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Grandma's Cookie Jar

5/25/2015

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Cleaning out an entire house is a monumental task – especially when that house holds 70 years worth of stuff. I recently walked through my grandparent’s farmhouse. Memories bombarded me from every stage of my life.

When I was a child, I played with Lincoln Logs and looked through Little Golden Books in the front breezeway.

When I was a young girl, I discovered all kinds of treasures in Grandma’s attic, like an old metal dollhouse and a cool antique trunk.

When I was a teenager, I sat on a stool in the kitchen with perm rods wrapped tightly in my hair as Grandma drenched me with cold, stinky solution.

When I was a young woman, I brought my husband into our tradition of roasting hot dogs in Grandma’s fireplace every Christmas Eve.

When I was a new mom, I sat beside Grandma and beamed with pride as she held each one of my newborn babies. 
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As I walked through the kitchen, I noticed a ceramic cookie jar on the counter. I hadn’t seen it in years. Yet, there it was next to the sink, right where Grandma had left it.

All of her grandkids were familiar with that jar. It was almost always full of cookies. I remember one summer when my brother and I rode our bikes all the way to Grandma’s house. I can almost guarantee what Grandma gave us when we showed up on her steps: chocolate chip cookies and a cold bottle of pop.

Without thinking, I picked up the dusty lid and peeked inside. Of course I found nothing. Not even a crumb. Grandma hadn’t baked in years. It’s funny, though. I knew the jar would be empty, but I looked anyway.

And that’s when it hit me. I’d never visited Grandma’s house without my grandparents in it. 

Grandma should’ve shuffled around the corner to greet me when I walked through the door. Grandpa should be napping on the couch with the cat curled up beside him. I knew my grandparents were gone, but I looked for them anyway.

That day, Grandma’s cookie jar didn’t provide me with cookies, but it did give me a special reminder.

No matter what age or stage I was going through, my Grandma made life just a little bit sweeter.
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Lost

5/18/2015

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I spent much of my early childhood years hugging my mom’s leg. I know, call me a mama’s girl, but sometimes you just need your mom close by. Like when a strange man talked to me at the grocery store. Or when I waited for the bus on my first day of school. Or even the time I got lost in the middle of nowhere when I was four years old.

Checking fences is a never-ending job when you live on a farm. The last thing a farmer wants is the cows to get out. This was usually my mom’s job. But I’ll never forget one particular time when I tagged along.  

Mom and I walked together, following the fence. Before long we came to some timber. Mom plopped her hand on her hip and looked down at me.  

“I need to check the fence back in the timber, but I want you to stay out here. Keep walking and follow these trees until you get to the end of the timber. I’ll meet you there.” 
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I looked at the wide, open space around me. “But I want to go with you.”

Mom shook her head. “The timber is too rough for you to walk through. Just follow these trees and I’ll meet you there soon.”

A lump formed in my throat as I watched my mom disappear into the woods.
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At first everything was fine. I walked along, peering through the trees every so often, just to make sure she was still nearby. 

Then the vegetation grew thicker. Tall weeds and sticker bushes blocked my view.

“Mom! Where are you?”

I stood motionless, straining to hear Mom’s muffled voice. “I’m here, Sheri. Just keep walking.”  
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“Mom … I can’t see you!”

Tears blurred my vision and my heart beat faster. Was I even going the right way? What if I got lost and Mom never found me? A faint voice echoed through the timber.

“You’re alright. Just keep walking.” 
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Over the next few minutes, Mom hollered to me from deep in the woods and encouraged me to keep going. Finally, I spotted the edge of the timber. I started running through the grass.

From behind me, I heard a rustling sound. I stood still, frozen. I turned around ever-so-slowly, and saw my mom tromping out of the timber. She swiped her hand across her sweaty forehead and smiled.

Of course, later I realized Mom was right. The timber wasn’t the best place for a little girl. It was for my own good. This became even more clear when Mom broke out with a miserable rash the following day. Poison ivy. Itchy, red blisters spread across her face and down her neck. Within days, both of her eyes were nearly swollen shut.
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Mom wasn't pleased when my brother snapped this picture of her. Now many years later, she said she didn't care if I shared it on my blog! (This was taken several days later, after she started looking better!)
You may be wondering why I’m sharing this slightly embarrassing story with you today. Two reasons, actually. First, I love telling stories about growing up on a farm. And second, I wonder if you may need a bit of encouragement today. You see, I think this story is a great illustration of our relationship with God.

I’ve had times in my life when I felt completely lost in a difficult situation. I couldn’t see God anywhere in my circumstances. But the fact was, He’d been with me all along. Maybe I felt scared and confused, but He never left my side. Looking back, I can imagine Him saying, “I’m here, Sheri. Just keep walking.”

Maybe today you’re walking through a difficult time. Let me encourage you. God is near. He’s even closer than you think. And He wants the best for you. I invite you to call out to Him and He’ll show you the way.

“Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid or terrified because of them, for the LORD your God goes with you; he will never leave you nor forsake you." 
-Deuteronomy 31:6 NIV
If you enjoyed this story, perhaps you’d also enjoy reading another one of my embarrassing farm stories: “Keeping Company with Cows.” Check it out! 

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"Mom! I'm Bored!"

5/11/2015

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It never ceases to amaze me. Our family has tons of summertime activities planned. Yet, I know at some point my girls will say those three annoying words. 

Well I've had it. I'm speaking out. I say, let them be bored! 

Today I'm sharing my blog post, Let Them Be Bored, over at the Quad City Moms Blog. Check it out and let me know what you think.    
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On another note, I know I have lots of moms who read my blog ... so I just wanted to wish you a (better late than never!) Mother's Day. Hope you had a fabulous day! 

My day went pretty well. I spent some time with my girls. I didn't cook a thing. I went to see my mom. And I took a little nap. It doesn't get much better than that! 

Here I am with my gals ...
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Have a great week! 

Take care,

Sheri
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My Daughter's Throwback to 1986

5/4/2015

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Hi everyone! I have a special guest blogger today … my daughter Emily!

But first, a little background info. I’m a bit of a packrat. Truth be told, I’ve saved papers from kindergarten through college. So last week I stumbled across a binder full of my old papers. I glanced at it and left it on the kitchen table.

When Emily got home she looked through it. While I made supper, she enjoyed making fun of my geometry scores and archaic shorthand homework. But there was one assignment she found particularly interesting. A paper I wrote when I was sixteen years old. 

“Oh Mom, you should share this on your blog!”

I shook my head. “No way.”  

“Oh come on! You could call it a throwback.”

I thought for a moment. “I’ll tell you what. I’ll share that old paper if you write about it.” 

“Fine.” She gave me a victorious smile.  

So without further ado, here’s my dear daughter Emily ...


I looked through the crinkled, yellow pages in the bulging binder. There was geometry homework, shorthand worksheets and book reports. I was hoping to find juicy love letters or secret notes that were passed when teachers weren’t looking.

Then a title caught my eye: “Three Types of Guys.” Guys? I can’t picture my mom thinking about guys. Laundry? Yes. Dinner. Sure. But guys? No way.

The date was September 16, 1986 and my mom was sixteen. I’m sixteen! I couldn’t imagine how things have changed in thirty years. 
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When I finished reading Mom’s paper, I looked over at my dad. Let’s see, how does Dad measure up? 

A jock? Well, he is really into sports. He encourages me and my sisters in every sport we do. He coaches us, tells us what we want to hear. He also tells us what we don’t want to hear. He shoots hoops with us, passes the volleyball around and catches our softball pitches.

A joker? If getting embarrassed by him on a daily basis qualifies him as a joker, then he has succeeded. He is constantly laughing – and making us laugh too.
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And serious? Well, he works hard to provide for us. He lays down the rules and expects us to abide by them. He always gives 100%.

Maybe it is possible to find a combination of those three types of guys after all!

Thanks Em! And you know, I've been thinking. Things sure have changed since I was in high school. For example:

I talked to my friends on a phone with a long curly cord that I stretched as far away from my family as possible. You text your friends on your iPhone.

I listened to Bon Jovi, Whitney Houston and Heart on my walkman. You listen to Calvin Harris (and some other people I've never heard of) on the iPad.  

I wore stone-washed Guess jeans. You wear American Eagle skinny jeans.

I worked hard to curl and feather my hair. You straighten yours.

I could go on and on, but I’ll end with this: After reading that old assignment, I was reminded of one thing that hasn’t changed a bit.

Teenaged girls still think about boys.

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I am 16, going on 17 ...
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Emily, 16 years old
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