true belief that she would have jerked a knot in my tail had that been necessary, but also because she seemed like a no-nonsense sort of woman to me.
Going to Grandma's house always meant that we could have all the Pepsi we wanted. Literally. When we walked in the door, she would proclaim that we knew where we were and to help ourselves. She meant that the kitchen was open for business and she was always stocked up for us. I don't recall being at her house as a child that there wasn't a tin of Rice Krispies candy on the table. There were bottles and bottles of Pepsi Cola in the refrigerator. There were oranges and bananas that we could eat to our hearts content. Pringles potato chips, once they were invented...but always some sort of potato chip and M&Ms. If we were there at Christmas, you could add fudge and divinity to that mix...made by her own hand. And better than any I've ever had since.
Grandma saved the Funny Papers for us. When we got to her house, we would run out to the back porch and dig in. Her paper had different funnies than did ours, and we would catch up on Beetle Baily and Blondie. She would save her powder compacts for me. I think she thought I was a little prissy, in fact, I'm sure she did. She would have been right, too. But once she had used almost every speck of powder in a compact, she would put it away and when I came, she would give it to me to play with. She gave me books for Christmas when I was little. Several of them are tucked away in my Hope Chest, as precious treasures of my childhood.
As I grew older, I began to respect her a great deal. I was named for her mother, and she would tell me about Grandma Mollie. Seems I had a lot to live up to, as Grandma Mollie was a longsuffering, kind and very decent person. What I learned from Grandma as she told me about her mother was a sort of reverence for the ties of family that hold us together. And perhaps why my Daddy wanted to name me for his grandmother.
Grandma worked. She worked hard, not only in her home but also outside of it. I wasn't very old when she and Grandpa moved off of their farm in Eugene into the nearby town of Jefferson City, Missouri. Grandma donned a uniform and went to work at St. Mary's Hospital. I'm not certain the exact title of her position, but I believe that she was a nurse's aid of some sort. She began that job when she was older than I am now. Imagine that! I sit at a desk, occasionally counting the days until I can retire. Not my Grandma! She begin a new career when she was older than I am.
I recall her working the 3pm to 11pm shift. I can see her in my mind's eye, like it just happened, sitting in her chair with that blue jumper uniform on, gathering up her things and putting them into her pocket to take to work. I can't even imagine how many people she cared for, but it was always obvious to me that her work was important to her. She might have complained about it, but I don't remember ever hearing that.
She must have been remarkably good at her work, too. Because when she reached the mandatory retirement age at the hospital, which by then had become a Medical Center, she kept on working. She continued to get a waiver to work, until finally they just told her to let them know when she was ready to retire.
Grandma loved her children, Maxine, Bobbie and Ronnie. She loved their spouses, Dick, Charlotte and Sharon. She loved her sisters and brothers. She loved her grandchidren. She was always ready to brag on any of us, if we had done something worthy of bragging. I think she was happiest when all of her children were home and everyone was fussing and teasing.
She was a wonderful correspondant. When I lived in Germany in the late 70's, we wrote letters back and forth. She enjoyed my letters and was faithful to write back to me. The most precious letter I ever got from her, however, was about the time of my divorce. My Daddy had told her that my marraige had come to an end. She wrote to me and said, in short that I was strong enough to make it through this disappointing experience. She told me to stay busy and find meaningful work. Then, she said something that still makes me smile. You have to understand that Grandma's language could occasionally be colorful. She told me that she hoped 'that SOB has to pay you for the rest of his life.'
She certainly was willing to say what she thought.
Her cast iron will combined with her loving care of others are the things that I remember most about her. I try not to carry many regrets with me, but one of the things I regret most in my life is that I didn't take the time to know her more personally. Not just as Grandma, but to know Lucille in a deeper way. I find myself hoping that I'm the sort of person that she would have respected and wanted to spend time with. I wish I had been able to care for her when she reached the end of her life.
I wish I had told her that I respect her and hope against hope that I am more like her than I think.
Maybe...just maybe...I knew how to care for Ed last week when he was sick because there is a little bit of Lucille in me. And, maybe she would find me to have become more than just Miss Priss, as she called me. I do hope so.
Happy Birthday, Grandma!
Thank you for being the example of a good, caring woman of character.
I love you!
Sunday, January 17, 2010
The Aroma of Peace
My little short legs have just been a-pumping the past few days. Everywhere I walk, it is with purpose and a task in mind.
We had a weather event (who comes up with these phrases?) last week and The Church House was closed on Thursday afternoon and Friday. So, last week was a short week.
Next week would be a short week, with a Monday holiday, but mine is really short. I’m adding 2 vacation days to that to spend a few days with my absent husband who is at the _______ in _______! (I’m not saying because people seem to hate me when I say where I’m going. )
I’ve spent all week catching up so I can get ahead, if that makes sense.
That doesn’t even account for the fact that there was an earthquake inHaiti and The Church House is buzzing with activity regarding aid for Haiti
It seems like the world is just out of kilter, you know?
Oh, did I mention that I sang at a funeral on Monday and am singing at a funeral this afternoon? Quite the bookends for my work week.
Anyway, I rushed into the kitchen to grab a cup of coffee (and wouldn’t you know that I had to make it myself). While impatiently waiting for it to drip on through and tapping my little size 6 foot and thinking of the 949 things that I needed to be doing, I took a deep breath.
I inhaled the wonderful aroma of cinnamon baking. Today is Friday. Every Friday morning, the children in the daycare get ½ slice of cinnamon toast for their morning snack.
I closed my eyes and was instantly transported into a very warm kitchen, sitting as close to the radiator as I could get, reading a book out loud to myMother , who was at the kitchen sink. Snow was blowing outside the window, but it was so cozy and safe in that kitchen. Mother would help me with whatever word I might be struggling with, without even looking - which I always thought was some sort of magic. (Several years later, as I practiced the piano, she could walk through and look at me and say, "B flat, Molli". I didn’t figure out how she could do that, either, until my own was practicing the piano. Then, I knew.)
Many, many cold afternoons of my childhood, and there were more than a few - we lived inIowa and Missouri Mother , sipping hot tea and eating cinnamon toast. The aroma of cinnamon toast brings me a sense of safety, of comfort, of knowing that Daddy would be coming home and that everything really was going to be okay.
And, you know what? When I opened my eyes and found that I was still in a world that has seemingly gone completely mad, I felt the sweetest peace. As long as there is cinnamon toast to be made and children to eat it, as long as there are so many people who genuinely care about the victims of poverty and disaster, as long as I trust that God is in control and know that He will meet my needs…everything really is going to be all right. Even if I don’t know or can’t grasp those things, it really is going to be okay.
Sometimes, it just takes the right aroma to make me remember.
Thank you, Heavenly Father, for the gift of music that seems to comfort those who are mourning, for the outpouring of compassion and giving that I have seen first-hand this week, for allowing me to go to _______ to see my Rocket Man and for a so many wonderful fragrances in Your world and our ability to inhale them and find peace.
We had a weather event (who comes up with these phrases?) last week and The Church House was closed on Thursday afternoon and Friday. So, last week was a short week.
Next week would be a short week, with a Monday holiday, but mine is really short. I’m adding 2 vacation days to that to spend a few days with my absent husband who is at the _______ in _______! (I’m not saying because people seem to hate me when I say where I’m going. )
I’ve spent all week catching up so I can get ahead, if that makes sense.
That doesn’t even account for the fact that there was an earthquake in
It seems like the world is just out of kilter, you know?
Oh, did I mention that I sang at a funeral on Monday and am singing at a funeral this afternoon? Quite the bookends for my work week.
Anyway, I rushed into the kitchen to grab a cup of coffee (and wouldn’t you know that I had to make it myself). While impatiently waiting for it to drip on through and tapping my little size 6 foot and thinking of the 949 things that I needed to be doing, I took a deep breath.
I inhaled the wonderful aroma of cinnamon baking. Today is Friday. Every Friday morning, the children in the daycare get ½ slice of cinnamon toast for their morning snack.
I closed my eyes and was instantly transported into a very warm kitchen, sitting as close to the radiator as I could get, reading a book out loud to my
Many, many cold afternoons of my childhood, and there were more than a few - we lived in
And, you know what? When I opened my eyes and found that I was still in a world that has seemingly gone completely mad, I felt the sweetest peace. As long as there is cinnamon toast to be made and children to eat it, as long as there are so many people who genuinely care about the victims of poverty and disaster, as long as I trust that God is in control and know that He will meet my needs…everything really is going to be all right. Even if I don’t know or can’t grasp those things, it really is going to be okay.
Sometimes, it just takes the right aroma to make me remember.
Thank you, Heavenly Father, for the gift of music that seems to comfort those who are mourning, for the outpouring of compassion and giving that I have seen first-hand this week, for allowing me to go to _______ to see my Rocket Man and for a so many wonderful fragrances in Your world and our ability to inhale them and find peace.
Wednesday, January 6, 2010
‘Tis Done. Its Over. I am Finished!
I looked at the beautiful lights on the sweet Christmas tree that I swiped and unplugged them this morning. I’m not tired of it yet, but think I ought to turn it off and take it down before I am tired of it.
Same with most of the other decorations. Putting them away is such a hateful task. This year, however, I am determined to do it cheerfully. No whining. No putting it off until the Super Bowl (not a joke…I’ve gotten away with that one before). It’s coming down. Like a K-Mart flashing Blue Light Special…everything must go!
I have never understood the rush in which some folks de-deck their halls. That’s okay. I don’t have to understand it. I always enjoy my Christmas decorations so much more AFTER Christmas. After the tasks of wrapping presents, baking, exchanging gifts, attending functions-after all those things are finished, I quietly and thoroughly enjoy my decorations. Some of them are ancient and are really showing their age.
There is the set of choir children that were at my Grandmother’s house. They are the tackiest things you ever saw. They have rhinestone eyes. One of them has lost its head, and the crack where it was glued back on is jagged and black. There are 3 of them and my precious Neenie bought them to represent my older brothers and me. They came with blonde hair. Neenie painted the hair on one brown, because I wasn’t blonde.
There is the tinsel star that adorned my first tree after I married and left home. It was shiny and bright in 1977. It is pretty ragged now, but it touches my heart and reminds me of a very sweet Christmas long ago and far, far away.
I have a felt stocking with just an “M” on it because ‘Mollianne’ was too long to fit. It is weary looking with age, but I hang it with a tear each year. My Neenie made it for me when I was a baby. It was my very first Christmas decoration.
I will gently wrap and put away the pickle that has been such a joke between Rocket Man and Boy Wonder. The funny gingerbread man and the clay angel that my youngest step-daughter made for me when she was in the 4th grade. My nativity set, many of the pieces were gifts from Annie. A handmade bread dough ornament that was on a gift to Jamie when he was only 4 months old. Angels from Grandma Buster’s tree. All very dear, dear friends it seems.
As I lovingly wrap all of them up and put them carefully away, I will whisper prayers for the people and places that they bring to mind. The laughter and tears of many holidays and the hope of many to come. As much as I cherish them all, it is time to put them in the red and green plastic tubs and haul them back to storage.
While I try to hold the wonder and awe of the Christ Child in my heart all year, I must move away from the manger to know the whole story. Rest well in your wrapping paper and plastic tubs, my lovely ornaments and decorations and lights. You have brightened my days and from what you represent, a great Light has been seen.
Same with most of the other decorations. Putting them away is such a hateful task. This year, however, I am determined to do it cheerfully. No whining. No putting it off until the Super Bowl (not a joke…I’ve gotten away with that one before). It’s coming down. Like a K-Mart flashing Blue Light Special…everything must go!
I have never understood the rush in which some folks de-deck their halls. That’s okay. I don’t have to understand it. I always enjoy my Christmas decorations so much more AFTER Christmas. After the tasks of wrapping presents, baking, exchanging gifts, attending functions-after all those things are finished, I quietly and thoroughly enjoy my decorations. Some of them are ancient and are really showing their age.
There is the set of choir children that were at my Grandmother’s house. They are the tackiest things you ever saw. They have rhinestone eyes. One of them has lost its head, and the crack where it was glued back on is jagged and black. There are 3 of them and my precious Neenie bought them to represent my older brothers and me. They came with blonde hair. Neenie painted the hair on one brown, because I wasn’t blonde.There is the tinsel star that adorned my first tree after I married and left home. It was shiny and bright in 1977. It is pretty ragged now, but it touches my heart and reminds me of a very sweet Christmas long ago and far, far away.
I have a felt stocking with just an “M” on it because ‘Mollianne’ was too long to fit. It is weary looking with age, but I hang it with a tear each year. My Neenie made it for me when I was a baby. It was my very first Christmas decoration.
I will gently wrap and put away the pickle that has been such a joke between Rocket Man and Boy Wonder. The funny gingerbread man and the clay angel that my youngest step-daughter made for me when she was in the 4th grade. My nativity set, many of the pieces were gifts from Annie. A handmade bread dough ornament that was on a gift to Jamie when he was only 4 months old. Angels from Grandma Buster’s tree. All very dear, dear friends it seems.As I lovingly wrap all of them up and put them carefully away, I will whisper prayers for the people and places that they bring to mind. The laughter and tears of many holidays and the hope of many to come. As much as I cherish them all, it is time to put them in the red and green plastic tubs and haul them back to storage.
While I try to hold the wonder and awe of the Christ Child in my heart all year, I must move away from the manger to know the whole story. Rest well in your wrapping paper and plastic tubs, my lovely ornaments and decorations and lights. You have brightened my days and from what you represent, a great Light has been seen.…and Easter is coming….
Friday, December 25, 2009
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
Not the Same
Ok. I have it. A bad case. Practically incurable. It’s Christmas Fever. Very common this time of year. I’m not sure that I’ve ever had it this bad before. I don’t remember the little details of the Christmas season bringing me this much joy before. The decorations are prettier, the town square twinkles brighter, and the songs sound sweeter! I even put up my very first adult Christmas tree! It’s a four foot tall white tree with white lights and black and red balls on it. A smile leaps upon my face every time I look at it. I might have even told it goodnight last night when I unplugged it.
So why do I have such a bad case this year? Beats me. I’m not going anywhere different for Christmas. Just going to mom’s house like usual. I’m not expecting any kind of amazing gifts this year. I don’t have obscene amounts of money in which to lavish my children with extraordinary gifts. We keep it simple. I haven’t lost anyone, we’re not gaining anyone. There is nothing new this Christmas.
Except maybe there is. Maybe I’m not the same person I was last Christmas. Maybe I’m the something new. Maybe knowing that I can get my son everything he asked for this year is different. Maybe knowing that I can surprise my other son with my newfound knowledge of what is cool this year is new. (I am SO not cool. I learned where to find good advice.) Maybe my own joy in doing something I love has changed Christmas for me this year. Maybe my heart has been changed this year. I’ve got through a lot in the past year. Seems like I do every year. But I really do feel like the Grinch whose heart has grown three sizes! I always thought that I had a big heart that was capable of loving anything, but Christmas just wasn’t at the top of my list.
And now it is! And it’s not the presents, or the songs, or the movies, or decorations, or where I’ll be. It’s as simple as the Lord reaching down and placing his hand on my heart with the message that Christmas is important. It is important for me to walk around with joy in my heart. It is important to have a smile on my face. It is very important that everything I do this season reflect my love of God and his Son. I know all of this. I always have. But sometimes it’s hard to show it. Sometimes me is more important than Him.
But not this Christmas. This Christmas my spirit will reflect His glory. I will be a joyful happy follower of Christ. I will show others just exactly what makes me so happy. I will be faithful to my God. And my challenge is to not do this for Christmas only, but for the rest of my days!
Monday, December 21, 2009
My Favorite Christmas Memory
{Written by Mollianne Eckart. MJ is the daughter of Linda, Charlotte's younger daughter & Mollianne's sister. Thank you, MJ, for sharing this memory with us!!}
Though I have many Christmas memories, there is one I remember very well. Before we moved to Texas, my mom, dad, sisters, and I would take the beautiful drive up the mountain to my Meme and Pappy's house. I knew we were very close to their house when we drove through the tunnel of aspens that surrounded the only road to reach the house. I enjoyed seeing my dad's side of the family, and even though we aren't blood related, you would never have been able to tell. The McCormack family has considered us as McCormacks for as long as I can remember. We aren't guests at their house, we are family.
We would step out of our car and be greeted at the door, by whoever saw us drive up first or hear our knock on the door. This most often was Meme and Pappy. We would go through the usual greetings of hugs and smiles. It was always exciting to see my Aunt Kellie, Uncle Sean & Aunt Leslie, Uncle Mike & Trish, Uncle Kevin & Aunt Amy, and even sometimes Christopher.
But there was one Christmas that I remember very clearly. It's not a joyful memory, just one I look back on and laugh because it seemed like such a "me" thing to do.
Leading up to Christmas Eve, when we go to the McCormack's, my mom had me and my sisters practicing the song "The Night Before Christmas" on her Amy Grant CD. Every time we got in the car, we practiced. When we were at home, we practiced. Just me, BobbieJo, and Sami, singing along to the music. We were going to sing it in front of everyone on Christmas Eve.
Well, it was Christmas Eve, and everything was going as usual. We had eaten one of Meme's delicious meals, and we had just finished opening presents (which we always did on Christmas Eve, then we had stockings on Christmas). And then, it was showtime, what me and my sisters had been practicing for. We were standing in front of everyone at the house, about to begin the song. Well me, being the shy little girl I was, wasn't too fond of having to stand in front of everyone and sing. Suddenly, I started to cry and cry. I told my mom I didn't want to do it anymore. In a sympathetic voice she asked, "We have been practicing forever, why are you scared?" I shrugged, and then she told me to go sit with my dad.
Again, I have no idea why I remember this so well, haha, but it makes me laugh every once in a while.
I know my story wasn't anything near Aunt Mollianne's, or my Munner's, but I thought this blog deal was cool and wanted to participate.
I love you all, and love reading all the stories(:
-Mollianne Jordan Eckart
Though I have many Christmas memories, there is one I remember very well. Before we moved to Texas, my mom, dad, sisters, and I would take the beautiful drive up the mountain to my Meme and Pappy's house. I knew we were very close to their house when we drove through the tunnel of aspens that surrounded the only road to reach the house. I enjoyed seeing my dad's side of the family, and even though we aren't blood related, you would never have been able to tell. The McCormack family has considered us as McCormacks for as long as I can remember. We aren't guests at their house, we are family.
We would step out of our car and be greeted at the door, by whoever saw us drive up first or hear our knock on the door. This most often was Meme and Pappy. We would go through the usual greetings of hugs and smiles. It was always exciting to see my Aunt Kellie, Uncle Sean & Aunt Leslie, Uncle Mike & Trish, Uncle Kevin & Aunt Amy, and even sometimes Christopher.
But there was one Christmas that I remember very clearly. It's not a joyful memory, just one I look back on and laugh because it seemed like such a "me" thing to do.
Leading up to Christmas Eve, when we go to the McCormack's, my mom had me and my sisters practicing the song "The Night Before Christmas" on her Amy Grant CD. Every time we got in the car, we practiced. When we were at home, we practiced. Just me, BobbieJo, and Sami, singing along to the music. We were going to sing it in front of everyone on Christmas Eve.
Well, it was Christmas Eve, and everything was going as usual. We had eaten one of Meme's delicious meals, and we had just finished opening presents (which we always did on Christmas Eve, then we had stockings on Christmas). And then, it was showtime, what me and my sisters had been practicing for. We were standing in front of everyone at the house, about to begin the song. Well me, being the shy little girl I was, wasn't too fond of having to stand in front of everyone and sing. Suddenly, I started to cry and cry. I told my mom I didn't want to do it anymore. In a sympathetic voice she asked, "We have been practicing forever, why are you scared?" I shrugged, and then she told me to go sit with my dad.
Again, I have no idea why I remember this so well, haha, but it makes me laugh every once in a while.
I know my story wasn't anything near Aunt Mollianne's, or my Munner's, but I thought this blog deal was cool and wanted to participate.
I love you all, and love reading all the stories(:
-Mollianne Jordan Eckart
"MJ"
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