Teaching Sunday School with a Hangover

I taught Sunday School at our church for about seven years and my daughter, Laurel, served as my helper. We stepped down a little over a year ago. 

When I started teaching, I didn't drink alcohol all that much, but occasionally, I did. One Sunday morning I remember feeling the effects of imbibing too freely the night before, and I determined that I would never teach Sunday School with a hangover again.

So if we were at a gathering or party on Saturday night, I was careful to not overdo it. I wanted to be a good example for my second graders in Sunday School the next morning, not to mention my daughter and helper, Laurel. I made a pact with myself, and did my best to keep it.

Two years ago, however, the St. Patrick's Day parade was a perfect storm.

I had run 10 miles early with my friend, Kristen. (I know this because I keep a 10-year diary, a habit I picked up from my dad). Then Dave and I planned to meet up with friends at the Monarch on the parade route through Delano. I don't remember if I ate breakfast. I suspect I didnt.

Since the weather was a chilly 40 degrees, I decided to wear my cozy fur coat (which I received from Dave's mom Janet's estate). Since we happened to have some wine in the house, Dave had a great idea to fill up a wineskin and bring our own drinks. Since I am thrifty, I thought that was a great idea. I hooked it over my shoulder and easily concealed it under my fur coat. 

St. Patrick's Day Parade 2017- 40 degrees

So we met our friends and joined the gathering throng to watch the parade.

I was in charge of the wineskin, so it was very easy for me to take frequent sips, but not so easy to share. Dave ended up getting a green beer, and I made surprising progress on the wine. 

I knew at the time that some red wines are triggers for my migraine headaches, but I don't think I realized then how sensitive I am to them. Or maybe I have become more since then. Who knows?

I do know, however, that I drank most of the contents of the wineskin. Then I had a green beer because we were celebrating St. Patrick's Day, after all. Then after the parade we went to the newly-opened Aero Plains Brewery and I had a craft beer but I have no idea which one. We ran into other friends and I remember trying hard to concentrate on what they were saying, but having little success.

It was a little after 3 p.m., for sure no later than 4 p.m. when Dave realized he needed to get me home. I went straight to bed, but had a rough evening and night. I probably took at least one dose of my prescription migraine medicine.

As luck would have it, that was also the weekend to start daylight savings time. Yay! Spring ahead! Laurel and I were scheduled to teach Sunday School at 9:30 a.m., although it would feel like 8:30 a.m. (or zero dark thirty for me!)

As the morning approached I wondered if I would be able to make it. I kicked myself for getting into this situation. I didnt want to bail on the kids and call in sick, but I didn't want to teach Sunday School with a hangover, either. 

I started feeling a little better and decided I could teach. I got ready, had some breakfast, and Laurel and got to church and made it through Sunday School.

We attended second service, like usual. Afterwards, Chuck, our worship pastor, made a special point to come over and talk to Laurel and me. His son, Noah, had been in our 2nd grade class that morning.

Chuck told us that Noah had insisted on going to Sunday School during first service that morning even though it was an hour earlier with the time change because Mrs. Franklin and Laurel were his favorite teachers.

God says we are to come to him as little children, and there are times that He uses little children to deliver His messages of grace. 

At least that was what happened that day, from Noah's sweet declaration that we were his favorite teachers, to his perceptive dad who diligently passed it on, most likely obeying the promptings of the Holy Spirit even though he had no idea how desperately I would be needing that message of grace.

Newborn Love

Almost two weeks ago our oldest son, Caleb, made me a grandma when his fiancée June, gave birth to sweet little Rose Elizabeth.

I immediately fell in love with her when I first saw her five minutes after she was born, lying skin-to-skin on her mother and looking at the new world with wide dark eyes. The next day when I got to hold my little rosebud I thought my heart would burst.

Watching Caleb and June care for the baby over the past two weeks has brought back memories of when that same son made me new mom.
After string of nights with not much sleep and probably unbalanced hormones, I told my husband, Dave, "I don't love Caleb."

Shocked and disbelieving, he said, "You do too. You love Caleb."

"No," I said. "No I don't." And I absolutely meant it. I looked at that baby who I had unquestionably loved the day before and felt nothing. I was certain. I didn't love him.

However, the next day, after finally getting more sleep I was doing much better and could confidently say I loved my baby.

I loved watching his expressions as he moved from sleep to waking, as he started tracking with his eyes, and even smiling. Joy!

But even though I knew I loved him, and could laugh about the one day I had said I didn't, I was aware of my limitations.

I couldn't sit and watch all of his goofy faces all of the time. Sometimes I needed to cook, wash dishes, or tend to the laundry. And even if I left all of those things undone, I still knew that physically I couldn't be present for every smile or cry. Sometimes I had to sleep.

And I thought how my favorite psalm, Psalm 121, says God "neither slumbers nor sleeps."

God's love isn't limited by physical exhaustion like mine was. He doesn't need to take breaks. He can be ever-present. The psalm continues, "He will watch over your life. The LORD will watch over your coming and going both now and forevermore."

God isn't limited by time and space. The same God who knit Caleb together while in my womb (Psalm 139) was around to fearfully and wonderfully make my granddaughter Rose as well. And He loves them--and all of us--with a love that is so wide, so long, so high, and so deep that we can hardly comprehend it (Ephesians 3:17).

A mother's (or grandmother's) love is only the beginning.

Caleb Mark Franklin, 4 days old

Rose Elizabeth Franklin, 10 days old

Couple builds a love that lasts

A Facebook conversation today about Carman and Norma Pate reminded me of when I interviewed them for River Community's Current 11 years ago. Their love story is timeless, worth repeating, and worth replicating.

What's in a Name?

I have a little rosebud! My son, Caleb, and his fiancé, June, had their baby yesterday, February 22, 2019. Her name is Rose Elizabeth Franklin.

Although I agree with Shakespeare's Juliet when she says:

"What is in a name? That which we call a rose by any other would smell as sweet," I am still glad that my first grandchild is named Rose Elizabeth.

June says she has always loved the name Rose. She had a doll named Rose. Rose is her favorite saint. Even as little girl she planned to name her future daughter Rose.

So when she and Caleb were talking about boy or girl names, she said if the baby was a girl she wanted to name her Rose.

Caleb was stunned. "You know, that's my grandma's name, Rosella. Her brothers called her Rose. That's perfect!"

September 2018- Celebrating at College Hill Creamery after the sonogram when we found out they were having a girl.

To me what makes it even more special is Rose is my mom's first great-grandchild. What a wonderful bond for the first and fourth generation to share a name.

Being born in February, the month containing Valentine's Day, is also fitting for a for a girl named after its signature flower.

June's middle name, Elizabeth, was a family name, so she and Caleb used it for baby Rose as well.

My mother's maiden name was Ediger, so she gave us middle names that started with "E." Mine happens to be Elizabeth.

My maiden name was Epp, so if I was to continue the tradition I would need to use middle names starting with "E" as well. I wasn't inclined to do that (how many good "E" names are there, after all?), so Caleb's middle name became Mark, after his daddy David Mark.

But for our second son we really wanted the middle name to be after Dave's Grandpa Earl Franklin, so Harrison's middle name became Earl, which happened to start with an "E." So then with our first and only girl I decided she could have my middle name, and it would start with an "E," so we named her Laurel Elizabeth.

Each Christmas as I read the nativity story I love more and more the way Mary the mother of Jesus finds comfort, companionship, and inspiration during her pregnancy with her also-pregnant and wise Aunt Elizabeth, who becomes the mother of John the Baptist.

So with the name Rose Elizabeth, this little girl baby from the start feels very much like she belongs in our family. And to me, nothing could be sweeter.

Hillsboro Connections

Last fall, I was in the checkout line at Aldi and the cashier said, "I like your sweatshirt."

I happened to be wearing my new Tabor Bluejays hoodie that my sweet husband, David Franklin, bought for me on the day we went to doubleheader football games--Emporia State's afternoon game with Laurel, and our alma mater Tabor's evening game against arch-rival Bethel on the way home.

I like it too. It looks like this:

But what the Aldi cashier said next confused me.

"It's from my hometown."

"This is from Tabor College in Hillsboro," I clarified, thinking he might be thinking of some other place with a bluejay mascot.

"Yes, I grew up in Hillsboro," he said.

"Really? I did too!" I said.

Now I certainly don't claim to know everyone in Hillsboro, which has a population of about 3,000, and I haven't lived there for nearly 30 years, but it still surprised me to find a former Hillsboroian working at my Aldi. Here he is.

He said his name Ronnie and he attended Hillsboro High School in the early 2000s. His family lived in the country, about a mile from Ebenfeld. (Yes, he said "Ebenfeld!").

I mentioned something about Hillsboro sausage, and he asked me if I knew that the World Impact store in Wichita stocked it. Well yes, I had heard that, but I go to back to Hillsboro often enough that I still always am able to pick it up at Dale's Grocery.

"But you can't get Granny's mustard there!" he said.

So of course I had to tell him that our family farm had been only a few miles from the Granny's mustard family. By then I had finished paying for my groceries and the line was backing up so I had to leave.

But on subsequent visits if Ronnie was working we would exchange pleasantries and talk about Hillsboro, best known in these parts for for its annual Hillsboro Arts and Crafts Fair. Ronnie knew the Seibels. Of course, I did too.

When Dave and I married we decided to live in Wichita, his hometown and bigger city with more job possibilities. Hillsboro was just too small-town for us. But talking with Ronnie about Hillsboro was fun because he was genuinely positive about his time there.

The next time I went back to Hillsboro to visit my mom, I picked up Granny's mustard at Dale's. I couldn't wait to surprise Ronnie with it.

Unfortunately, I left it on the kitchen island and someone opened it (Lance), so I had to have my mom bring a new one when she came for Thanksgiving.

The next time I went to Aldi I took the mustard wrapped in cellophane Christmas gift bag. As luck would have it, Ronnie was working.

"Ronnie, I have something for you!" I said when I found him stocking the canned goods. "You have to guess."

"Granny's mustard!" He said, tipped off by the semi-obvious packaging.

We laughed and he thanked me, surprised by the unexpected gift.

And I thought about how much fun I had giving it.

Then we went on a cruise, so I didn't go to Aldi for nearly two weeks. When I went to the store, Ronnie said he had something for me. He gave me a gift bag. Inside was a cute candle in a teacup, wrapped in gold ribbon. He had made it himself! (The wax candle part). I loved it.

Driving home, I wondered how long Ronnie had been waiting for me to come back to Aldi so he could give me this special gift. My gift was just something I picked up for a few dollars at the grocery store. His was handmade.

I decided would take him some peppernuts (little spiced cookies that are a German Mennonite Christmas tradition, as well as a 20-plus year tradition of mine) the next time I went. But Christmas was only a few days away. What if I missed him?

So I when I got home, I quickly bagged up some peppernuts and drove right back to the store.

I told Ronnie how much I liked the candle, and that I wanted to give him my traditional gift of peppernuts. After all, I warned him, "You can't out-Hillsboro me!"

Hair Today

Last summer our son, Caleb, and his girlfriend, June, told us that we were going to become grandparents.

After the initial shock wore off, I wondered how I could get to know this girl who was to become my daughter-in-law and the mother of my first grandchild. June had been over to our house a number of times since she and Caleb started dating in January, but we’d never spent time one-on-one.

I thought about asking her to lunch or coffee, but she was working full-time out at the air force base, and she had beauty school every evening. I didn’t want to take up precious weekend hours.

Then I had an idea:  she could color my hair! I have been coloring my hair myself for several years because I want to cover the gray and I feel having it done professionally is too expensive. I asked June how much the academy charged and felt the price was reasonable. She said I could call her school and make an appointment for a “single process” and they would block out the right amount of time.

I had been to Eric Fisher Academy before, when Caleb was in his long-haired stage as an 8^th grader and I encouraged him to get some sort of style, instead of simply letting the crew cut that I had given him continue to grow out for a year.

Going to a beauty school for hair care is a good deal if you are willing to let students work on you, and if you have a lot of time. I was not concerned about June’s ability to color my hair, and I was wanting to spend more time with her, so I thought this might be perfect.

And it was. I showed up at her school at 5:30 p.m. and June and I chit-chatted through the process of matching the right color. I decided to have her put in some highlights as well. After each step, Molly the instructor (who told me she still remembered Caleb) had to check June’s work and sign off on it. Molly was busy doing the same for all of the other students, so June and I had lots of time to talk as we waited. June took her dinner break while my color was processing. After she rinsed my hair, dried it (a “blowout” I found out it is called now) and styled it, the time was 9:30 p.m. My hair looked fantastic and I was ready to go home and go to bed.

I really hadn’t intended for June to color my hair all of the time, but she asked if I wanted to schedule a root touch-up in six weeks, and I thought, “Why not?” June needed to fill her practice slots, and it was so convenient to have her do it. As a repeat customer, the appointments were quicker because she kept notes on my color numbers, plus as she moved through the program she required less oversight.

Laurel was home from Emporia State on fall break for my next appointment, so she came with me and June trimmed and styled her hair in gorgeous golden waves, and we got to hear how her pregnancy was going (really well) and catch up with each other.

Last week when I showed up June said, “This is your last time here!” She had been putting in as many extra hours as she could to move up her graduation date so she would finish before the baby comes. When she bent over the sink while she was washing my hair she accidentally bumped me with her pregnant belly. That’s my granddaughter in there!

June said she wanted to try curling my hair after she had dried it. I told her to go for it. When I left the academy, I went to Hobby Lobby to get a picture frame. As I was checking out right before closing time, the checker from the other lane said, “I really like how you curled your hair!” I told her I had come straight from Eric Fisher Academy and that my future daughter-in-law had done it. I got similar rave reviews from Dave and Laurel when I got home, and several compliments on Facebook. If only June could style my hair every day!

Two days later Laurel, Caleb and I, along with her family and friends watched June graduate as valedictorian of her class. She gave a speech about “overcoming bumps along the way” that got a good laugh. I think I might have been almost as proud as June's mom, Donna, when I thought about the dedication and hours she had put in to get to that point several months ahead of schedule.

In her speech, June talked about how she has always known she wanted to do hair for a living. Later, founder Eric Fisher talked about how relationships are key in their business. I think June and I agree.

Sparking Joy

For starters, let me just say I did very little on my winter break, and let me clarify that the only reason I had a winter "break" was because our daughter, Laurel, was home for a month from Emporia State University. Hence, my lone reference to an academic calendar.

With my job as co-owner of our lawn service, I am still on winter break, although with my job as bookkeeper, I guess I need to start gathering stuff for the tax preparer. Ugh. But I digress.

So after the hoopla of the holidays, Dave and I were doing nothing (and by that I mean playing Words with Friends, although he is recovering from knee replacement surgery and going to physical therapy so there is his excuse) and Laurel, holed up in her room with Netflix discovered "Tidying up with Marie Kondo."

After she tidied her room, she suggested we tackle the kitchen. I was only too happy to jump on her bandwagon.

Over the next couple of days we removed everything from the kitchen cabinets. We kept only the coffee mugs that sparked joy in us. ("Mom, there are only two people living here now. How many do you think you really need?") Apparently I DON'T need two dozen!

We got out a tote for Caleb's things that he had left behind. When he was in ceramics class in high school he made nearly 100 coffee mugs (seriously, I am not exaggerating. He numbered each one on the bottom). We had about a half dozen still in our cabinet, but we weren't using them as daily drinkers. I kept the one he specifically made for me and packed up the rest for him.

She went through my china cabinet, which had become sort of a dumping ground for extra glassware and serving pieces. I transferred some things to my a old kitchen cabinets in our garage.

We got rid of miscellaneous water bottles and coozies. We tackled the junk drawer. We designated a new drawer just for Dave's household tools.

When we remodeled our kitchen in 2016 Dave installed pull-outs in nearly all of the cabinets, which I love. However, when we were going through the pantry, Laurel suggested moving the canned goods to a lower shelf, since the one they were on was too high to see easily. Great idea! Why didn't I think of that?

Laurel said she wished she had gotten on her organizing kick earlier, we could have done the whole house. I do too!