On Being Thankful

It is Thanksgiving Day 2019. So far, honestly, 2019 has had its challenges for me. 
It has been equally challenging for many other people I know. 
Identifying the blessings to be thankful for is important today.

Thanksgiving was born when the Pilgrims who founded the new America gave thanks to God for a successful growing season and harvest, by holding a great feast - even though half of their numbers had died during the previous harsh winter. The Pilgrims were joined in the celebration feast by Native Indians - even though many of their people had died of plague during the prior year. Nonetheless, they all were thankful.

Here in the U. S., we often hear the mantra that we have so much to be thankful for, certainly in comparison to many destitute peoples and areas. Yet, perhaps what is even more important is to recognize that, in spite of hardships experienced in the year prior, God does provide blessings worthy of thankfulness. Thanksgiving is specifically meant for that time. Even during the Civil War, a time of much hardship among families, President Lincoln proclaimed the last Thursday of November as a day of Thanksgiving. It may have been difficult to find things to be thankful for during that turmoil, but that is the essence of Thanksgiving.

So, I look back at my 2019 when my own Mother, for whom I was a caregiver on increasing levels over the past decade, succumbed to a terrible disease and went to be with her Lord. I can’t deny that it was very difficult dealing with Mother over the last year, on many levels. I think the main reason that I didn’t give up is because she didn’t give up. It was also very heart-wrenching to see her suffer in so many ways, and frustrating that I could not fix it. But, my frustrations were nothing compared to hers, which were on a whole other level. Yet, she set an amazing example of a faithful woman who never lost her devotion to her God.  My grieving over her death has been much more difficult than I anticipated. And today, on day 104 since she passed, I encounter the beginning of the holidays in the first year to spend them without my Mother.

And yet, I am thankful. I thank God for a multitude of great blessings in my life. But this particular Thanksgiving Day, I am most thankful that my Mother can breathe now; that she is free to walk around, enjoy the things she loves like gardening, be with her family who have passed before her. She is with loved ones like her own mother, who died when Mom was only two years old, and the baby brother who died with her mother. In Mom’s final days, she saw some of those people in her own mind’s eye, and even spoke to them by name. Because my mother was so young when her birth mother passed away, she never really knew her and had no real memory of her. In her final days, Mother described seeing the lady in the white dress who was with a little boy. She talked about this vision quite a bit before she passed. It was my sister Kimberly who suggested that the lady in white must be our Mother’s own birth mother and the little boy must be the baby who passed away with her mother in childbirth. I believe that is so. That gives me another reason to be thankful, that my Mother is able to be with her own birth mother, a blessing that I probably took for granted most of my life, and that my Mother never enjoyed. I’m thankful to God that Grace Elizabeth, my Mother’s birth mother, was waiting for her and that they will spend eternity together.

That leads me to my most thankful thought this morning. Just the other day, in thinking through the profound sadness I feel, and while listening to a Christian music song on the radio in the car, for the very first time it occurred to me that I would actually see my Mother again in Heaven. A lifelong Christian from a very young age, I have no idea why I had not relied on that reality before now. I have been so sad that my Mother is gone, that she is no longer on earth with me, that the rest of my life is before me without her involvement, that I simply had not extended my thoughts to my own afterlife.

Above all, that is the one thing I am most thankful for this Thanksgiving Day. I am grateful for all of the love in my life, my friends and family, the incredible material blessings that I have been given here on earth, and opportunities that God continues to give me. And, I am most grateful and thankful for the realization that I will see my Mother again. Just knowing that truth comforts me beyond description. So, I will live my life as she did, in faithfulness to God, without rush or looking or hoping for tomorrow to be here sooner, but with the realization that today is important in itself, and has its own meaning and purpose. I am thankful to you, God, for all of 2019.

Woman-to-Woman, Dear Jourdan:

Today, I’d really like to talk about NFL player Cam Newton and sports reporter Jourdan Rodrigue. Actually, this message is a simple woman-to-woman conversation with you, Jourdan. So, here goes:

Dear Jourdan,

I don’t know what Cam Newton meant when he said, “It’s funny to hear a female talk about routes.” I watched the video but I don’t know what his facial expression communicated, I don’t know what goes on in his head, I don’t know the motive for his apology. However, that has nothing do to with my message to you, Jourdan, which is, depending on your mindset, that statement could be a major bolster to your career, in the right way. “Sexist” is a word that has come to be used for absolutely everything said about a female, and I think that’s incorrect. The true definition of “sexist” is characterized by prejudice, stereotyping, discrimination, meant in a negative connotation. Well, this is just my opinion, Jourdan, but I believe that pointing out that you represent a new breed of female sports reporters, a group which is unusual or “funny”, can only be negative if you allow it to be. Personally, I think you could have ridden that moment to fame if you had chosen to handle it positively.

I know that my experience of being a lady lawyer in the 1980s was a long 30+ years ago, and I know much has changed since then. Yet, I also know that people have not changed; and our situation as women navigating new roads in this world has not changed either. I endured countless comments that weren’t called “sexist” at the time, but certainly met the negative meaning of the definition. I also endured much difficulty simply because I was a “girl” in a traditionally man’s world.  I’ve been touched, pinched, patted on the behind, chased around a desk, mocked, solicited, advised to quit law school and marry a lawyer instead, and told by one judge in front of a crowded courtroom to “go home and make babies”.  I have so many stories, I could write a book, and in fact, I am doing just that. None of those experiences were fair or right, but Jourdan, how they affected me and my career was my choice. I stood my ground in a positive way. I didn’t cry, complain or go tell my Mama. There was no pulpit like social media to whine my dissatisfaction or expose the perpetrators. I guess I could have thrown a fit in the courtroom, but that would have been what my Texan grandmother called “unladylike”. I could have quit the law (that would have shown them….), or filed discrimination complaints, or even lawsuits. What I did do was to use those situations to make me a stronger woman and a much better lawyer. I let those incidents roll off my back, and instead of just the uncommon lady lawyer in the courtroom, I became the one who knew the law, could convince a jury and sway a judge with every skill and asset she could muster. Quite simply, I won cases by becoming a good lawyer, and that quickly overcame my frustration with insignificant worries like hearing it was “funny” to see a woman in the courtroom. After all, it was true, I was different. And so are you, Jourdan.

Today, females are accepted in the legal world, but it was not that way in 1984, I can assure you. Attitudes and expectations don’t instantly change because one day a woman decides to delve into a world dominated by men. Yet, that one woman can blaze a trail for many more behind her when she manages the difficulties to her advantage, and shows just how good she is at what she does. “Sexist”? Honestly, I don’t think Cam Newton’s quote can be properly characterized as sexist, because there is no inherently negative connotation.  As a lifelong sports fan, I happen to agree with Cam Newton. It is funny to hear a woman talking about routes. It’s unusual, new, it’s groundbreaking, glass-ceiling shattering, and that should come as no surprise to you. In fact, the powerful part about his statement is just that: a girl is talking about routes, in an NFL press conference, on national television! Congratulations to you, Jourdan, you are certainly blazing that trail! You’re going to make it even bigger if you can be patient with the world of male dominated sports. Let them catch up with you without feeling disrespected by every potentially sexist comment and action. Take that sexism and use it to shine the light on yourself in a positive way, girl!  Being singled out, talked about, differentiated from the others, is in reality your career goal: to become recognized.

So, my point to you comes around to this: Positivity. Take your femaleness, Jourdan, and use it to your extreme benefit. Yes, you’re different in that room, and you probably understand the advantage of that or you wouldn’t be there in the first place. Screaming foul every time somebody says girls don’t belong won’t get you where you want to be. Use your situation to make yourself stronger and better.

In short, dry your eyes, Jourdan, and go show them that you’re the best at what you do, even though it may sound a little funny at first because you’re just a girl.

Leap of Faith

There are some good things about Winter.  Cold is not one of them in my book, but looking on the bright side, I do get to haul out the sweaters, leather coats, warm blankets, boots and stuff.  Then there’s Thanksgiving.  In our family, the traditional day of thanks for the blessings in our lives is also a planning precursor for the bigger event to come - the celebration of Christmas, also a wonderful Winter occasion.  And, in addition to Jesus’ birthday, there is my own birthday; however, I’m pretty sure God was pulling a joke the day He created me so very cold-natured that 90 degrees seems quite comfortable, then He brought me into the world in January.  Hilarious.  So, that means I have to make it through the Winter if I want to have a birthday each year.  Mmmmm, maybe I have stumbled onto a new way to stop turning older - I just ignore Winter!  This could be a brilliant plan, except that I married my darling other half in the month of February, so that celebration that would also go away with the banishment of Winter and I’d hate that.  Not that the sweet man knows when we were married, or the date of my birthday for that matter, but come about July, he might wonder if he had missed something.  Anyway, January is National Stalking Awareness Month, and having experienced the stalker-type myself, I find that fairly significant, so I guess Winter’s existence is somewhat validated. 

Really, the most valuable opportunity Winter brings, as with all new seasons, is change.  The thought makes me dance around the room pretending I’m a 1980’s David Bowie shrieking “Ch-Ch-Ch-Ch-Changes!”  Then I get serious again, and the seasonal revolution takes hold, inspiring me to contemplate new beginnings while trying to thaw out.  A friend of mine recently had a huge change in his life, giving up a high position of power in the fast-paced political arena to take on a very different but extraordinary one-shot career opportunity and also to enjoy the new generations in his family.  Instead of calling it something like retirement, he referred to it as “turning a page” in life, and I was struck by that phrase.  It evokes a butterflies-in-the-tummy kind of giddiness that new experiences and uncharted pathways are ahead.  Mostly, it reinforces the notion that change is a good thing; and it is exactly that attitude which personifies a Leap of Faith.  I get warmed up just thinking that way.

Life tosses out changes in all sizes and shapes.  Leaving kindergarten and going to the big grade school.  Breaking up and never, ever getting back together.  Cleaning out a closet or a home.  Starting a new job or career or lifestyle.  The passing of a loved one.  Some changes are chosen, some come as a surprise.  Change can be awkward, exhilarating, confusing, encouraging, unpredictable, liberating.  Leaping into it can be downright terrifying.

My Baby Sister gave me a copy of the book The Prayer of Jabez, which our Mom had given to her.  Like the lawyer that I am, I analyzed the Old Testament passage thoroughly, especially the “Oh that you would bless me, and enlarge my territory” part. Now, I have come to realize that, in order to petition that prayer earnestly from the bottom of my heart, I have to request the blessing without reserve in every sense.  Territory might be occupational, it may be spiritual, or it could be basic geography.  You may never know which of your territories are to be enlarged until suddenly your life is transformed.  That prayer, my friends, is a true Leap of Faith.  

So, I welcome change with the assurance that good things will come with it, just like with Winter.  And I realize that as life evolves and it is the world around us that changes, if I remain loyal to myself, stick to my core beliefs and trust my inner convictions, that is the real essence of taking a Leap of Faith.

Dear President Obama,

[Friends:  Something a little different for this blog post!  In recognition of the 50th Anniversary of the Civil Rights Movement in the United States, this 5th Generation Texan makes a plea for leadership and unity to President Barack Obama.  The letter is contained in a video recently taped for FOX 26 Houston News.  Please take a look at this link:

Nelda Luce Blair's Video Letter to President Barack Obama

Stay tuned for more frequent blog posts from A Texan Takes The 5th!]

A Grandfather's Legacy

Although he accumulated many, I was his first and, therefore, forever favorite grandchild.  Being a generational Texan family, all born in the East Texas-ish area, we were typically close (and did I mention, yet again, that I’m a 5-Gen through both my maternal and paternal branches?)  We visited with each other for entertainment, and went to my grandparents’ house on Christmas Day after an early morning visit from Santa Claus.  (Incidentally, I believed in the fat jolly man until my 13^th birthday and still miss him.)  With my Mom being the oldest of seven siblings, by three minutes, and everyone bringing their specialty cooking, we had plenty to eat.  Southern comfort food.  OMGoodness.  I still drool just thinking about homemade sweet peach cobbler with a sugary crispy chewy gooey crust.  Yummmmy.…. 

Anyway, Elmer “Lloyd” Dover led a pretty dramatic life, although he probably didn’t think of it that way.  He was a working man, a repairman for the light company.  His truck had a nifty plastic water cooler near the tailgate with a built-in paper cup dispenser that my cousin and I drained regularly, drinking cup after cup until it was empty, yet I never remember Grandpa Dover fussing at us.  But, a haunting photograph from our family album shows a twenty-something daddy with a 2-year-old on each knee, grieving over a gravesite.  His beautiful young wife had left him with twin baby daughters, one of whom became my Mom.  He did his best to nurture them with the help of relatives until meeting the lady who would not only raise his girls but also bear him five more children over the next 17 years.  So, the twins having said “I do” to their respective husbands in a huge dual wedding ceremony as 19-year-olds, Grandpa Dover oversaw the arrival of his last daughter, as well as his first two granddaughters, within a year.  Little girls became his way of life, and he doted on us as we hero worshipped him (and his light company truck water cooler.) 

The drama in Grandpa Dover’s life took another turn when he became a patient of Dr. Denton Cooley, the renowned trail-blazing heart surgeon who performed one of his first quadruple bypasses on Grandpa.  Of course, Dr. Cooley called him Lloyd, not Grandpa.  Plagued with early heart disease and still responsible for young offspring, he was the perfect candidate and a tremendous success.  His large family was ecstatic when he recovered and returned home, hopefully to live for many more years.  But, another car hit his truck broadside, and in an instant, Grandpa Dover was gone.

He didn’t even live to see my graduation from high school, so I have few but fond memories.  However, my Grandfather’s greatest impact on me was one he surely did not plan, and one I knew nothing about until adulthood.  I remember Grandpa Dover was the Choir Leader in our church, that he sang beautifully and inspired others to use their musical talents.  It was decades after his passing that an aunt gave me a copy of hymns he actually composed which would reach into my soul with a song he wrote about the perils of putting career before religion.  At the time, I was a harried young lady lawyer bent on proving myself with overachievement, and his prose went straight to my heart.  The stanza “…When you’re weighed in the balance, what then?” speaks to me like no self-help book ever will.  Grandpa Dover didn't write those words for me, but I believe one of his purposes on earth was to influence people over time, including his descendants.  And his legacy of music has done just that for this granddaughter.

Thank God For Grandfathers

I love my Daddy.  Even though he is gone from this earth, Father’s Day is a perfect time to reflect on how much he still influences me.  But, this is a post for Grandfathers: Just because your grandkids are two generations behind you, and you may not understand anything they say or do, and you may think they don’t listen to a word you speak, your love and inspiration can still impact a life.  Take mine for instance.

Life was quite good for me in the grandfather department.  By the time I came along, he already had many grandchildren, but I was his youngest and therefore his absolute favorite.  (Just ask any of them.)  Even though he passed before I turned 18, my paternal grandfather Ernest Lester Luce definitely helped shape me.

Grandpa Luce had an incredible garden where he grew and canned just about anything that would sprout from the ground.  I have yet to taste fig preserves even close to his, though I try every chance I get.  He must have been in his late fifties when I was born, far past the “raising babies” stage in those days, but my parents were hard-working, very young and needed help.  So, he and Grandma provided free preschool daycare (and sometimes nightcare.)  I learned many things at his knee, including how to play the card game Solitaire all day long (drove my Grandma crazy), and wonderful rhymes, songs and hymns.  I got indoctrinated into garden etiquette at an early age, but just couldn’t grasp the concept of walking between the rows, not on the rows.  Yet, he never got angry with me for tromping on his newly planted seeds.  After all, I was his favorite.

Grandpa Luce also had a wondrous tool shed with a very distinctive earthy aroma I dearly loved, but I was not allowed to visit alone for fear of sharp blades and such.  My most vivid memory of that little tin building involves a day of gardening together, when in a weak moment, he granted entry on a quest for miniature aluminum pans to create mud pies - my specialty at the time.  First, there was the faint but unmistakable sound; and then I rushed in on a frenzied search-and-rescue-mission-impossible, becoming breathlessly elated to find, behind the shovels, in a dark corner, there they were:  KITTENS!  Giddy with joy and excitement, I tripped over myself to squeal the good news to Grandpa.  Of course, his advice was to look and not touch, and of course, all I could do was touch and hold and cuddle and pet.   And when I developed ringworm on my arm, never once did he scold “I told you so”.

But, it was on the return drive from an out of town family visit that my Grandpa Luce imparted to me his most lasting impression.  The car flipped twice and landed on its side, trapping all three of us.  An unconscious 10-year-old buried under debris in the back seat, I remained undiscovered by rescuers for awhile; but when I came to, the sound I heard gave me pure comfort while waiting to be freed from the wreckage.  It was a beautiful baritone voice, the same one my father inherited, singing through shock and pain, “I’ll fly away, oh glory, I’ll fly away!”  In my heart, I knew at that moment that our trust in God would protect us and everything would be okay. 

My Grandfather influenced in me a strong Christian commitment, just by being strong in his own commitment, just by loving and nurturing me, just by singing out his faith when I needed to hear it most.  Thank God for Grandfathers, and Happy Father’s Day.

Whoever is Happy Will Make Others Happy, Too.

I want to “do good” in the world.  I mean, really, with very few exceptions, who doesn’t want that?  It’s a pretty normal human desire to be a positive influence, to create a legacy, to leave a mark on life in some way.  Now, I’m no Nobel Peace Prize Winner Mother Teresa type, and I’m pretty sure I won’t be reaching anywhere near her heights of humanitarianism anytime soon.  Yet, even short of actually creating a worldwide phenomenon, I just believe that each of us has the need and the ability to radiate positive vibes; or in the words of those great philosophers, the Beach Boys, “Good, Good, Good - Good Vibrations!”  (If you don’t immediately sing this tune in your head, you may be an alien.  I mean, it’s #6 on Rolling Stone's 500 Greatest Songs of All Time, for goodness’ sake!)   

I’ve heard different people describe it in many different words.  Optimism.  Beliefs.  Dreams.  Hope.  Positive thinking.  Can-do attitude.  They all point in the same direction.  My word is “Faith,” and has been since I was a young girl.  In fact, I recently came across a diary from high school.  The occasion was one of those agonizing cleaning-out projects that I had put off for years until moving plans forced me to confront the paper-filled boxes or find a new place for them.  Excruciating.  Of course, it takes way longer than it should, because I couldn’t help sitting cross-legged on the closet floor to reminisce over each photo, place them all into piles to scan into my computer for yet another future project, and read this outdated diary of a 16-year-old with the lock still intact.  “Just got home, tired, turned on the radio and my song immediately came on ‘Feelin’ Stronger Everyday’.  It makes me happy and thankful for my life and friends and renews my faith in Jesus!” 

Now, I honestly do not remember being that faith-filled as a kid, but it did make me realize that I still get a positive charge out of that 1970’s Chicago hit.  It also helped me better understand why I now awaken each and every morning uttering a personal mantra for my day’s inspiration: “This is the day which the Lord has made; we will rejoice and be glad in it” from the Bible’s book of Psalms.  Don’t get me wrong, I already admitted I’m not a saint.  Some mornings are better than others and there are times I growl through gritted teeth “we WILL rejoice…”  The point is, my personal drive to do good is fostered by my faith as a Christian.  But, whatever we call it, wherever we seek it, we can only do good if we find our own happy spot.  After all, how can I be a positive influence on the world around me without first finding a source of good vibes in myself?

Actually, another teenaged girl’s diary said it much better than little Nelda Lynn’s, with a beautifully simple message.  Annelies "Anne" Marie Frank’s short  life ended in a war zone concentration camp, yet she found the hope and optimism to scribble down:  “…there is always some beauty left  - in nature, sunshine, freedom, in yourself; whoever is happy will make others happy, too.”