Category Archives: Faith

Letters to Camp: Two Parents’ Mission to Fire Off Daily Missives

Sean joins Bryan for a photo on his cabin cot at Summer’s Best Two Weeks camp in Somerset, PA.

Our adventurous kids head to the same overnight Christian sports camp every year–Summer’s Best Two Weeks in Somerset, PA, a not-too-distant rural suburb of our beloved Steelers’ hometown. I could wax poetic about the picturesque location: pine-draped shoreline cuddled up close to a deep blue reservoir, two-story timber cabins reaching skyward, peeking through the pine needles to watch the sun rise over the breeze-tickled water.

With every trip to deliver and retrieve our camp-loving kiddos, my husband and I find ourselves standing in awe of the place our children are blessed to call home for two weeks of every summer. If only we’d had the chance to experience this camp, with its Christian foundation, its glorious shoreline location, its boundless sports activities, its mentoring counselors, and inspiring staff. We are hooked–which means we’ve become some of the most prolific writers of letters to camp–at least in our small part of this great big world. We’ve learned some valuable lessons along the way, ones I thought I’d share today on this blog.

AT SB2W, the only way form of communication between parents and children are letters–no emails or phone calls. Of course, if you’re worried about your flesh and blood (which happened to me in year one), you can call the staff office and have them check on your camper. That calmed my worries as a camp mom newbie. Now, after six summers, I know when to send mail, how often, what to include in care packages, and when to expect mail from my campers–so I do not succumb to another parental panic attack.  So here goes, with a top ten list:

(1) Mail delivery is a BIG DEAL at every camp. You must make time to write. Think Blue’s Clues’ mail time. Imagine every camper sitting on their cots waiting to see if the counselors will utter the most-wanted phrase of the afternoon: “You’ve got mail.” Recognize this, and get your pen and paper ready, with plenty of stamps on your desktop.

(2) Make sure that your first letter or care package arrives BEFORE your camper does. That way, he/she will have a letter on day one or two–depending on how quickly mail is dispersed.

(3) Add a family photo to the first delivery, whatever form that takes. Better yet, fill a dollar-store photo album with family pics and include it in your first care package (or even sneak it into their duffel bag without their knowledge). This little reminder from home will help calm the inevitable homesickness. Yes, they all get a little homesick–even the older ones. Don’t fret–it’s normal, and working through it empowers them even more.

Mike, Bryan and Sean pose for a quick photo on the cabin deck, which overlooks the Que reservoir.

(3) Take turns with your spouse, or another willing relative. My husband and I alternate writing letters to all four kids every single day–mailing our final letter on the Tuesday before Friday pickup. We know that any letters sent after Tuesday won’t land at camp before we do. Some days, we’ll both send something–but we know that at least one of us covers the duty daily.

(4) Invite grandparents, aunts and uncles, cousins, even neighborhood friends to write. I send out a family email with the camp address the week before they leave. This year, the kids received a letter from one grandmom, a package from another, a postcard from their NJ cousins, a handmade card from their Aunt Kathy with a $1 tucked inside, and several letters and packages from best friends and–in the case of my older teen boys, letters from their girlfriends.

(5) Zany, over-the-top  letters get the best reception. My husband tells outlandish tales with every missive–and includes an age-appropriate brain teaser that they discuss all the way home. Talking about the mundane stuff at home is tedious to write, and not so interesting to read. Channel your inner child; be wacky for a while.

(6) Pen a letter from the family pet. The kids always get a kick out of hearing from one of our four-legged critters, be it from Des, our pet gecko, Whimsy, Cady’s gerbil, or Jewel and Blossom, our nutty Snowshoe Siamese furballs. Taking on the voice of a household pet leads you down all kinds of imaginative paths. Just go there. You can be sure this will be one of the letters read aloud to cabinmates.

(7) Decorate the envelopes/packages. As a former Creative Memories scrapbooking addict, I have dresser drawers stuffed with stickers and specialty pens. During camp weeks, I pull out my treasure trove of colorful stickers and make nearly every letter an extra special delivery. I use alphabet letters to write messages, or add their names in big, bold colors. I create scenes with beach and zoo stickers (or what have you). A giraffe teeters on a surfboard. A spottted puppy leaps over a globe. My eldest daughter, home alone with the parents, likes to gripe that I spend hours prepping camp letters every day. Well, with four at camp for two weeks, I admit to getting slightly carried away every now and then. :)

(8) Customize a mass mailing. When you’ve got four letters to deposit in the mailbox before noon, there are some days when the handwritten letter just isn’t going to happen. That’s perfectly okay. Fact is, handwritten or typed, every letter delivers a hug from home. I’ll start with one Word-generated letter for Child #1, and then customize a paragraph or two for Children #2, #3 and #4. Sometimes, they’ll all get the same family update–and I still feel like Supermom when I lick the envelopes and beat the mailman to the box.

Maggie and Cady settle into their cabin surroundings, pulling out bracelet-making supplies within 15 minutes of arrival.

(9) Insert a riddle, brainteaser, word search or kid-friendly joke. Just Google what you need. There are so many sites teeming with camp letter-worthy inclusions.

(10) Be good for at least one amazing care package. SB2W, where our kids head every June, doesn’t allow electronics or edible treats of any kinds. So what do you put in a care package that can’t contain candy or cookies? Bandanas, glow-in-the-dark necklaces and bracelets to share with cabinmates, nail polish, tattoos, frisbee, colored pencils and a small sketch pad, books, word finds/searches, colorful Mardi Gras necklaces, facepaint, puzzles, journal, inflatable beach balls, deck of cards, small boxed travel games like checkers or Uno, watercolors, crazy socks, outrageous shoelaces, pre-addressed stationery and stamps, pet photos, crafts like scratch art or friendship bracelet kits, baseball cap or visor, and so much more. For inspiration, visit www.orientaltrading.com. Every year, I end up shipping something to camp that’s necessary–like shorts this year for Bryan, my 6′ 14-year-old, or a second bathing suit to Cady. Amazon Prime is a great resource that always comes in handy at camp time.

As for kids writing home, go with the “under promise, over deliver” philosophy. Manage your expectations. Allow a week for the first letter to arrive. If it makes its way home before then, hooray! Small town post offices can be overwhelmed by the sudden influx of camper mail–and it takes a while to sort and distribute at camp central. Keep writing your letters even if letters aren’t coming home. They’re our children, after all. And we love them beyond words–even those we desperately want to see in their letters home from camp. :)

Be blessed and be a blessing,

Martha, Loudoun Crazy Mom

Hope and Joy meet on Miracle Street for this CF Mom

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Shelby jumps for joy.

I believe in miracles, I really do.

I know that I’ve been blessed with more than my share in my 47 years. I am beyond excited at the possibility of another miracle touching down in my life. Not even two weeks ago, when Shelby and I ventured to Baltimore for her regular three-month checkup at the Johns’ Hopkins Cystic Fibrosis Center, our family received incredibly good news.

Shelby, our college-bound 18-year-old, is eligible to begin taking Kalydeco, the new FDA-approved CF drug that does something no other CF drug before has done: it targets the CTFR protein (the underlying cause of CF), not just the symptoms of CF. For the six years since her diagnosis, my husband and I have operated on the knowledge that Shelby had the F508Delta mutation, the most common CF mutation. Not until I sat in that office chair, an arm’s length away from our doctor, did I realize the magnitude of his news. No, Shelby has G551D, the rare mutation that Kalydeco targets, the gene that only 4% of 30,000 CF patients have. And Shelby not only has one copy of this rare gene–she has two, something only .0004% of the CF population exhibits.

Two hours ago, our direct-mail pharmacy called to tell us that Shelby’s first 30-day supply of Kalydeco arrives tomorrow. This drug could represent the early stages of a super-sized miracle. Perhaps one day, CF truly will stand for CURE FOUND. Today, for me, it stands for CONSTANT FAITH.

This coming Sunday, May 6, our family will walk in our local Great Strides Walk to Cure Cystic Fibrosis–Megan’s Walk, we call it here locally, in remembrance of a friend and neighbor, Megan, who at 15 lost her battle with CF. If you can support the ever-hopeful search for a cure, please visit my walk page and make a donation. At the very least, keep the faith. Hope and joy are plentiful; miracles happen daily. Open our arms wide and receive them.

Be blessed–and be a blessing,

Martha, LoudounCrazyMom

There’s Nothing Routine about Traveling in the Slow Lane

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Lucky me. I pass this beautiful church on my way to and from work each day.

“Slow down and enjoy life. It’s not only the scenery you miss by going too fast–you also miss the sense of where you are going and why. ” –Eddie Cantor

I drive the same winding stretch of a hilly, two-lane highway every workday morning.

I pass the same two pick-up trucks, parked at the end of their long street, waiting for the yellow bus to scoop up their invisible children, their presence shrouded by tinted glass.

The barns. The cemetery. The houses and farmettes. The horses and cattle. The stone church, its white steeple soaring skyward.

Some mornings, I race down this track, tearing through the landscape, not noticing much beyond the time ticking away on my dashboard clock.

Other mornings, like today, I take notice of little changes. A fresh bouquet of red roses stretched out across a grave. A real estate sign, erected overnight. Horses, typically far afield, today pressed up against the split-rail fence nibbling on high grass. The palette of hues–nearly all some iteration of spring green–that now dresses the landscape. The way the sun bounces off my bug-splattered wind shield.

I travel this route day in and day out. As I drove in today, I realized that this road is remarkably like my life–somewhat predictable, winding and a little bumpy, slow when there’s a large obstacle ahead of me,  warp speed when the path is clear.  And on the road, as in my life, when I widen my view beyond the white and yellow lines, there is always something breath-takingly beautiful to witness. Benign, perhaps. Unimportant, according to the world. But in my soul, I feel God stirring.

In that instant, I want to slow down and notice the treasures He’s blessed me with. The postcard-perfect ancient oak tree that waves its muscular arms at me. The fawn and its mother scampering across in front of me. My five children, babies no more, who are making their own journey, bumps and all, down the road of life.

I want to push pause. Stop the acceleration, the race to the finish line. I think I might move over to the slow lane for a while, become a Sunday driver in life. Take in the view. Opt for the detour. Map out the longer, more scenic route. Sure, much of my life is routine. But the way I live it doesn’t have to be.

Be blessed–and be a blessing!

Martha, LoudounCrazyMom

Click above for this week's inspirational tune: "Slow Down" by Third Day.

Letters #12 & #13 of 52: Afghanistan Bound

I do not cease to give thanks for you, remembering you in my prayers…Ephesians 1:16

Today, not unlike most days, I woke up in my extremely cozy queen bed, snuggled up against my always-toasty husband of nearly 22 years. The alarm went off at 6am, but I was lazier than normal and stayed tucked under the quilt until 6:45am, when I finally marched into the bathroom.

I took a steaming hot shower, the kind that peels the wallpaper from the walls.

My husband, Mike, was downstairs already, making sure the earliest risers, Cady and Sean, had everything they needed to head back to school today. We’ve been out for spring break for 10 glorious days. I could smell the coffee brewing as I hurried downstairs, greeting them at the counter and doling out kisses and quick hugs. I grabbed a banana, my ready-to-go travel mug–filled with my made-to-perfection-by-my-husband coffee–and hit the road for work.

My 15-minute drive each morning is along one of the most scenic byways in Loudoun County–Harmony Church Road. Up and down hills I roll, passing pastures flush with goldenrod on one side and rustic stone barns and cattle on the other. I never stop marveling at the view, except of course to navigate that winding country road as oncoming traffic instantly resets my focus.

When I finish my half-day of work, I stroll out and collect my mail. I make myself  lunch–today it was grilled chicken and a sprinkling of feta on field greens. Nothing fancy, but everything was fresh and delicious. Then comes the dogs’ walk, as I have a couple of rambunctious canines always itching to head towards the park for a romp in the lush grass of spring. And now, I’m sitting at my computer typing away, free to say or think or believe or post or pray whatever I want.

I don’t think I ever give that truism enough thought.

The innumerable freedoms I have. So many things I take for granted each day which for millions of people around this world are unattainable luxuries. Running water. Hot showers. A big, comfortable bed. Grass beneath my feet. A roof over my head. My husband and children with me, sending me off to work in the morning and gathered around the dinner table at night. A pantry and refrigerator teeming with foods from which I can choose. Electronics beyond yesteryear’s imagination. A car to drive anywhere I want to go, provided I can afford the $4/gallon gas. Do I have an attitude of gratitude at all times, in all circumstances?

How easy it is to forget that there is a war raging half a world away.

We push aside the unpleasant thoughts of the military men and women stationed at far-flung bases on dangerous foreign soil, with few, if any, comforts of home. For many, their lives are at risk 24/7. We don’t know the families they’ve left behind for three or four tours of duty, some of which last 18 months a piece. Nothing that we incredibly blessed civilians can do adequately expresses the gratitude we must have for the sacrifices military volunteers make for all of us. Yet we can do something, and it costs as little as 47 cents.

Correspond with a soldier and his/her unit. Send a card or handwritten letter. Have your children draw pictures. Assemble and ship a care package. We can make our thoughts and prayers tangible.

Here’s how:  Visit www.anysoldier.com and request a serviceman or -woman’s address. Every branch of the military is represented, so you may choose by service branch, or the state from which the service person hails. Those listed have agreed to receive packages to be shared among all the members of their unit. Once you decide on a recipient or two, you can read their most recent posts, which typically include an update and a wish-list of items. Please, go to www.anysoldier.com today, and show your gratitude through a letter, care package, or donation.

Today, letters #12 and #13 of 52 go inside of two care packages, one for Shane and one for Joseph. both Navy men stationed in Afghanistan. Shane and Joseph, you are each in our prayers. May God protect you from harm, provide for and watch over your families, and return you safely to where you belong, the home of the brave, the land of the free. 

Be blessed–and be a blessing,

Martha, Loudoun Crazy Mom

This care package goes to Joseph in Afghanistan. Before we shipped, Cady decorated every side of the box with special messages and illustrations.

Click above for this week's inspirational tune: "Love is Here" by Tenth Avenue North.

Letters #10 & #11 of 52: Hi Fives to the Young & Fabulous

While we try to teach our children all about life,
Our children teach us what life is all about.
~Angela Schwindt

When you’re a working mother of five children ages 9-18, and the spring track, baseball, soccer, and travel basketball seasons are in full swing, your day-to-day life–what you expect to accomplish and what you actually do–is anything but textbook. Surprises creep in. Mandatory phone calls must be made to fight for your CF daughter’s right to self-carry enzymes. A child comes home from school sick with a nasty stomach bug. The laundry piles grow vertically and horizontally as school clothes and sports uniforms inextricably co-mingle. Longer hours at work to complete a couple of projects means less time at home.

No matter how you slice or dice them, there are only 24 hours in a day. At least seven during which I personally prefer to be snuggled beneath my cotton sheets and Amish quilt. When life is on overload, something has to give. Make that plural: Some things have to give. Over the past couple of weeks, it’s been housework, daily exercise, and this blog. Today, I’m giving myself one hour to write.

So here goes…fast and furious.

Letter #10 is my High Five to sweet niece Charlotte.

For this week’s mission–hand penning Letters #10 and #11–I am making and sending out Hi Fives, bright and cheery hellos to the young and fabulous.

I start with a blank sheet of white paper. I’m using printer paper–but use whatever you have. Grab a colorful Sharpie or Crayola marker and trace the outline of your hand. (Word to the wise: Remove your rings or risk looking like you crack knuckles for a living.) Inside each finger, write a brief message to your most-worthy recipient. No need to labor over the words. Everyone loves mail–especially a child. Have some fun–be visual and vibrant. Add designs or stickers around the page. And be sure to make your Hi Five one that encourages, praises, and loves. You never know…your simple Hi Five may be folded up and stowed away in a sock drawer, only to be pulled out years later when the self-esteem is fragile, but your words are strong and reaffirming.

I’m sending out Hi Fives this week to two young and fabulous kiddos. My first Hi Five goes to the ballerina in our family, my adorable niece Charlotte who, after sparkling in her role in the Nutcracker ballet,  earned the privilege of dancing on pointe this winter. We don’t see her or her two dashing and brilliant brothers, Alex and Andrew, nearly as much as we’d like–as we live three states away. That’s why today’s mail carries a high-five to New Jersey, for the curly-haired brunette who enjoys a Starbucks girls run just as much as her Aunt Martha.

The second Hi Five goes to Cade, my favorite 10-year-old New Yorker.  We met Cade for the first time last summer, when he stayed with our family for two weeks in a visit coordinated by The Fresh Air Fund. The Fresh Air Fund, a NYC non-profit,  pairs awesome inner-city kids, ages 6-18, with volunteer families who welcome these amazing youngsters into their lives and hearts–year after year.  The kids leave the big city for more suburban and rural destinations, where trees are plentiful, bikes roll down paved neighborhood streets, and outdoor play is safe and inviting. Cade will return to our bustling family again this year–packing up his huge smile, adventurous personality, boundless energy, and gentlemanly manners–for another two weeks in this zany household of ours. Five kids. Two dogs. Two cats. One gerbil. One gecko. Plenty of fresh air and wide-open spaces. We intend to make certain we deliver another great summer vacation for a boy who roared into our lives and etched a smiley face on our hearts.

Sean and Cade show their Fourth of July fireworks spirit in matching t-shirts tie-dyed at home.

Find out more about the Fresh Air Fund by clicking on the links in this blog. There’s a boy or girl waiting to steal your heart, and get you back on your bikes, around Monopoly tables, in backyard tents, and rediscovering the simple joys of being young and fabulous in the summertime.

Time’s up–dryer buzzed. and it’s off to the elementary school so I can retrieve my youngest son and deposit him at his afternoon pulmonologist appointment.

Be blessed–and be a blessing.

Martha, LoudounCrazyMom

Letter #9 of 52: Rainbows and Road Trips

rainbow and cow

Beauty seen is never lost, God’s colors all are fast. –John Greenleaf Whittier

Sparrows danced joyfully on the telephone wire. The blue, cloud-dipped sky sparkled with radiant light. The fragrant floral arrangements spilled abundantly over from their sturdy vases.

We who had come for her memorial service were seated in this light-filled atrium, embraced by the beauty of the world around us as we celebrated a life lost suddenly and unexpectedly. When her best friend spoke, she shared indelible memories that the two neighbors created together-family vacations and weekend outings, antique treasure hunts and entrepreneurial endeavors, Starbucks tete-a-tetes and conversations about life.

Just the week before this memorial service, Peggy and Renee had promised each other that they’d open a new chapter in their lives, a time for reconnecting with old friends, those who had shared volleyball bleachers and elementary-school hallways. The friends whose lives, like your own, become consumed by family commitments, returns to the workplace, and family schedules that erase the hours for spontaneous coffee breaks or hour-long phone calls. Renee told us how Peggy would want us to reach out to our friends and family, to rebuild and strengthen those bonds. And how we should all find time to explore the world outside of our front doors.

With that call to action playing in my always-cluttered head, I phoned my parents on Thursday night and asked if I and at least one of my kiddos could come visit–make the five-hour trip south to reconnect. The answer was: “Come on.” We hadn’t seen each other since our family Christmas celebration in mid December. While I cherish my gene pool’s annual gathering, we’re an expansive crew so one-on-one time with any family member is practically impossible. My parents (AKA the grandparents) are in especially high demand.

With a “yes” tucked in my back pocket, our spontaneous trip to Edenton, North Carolina was on. Twelve-year-old, Cady, decided to come along. Just the two of us. I picked her up early from school on Friday, directly from my own half-day at work, and off we went. She pulled out her book, and I cranked up Jaime Grace, Matthew West, and Royal Tailor, quickly cycling through the CDs and then happily stumbling on Christian radio stations, AirOne and K-Love.

I was in a driving groove; my mind quieted. With my tinted Oakleys shielding me from the waning sun’s intense glare, I began to see the colors.

The fire-engine red tin roof on the white clapboard farm-house, a photograph begging to be taken. A brown and white paint nibbling at new growth inside the split-rail fencing.

The rusty orange clay soil, bumpy from tilling earlier in the day, its powerful scent temporarily invading our four-wheeled sanctum.

Daffodils, dressed in rain-slicker yellow, prancing carelessly in perfectly aligned, VDOT-planted rows.

Alien green fields aglow with grassy spring abundance. Cady and I couldn’t get over the vibrant verdant color, deciding it was nature’s reply to Astroturf.

Pale blue skies, dotted with marshmallow clouds that hovered effortlessly over the landscape, showcasing the colors, both God-breathed and man-made, that rested in fields, along roadsides, and in front yards.

Gray and white and chocolate horses, in paddocks along the route. A trio of chestnut and white calves romping in a meadow. Black-speckled ponies conversing in the pasture.

Indigo, violet and orange, stacked one on the other, pressing against the salt marsh as the sun painted its finale across the fading skyline.

Traffic delays and Burger King stops notwithstanding, we pulled into Mom and Dad’s just after dark, honking loudly and repeatedly to announce our arrival. We had a marvelous weekend, beginning with a golden yellow macaroni and cheese dinner. A rambling Scrabble game, aided guiltlessly by an Ipad dictionary app. A father-daughter bike ride. A mother-daughter-granddaughter shopping trip into town. Two Saturday meals out–Nothin’ Fancy Cafe for lunch and Tommy’s Pizza parlor for dinner (both delicious). On Sunday morning, we drove the 20 minutes back into town for the early morning church service, made earlier by Day Light Savings Time’s arrival. Then back to the house for a quick breakfast of pancakes and bacon before getting back on the road heading home.

I’ve seen my fair share of rainbows–even a double and inverted–but this weekend, I was blessed to witness God’s promise one striking color at a time. Red cardinals, boxing with one another for space at the feeder. The first bluebird of spring, perched on the highwire, undoubtedly searching for a place to call home. A metallic blue cruiser, carrying my 77-year-old Dad and Senior Olympian, along his daily four-mile trek (his ever-so-slightly winded daughter puffing alongside). Seven tan Scrabble tiles, lined up to spell URINE, and the shared laughter of three generations as our word choices grew ever more challenging.

It was a weekend lavishly colored with love.

Letter #9 goes to my parents, who on less than 24-hours notice welcomed us with outstretched arms.

I think now is the time to embark on more spontaneous adventures. Put down the must-dos and pick up the want-to-dos. Let’s get going people. God created a colorful masterpiece for us–step outside of the lines of your life and experience a new kind of rainbow. One you build color by color, moment by moment.

Peggy, thank you for all the moments we shared. Even now, you inspire me. I will get out and experience the beauty of this wonderland we call home. You, my friend, are deeply missed.

What a privilege to be here on the planet to contribute your unique donation to humankind. Each face in the rainbow of colors that populate our world is precious and special.–Morris Dees

Be blessed–and be a blessing,

Martha, LoudounCrazyMom

P.S.–In honor of rainbows and road trips, check out this recipe: Colorful Vegetable Fajitas.

Click above for this week's inspirational tune: "You Lead" by Jaime Grace

Letter #8 of 52: Being 12 is Be-You-tiful

Since love grows within you, so beauty grows. For love is the beauty of the soul. –Saint Augustine

Raise your hand if you’d trade your perfect-fitting, designer-label jeans to be 25 again?

What about 18? Could I convince you to step backwards for 24 hours to be a newly minted adult once more?

Now, give me a show of hands if you’d willingly leap into the body of a 12-year-old tomorrow. Not so fast, eh?

My beautiful daughter, Cady, fourth of our five, celebrated her 12th birthday on February 24. It was a fast-paced, fun-filled night. The archetypal middle-school celebration with cheesy rounds of pizza and bowls bursting with gummy bears, M&Ms, and Twizzlers. There were squeals and shouts as the girls challenged one another to Just Dance 3 showdowns. And scampering feet treading rambunctiously up and down our basement stairs.

Megan applies eye shadow to Cady's lids.

Cady, Megan, and the birthday beauties show off their Mary Kay-enhanced natural glows.

Happy Birthday to our beautiful 12-year-old!

Perhaps best of all, there was another mom here, my Mary Kay consultant, Megan Bennett, whose makeup expertise was the highlight of the night. Ten girls, fresh-faced and naturally beautiful, sat wide-eyed and listened as the cosmetics queen bequeathed her skin care know-how during a one-hour makeover session. It was pure preteen bliss.

But as all veteran 12-year-olds can attest, being 12 isn’t exactly easy.

Being 12 is being humiliated by every word or sound uttered by your completely embarrassing parents.

Being 12 is feeling awkward, like nothing fits properly. The legs are too long. The skin randomly erupts with imperfections. The hair is too curly or too straight or too short or too long.

Being 12 is wanting to believe all those amazing things your parents and teachers say about you, but listening instead to the voice of self-doubt blubbering on endlessly in your brain.

Being 12 is never feeling good enough. Or fast enough. Or smart enough. Or popular enough. Or beautiful enough.

Being 12 isn’t easy. Which is why Letter #8 of 52 went to my beautiful, taller-than-average, fleet-footed, creative writing, basketball-and-soccer-playing 12-year-old, Cady. My Cady (pronounced Kay-dee), named after Elizabeth Cady Stanton (writer, mother of seven, and famed suffragist), doesn’t know how incredible she is at 12, when her world seems impossibly challenging. But I do.

Being YOU, at any age, is beautiful. I am proud of who you are, Cady my Lady, and of who you will become.

Being a kid in this hurry-up-and-grow-up world is ridiculously difficult.

Click above for this week's inspirational tune: "A More Beautiful You" by Johnny Diaz

We Moms (and Dads) need to take a few minutes to tell our mini-mes that they are BEAUTIFUL, and that we adore them exactly as they are–even while they roll their eye-shadowed eyes in tween exasperation. Eventually, say by the fashionably mature age of 47, the voice of Truth will prevail (most of the time).

Be blessed…and be a blessing.

Martha, LoudounCrazyMom

Cady's lipstick-shaped cake--in hot pink and lime green--was an easy evening undertaking. Cady made two cakes. Mom cut the shapes, and Cady iced to perfection.

Letter #7 of 52: Russell Up a Smile

A warm smile is the universal language of kindness. — William Arthur Ward

One person, with one heartfelt gesture, has the potential to define another person’s day.

Rustle (rus-tle) transitive verb

  1.  to cause a rustle
  2.  to obtain by one’s own exertions—often used with up 

Russell (russ-le) proper noun

  1. exceedingly friendly cashier at Leesburg, Va, Bloom grocery store
  2. unofficial goodwill ambassador who exhibits stand-out, small-town charm

           

Meet Russell, Bloom's benevolent one-man welcome committee. (real photo TK)

So I started my last blog with the intention of writing about Russell, but my meandering mind couldn’t stumble past the first paragraph about my unhealthy obsession over American Idol. And as it turned out, I needed to write that blog entry…for me. If you, dear reader, stopped and reflected on your own electronic idols, excellent. If you thought that blog was hogwash, let me introduce Russell.

I don’t even know Russell’s last name. Fact is, he doesn’t know my first or last name either. But that’s insignificant mush, my dear friends. Russell is, hands down, the world’s most genial grocery store clerk.  As long as we’ve lived in Leesburg, VA, Russell has been the face of first Food Lion, and now Bloom (same building; upgraded interior and prices).

The Leesburg Bloom is where Russell greets his friends.

Russell is tall and lanky, and the jolliest soul to ever scan a can of beans. It could be pouring down rain outside, or the store might be teeming with customers cramming in a last-minute grocery dash on their way home from work. Doesn’t matter. Russell, when he spots a familiar face entering the store doors, cheerfully shouts across the registers or aisles, “Hi, friend. How ya doing tonight?” I might have had the worst day possible. Doesn’t matter. It’s Russell to the rescue, his kind, irrepressible spirit instantly erasing the irritations and frustrations that happened outside those Bloom doors.

I adore Russell. He makes something so ordinary, the simple act of saying hello, quite extraordinary.  His job isn’t life changing; but his radiant attitude is. Every moment of his workday, Russell is making the world a brighter, more amicable place to be. Letter #7 of 52 goes to my friend, Russell.

If you live in Leesburg, and Russell makes your day when you stop into Bloom for a couple of essentials, show or tell him: with a little note; a bag of M&Ms; a $5 gift card for a little food (I do know Russell likes to eat); or maybe just a spoken thank-you.

Let’s rustle up a community-wide thank-you for Russell, our town’s ebullient ambassador.

Is there someone where you live who makes the world a better place? Let them know, with a brief handwritten note, like I am delivering to Russell, or with words of praise, doled out lavishly.

Be blessed—and be a blessing!

Martha, Loudoun Crazy Mom

Click above for this week's inspirational tune: "Show Jesus" by Jaime Grace.

Letter #3 of 52 Handwritten Missives: A Top 10 List

Lists.

They are ubiquitous, used to quantify or qualify seemingly everything in the world. Think Letterman’s nightly Top Ten.  People Magazine‘s World’s Most Beautiful. Fortune Magazine’s Wealthiest Americans. The New York Times Bestsellers List.

Personally, I classify myself as a habitual list maker. While admittedly I do not like having a laundry list of odd jobs to tackle,  I do enjoy the sense of accomplishment that accompanies crossing off one of those pesky tasks. I did it. I completed a task. At that instant, I am a success. Yeah for me. When I worked in the publishing field, I never left my office without my yellow legal pad stacked with tomorrow’s to-do list.

I use lists to get things done, and sometimes, I use lists to spell out something entirely more important. Like the 45 Reasons I Love My Husband. Or the 75 Reasons I Love My Mom (written for her 75th birthday). Or the 16 Sweetest Things About My 16-Year-Old.

So today, with lists on my mind, I am employing the universality of a list to write Letter #3 of my promised 52 handwritten letters.

Today, my handwritten, postage-stamped-and-mailed letter takes the form of a top ten list:

The Top Ten Reasons You Make the World a Sunnier Place.

1. You always answer the phone with joy in your voice, a warmly spoken welcome that says you have time for me, you are listening.

2. Your smile lights up the office. It’s always there, no matter the weather, or the time of day, or the business at hand.

3. Regardless of how long your own to-do lists may be, you stop what you’re doing and greet me by name.

4. You know my family, and each child’s name–even those who aren’t in your school yet. How do you do that…for all of us?

5. You are incredibly dependable and so respected. We parents can always count on you to know the answers, offer solutions, and provide support.

6.  Your desk is proudly cluttered with all kinds of handmade treasures, many of them given with love by students or their families.

7. You love your job. Abraham Lincoln said: “Whatever you do, do your best.” Every day, you do your best, for all of us. Thank you.

8. You are God’s loving presence in a government-owned facility. Yes, there is a Constitution-mandated separation of church and state, but We the People can show our faith in every little thing we do and say. And you do–praise God.

9. You are fun-loving and good-humored–you make me laugh with your witty comebacks, and that inner happiness is catching.

10. You are gracious, kind and giving, and a treasured blessing to all who cross your path. Thank you for being unforgettable you.

Now it’s your turn.

You might know the intended recipient of this list letter. In fact, you may have someone similar in mind for your own letter. Go ahead and make a list. A top ten list. A top five list. A list of the 20 things someone does to make you smile or feel loved.

Make a list that makes a difference.

Use Letter #3 to encourage, appreciate, or celebrate. Imagine your child or spouse finding just such a list tucked under their pillow tonight, or in the car seat tomorrow morning as he or she heads to work.

Okay, so back to my own to-do list. Write blog: check.  Write letter: check (as soon as I get off here–just need to put it in ink). Make chicken noodle soup for dinner:…..coming up!

Be blessed–and be a blessing,

Martha

One Loudoun Crazy Mom

Letter #2 of 52: A Horrendous Day Heads North, Thanks to Compassion

I just set my kitchen timer. 30 minutes.

That’s all I am allowing myself to draft this post. The Stuff of life is calling my name, and the elementary school bus, carrying my eight-year-old Sean and his buddy, Alex, will be here before I know it. So here goes–on with the 52-week letter writing campaign (the handwritten variety).

One of my favorite quotes...which is framed in my entry way.

Letter #2 went out today, one week after my first letter, and I hope my recipient, a kind-hearted, patient registration manager, will find my handwritten words to be at least half as uplifting as I found her actions to be.

When this crazy notion crept into my cranium a few months ago–to write one hand-penned letter once a week for the entire year–I have to admit I thought I would eventually run out of recipients. But what I am realizing is this: The world is filled with people who need to be uplifted, encouraged, and appreciated (me included). One day at a time. One letter at a time. I have a feeling that God will put someone on my heart every week, and this won’t be my work, but rather His.

So here’s the back story. Last Wednesday afternoon, Shelby and I headed to Johns Hopkins in Baltimore, Maryland, about an hour-and-a-half drive from Leesburg, sometimes longer, depending on traffic. Shelby had a 3:30pm appointment with Dr. Cuffari, doctor of Pediatric Gastroenterology and Nutrition. We arrived at 3:00pm, in plenty of time to complete the necessary, new-patient paperwork. So I get a number, am called up to the registration desk, and quickly realize that our appointment was actually yesterday. My face must have turned ashen, as the registration clerk said, “It’s okay, Mom, we all make mistakes. It’ll work out. Don’t worry.”

I am sinking in sudden despair: We are a day late for an appointment we’ve been anticipating for months–Shelby needs to see the GI doctor ASAP.  She is struggling with pain every single day. But while my brain is trying to wrap itself around the possibility of another month or more of waiting for that critical appointment, I ask if there is any chance that the CF team–located in the same building–can see Shelby today, since we’ve driven 1 1/2 hours for an appointment that was actually yesterday.

Thankfully, Wednesdays and Fridays are also the days that Johns Hopkins holds its Cystic Fibrosis clinics, and though we weren’t scheduled until Friday morning, the CF team graciously agreed to see Shelby. But then another wrinkle appeared–our insurance card had expired, as Mike’s company had switched its coverage at the beginning of the year. The CF team couldn’t complete the PFTs, pulmonary function tests, without insurance authorization. So Shelby and I sat there, waiting, waiting, waiting. She was so angry, lashing out at me for screwing up the all-important appointment. I was crumbling internally, blaming myself, running worst-case scenarios through my head nonstop.

And then one Ms. Evelyn Robinson stepped in. The staff in the back had tried to reach the insurance company. They were put on hold indefinitely. I asked Ms. Robinson if I could use the phone and try. She said it wasn’t necessary, but that I could try. So I called. And I sat on hold for 30 minutes, alternating between squatting and standing at the check-in counter. When I finally reached a human being, I was told to call another number. And you guessed it…another ridiculously long hold. Mrs. Robinson kept checking on me, “Mom, you need a chair?”  ”Any luck, Mom?” And dead-end after dead-end, phone call after phone call, Ms. Robinson kept encouraging me, “Mom, don’t worry.”  ”Mom, it’s going to be okay.” She joined in on the phone calls–trying to find the right company, the right phone number, the right person. And while she called, I made another phone call, this time to Dr. Cuffari’s office, to tell them of the appointment mixup, beg forgiveness, and determine the earliest time they could fit Shelby in. God is so good. He gave me Ms. Robinson on one end, and a helpful, accommodating young lady on the other line. They could see Shelby on Friday–in Frederick, Maryland, an hour closer than Hopkins, and she could attend the first half of the school day. Did I mention that God is good?!

In the end, the insurance information didn’t come through until after we’d left the offices. But everyone at the CF center stayed 30 minutes beyond quitting time to see and treat Shelby. Yes, they went ahead and did the PFTs. As the doctor explained, “We’re not going to let red tape get in the way of treating Shelby.”

On our way out, I stopped and told Ms. Robinson how grateful I was for her help and support. And I gave her a huge hug, breaking into tears of thanksgiving in her arms. I think Shelby was a little embarrassed, but she wasn’t mad anymore. She knew that I’d done all I could to repair the mistake. So the anger and frustration dissipated, and we chatted all the way home, stopping briefly for Chick-Fil-A.

That Wednesday afternoon should have gone down as one of the worst days ever. Instead, I walked out feeling whole, extremely blessed by everyone at Hopkins, particularly Ms. Robinson, and realizing exactly to whom I’d be writing my second letter.

Through our words and actions, we all have the power to influence someone’s day–to raise them up, or to knock them down. We can choose to be inpatient, rude, or condescending. Or we can choose to be Ms. Robinson, who saw a mother struggling, and who offered compassion, patience, and encouragement. Another person might have dismissed me–told me to go home, that there was nothing they could do, that it was all my fault.

Wednesday is a day I will never forget, not because of everything that went wrong, but because of everything–and everyone–that went right.

Every day is just ONE day. A reminder to myself (and you) to take one day at a time:

“Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own” (Matthew 6:34).

Are you anything like me? I need inspiration and encouragement, to know that I am not ever alone in my trials. That my failures do not make me unlovable or unworthy. God is always with me, but sometimes I forget to be still and listen so I can hear His call. God’s love is second to none…which is just one of the many reasons I love this website:  www.iamsecond.com. Real people. Real stories about the power of God’s faithful love, boundless forgiveness and eternal presence. I invite you to watch and share with those you love.

My husband gets home tonight after four days at the Consumer Electronics Show in Las Vegas. Maybe Letter #3 will be a love letter to my husband of 21 years. Mmmmm….

Thanks for reading–a little or a lot of my blog. Stop by anytime for the ramblings of a mother of five. :)

Be blessed–and be a blessing,

Martha